The Orgy,
What a complex sexual excursion of symbiotic passion. An enigma of etiquette that perplexes the already fragile do's and don't's manner of intercourse with a stranger...
Orgies are best talked about yet never partaken in. The avenues of nervous disaster that await the individual who dreams of communal sexual excretment are ones lined with twenty minutes of lame jokes, five minutes of clothes searching and thirty to forty minutes of struggled conversation over tea in the kitchen as you all try to come to grips with what was struck and stuck, where, and by whom, until one person plucks up the courage to end the nauseating feeling of guilt and self loathing by making moves towards home. Upon returning the individual may cry themselves to sleep in a bath of cold water, using the torn shower curtain as a blanket that may, somehow, withold some elements of their lost innocence. Dragging a pointed knuckle from socket to socket, scraping tears from eyes that have been aggravated by the smoke that pores from the wastebin of flaming, juice-stained garments sleep creeps slowly. Yet their dreams are haunted by giant cocks, vaj's and arses that chase them down sand dunes till their body turns into wax and they melt into the sand from a combination of sun and private part friction...
Thoughts?
