As a passenger there's something slightly wonderful about CD-changers.
There's tension when an album comes to an end, particularly if you've got it on random. The anticipation of what album will be next makes my nipples stand gently to attention, reaching forward like they're begging for more gruel. As the changer grinds and whirs under my buttocks, the whole process makes my hormones boil. The first few notes of the next album makes my labia shift slightly, my thighs rub together to encourage the stickiness. If the driver doesn't like the random choice, fantastic. Change it again, Mr Locomotion, make it different. Once they're satisfied I listen and listen and listen until eventually I squirt yellow liquid all over the ipod connector and glovebox.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Thu 18 Jul 2013, 14:35, 1 reply, 12 years ago)

Well, that escalated quickly

( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Thu 18 Jul 2013, 15:21, Reply)