#fellatio.

[tawneybel]

Imagine Glenn shampooing your hair while you give him his first blowjob. He apologizes for being premature, until you gently ask him switch places so you can finish.

[tawneybel]

Imagine the grass leading you back to Ross, no matter how many times you try to escape. 

There’s a lull where you think you’ve finally hid yourself from him. You kneel down. Grass skims over your cheeks. Maybe stealing sweat or searching for frustrated tears. There’s no wind. Just the sound of steady panting and slapping. And your rising pulse. The blades part to reveal Ross. Pleasuring himself. 

“You’re already on your knees. How about lending a hand?” the corrupted man asks. “Or an orifice?” 

[tawneybel]

Imagine Tricky giving you noise canceling headphones so you blow him while he DJs. 

Note: Jocular request.

[tawneybel]

Imagine stumbling across the reverse house where “Owen” awaits Beth. 

The doppelgänger decides to seduce you to kill time. It’s too easy to exhume your favorite memory of you and Owen alone. Christmas at the Parchins’. Beth went to bed early. She was so trusting. How long had you kept your attraction to her husband hidden? You wouldn’t confess then. Couldn’t. 

But Nothing’s sweet nothings drift into your ear and nest inside your mind. It’s no challenge to coax your head into his lap, then his head into your hot eager mouth. Owen’s dead, but he’s here. On you. Inside you. 

Till death do you part, you decide. He’s not Beth’s anymore. He’s a ghost. But his murmur is the only dead-seeming thing about him, you think, as he pulses and writhes into your throat. 

Note: Merry Christmas. Tumblr won’t let me post Evan Jonigkeit’s ass.