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The more I screamed, it turned them into a frenzy. I: Someone in the crowd shouted that she was an Israeli. A Jew. Neither is true but to the mob, it was a match to gasoline and the savage assault turned into a murderous furry. Laura: I have one arm on Ray. I've lost the fixer. I've lost the drivers, I've lost everybody except him and I feel them tearing at my clothing and my shirt. My sweater was torn off completely, my shirt was around my neck. Hum, I felt the moment that my bra tore. They tore the metal, ah, clips of my bra. They tore those open and I felt that because the air, I felt the air on my chest, on my skin and, ah, I felt them tear out, they literally just tore my pants to shreds and then I felt, hum, my underwear go. And I remember looking up, when, when my clothes gave way, I remember looking up and seeing them taking pictures with their cell phones, the flashes of their cell phone cameras. I: Ray reported that he found himself with the sleeve of. Leaning back on the desk, my underwear now at my ankles I watched as her words opened, sucked me in and moved up and down my shaft, her rhyme tickling the head of my cock in small, fluttering rhythms. She stood up as her bra slipped away and I lost myself in the flowing lines of her breasts, the pauses at her nipples as I gently sucked them into my mouth, my tongue learning the texture, yearning for more. Slipping her panties down over her hips, I scanned down stanza by stanza, over her stomach, her bellybutton and through the dark, curly hair. My tongue then slipped between her pages and I tasted her, the warm, damp folds of verse, the tart taste of metaphor and the earthy wet of allusion. Her hips rhymed as she grabbed my head and pulled me into her book, exposing her most delicate self to me. After she came, she pulled my head up, kissed me on my lips, tasting herself on my lips, and then she whispered, ‘The joy that isn’t shared dies young.’ Moving to the carpeted floor, she.
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