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Bruce’s cock was as stiff as a lead pipe in my mouth when he held my head, arched his hips and buried his cock to his balls in my mouth. He held it ...here for a couple of seconds before slightly releasing his grip. Bruce backed out a little and then almost brutally rammed back into my mouth. Then he settled down to a slow but steady rhythm that went on for a good ten minutes. Bruce’s moans got louder, his pumping more erratic and the head of his cock started to swell, signalling me that he was. I stood in line that October, not knowing that just a year later, the woman I waited to see would take her blanket into her car and go to sleep forever while still parked in her garage. I only knew it was Anne, Anne Sexton, and though I didn’t know much about her at the time, just her name alone exuded a sexuality we ached for. So I followed the line of English Majors, wannabe poets and others to listen to her speak and read. In a small auditorium she read a poem to Dr. Y, talked of her books. More

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