Ping Pong Fuck

We stood in the auditorium, my having just received oral sex from a black college student, and my wife just now standing up staggering like through darkness with a stout young slick-haired punk guy who zipped up an over-sized zipper on the front of a pair of black and neon green overalls. They had fucked behind a ping-pong table which was used in the past to entertain her children or alternately serve the needs of drunken men in her father-in-law's charge. Her hair was now a gaudy orange, the effect of attempting to dye black hair blonde in a slipshod manner. Had they enjoyed rebellious sweetness of their youthful, programmed movements? For me it's like wrenching an object, which I know is vapid and empty. The thought disgusted and enthralled me, like a massive curling wave of human waste crashing through my chest.