She rode me hard, like a Pony Express rider fleeing bandits. Our bodies slapped together. I grasped her hips to try and slow her pace; I wasn't ready ...or this to end. She slowed her pace a little. I began to recite the 11 General Orders of a Sentry to try and postpone the inevitable. She pulled away from my rigid shaft and got on all fours. "I want your cum in my ass," she said as she wiggled it at me. Still drenched from her fluids, I knelt behind her and spread open those lovely, round orbs.. Is this not the definition of addiction? Enter the man child, stage left. For storytelling purposes, let’s call him Guy, though I am certain he will be able to identify himself, should he ever stumble upon this. Guy is a tattoo artist. This is only significant because this is how we met. Inflicting pain on myself in the form of body art is another coping mechanism, though it has not become a full blown addiction like intercourse, but it does the trick at times. Guy is not attractive. There is. More

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