Lucky victims of the Cocksmen, unite. The droop of the top lash in the outer corner of their eyes. They peer at you through that brushy cage. It kills you a little, doesn't it, baby?
Through a sigh that only noises in your head you think, he wants it, he wants it bad.
Where'd that come from?
From the bullet gaze of the Cocksman. He shot you, woman. You're all holey now.
There aren't that many. They're a true miracle and an even better curse. Magic on earth, they are. It doesn't matter what they're talking about, going on and on and on.
You'll watch their mouth and part your lips a bit to let the rushing breath come out less heaving from your chest. You're not really listening to their speak. You're listening to the puss and tits scream, he wants it, he wants it bad.
His young man has remained inside the grown up. It swells his cock every 15 seconds or so, all day, every day. How'd you know that?
Where's he putting it, you want to know but not really. They spread creamy, different breeds and different stages.
They can't help that they're born the way they are. They either command it or let it lead.
Sometimes it leads them to the Lost Chambers.
Sometimes Josephine witnesses their visit and the Cocksman responds to his proper partner like a smacked pro.
Josephine's bouncy brushes by him. What happens to his eyes when she does that sort of thing? They drop a bit, don't they. He breathes any scent she's giving off and he holds it in like ether and deems it good.
He's cool, baby, cool.
She breaks his low-lidded trance with an introduction to the kind of Pennybride she knows he'll take to. His heart breaks a little.
He recognizes Josephine's already been visited by a brother. She corrects him with a nod up of her head. Not a brother, honey.
I'm quite taken by your Daddy.