Lila 2: A Trilogy Nears Its End!

"These surroundings don't turn you off even a little bit?" I asked her hopelessly as I stood up and positioned The Big Lead One inches away from her drenched homewrecker.

"The city dump, a four-post bed, what's the real difference?" she panted, settling her heels on my shoulders and propping herself up a bit with her elbows to get a better view of my slow entry into her. "There's no need to be such a gentleman," she advised me when every inch of my foghorn had disappeared entirely. "We're surrounded by rusty needles, old pizza boxes, and used batteries."

"Good point, toots," I agreed, gripping her pluto with both hands and starting to thrust into her with great vigor. "A city dump shnazz should by definition be a real backclawer."

Damn you, Tuesday, for the way you made Lila and I bang each other senseless in the open air! If it hadn't been for your miasmic boredom, I wouldn't have had to lift her entirely off the car and start hoisting sail totally out of control, and I'm sure Lila herself would like to have a few words with you about the way she was driven to push me backward onto the ground and ride me like a discount mechanical bull. She took hold of my hands then and made sure they stayed in constant caress of her lickables until she went spungo, laughing and sighing. As part of my reward for being such a good sport that day, Lila finished me off by stroking me rapidly and offering her heaving vowels for target practice, and I showered her chest and stomach with enough elephant jam to fill the fuel tank of a military transport jet. Like honey glaze on Aunt Sarah's Thanksgiving ham, it glistened upon her body artfully, inviting the world to sample the holiday cheer. (Mental note: check to see if this sentence was ever used in Native Son.)

I slunk back to my apartment that night a defeated man. How could I look myself in the mirror knowing I was such a faceless pawn on sexuality's damnable chessboard? When Lila arrived that night at ten o'clock as we had agreed in order to continue our gadoogling session in my newly tiled bathtub, how would I apologize to her for being so cowardly in the face of the hormonal enemy? Did I even truly exist if all I could think of was licking soap bubbles out of Lila's chunnel? I had never felt so ashamed to be male in all my life, and I vowed to put my priorities even deeper under the microscope sometime before or during that evening's promised bondage games.