1970-something: If she had a few more teeth, she'd be almost pretty. I forget if it's crack or speed that does it... If I close my eyes... those gums... stroking up and down on my five inches of throbbing flesh... they aren't so bad. When I look at her... that view from the top of her head with the greasy black hair... just-this-side-of-intentional dreadlocks... her nose... light blue veins under translucent skin.. moves back and forth to the beat of her lips
“Well then,” comes the reply, “you're saying that sex is just a matter of friction, and it's ridiculous to romanticize it with soft music or poppunk love songs pretending LOVE when all anything is... is sex.”
“I might think that,” I say. “But it's not why I wrote this.”
Sometimes a blowjob from a crack whore is just a blowjob from a crack whore. It doesn't have to MEAN anything. A nut with a gun... a club with some homosexuals... BANG! BANG! BANG! Dead people. That's what it is.