Lovely missiles.
"What the hell are you doing!" bellowed Captain H.. He caught me red handed. I was playing with myself. I couldn't help myself. I had a full belly. I couldn't take my eyes off the tops of those missiles leaning against the brick wall. The tops of the missiles are painted red. It is a lovely red. The tops of the missiles look like the nipples that fat women posses. I couldn't help myself. Those nipples looked lovely. I thought about licking them. I wanted to lick them. I did lick them. My tongue burnt. The nipples tasted of copper. I was so hard. I ran a finger around one nipple. It was lovely. It was then that my penis shot up and I couldn't help myself. I didn't stop, I couldn't stop, I did not want to stop. Here I was, standing before so many nipples, my first attempt to pleasure myself. It was amazing. I truly great experience. My whole body was on fire. For the first time, in a long long time, I was completely warm. I didn't stop. There was no compunction. To hell with him! I went at it full throttle. Those lovely nipples were glowing. I ventured through many bedrooms, the bedrooms of school girls, the bedrooms of mothers, the bedrooms of whores. Women, fat women, thin women were parading before me, coquettish, dirty, filthy, and all were flashing me their lovely erect nipples. Captain H. knew, he knew, he fled, he didn't hang around. "you dirty little bas," that's all he said. He vamoosed. If my mouth would have been bigger I would have stuck one of those nipples into my mouth and sucked. This thought sent me over the precipice.
paul kavanagh lives in charlotte.