"Big bottled Fraulein, put your weight on me," said the pig-me to
thewhore, desperate for more in his assault upon the
mountain.Little man, his youth a fountain. Overdrafted and still
counting.Vernacular, verbose; an attempt at getting close to
where he came from.In the doorway of the stars, between
Blandford Street and Mars;Proposition, deal. Flying button feel.
Testicle testing.Wallet ever-bulging. Dressed to the left,
divulging the wrinkles of hisyears.Wedding-bell induced
fears.Shedding bell-end tears in the pocket of her
resistance.International assistance flowing generous and full to
his never-ready tool.Pulls his eyes over her wool. And he
shudders as he comes -And my rudder slowly turns me into the
Marylebone Road.
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