Sunday, 05 December 2004 By TrevShe had great bolshoi yarblokos; ripe melons they were.
her eyes were full of intent. next we was floating down the nile and me dick was a submarine periscope:
My testicles were floats in a hessian sack; my roughness rubbed her softness.
on the horizon was temples and idols of yore.
finally i squeezed the melons, and then i looked down into my third eye.