Lick me. Go ahead, I give you permission. You wanna taste of forearm? My sleeve is rolled up just for you, baby. (Well, there’s also the fact that I can’t stand the feel of a shirtsleeve on my wrist, but whatever.) Someone can get at the back of my neck. And if any of you are kinda fetishy, you can lap at my left ankle where the elastic in my crew sock has gone south….
Well, how do you like it? How’s that bouquet? …Really? Funny, I figured you’d say that.
Bitter.
sturtle [dot] com 