14 June 2017

girl trouble. patti

«I need a chick, not a fresh easter chick. Egg pop, not a new peach but a girl with intricate balance. A girl who is grown up but not cold enough to be called a woman. Anouk Aimée of the black dress and bruised eyes, not a bomb shell. I need a bitch not a bull dyke, not a hard edged fluff with a lilac stuffed in her trouser and not a woman, I could never handle one. But a chick, a kitten pick-up like Brigitte Bardot. A hot sweet and strong goodie. Goodie goodie gunbox. A heavenly body, Anita Pallenberg in a South American bar. The back of her dress cut so low as to reveal the crease of her buttocks. bottoms up. I sashay in. Me, I'm dog Jones. A few quick shots and I get my nerve up. I'm ready to fish my fingers in. Part that butt and press against her opening, like a door bell buzzer until she lets me in, until she slides off the barstool, until she slips off that silk excuse for a dress, until she rolls over twisting her head to the left. Blonde hair spilling on the yellow tiled floor. Someone slips a quarter in the jukebox. Frank sinatra sings witchcraft. Matthew sings underwater, underwater under blue skies. Under your dress, Anita Pallenberg, long gold physique. Pump pump pump. »

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