Wednesday, November 10, 2010

twelve-minute cycling


We are incredible: sometimes I can’t even believe that you exist, and that I exist for you. When I peeped out of the barn, I heard fumbling from your house, but I still didn’t dare show myself during the day, so I only set out at dusk, through the forest, to watch through your windows from among the trees. It was dark of course, but as if my husband shuffled next to the fence. I knew that it couldn’t have been her because she had been long dead, I had often taken flowers to her grave. But I was convinced that it was her that I had seen. It occurred to me that we are incredible, and seriously, sometimes I’m at my wit’s end because of you. When I finally sneaked in through the back door and the door closed behind me, all of a sudden it became dark, and I just felt my way around overcome by fear. Then, in a moment, it was as if you had stopped behind me, and it even felt like I had touched you. I knew that thousands and thousands of miles separated me from you, but I shivered when I felt your dick in my hand. I turned around, pushed my head against the wardrobe that stood beside the wall, and let you penetrate me. As you were stabbing me from behind, the chest of drawers rhythmically moved with me, it sounded as if bones were rattling inside. I shivered with cold, but not because of the unusual sounds, but because of the way you filled me. You came quickly, and I came quickly too. Then you disappeared as quickly as you had come. I kept calling you, but there was no-one to respond.

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