One thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-one visible stars danced above his head in the sky, circling about, scintillating, putting on their constant ballet for all those below. Not for the first time, he wondered at how many intelligences he was staring. Millions? Trillions? Or perhaps it was zero.
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The bitch shows up behind home plate again. Unbelievable. Second night in a row, she gets in the same seat and tries to fuck me up with her flashes of tit. She quickly yanks down one side of her tank top, flashes her boob, and tries to mess with my head.
She doesn't even have great cans. We're not talking about centerfold or top-notch porn material here. More like porn you'd find on the lower shelves, like bottles of cheap vodka in a liquor store.
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Anybody who knows me will tell you I'll do almost anything. I draw the line at skydiving and waterboarding during sex. Otherwise, I'll go with the crowd. If a dozen people I know all decide to go camping in the Rockies in January, I'm there.
This can be a dangerous habit. On the other hand, it can open up opportunities to explore some things I normally wouldn't do.
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