Sheena Pepin took her husband's phallus in her hand. Barely awake, Ezra rocked backwards and forwards. Undulating in the dark, they made somnambulistic, aquatic love. "That's how lyrically sex ought to be described at the start of a great literary novel," he sighed, his orgasm flushing the synapses of his brain.
"Now ram home the juxtaposition of the sublime with the quotidian by making me a cup of tea," Sheena murmured.
I love
The Digested Read: Blenheim Orchard. The rest of the review is equally brutal.
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