"Is it any good?"There must have been something in the way she said it that caused him to put the book down on his lap and look carefully at her."Darl...ene," he asked. "What do you know about poetry?" Poetry," Darlene recited, "comes in two forms. Traditional, and concrete. Traditional poetry is writing that formulates a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience in language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through meaning, sound, and rhythm. Concrete poetry is. He was fast asleep so I was reluctant to wake him. There was suddenly another loud boom outside. It startled me and gave me the courage to wake Nick. I shook his right shoulder and called his name. “Nick, I heard a noise outside” I said. Nick sat up and asked “Do you think someone is trying to get in the house?” he asked. “No it was a loud noise out in the yard” I said. “I’ll bet you heard a tree branch fall. The trees aren’t close enough to the house so we will be okay. As long as no one is. I turned her around and bent her over the dresser, stood behind her, my cock hard and fat, I teased her pussy with my cock, tapping it against her clit a few times, she was close to orgasm before I even penetrated her.With my cock nicely lubed from her pussy juices I pushed it up against her butt-hole, there was a little resistance then I slid right in. I moved nice and slow at first, but passion soon took over and I started to pound her butt so hard my balls were slapping against her cheeks,. Their mouths were rapid and hot. He knocked his fist into the wall. He barked out.There was no holding on, holding back. This blowjob was an incidental. Something more than he needed. He didn’t have to think about their feelings, or try to return the favor, or seduce them. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling light.Hey, have meaningless, limitless, heartless blowjobs. You know you want them!He did. He couldn’t deny what he was feeling. Sex is awesome. Just the triggers, the touch,.