Acceptable Content ?
Sitting in the tepid gloom of the Sticky Floors Adult cinema. Other skells around me snored, nodded, and masturbated to the image of Seka on the screen, completely nude except for her Hermes scarf. The theater smelled like a discarded cum rag with chunky skid marks. There was a harsh female cackle as Seka took a black cock the size of a semi-tractor driveshaft up her ass without a whimper. What the fuck was a woman doing in here ?
The flash of a lighter flared in the darkness, followed by the smell of a cigarette. I sure didn't give a damn, but, some usher with a flashlight was on them immediately. "You can't smoke in here, m'am, " he said. " Why the hell not ? " the female voice wondered. "Fire hazard", he replied. She got up, edged through the seats, and blew smoke in the usher's face as she walked out. I got up and followed her.
Outside, neon bathed the littered sidewalk. Dead soldier crack and ice vials crunched underfoot. The lady was old, like me, and had dyed black hair, a grey suede short jacket and matching miniskirt. She strutted in uncomfortable looking stiletto heels. A little slope bitch was out front of Chinee Takee-Outtee giving out sample pieces of sesame chicken. She paused to take one, and I checked out her face and tits. Her face was the sort of ruined good looks I liked : a pitted complexion makeup didn't help, full, but cracked lips, painted blood red, cold blue eyes, crowned by a black unibrow. Her tits I guaged 38 dd's. She moved on. I reached for a chicken sample and the slope bitch jerked it away.
Two blocks away, she made a left into the Greasy Palms motel, and walked up the stairs to a second floor room. I followed at a safe distance Once in her room a light flicked on. I peeped through a crack in the dingy curtains and watched as she stripped down to her bra and panties. Then she went into the bathroom. I turned to look at the street.
The air was a thick miasma of car exhaust, garbage, and sesame oil. A Jesus Crispy was out on the sidewalk handing out religious tracts. A stumblebum was walking past him and he thrust one in his face. He took it, looked confused, then raised it to his mouth, puking on it. Mr. Crispy danced away, mewling in disgust. I had to stifle a laugh. I returned to the window.
Presently, she came out of the bathroom, still drying off. Her tits were large and proud, and a grand testament to Dow Chemical. Her nipples were big as sand dollars, and deep pink. Her belly was flabby and wrinkled, her pussy shorn of hair, looking like the neck of a hot water douche bag. She had narrow hips and a small ass that had fallen around the turn of the century. No matter to me. I pulled it out and loped my pony until he hurled watery, low sperm cell count, joy juice, getting as much as I could on the window.
I stood in an alley and fished in my coat pocket for my half pint of Cutty Sark. I fired-up a joint of dirt weed, which goes well with scotch. I found my ticket stub for the Sticky Floors cinema, and smoked as I thought about setting that slope bitch's hair on fire.