The kind of song that didn’t drown out your own thoughts, just help set a mood for them. ‘Are you frightened, by perfection?/Is this who you are, ...ot who you want to be/I walk the line like Johnny Cash/I made the bus in seconds flat/I called your line too many times/I’m not obsessed, just impolite.’ I listened until it faded into silence, I was only a quarter of the way to my car and had just crossed a street to stand in front of a building. I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings. Lisa for her part could barely speak in whole sentences most nights. After going through so many pairs of soiled underwear from all the loads of sperm, she finally just went without. Seems like Lisa was constantly walking around with an old rag she used to wipe up small puddles of cum that frequently escaped down her legs. She took lots of showers and was usually in bed and asleep before 8, at which point I would get a play by play of all the action that day from the boys.Lisa checked each. More

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