My mouth was suddenly dry as thoughts of sucking on them played havoc with me, undoing the damage control I’d just submitted myself too, instantly bringing my cock to full red alert again. A sultry moan leaked from her pursed lips, floating towards me like a blown kiss. I replied with a low moan, taking a single step towards her before forcing myself to stop, Only my superhuman strength of will kept me from ravishing her on the spot as I watched her reach down between her thighs and part her cream coated outer lips, opening herself like an blossom in spring time. I watched, fascinated, as her pearly white nectar trickled down the inside of her quivering thigh, her fingers quivering as she ran them along her slit with a lust filled sigh before lifting her hand out to me. I stared, each breath quicker than the one preceding it. Her index and ring finger were covered in cream up to up to her second knuckle, a dew drop hanging from the tip of each finger, trembling, ready to fall like. Skipping up concrete steps, I paused long enough to adjust the pack on my shoulder and pop another square of double bubble in my mouth, before emerging into the crisp November day, the taste of Twiman’s cum finally gone. Not that it was unfamiliar territory, having made this trip more times than I could count over the past three years, catching BART (that’s Bay Area Rapid Transit for you non-natives, our own version of the subway system) at the Coliseum station and travelling under the chill waters of the bay, leaving Oaktown behind for the much more exotic San Francisco or, as we called it, The City. Sounds good, doesn’t it. Only, my destination was the inner Mission, where I planned on hooking up with Jesus. Yes, that Jesus. I’d suddenly found religion, much to my dad’s delight. Yeah, right. This Jesus was clean shaven and had dark hair that covered his eyes most of the time and he made a living selling dope and pills out of our apartment off of 24th where the odor of carne asada.
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