She'd tried every way she could think of to make the characters in her story sixty-nine each other in a pleasing way. To be erotic in words, to be 69ing each other , face to crotch, crotch to face and she would always get caught up in how unpleasant it was to be on the bottom with a pair of balls dangling over your forehead, or was it over your cheeks? She supposed it would depend on the man and the length of his member or whatever and that was how she'd always get caught up in the details and lose track of her narrative or rather how the narrative would get snagged round the pair of balls bouncing in her mind's eye somewhere just above her right cheekbone and the smell of his ass and she couldn't help remembering how she'd stopped herself from laughing just before he, thank god , did manage to make her come with his tongue that time at the party on the floor beside her best friend's bed on the rough, red carpet burning a place into her shoulder blades. Yes, she couldn't help remembering how he'd smelled strange, really, not like ass at all or like body odor or even like bad breath or like anything she'd ever smelled on a body before but rather something metal-like in the smell of his ass and in the hair around his balls that distracted her so much she almost didn't come at all but he was good enough to, what is it they're always saying in erotica? To bring her off ? Something like that.

exquisite corpse > 69ing by Rebecca Cook