X’s hand fumbled on her belt before she had fully descended, and unbuttoned her jeans right after. The wooden plank pressed into her butt at a weird...angle and she shifted her weight around, her hand diving into the small space between her body and clothes. There was no time to pull them down, and no time to start slow either.Her fingers were inside of her before she really knew it, the coarse skin on them providing just the amount of friction she needed. Her right angled flashlight on the. Critic would write, in his oh-so-proper way, "and you seem to have no grasp of conventional grammar, without the saving grace of true experiment. The plot is miniscule, the characters the thinnest cardboard, and the ending completely implausible. You can do better."Tammy felt just awful whenever he saw what Mr. Critic had written about his stories. Didn't Mr. Critic realize that having fun was more important than any silly old rules? Fortunately, Tammy's friends agreed, and sent him notes like. More

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