I grabbed his head with both of my hands and slammed it back down on my cock as deep as it could go and held it there for a few seconds until I saw hi... turning red and released him, his mouth attached to my cock by a thick layer of saliva. My cock was soaking wet and I grabbed the underside of both his legs and pulled him towards my cock so that I could see his asshole. It was beautiful, tight and pink. I moved in closer as if I was going to fuck him, but instead grabbed his cock, and pulled it. I don’t need to describe or discuss what I see. A fact that is, I suspect, readily discernible to you, dear reader, having waded through the preceding descriptive prose. The thing I love most about the roots is the way my thoughts can run. The oddest thoughts and fragments of memory strike me here. It’s as though the ease of my situation and the unique nature of the river’s art combine to soften my consciousness and change my thinking. It’s not an intellectual thing. I doubt very much whether. More

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