TIGHT LUST

Two denim women, lovers of each other, had jet black curly hair both, one more so than the other; white freckled flesh that Sun refused to tan but not to burn and turned red face by torch. The curly hair was natural, and naturally moisturized by lack of bathing; a musty oily odor reached me from them but while savage in its taste not terribly unpleasant; there was something nice about it like essence of bears or kangaroos, and I might climb into their paunches, or on top of hairy bellies and lick their hide into orations. Clammy moisture, fungi essence like that found in the tropics where mold builds a vivid green cushion for the eyes but is no comfort for the body.

I was bald, I must admit, had cut my hair all off.

These two earthly wenches were jealous of my virginity and so wanted to spoil it. I could do nothing else but start running my polka-dotted red dress flaring into the air displaying amply my cotton white panties, my red shoes dashing forwards fast, my feet accommodated through the run by short white socks, my hairy legs running me like a clumsy beast of prey in the reverse flight of fear. I ran the grass down, breaking twigs and mutilating nests occupied with eggs, crushed as they met me in my scratchy path. The two wenches were not far behind, they seemed to keep up with an ease expected of their masculine engender; and with them came rocks that were hurdled fast and with such force that they surpassed my path of flight and overshot, plummeting into the dirt beneath, where I had to at once in flight to duck and zigzag. Meanwhile my eardrums not trained in the art of preference, absorbed their belligerent screams and laughter. “Don’t run away you bitch!” “Come back here our swelling little darling, you look so cute in that lovely polka-dotted red dress.” Flanged, a rock darting past me graced my shoulder caused an ache a mile high, I could not however let the blistering pain distract me, because the irritating yelling dished from their thick tongues kept on hankering and banging into my ears. “You must let us barrow it some time, the dress we mean!” Wicked laughter following, I kept running to my flight, ignoring all the cries for sharing, their hairy armpits vivid explanations that they had not placed their stone age weapons down! I made the distance grow so much that they finally tired and disappeared from existence; I made my way from all exhaustion into a cave hosted around huge and wrinkled devil boulders, where I sat, legs extended into anti-ethical horizons and there bled my first period without regard for sanitation.