A pair of hairy black balls bouncing against a chin is the Dali-esque metaphoric equivalent of the bristling and swollen bellies of two large spiders ...ssaulting the angelically golden visage of a sunflower. It inspires in us a perverse frisson of irresistible repugnance and shuddering fascination. I suggest, as Bataille might, that this is nothing less than a vision of God.I manage to extricate myself from H’s embrace just enough to turn around without quite waking him. He murmurs, stirs, grabs. “Is this what you want?” He punctuated each word with added hip thrusts, sending tremors of pleasure through my body, and fire in my veins. I threw my head back and moaned, biting my lips, refusing to answer him. I shook my head and giggled again, just to mock him. The ricochet of the laundry machine involuntarily added more delicious contact as it switched gears into the spin cycle. “Ooohhh.” Suddenly Ben stopped and stepped away, separating our bodies. I couldn’t let that happen, I wanted his. More

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