His fir covered balls hung perfectly, his sack relaxed from the heat of his jock, allowing them to dangle like a perfect pair of ripe fruit just waiti...g to be picked. My guest stood there without moving; an astonished look of both curiosity and fear covering his face. Not knowing what else to do, he nervously began drinking his water. I dropped to my knees and grabbed his waist with both my hands to steady myself. I lowered my face into his soft thick mound of hair and smelled his crotch. The. Charlie’s head snapped back over to meet his gaze. If he had known any better, there would be smoke coming out of her ears next. ‘Charlie, I love you. Not some girl from the bar. Not some girl who spends more time dying her hair than having an actual conversation. I want you. I want the vodka-drinking painter who has insomnia. I want the girl whose OCD only allows her to keep liquids on the top shelf of the refrigerator. I want the girl who wears Mr. Bubble t-shirts and watches bad 80s movies. More

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