Grunting. Sweating. The taste of salt and hot lust broke heavy across our entwined limbs. My dick was harder than accepting my dad’s death.
I spread her legs like Moses splitting the red sea; they had matching beards, and general hygiene. A huge wave of dust hit me in the face, but I held on tight. I was used to weathering the storm at this point.
Squealing like a puppy caught in a beartrap, I slid my netherhog into the wasted vascularity of her throbbing hampacket. It was slick, like an oil spill; the type of oil spill that kills a shitload of sealife. The porous wasteland between her legs leaked like a bulbous pig miscarriage, opening its hungry lips and sucking the luminescent pearls of precum off of my alien vessel like a velociraptor banging a pterodactyl as the comets come to claim them. We kissed, hard, like cousins that got too drunk at the family reunion and forgot where they were for a second. Her tongue was long and dry, reminiscent of a stale baguette hiding week old cheese. Nice.
Coming up for breath, spitting out a mixture of pubic hair and Dorito dust, she gazed into my eyes like my uncle staring at the last piece of pie on the Thanksgiving dinner table.
She was wet and smooth like a seal and when I thrust into her, pogoing back and forth in her craggy grand canyon like a crazed weasel on a lazy Sunday afternoon, she barked like one too.
When I touched her clitoris, it quivered like a groundhog seeing its last shadow. It was its last one because the groundhog had committed tax fraud for the last ten years, and it was being put to death. I pushed it down, and let it spring back and forth like one of those doorstops. The sound of it drowned out even her loudest crows. It went BOIYOIYOIIINNOIOIOIOIIOING.
Grunting like two covert homosexual sports guys who can’t accept themselves for what they are, we perused each other’s bodies in the way that only an untrained physician can. She punched me a few times in the trachea. That was pretty uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to come off as a prude.
Finally, we neared our mutual goal.
We hit the jackpot.
Powerballs rolled into place, and we came hard.
Harder than calculus when you’re missing half your brain. Harder than folding a fitted sheet. Harder than getting through each day with the overwhelming sense that you just don’t really know where you’re going in your life, and you really wish that you had found a career earlier on. You never feel like you belong, not in the social circles at work, not in the group of friends that you’ve managed to scrounge together, not anywhere. You miss her, but you know that she’s probably better off with him. Holidays get rougher each year, and basic activities seem useless at best. The light slowly dies from your eyes, and you wonder if you’ll ever break free from the crushing cycle of monotony and loneliness that you perpetuate every hellish day on this earth.