It was a bright and warm day in early May in 1978. The sky was crystalline and the air smelled new and sweet. The trees were bursting with the growth ...f new leaves and everything looked green and fresh, a contrast to the dark and decaying neighborhood where I rented an apartment. I was a student at University, and I had just purchased on a whim a book of poetry titled, “The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses Over the Hills”, by an author I’d never heard of named Bukowski. He’d go on to be a cult. But under her skirt, my hand met her smooth, moist folds, squirming eagerly against my groping fingers.Her fingers opened my zip and plunged in, quickly unleashing my cock, pulling it up and giving it a few quick squeezes.My lips locked onto a stiffening nipple and I parted her labia with my fingers, feeling her silky, slippery slit. She rocked to and fro, working herself off against me, panting.I pushed her backwards against my desk. She hopped up onto it, scattering my papers and books. Her. More

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