Once you get past the smell - You got it licked!
I hooked up with a chick out west when I was doing a cross country motorcycle tour. She was okay in the looks department. She seemed to have nice tatas. That was a good enough starting point. As is often the case with my luck, things went awry from there. I got her in the bed. A dim light from the lamp shone lightly on her. The top came off. The jeans came off, then she unfurled her tits. They rather favored a softball in a tube sock. She eagerly tore her panties off, revealing what looked like a Komondor in a leg lock.
I wasn't sure where I would find the inspiration to proceed, so I thought part the sea of matted steel wool and do a little tongue dance on her love button. Surprisingly, she guided me away. I don't know what I did to rise to the occasion, maybe I fantasized about masturbating, but much like I did in my drunken college days, I found a way to lift my spirits. I gave it a good pounding for a while then went to the bathroom to clean up. As I dragged the rubber off my hapless member, a waft of raunch the likes of which hadn't stung my nostrils since I ran over the dead, bloated dog in a rented 3 cylinder Renault schidtbox in Martinique on a hot summer day.
I wept. I don't know if it was from extreme sorrow for what I had done to my little friend, or from the OC like character of her tunnel of putrifaction, but tears flowed from my eyes. In the midst of both the sorrow and horror of that moment, I found an overwhelming sense of gratitude that she had guided me away from going down.
