from where he was, he can’t tell that it was high noon. his blinds covered his windows entirely, leaving just traces of light creeping on the lines under the door. he wakes up with a throbbing sore throat, the worst he ever had.

instinct tells him to grab his celfone. he scans through some unread messages. nothing extraordinary except for some text ads on saving the whales. ah ok it’s whales this time.. i wonder if the seals in vietnam got saved. damn it. my throat hurts. what had i eaten last night? slowly, grim details of his escapade the night before came flashing before his eyes.

string bikini, tiny bra, straps all over her body.  trimmed, probably 34C, straight long hair.  small mouth, full lips, tiny pointed nose.. whew! his fingers followed the contours of her twenty year old body, took it inch by inch, slow as a sunset on a summer day.

he stands up, walks lazily to the fridge and gulped down a pint of milk. he licks the remaining drops of it on her lips. she tasted sweet, fresh from the wash of pure cow’s milk. he walks back to his bed, the box of milk in one hand, an apple on the other.

my throat hurts. he gulped down some more milk. he squeezed it gently with both hands, and played with it using his tongue. he sucked occassionally. he can’t seem to get enough of her. he goes down. his throat still hurts.

he removes the remaining piece of clothing on her. he gasped at the wonderful sight. such beauty. such radiance from the one he desired the most. he was not disappointed at all. he claims her as his own.

he turns on the tv. yeast infection. damn. his throat still hurts.

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