we have tunnel vision and a one-track mind that pretty much just wants your ass to submit, but that doesn't mean shit, although it very well could mean that, couldn't it? short enjoyable texts are preferred to excrement - thank you
FOUR MEMORIES
BY THEODORE BECK
 

4. 

Christmas 2004 in Wichita, Kansas. The snow was so beautiful, white and cold. I remember drinking one seasonal Sam Adams with Mom at the kitchen table while I casually scratched glitter off a random Christmas card -- The Bonebreaks, the Paiges, the Donglingers, or some other unknown family of mutants in denim. Sitting there with Mom, my future forgotten, my nipples hard, sugar cookies steaming on every surface, and a fire blazing two rooms away.

3.

One time an okay-looking girl was sucking me off and I was about to cum so she took my cock out of her mouth, because I wasnít allowed to cum in her mouth, anyway, she was stroking me to the finish line and I BLEW . . . but this wasnít your typical play and spray. No. I came in fucking huge jets of cum! It was fantastic! I could not stop cumming, it was like a hose or a horse and she was getting absolutely soaked and was laughing hysterically but she just kept on pumping, undeterred, cum squirting. I remember her laughing, exhilarated, hand moving so fast, her entire face and hair and chest getting soaked in cum, snow white strands dangling from her pink chin, smiling teeth gleaming brightly thru the jizz, eyes sparkling like dark brown diamonds, late-period REM cutting through the cummy, dorm room air.

2.

A few hot summers back I was visiting a girlfriend at her parentsí house in a really tiny town in Kansas. One morning, she and her parents went to work and I stayed at home with her adorable 16-year-old sister. We watched TV, chatted, laughed and then went swimming. We swam close like two fish skipping school. We were so wet! Some wasps came in for a closer look so we dunked ourselves deep under the water, holding hands, bubbles exploding from our laughing mouths. Pruney, we headed upstairs to change. Our bodies were hot from the sun and we both had that dizzy, sun stroked, water-logged feel that makes sex hang in the air like a curse or a zeppelin. 

I go to change in the bathroom and she starts smiling in her bedroom doorway, telling me to come into her room for a second. Just a sec, she says. Sheís wrapped in a red towel, beads of water hang from the tips of her yellow hair and she looks like a sun angel. I walk in slow motion to her room and she plants her face in front of mine and says, Kiss me. So I do. She says, You are now my first kiss. I say, I could be a lot more -- I wouldnít say anything. She frowns, cutely pondering, then says, Kiss me again. So I do, but this time we donít stop and Iím certain that all the blood in my body is in my dick, bound by the soaked, prison-like trunks. Sheís chewing my fucking face off, I think.

I peel off her top; throw it on the floor with a THWACK! Her small, round boobies are cloud white against her browned skin, nipples like two pink stars. I start sucking them furiously. My dick is rock hard and she can see it. I pull it out. Her eyes turn into pinwheels! She instinctively grips it hard at the base, as I continue to suck and bite at her chest, while staring down at her perfect toes scrunching into the shag carpeting. Oh God, oh my God, she keeps saying. I push her onto the bed to try and take off her bottoms, penis aching from the flopping movement. No, she says. We canít. I canít have sex with you, she says. I pretend to be understanding, my life over. I tell her, Just let me kiss it. She stops, thinks, then smiles, hops up, shuts the door softly, pulls down her bikini bottoms and is under the cover within seconds.

I go under the covers, where itís hot and smells like suntan lotion and her blonde, unkempt pussy crackling like a fire and oozing with desire fluid. I stick my face in it, mouth wide open and it was like biting into the juiciest, most delicious fruit in the world. A fruit that Iím not sure even exists! She squirms hard. Iíve only been licking her clit softly for 15 seconds and I can already tell she has found her calling -- getting head. She is hyperventilating. Every lick is like a miniature orgasm. And then she cums . . . body convulsing, oh my Gods, holding my hair like handlebars, bracing herself as if sheís about to crash, eyes shut tight, wincing with ecstasy. It was like watching the longest death scene in the world. She finally falls. I pull my sweaty, frosted face up from the covers. She looks so peaceful, beautiful and guilty, hand on her forehead like, WHAT THE FUCK???

I pull her fatherís suit down and grab her feet, which are warm and long, and wrap them around my dick and immediately start fucking them. She is revived, turned on again, smiling at the kink of it. She catches on fast. So there she is, lying on her back, legs bowed open, perfect pink pussy glistening with spit and woman cum, her hot feet (with chipped, silver glitter nail polish) jerking me off. I came within moments. Shots of cum went flooding up her legs, onto her belly, filling her button, trickling down into her undoubtedly tight vagina. Her expression could never be given justice by stupid words. I collapsed down next to her, our bodies beaten, cum drying on her like wet paint. She is breathing so hard, her doughy young skin is flushed and layers of sun are streaming in through the blinds, the day determined to stand still forever, us naked, paralyzed, listening for the door, forever.

1.

Tornado in Kansas. I was a little boy standing at the window as my siblings trampled into the basement. I saw my father go outside with a shopping sack full of baseballs, digging into our mushy front lawn where he proceeded to belt the balls into the black sky with a wooden Louisville Slugger. I will never forget the gleaming white, red stitched baseballs whizzing into those clouds of death -- his bat like a light-saber, his form perfect, his myth solidified, his son forever noble.

[Forever after at http://eyeshot.net/beck.html
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LET IT BE WIDELY KNOWN THAT

the other lee michael klein (the poet, art writer, & NYC Grayline tourguide),
enabled the eyeshot editor of the same name (no relation), to take
a 3.5-hour tour around NYC on Tuesday, photographic
evidence of which is available for all in lo-tech
slideshow format here. The pictures
aren't particularly wonderful
but what the fuck
we say.
& we
also say
we got some
more nasty-ugly pics
over at karen ashburner's
diceybrown.com