An attempt at parody

Clapton, Eric - 7 - Lay Down Sally - D - 1977

Clapton, Eric – 7 – Lay Down Sally – D – 1977 (Photo credit: Affendaddy)

I obviously wrote this with tongue firmly in cheek, however some PG may be advisable. Would hate to upset anybody.

 

Stuffed

Perhaps it had been the thought of taking yet another stranger, to yet another rented room, which had nauseated her; perhaps it was merely the hunger gnawing deep in her belly. Either way she’d known she had to, if she wanted to satisfy her endless need. She reached over and adjusted the volume on the radio. Clapton -Lay Down Sally- couldn’t drown out her snarling stomach. The bathroom door opened and he came out; she’d known he would be wearing nylon Y-Fronts.
‘Loud isn’t it?’ he said, as he sat on the side of the bed and lit a cigarette. She flicked the dial and selected another station without reducing the volume. Some one she didn’t know sang something about ‘cos I’m a woman…w o m a n.’ Grinning she sat back and watched him stretch on the bed.
‘Come on, babe… I’m lonely.’
She shifted her body, preparing to rise. The vinyl clad sofa exhaled as she stood, and the trembling floor boards told of her path as her feet slapped at the cracked linoleum. His eyes closed, he felt her approach. His excitement mounted at the thought of her engulfing him: she was gratified to see the baby-blue nylon stretching damply over his erection.
‘Man enough for you, baby.’ She noted it wasn’t a question.
He moved to the far side of the bed and she lay down beside him. Without preamble, he turned and started clambering up her. She didn’t deter him, but didn’t assist him either, until she reached out idly and pulled him on to her. His moustache scratched between her breasts and his toe nails, yellowed and horny as carrion crows’ beaks, tore viciously at the flesh on her shins as he scrabbled for purchase.
‘This isn’t going to work,’ she murmured. ‘Honey, I can’t lie on top of you, not if you’re fond of breathing. What do you reckon?’
His floundering stopped. She listened as his lungs snatched futilely at the fetid air.
‘Get on your front, bitch!’
She laughed knowingly and arranged herself on her stomach. He repeated the process of trying to mount her. Patiently she waited for him to realise the futility of his endeavours. She felt him flagging and knew now was the time to stop toying with him. She raised her head and shoulders, carelessly tossing him back on to the bed beside her. Turning towards him she whispered.
‘I’ve got an idea.’
‘God, anything, anything, please!’ he begged.
She slid over him, her flesh momentarily cutting off his pleading. Standing next to the bed she whispered huskily.
‘Ok, big boy, do as I say and you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.’
As he recovered his breath she sat him on the bed side.
‘Now, close your eyes hon’ …and promise no peeping!’
Shaking with need he complied. Licking her lips, she looked down at him pityingly before she threw back her gargantuan head and opened her mouth wide. With a practised crack her jaw dislocated, and she swallowed him whole.

©theeditoffice2013

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