Re: This is an intersting thread.
Little rivers of anticipation ran down my inseam,
As I kicked those 500 Italian horses into life and left reality behind me.
50, 60, 70 miles an hour,
My hand slipped inside the belt of my trousers,
As we hit 80, 90 miles an hour,
And as we passed the magic100 my love exploded,
All over her bright pink leather interior,
And at that moment, I thought of my mother.
- or -
Down in the pleasure centers,
Hell bent or heaven sent,
Listen to the propaganda,
Listen to the latest slander.
There's nothing underhand,
That she wouldn't understand.
Pump it up until you can feel it.
Pump it up when you don't really need it.