Husk

I think I might be getting a touch of eastern-beefymuff-fever. It didn't occur to me before but I do seem to think of Marty's Slavic power-slapper a lot. I thought it was more in a fearful way. But Marty was telling me again, just this morning, about how she heftypumps his dirty tackle and now does it while slam-reading him 'poshlost' poetry at the same time. I must admit, images were conjured up in my fevered mind, unwholesomely enticing images... maybe I do yearn for those iron fists, the pinioned cringing slapjudders, the involuntary flinching snivelspurts - like a tube of toothpaste ferociously stamped on by a mink-lined Cossack boot... maybe... no! No, it's definitely fear.