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Her juices sprayed out into the pint glass and coated the man's arm as he continued to work his arm into her.Kristi closed her eyes tightly as her body shook again and again. She squirted into the glass more than 5 times and filled the bottom of it noticeably.Finally it was over, her climax subsided slowly with the odd pulse of pleasure that caused her lovely body to twitch against the intruding arm stretching her pussy. The crowd cheered again and the volunteer handed the glass to the announcer.The announcer poured Kristi's steaming hot cum into a shot glass and held it up. The glass was nearly overflowing. "Bids start at 50 bucks!" he said. The crowd started to scream out numbers. "I hear 75 bucks, 100 bucks. Come on she's got to taste better than that!" he said.The crowd went crazy, screaming so many numbers the announcer had difficulty keeping up. The bids reached three hundred and would have gone higher but the announcer had a price in his mind and gave the shot glass to the. I still spin around, searching, looking, hunting. It’s just not for time, any more. I’m no longer concerned with fading memories of birthdays or eroded milestones. I’ve moved up to a bigger game. Where are those friends, who spun around with me? Where did the laughter echo away to? Where’s that God damn airport, even? They don’t exist in this time, unless you consider the burnt out memories of times before now. I suppose somewhere in this world, there’s an airport. A hollow, shelled husk of what I’d refer to as an airport. Maybe my friends still exist in some way. Maybe they exist beyond the weakening memories. Do they remember me? Am I just a weak, rough memory for their minds to ponder over, as well? Am I just a wilted, discarded husk in a long since abandoned airport? Sometimes I worry that I’ll never fly again. Sometimes I worry that the clouds will always waltz so high above me, their only contact being the occasional tears of pity they cry down on this ragged planet, and the.
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