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The paper came away like Christmas wrappings, shed around a polished mahogany box. The hinges creaked as I opened it, caked with rust. Photographs and letters spilled out from its depths. The first to catch my eye was a postcard. From Alexis. I would have recognized her handwriting anywhere. The old sensation rose in my throat, the same that comes whenever I think of her. I read it and never have before, though it was addressed to me. She signed it, "with love."There were photographs of us.. Me drained of sperm, yet with a bellyful of the nectar of the gods. We were enjoying the afterglow of our lovemaking, when we were rudely interrupted by the alarm.I got out of bed on wobbly legs, and shut the alarm off on my way to the commode to empty my near-to-bursting bladder. I finished and turned the water on for a shower. I was joined by my lover. She sat upon the throne and completed her morning mission. We showered together, and almost started something more, but common sense took. It was the second time she had just walked away from me. Both times I had spoken with her she had been vague, or even evasive, in her answers concerning her personal life. As a result I still didn’t know her last name or where she lived, or how to contact her. I sat for awhile and finished my drink then walked home feeling kind of deflated. Two days later I got a call at work. “It’s Lisette calling.” Without pausing for any response she jumped in to the reason for her call, but there was a. She stood in front of me, her hands in my hair again, pushing my face into her warm pubes. “Lick my cunt, Wendy, put your tongue in. I’m wet for you. Lick me!” She parted her thighs, and ground my willing face into her moist slit. The dark, heady perfume of her juices filled my lungs, intoxicated me. She hunched forward, and I craned my head forward, then squeezed my tongue between her cuntlips, tasting her heat and moisture. How sweet her moisture was! With one hand she.
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