sex

Sex:

Outside, the rusted tanker-trailer dripped its hellish cargo. A crud-laden drop broke the
poison pool below, and rivulets ran the cobblestone maze out to the street. A heavy,
black sedan with dark tinted windows rolled to a stop near the slithering stream. Inside,
in shadow, a cigarette glowed brightly. The driver-side window lowered, and the red-
tipped missile jettisoned onto the volatile liquid. The snake hissed and smoked at the
sudden attack, ignited, and a flame rattled backward retracing its once meandering path,
now with hot purpose. The sedan sped away into the night, while the flame rushed to
meet the puddle and the two embraced in a brawny spark of fire. The flames reached
high, grabbing and lighting the greased metal hull. In an instant, a mighty blast shredded
the old steel. Scorched metal, flaming liquid, and hot gasses rocketed in every direction.
A cloud of dense, black smoke billowed into the night sky, and the stars and big moon
disappeared.
Matt and Laura heard something outside, but neither gave it much thought. He had her
pinned against the kitchen wall. His right hand roamed under her loosened blouse, and
their lips locked over slippery tongues. The distant blast sounded just as Matt swept his
adventurous thumb onto her left nipple, inciting the nub of brown flesh to rise and
harden. A warm wave of peace and pleasure rolled through his body like a narcotic. His
thoughts floated, strangely recalling from his Catholic upbringing that he was now in
mortal sin territory. Violating the side, top, or bottom of the breast could, with a good
theological attorney, be argued as a venial offense, resulting in a lesser, purgatorial
sentence. The nipple, however, was the doorbell to hell.
Matt’s enlightened soul could now smile at such inane beliefs, but when he was a
handsome, hormonally juiced teenager these moral dictates caused him unbearable
anguish. As he lightly turned Laura’s hard point between his thumb and index finger,
he thought of the young nipples he never got to touch. Linda. . . Connie. . . Gina. . .
Doris Donovan, maybe. . . His nostalgic lament ended when Laura grasped his born-
again cock and resurrected his total devotion to the breast at hand.
Encouraged by her firm grip, Matt unbuttoned her blouse. In the one-second
exposure before he buried his face in her bosom, he appraised her breasts. They were
exquisite. Pearl white in color, her firm, rising curves glistened like gemstone.

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