Drawing Sandy by Phil Cummings


He looked at the prostrate Sandy and then turned to me, “You can fuck her if you want.”
I considered it. He pulled up his pants, stood up and walked toward the bathroom. She was lying there like a stunned mullet with her legs spread, a little white juice oozing from her bushy-haired pink pussy. All I had to do was pull my dick out and climb on board. No. Too gross. I just wasn’t in the mood. The whole thing freaked me out. It was like that little chick in San Francisco.