[ambrose hung around with any number of homophobes in his day. he discovered that many of them were not actually secretly queer themselves, though a surprising proportion of them were. he had very little tolerance for most hateful of their rhetoric, of course; boring, ignorant, ugly stuff, that was easy to spin nightmares out of.
but there were a couple of gems that the brusque ol' man's man dummies would drop on him. not entirely true, but with an element of it. things like: men's bodies are ugly, machines built for work. stupid, whatever. but then: women's bodies are like art. you can take one without the other.
her body is art. sumptuous and impossible. the pale fruits of her breasts press up against his chest and it's enough to understand why the straightjacketed, repressed, conservative times -- why this feeling would be equated with madness. she is so soft inside and smooth outside, so precious and wanton. her pallor begs to broken with teeth, and her voice with sharper cries. he should push his finger deeper, probably. find the stretch of slickly shaped flesh inside of her that will make her body open further. but
time waits for no man. and ambrose's dick is kind of like time. ...long.
he grins at her, boyish, pupils blown up huge as if intoxicated. hitches her leg up on his hip, angling himself, and then he pushes his cock in there. the head of it nudges past her clit, in its nest of curls, hits the waiting block of his own fingers. accepts redirection, into the waiting heat of her cunt, the sweet stretch of it. burrowing deep like it's making itself a new home.]
no subject
but there were a couple of gems that the brusque ol' man's man dummies would drop on him. not entirely true, but with an element of it. things like: men's bodies are ugly, machines built for work. stupid, whatever. but then: women's bodies are like art. you can take one without the other.
her body is art. sumptuous and impossible. the pale fruits of her breasts press up against his chest and it's enough to understand why the straightjacketed, repressed, conservative times -- why this feeling would be equated with madness. she is so soft inside and smooth outside, so precious and wanton. her pallor begs to broken with teeth, and her voice with sharper cries. he should push his finger deeper, probably. find the stretch of slickly shaped flesh inside of her that will make her body open further. but
time waits for no man. and ambrose's dick is kind of like time. ...long.
he grins at her, boyish, pupils blown up huge as if intoxicated. hitches her leg up on his hip, angling himself, and then he pushes his cock in there. the head of it nudges past her clit, in its nest of curls, hits the waiting block of his own fingers. accepts redirection, into the waiting heat of her cunt, the sweet stretch of it. burrowing deep like it's making itself a new home.]