“Wow,” I exclaimed, “Somebody is wet.” I lowered my head, inhaling her aroma as I placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh. I slowly worked my... way up and ran my tongue up her slit and felt a shudder run through her body. I inserted 2 fingers into her folds as my tongue flicked over her clit. “Don’t stop,” she moaned as she grabbed the back of my head and shoved it into her crotch. I gently sucked on her clit and felt her whole body tense up. “Oh my God,” she cried, “I’m coming!” I felt her. ”“I’m sure looking forward to it, and it doesn’t look like anyone left.”“Let’s hope.”I understood about thirty seconds into the second act. The piece wasn’t from a script. It was the last four thousand plus words of Ulysses.Rio and I had read Joyce’s Ulysses for Literary Criticism and Critical Reading classes, looking at all the critical analyses of the piece from 1904 to the present. The last episode of Ulysses is a soliloquy by Molly Bloom, Leopold’s long-suffering wife. There’s no. “Yes, this is kind of weird, but I wanted to see it.”“We live in a sex-starved culture. Why do you think pornography gets more hits on the internet than any other sites?”Carla didn't answer.“And women are no different than men,” I continued. “Most of these men are probably married, or were married and come here to watch a sexy, practically naked woman dancing with a pole between her legs, but women are no different. Many women are just as sex-starved.” “It's kind of sad,” Carla said. “Many. She slid past ‘never in a million years’, didn’t stop at ‘I’m not sure’ and settled comfortably into ‘this is nice’. Even when his soapy finger found its way between her butt-cheeks and wiggled into her anus, she just accepted it all, enjoyed it all. After an hour of washing and soaping and kissing and coaxing, they got out; he dried her and then she dried him, carefully drying his bollocks without squashing them (she had been told they were very sensitive). Then he led her to his bedroom, laid.