STORY Last night I took some pictures in the ass. Ever had. Like most people, I suppose, I only knew him by touch: a maybe not so lucky ass, fat yes, but normal. The skin was very smooth, true, and sometimes felt some painful spots, scabs that started nailing small nails, but they seemed irrelevant imperfections, nothing special. Still, my ass is your thing, I say, for starters, its generous size and young flesh, pink, typical of my twenties. But, as I say, last night I took some pictures. Ah, ass miserable, disgusting. The images reveal, far from youthful naivety I imagined, areas of darkened skin, I believe, by rubbing the huge buttocks nagging me walking by, and areas as red, almost bloody, now that I think about it not surprise me that they were infections. I really do not know how to get seated.
remember when he was looking at the back of my twelve years. Pressed slowly, gently, each buttock. Now, however, I do not think that they can call the two moles buttocks reports that flank the dark cave, for practical reasons, I will continue my ass.
Wait. What are these little balls that look where the poop comes out? "Remains of shit? I think not. If I had to guess, without being no expert in asses devastated, of course, would say that this is a typical case of hemorrhoids. My
buttocks were their worship. Kissing amused for hours. His hands never tired of done and undone in touch. He said that he could not see them. Or see or touch her or kiss. Nor is tired of me promise not to hurt when introduced gradually, first one finger, then two. I said there was nothing more beautiful than me, that I was worth all the love in the world and that is why he was willing to let me, and I was going to like it, you'll see, my child, you will enjoy it much. But what he admired then, my angel's bottom, as the name, there is nothing left.
must be by hemorrhoid hurts so much to do. As much as the day she decided to finish what he had often left started, and I, man, do you really not going to hurt?, And he trusts me, my child, that he only promised not to tell anyone.
I can not see pictures of my ass: they are a mess. No wonder when, after a walk a bit, I'll dry towel soaked end of something foul: diluted blood sweat and shit, I guess. It is clear that I'll never be the same as before, that my uncle never tired of kissing, that my uncle never tired of repeating that it was perfect, that to which my uncle promised, just like today, with all the imperfections I have, that would never leave.