Fritter

Fritter is a big girl with a pretty face.  She smells like Ivory Soap and she is witty and fun.  I get a motel room where she gets naked and we take a bunch of pictures.  We laugh a lot, and I get a boner. 

I tell her I don't think she belongs on the street selling herself to lowlife creeps like me.

She asks me who does belong on the streets?

I tell her, Well, I guess nobody does.

I change the subject by offering her an additional twenty dollars for a little safe sex and she is agreeable.  She settles her bulk horizontally on the bed.  I get naked and straddle her stomach.  Her skin is soft and sensual.  I take myself in hand and wallow in the luxury of her pillowy body.  I look at her pretty face.  Her eyes are melancholy brown. 

I can feel the wad of pressurized seed in my loins.  I begin to climax when Fritter lets out a wounded cry and bucks me off her midriff and through the air like a rodeo clown.  I tumble to the floor but manage to land on my feet.  My ejaculate hasn't ejaculated and the mood has left me in a rush.

"Jesus," I say, "how come you did that?"

She is across the room, putting her clothes back on.  "I saw something in your eyes," she says.  "I thought you were going to hurt me.  I have to go now."

I pick up my Levi's and step into one leg at a time.

"I wasn't going to hurt you.  I'm not like that."

"I've heard that before."

"Yeah," I tell her, "I suppose you have."

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