to the top, you forget to enjoy the journey. It's the trip, not the destination.”
“That's easy for a dirty hippie like you to say.” I sat up and grabbed my shorts.
“Hey! I'm not dirty.”
“You're a hippie.”
“Yeah.”
“And sexy?”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds like a dirty minded hippie to me.” I tried to make a joke, hoping to distract her.
“That's not what you said.”
“I know. You said I had a small dick earlier.”
“Well, you do! That was the truth. I'm not a dirty woman.”
I wanted to enjoy a nice dinner and the scenery, but she didn't stop all night, demanding to know in what particular way I thought she was dirty. When I didn't have an answer, she began belittling me. She cursed me at the end of the night and stormed out. I knew she would probably be back, but I still put her on my security black list. I didn't have time to try to understand American women. I had to see the world to get to the next level. The secret was out there waiting. I just had to find it. Or her.
99 Billion Problems
I got 99 billion problems, but love is not one of them. Or maybe it's the biggest problem. I have no children. All I have are my dollars. And I have a lot. I send them out into the world to come back to me with even more whether in this currency or another. The money piles on the money and makes mountains so I purchase rarities and get the volume down at least.
The people come after the money, my little dollars and big statues. They glance and envy and they're not my enemies – the 99 percent – they are the ones who can truly be happy in this world. They look to my life with jealousy and I long for theirs. The grass is always greener, the gold is always shinier, the precious gems are always more delicious.
Her nipples feel odd between my lips. Maybe it's the drugs or maybe it's her. I've only known her for a few hours, but a flash of this or that and she was wet between her legs allowing me easy entrance. Thrust and retreat again then again. A sin? I got 99 billion of them. They all cry to me when I try to sleep at night.
She pushes me over and starts attacking me with her mouth. So much raw passion and pure adventure. I think I'm in Africa, but I'm not sure anymore. The planet seems smaller now as I hop from place to place across the globe like some huge race with no finish line. I will never completely stop running, I imagine.
Even hidden away on one of my many islands or in one of my many modern caves built to withstand nuclear armageddon. And yet I feel no safer. For what use is living in a world no longer around? Who will keep my warm at night? Who will suck my cock? Who will listen to me rant? Nobody in the world anymore. Pussy is her only hustle, but the way her lips were formed down there demand as much.
She touches me balls, touches my chest, touches me ears, touches me hardness. A little work and it will spit fury and relax. She uses both hands, kneeling between my legs, her eyes open wide, waiting for the treat, the explosion, the empty genetic treasures within me.
“I want to be inside you now,” I said.
“You're inside my mind right now,” she replied.
Did she have an accent or were the strange sounding words coming from my mouth? As her long black hair flowed down, covering one breast and exposing the other, I didn't care. She let go of me and climbed over it, hovering over it. I reached forward to touch her clit. She didn't flinch, didn't move down onto me. And then, bliss.
I enter her as she falls with her hair on my chest then looks up and gives me a kiss on the lips, a real one, an open one. And the sun outside is setting as she grinds slowly, not up and down but still stimulating me, making me creep closer to the edge. I grab her breasts – one in each hand – and push her back so I can look in her eyes.
The windows to her soul have the curtains pulled back as she places her hands on my bare chest for better balance and begins to show she knows how to move her
“That's easy for a dirty hippie like you to say.” I sat up and grabbed my shorts.
“Hey! I'm not dirty.”
“You're a hippie.”
“Yeah.”
“And sexy?”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds like a dirty minded hippie to me.” I tried to make a joke, hoping to distract her.
“That's not what you said.”
“I know. You said I had a small dick earlier.”
“Well, you do! That was the truth. I'm not a dirty woman.”
I wanted to enjoy a nice dinner and the scenery, but she didn't stop all night, demanding to know in what particular way I thought she was dirty. When I didn't have an answer, she began belittling me. She cursed me at the end of the night and stormed out. I knew she would probably be back, but I still put her on my security black list. I didn't have time to try to understand American women. I had to see the world to get to the next level. The secret was out there waiting. I just had to find it. Or her.
99 Billion Problems
I got 99 billion problems, but love is not one of them. Or maybe it's the biggest problem. I have no children. All I have are my dollars. And I have a lot. I send them out into the world to come back to me with even more whether in this currency or another. The money piles on the money and makes mountains so I purchase rarities and get the volume down at least.
The people come after the money, my little dollars and big statues. They glance and envy and they're not my enemies – the 99 percent – they are the ones who can truly be happy in this world. They look to my life with jealousy and I long for theirs. The grass is always greener, the gold is always shinier, the precious gems are always more delicious.
Her nipples feel odd between my lips. Maybe it's the drugs or maybe it's her. I've only known her for a few hours, but a flash of this or that and she was wet between her legs allowing me easy entrance. Thrust and retreat again then again. A sin? I got 99 billion of them. They all cry to me when I try to sleep at night.
She pushes me over and starts attacking me with her mouth. So much raw passion and pure adventure. I think I'm in Africa, but I'm not sure anymore. The planet seems smaller now as I hop from place to place across the globe like some huge race with no finish line. I will never completely stop running, I imagine.
Even hidden away on one of my many islands or in one of my many modern caves built to withstand nuclear armageddon. And yet I feel no safer. For what use is living in a world no longer around? Who will keep my warm at night? Who will suck my cock? Who will listen to me rant? Nobody in the world anymore. Pussy is her only hustle, but the way her lips were formed down there demand as much.
She touches me balls, touches my chest, touches me ears, touches me hardness. A little work and it will spit fury and relax. She uses both hands, kneeling between my legs, her eyes open wide, waiting for the treat, the explosion, the empty genetic treasures within me.
“I want to be inside you now,” I said.
“You're inside my mind right now,” she replied.
Did she have an accent or were the strange sounding words coming from my mouth? As her long black hair flowed down, covering one breast and exposing the other, I didn't care. She let go of me and climbed over it, hovering over it. I reached forward to touch her clit. She didn't flinch, didn't move down onto me. And then, bliss.
I enter her as she falls with her hair on my chest then looks up and gives me a kiss on the lips, a real one, an open one. And the sun outside is setting as she grinds slowly, not up and down but still stimulating me, making me creep closer to the edge. I grab her breasts – one in each hand – and push her back so I can look in her eyes.
The windows to her soul have the curtains pulled back as she places her hands on my bare chest for better balance and begins to show she knows how to move her
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