“Slots-a-Fun”

Hobart Magazine

You pop your cherry on top of a cliff at sunset, with a rainbow shooting from the roof and a cream soda tingling in its can on the dash. He is named Nick and he’s totally unreal. You neck for an hour, then he lifts your halter and sucks — you orgasm liquid silver all over his face and the pleather backseat. Afterwards, the radio sizzles and Nick weeps against the skin of your thigh. On the beach below, a pony rides. The mist over the water, a cellophane haze... (read more)