Around his shaved head, the wind was blowing from the East; a brilliant sunset had begun; the bright green August trees shook and rattled. Around his face, the young man's eyes sparkled with lust; his nostrils were flared with passion; a thin film of vaginal icing had covered his lips and chin.

“Damn it Josephine, I can't breath.” James pulled back from his girlfriend's pussy with blushed cheeks and a look of mild frustration on his face.

Josephine—the woman who had pushed his head as deeply between her thighs as was humanly possible—now sighed, “I told you not to stop. ”

“You told me not to stop breathing?”

Despite the fact that he knew his rhetorical question would upset his girlfriend, James gathered his breath. In the minute of his heavy panting, a delicate tickle on the lining of his upper lip made him dig along his rough smoker's gums with his tongue. With no luck, the young man investigated the disturbance more thoroughly with the tip of his finger.

In little time, James found the pubic hair—four inches in length—stuck between his teeth.

James was grateful that he had the manual strength to hold such a hole open as wide as he did.

Despite this unpleasantry, James dove back to the pussy with rancid determination, kissing the woman's clitoris and biting the wet tendons between the thigh and nether-regions.

With jumps of ecstasy, it was apparent that Josephine had not minded the delay the oral scavenger hunt had caused as much as James had anticipated.

“Yes,” Josephine repeated, “Yes.” Her back arched and her hands returned to their original position: on the top of James' shaved head. After a few minutes, this woman began again heaving her young boyfriend into the fatty pockets of her thighs, so that he could taste each drop of excretion.

“Now?” James asked, his voice muffled by the thick labia and bushy pubic region of the woman sprawled out on the bed lining of his large, black Dodge Ram.

“No. Not yet. ”

James continued for another thirty minutes, sucking hard on the clitoris and inserting his tongue in and out of his woman's dense, pulsing cunt lips. Despite a few pangs of pain in his upper back and neck, he continued as a servant would: removing his face to breath, yet licking his mate's Caesarian scar as an excuse to take in oxygen.

“Now?” he asked again, hoping that the next stages of his pleasure-parade would ensue.

“No. Not yet,” she replied.

A bittersweet taste began to bleed from the pink, malleable cavity of the woman. It was the taste of cantaloupe, yet, the taste of uncooked sardines. In each insertion, a moment of pleasure, yet a moment of affliction and strain. The woman's body flushed, twitched and tensed.

As her spasms quaked the cellulite above his sweaty palms, James knew, from his previous experiences licking the burly forest amongst Josephine's sexual organs, that this was the warning: if he were not to complete the next steps of the task, his efforts would be in total vain. She would then get pissy and not return the favor.

Without stopping, without asking, James moved his left hand from the right curdled leg of Josephine to the side of the truck's bed where an industrial-sized jar of Vaseline sat, watching in mild disgust. His hands dug in deep, feeling the cool, creamy, skin-like texture between his fingers. His tongue moved to the sides of the labia, licking up and down; the woman's head drew back as she shouted, “Now!”

With his right hand, James unlocked a small case that had been tied to the bed of the truck with two yellow bungee cords. Inside of this case: two small earplugs. He removed the earplugs from the case with one hand, inserted them in his two large ears and removed his face from the crotch of his lady.

Ever so quickly, the young man jumped from his lover's withered, juice-soaked loins and ran around the side of his truck. He jumped in the cab, clicked the key to the radio position and selected track number five: ZZ Top's “Legs.” Finally, before exiting the interior of the truck and blaring the music, James grabbed a large bullhorn from the backseat. As he rushed back to the bed of the truck, Josephine's legs quivered in expectation… for this ceremony has existed since the beginning of time. Or, at least, since 1983, when ZZ Top released “Eliminator.”

James used his strong, muscular arms to force the woman on her stomach, revealing a taut, puckered asshole. With his lubricated left hand, he pushed deep into the browned hole and expanded the anal chamber as wide as he could. In his childhood, James frequently toyed with sock puppets and was now grateful that he had the manual strength to hold such a hole open as wide as he did.

Then, with the bullhorn pressed against the cool buttocks of the woman, James locked his lips to the receiver of the device, pulled its trigger and shouted as loudly as possible…

“Did you lose weight?!”

A small amount of excretion leaked onto the bed of the truck as Josephine shouted, “Yes!”

James continued, “You should've been your high school's prom queen!”

Josephine again shouted and quivered, “You're right!”

“Can I give you all of my money?! You are the definition of beauty! I am not worthy to see you naked; I must pay! You are the ideal woman, a definition of femininity, the true reason I am living! I must, must, must give you as much money as possible so that you may spend it on ugly shoes and bad make-up and chicken-themed dinnerware!”

“Yes!” Josephine replied, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

And finally, James spoke the words that his father had told him (as had his father before him and so on): “Will you marry me?!”

At that moment, Josephine orgasmed. A jelly-like flood of vaginal juices rushed along the troughs in the bed of the truck, short-circuiting the bullhorn and stinking up the atmosphere within thirty feet of the truck with the smell of tilapia and skunked Pabst.

James pulled back the used bullhorn and tossed the apparatus into a small, grassy waterditch.

As Josephine gathered her thoughts, the boy lit a cigarette.

The woman, exhausted from her true orgasm, lay in her own puddle of filth and finally said, “That… was amazing.”

“What?” James asked.

“That. Amazing.”

“What?” James asked, removing the earplugs.


James took a long drag of his cigarette and ashed. After a moment, he replied, “You're damned right it was. Now how about you return the favor?”

“Not yet,” the woman said, “I don't know where to put my dentures.”