But he wasn’t knocking, he was pounding. My dad told him that I practice yoga every morning and he could use my flexible body in every acrobatic pose he wanted. He dove into my hot donuts, which looked like the lips of someone who had turned into a freak after a faulty silicone filling operation, with great glee. And still, like the horns of a willful goat, he kept pounding away at the same target. He’d arrived at the end of his fight and no amount of grumbling or denial was going to change the outcome. You’ll never see him again…”
“Oh!.. His ruthless manly finally did what all men do and vomited on me. I understood him, he wanted be rough, liked it play that way. Maybe he should to pinch it between his teeth and pull it out, even rip it off. I used the four fingers of one hand hurriedly, like a thief bursting into a bird’s nest, breaking all the eggs and feeding myself before the mother bird arrived.
