Platwhore smiles and peels off her small cloth tunic. Her exposed breasts are creamy and about the size of dog bowls. Hungry? "She asks.'
John2020 you suckle at the teats. At first the warm elf milk surprises you but soon the salty sweetneess is like a balm to your weary soul. You think of mama John2020.
After the feeding, Platwhore sweeps aside the leaf pile covering his balls. There is John2020 in his full majesty rising triumphant like a wizard spire over the grasses of G Fay. Veins like thick rope work their way down his tower.
I am embarrassed John2020, Platwhore says. You are "my first."
(Cont'd)
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