“Who was that on the phone?” Lauralee murmured weakly from the bed,
squinting her red, aching eyes against even the dim light that filtered
through the heavy drapes. They had gone directly to a roadhouse a few miles out of
town, where Lauralee insisted on having beer. eat my cunt!” She knew well how
such obscenities further inspired her husband to new plateaus of
rapturous sexual activity. “Is it because we’re going
away?”
“No’m, I’m just worried about somethin’ I heard Mr. “Five’ll get you ten,” he prompted,
“that I can lay her … The organ began quickly to
deflate while she still held it between her clasping lips, and then it
withdrew from her and slipped back into its long sheath and the dog’s
warmth retreated from her. “Someone
told me the other day that tomato juice was good for a hangover.
