your ass.”
And he did, ramming hard into her. His head spun and he no longer thought about her pleasure. The feeling of her tight ass as it milked his cock drove out thoughts of anything. If the end of the world came, he wouldn’t notice.
But then he came. He felt a tug in his balls as he spurted his semen in her rectum. Her ass was sucking it out of him.
They lay for time, their limbs tangled; sticky with the juices of lovemaking. When he finally left her bed, the poem that had eluded him felt close enough to touch. Perhaps the magic had worked, he thought cheerfully. Silently, he got up, gathered up his clothes and began to dress. The Skinny Girl watched him and smiled. He looked for anything in her eyes that might be accusing or expecting, and saw nothing. That pleased him.
When he was ready to leave he went over to the bed. She was stretched out across the white, the light from the window tracing tiger stripes across her pale skin.
“A very sexy pose…”
She stretched, running her hands across her thighs in a gesture so unconsciously sensual and deliciously languid that he almost lost his resolve to get back to his poem.
He felt sad that so many of the other people he knew were essentially Flatlanders, incapable of wandering into new dimensions because they didn’t believe those portals, those places existed. He could honestly say this was true about many people he knew, and there were others he didn’t know well enough to know where they drew lines in the sand.
He felt good. Gambling with The Skinny Girl had turned out well. As he walked home to his poem, he found himself whistling a stupid tune that he knew he would spend the rest of the day trying to remember the name of.
