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After a marathon 40-hour crash, finally she emerged like Sleeping Beauty from her coma, stretching her long elegant frame with a sleepy, cheerful groan. “Aiiiiiiiahhh…”
She was hungry like an animal of course, so I went downstairs to the little boteco and brought up all the breakfast stuff she likes.
Fried eggs and ham on fresh baked French bread, a hunk of soft white Minas cheese melted on another loaf of bread, fresh squeezed orange and passionfruit juices, sweet light coffee and chocolate milk, and half a dozen pink bubble gums. Bubaloo, of course.
The rain had finally stopped and the cloudy sky looked crisp and clear when I opened the shudders. The world outside smelled unusually fresh and green after our long, rainy, timeless hibernation.
She sat up on the sofa looking puffy and disheveled. She greedily devoured the food I set down before her right out of the brown paper bags.
By the time I brought some plates in from the kitchen, she was already done gorging, laying back on the sofa burping loudly, moaning, whining for me to cover her with the blanket. She was cold, shivering in the warm humid air.
I was breaking a sweat from all the running around.
I put the blanket over her emaciated frame. I started back toward the little kitchen with the empty plates and ravaged paper bags when her hand darted out from under the quilt like a silent albino cobra, grabbing at my shorts.
“Don’ go, Cigano, don’ leave me ‘lone now.”
“I’m just taking this stuff to the kitchen, princess. I’ll be right back…”
“No! E’stay with me now, Cigano. Don’ go!” She cried, as if I was about to board a one-way flight to The Peoples Republic of China.
I laughed and set the stuff back on the table. Then I sat on the sofa beside her, working myself down behind her under the cover.
“No no, Cigano, is not the enough e’space for you here,” she whined.
“But baby, you said to stay here with you. What am I supposed to do, just stand here? What?”
“Shut the fuck up, Cigano. I wanna smoke the crack now. Fuck fuck, e’smoke e’smoke, go go go! Let’s go up in you bed.”
I knew it was time for sex so she could go get her drugs. I also knew it was gonna be a bum fuck. But we tried as best we could.
I got it in there and worked it for awhile until she passed out. I worked it some more as she began to snore lightly, intently watching her comatose pink mouth as my dick got harder and harder deep inside her, fucking her long and slow, the way I like to do when she’s sleeping, lost in the endless, timeless obsession, the warm, sweaty holy limbo realm of fuck fuck fuck.
I coulda stayed like that all day, drinking her sleeping breath as I held her taut skinny carcass, running my hand through her dirty hair, smelling her intoxicating odor, feeling her warm white flesh all around me, swimming in her eternal crazed sacred essence…
Then she woke up. Narcisa never wakes up in a good mood when she’s coming off a crash, especially when she wakes up with a dick tucked up inside her. And me sweating on top.
She freaked out.
“No no no no no… Get off me, get out get out get out!” She screamed, raising her hips off the bed, expertly popping me right out of her tight little snatch like a Pop Tart from a toaster and that was fucking that.

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.

NOTIFIÇAO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção - registrados na Biblioteca Nacional como ficção com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor, Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são interamente ficticios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência.As vários fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.