another deep swig of fierce alcohol

The details they gave were sparse, twisted from them reluctantly, a scenario, it seemed, had been repeated in various forms over the duration of their strange, forced marriage. But the import of this incident deserves more than the three sentence, forty word description torn in laughter from the breast of the pair. The date of Delphi’s departure, still kept secret from Dudley, soon approached. In preparing to bolt in the dark inclined Delphi to feel kindly again toward the small man for a while, freeing herself from his oppression, she felt free again to appreciate the better parts of his bull-headed ignorance, to remember kindly the salvation he gave when her years in Vegas had descended into a swamp of self-destruction, in short for one last time, she felt kindly toward him. He brought home the bottle, poured two tall stiff brown glasses of sour mash over ice, and they drank deeply, laughing like an old married couple at the years they had shared, glee giving way to youthful pawing kissing intimacy, hands caressing, grabbing, tickling and kneading, finding pleasures along the undulations of flesh and clothing soon discarded with another deep swig of fierce alcohol and the tease and thrust of genitals began.

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in fiction, literature, novels, personal, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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