Dune

I was tired as fuck but still went into the bar, I think mainly because it was empty. My head is now on the counter-which is as hard as Rocco’s morning glories and also hot-and I have no energy left. My fresh beer is pouring condensation through the glass on the polished wood.

It’s only after two full minutes that I realize there’s a hand in-between my legs. And still, only because I opened my eyes. I can’t seem to feel shit. Not the best place to lose sensitivity...

I don’t think I’m dreaming, but I don’t feel that conscious either. My beer is half empty; I seem to be on my first one only.

That girl is nice. I can’t say whether her hand is hot or cold, but her cleavage goes deep, and her skirt is high up. I can see her light pink panties. She looks delicious.

She’s Japanese. Her name is Kaomi, she tells me. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except those pink panties. I’m an animal. I could be bleeding out of every orifice that I couldn’t care less. Gimme. Pink. Panties.

I go straight to the point. Not that I don’t have any time to lose, but because I can barely stand up. She says it’s fine. For 10 thousand yens, I can play with it for the night.

We leave the place and head next door, to my room.

I don’t remember the trip in the lift but now I’m on top of her, ready to aim for her mouth.

I slip my right hand between her breasts but again, I don’t have energy to waste tonight and go straight down. I rub while I’m eating her mouth like it’s a gigantic oyster.

And then a little dune appears out of nowhere in that flat little desert. The pink panties start rising.

I stare at her. She stares at me. She smiles. I smile.

We’re all seem to be loving it.