In walked the village idiot and his face was all aglow. He's been up all night listening to Mohammed's Radio.

I might be a little dense sometimes but you don’t have to hit me with a brick to get a point across.

As Barbie grinds on my lap, I slip my hands into the back pockets of her painted on Daisy Dukes and pull her in real tight and close.

Fireworks in the first kiss, and then it’s all flesh on flesh and wet and hot and mouths working on every part of exposed skin they can reach. For once my awkward boner is much less awkward, straining against the seams of my pants. This fantasy made flesh is rolling her head back on her neck and moaning as my lips find the pulse on her throat. Her hips roll and I can feel the wetness between her legs through the material of both our pants and I want to taste it.

I surprise myself as I lift her bodily from the chair and deposit her on the desk; I would never try that in my right mind (for one, I’m a depressing pudding of a man, for another Barbie is not a small woman). With her enthusiastic aid, I start to claw her shorts down those beautifully toned and tanned legs. We do this all while we kiss.

Finally I’m looking at the most beautiful pussy I’ve ever seen. Shaved or depilated, I couldn’t say, but her mound and lips are smooth and glistening in the low light of the station, and I can’t help myself. I lower my mouth to it and begin to lap at her nectar.

The feel of her heartbeat through her clit brings my eyes to hers, glazed with lust and unfocused, her face the picture of pure orgasmic bliss. She a vision of loveliness and raw sexuality, the Platonic ideal of femininity. As she reaches her first climax, her legs wrap around my neck, pulling me deeper in. Her hands grip my thinning hair, and at that moment I lose all focus beyond her. Barbie becomes the center of my world, my one purpose our mutual pleasure.

Her second orgasm crests, but my mouth has learnt her reactions and I am able to hold her on the edge, riding the wave before it crashes sweeping her into yet another bout of trembles and moans that crash thunderously into a powerful climax, the strength of which is so impressive that I’m nearly shocked by the fact that the ceiling remains intact.

I rise from her, a smile on my lips, and she begins to right herself, her legs shaking. A bit unsteady, she grips at the waist of my pants to help right herself, and pantses me in the process. She giggles as my cock springs out, then leans in to kiss the tip, causing it to jerk in front of her and smack her in the nose. She wraps her plush pillowy lips around it and begins to suck.

Her eyes are locked on mine, reading my every reaction as her head bobs up and down, taking more and more with each thrust. It takes little over a minute before I feel the head of my cock enter her throat. How I haven’t cum yet is a mystery to me, but one which only eludes me for a moment more as I hit my limit and explode down her throat.

And that’s when the janitor opens the door.

(Title: “Mohammed’s Radio” by Warren Zevon)