India, you know it’s a wonderful country over there. I’ll never forget the night I was attacked by a giant Bengali. Let me read to you from my notes of that experience.
It was damnably hot night. I set about decorating her body with African designs of my own invention. Her back was broad, strong like a circus horse. I could have mounted her and she wouldn’t have bent under the burden. I could have sat on this back and slid down and given it to her from behind like a whip, I wanted to. I wanted to squeeze her breasts until all the paint came off, but she said, “Tell me about India”.
“Well, it’s the only place where you can be run over by an Indian elephant”, I said. Did I ever tell you about the time I was run over by an Indian elephant? It was a damnable hot night. Her legs hung over the side of the bed, her sex was open. I could bite into it, kiss it, insert my tongue, but she did not move. My head between her legs was caught in the most delicious vice of silky salty flesh. My hand traveled upward to her heavy trunk. “Tell me more about India”, she said.
“Did I ever tell you about the Black Hole of Calcutta?”, I said. It was a damnable hot night. She was like a womb turned inside-out, it was all in the open on view. I would have been content just touching her hair, but it was not her hair alone, her skin was erotic too. It was dry like desert sand and as she walked about, she
