Sniff a glow here. Whiff a shine there. At least three fingers on each of her hands now reminded her of seashells, the deep salty ocean and the thrill of getting all dressed up, going to a nice restaurant, ordering a bottle of red wine, and then eating a beautifully prepared and presented dinner without using any silver ware. After their individually historic, monumental little hit-and-run, she lay basking in the lustily tossed and desperately twisted linens and wondered—though not as vividly or accurately as some of her more recently attended body parts—Didn’t it seem like his right hand was just a little bit cooler than his left? Or was it just me?
oscar’s twentieth chapter: basking.
Posted on by hey, that tickles
Published by hey, that tickles
blowing bubbles of giggling somethingness and why-not-itude, a creative laxative, a provocateur of visual burps and farts (ie: until the end of 2019 as design department head at the creative circus, and frequent side-hustley designer of brandy designy stuff) – but also my every-other-time-o'-day approach. hopefully this stuff is easily sharable, lots funner than having to read a lot, and not a big investment of time. i hope you enjoy. View all posts by hey, that tickles
hey, that tickles 