Suzie is a big girl. I don’t know women’s sizes but she was half again as wide as a skinny woman. Her fleshy round arse hangs like as perennial provocation from the small of her back. It sways when she walks and spreads when she sits. If her butt doesn’t drive blood into a fellow’s cock the roll-up-my-prick fold beneath her ample tits would. A second fold runs across her belly splitting her pubic hair from her cat eye navel.

Her preferred position is on her knees with her shoulders square and her spine vertical. A rust brawn trail of hair runs from her belly button south, gets lost under her pud then reappears to spread into her heavy delta bush. Once she is settled her putty stays hidden deep in shadow. On each occasion as Suzie strips down and I catch again the sight of her naked pubes and am reminded me of the mangrove flood flats where, as a k** surrounded by the salt sea stink, I masturbated myself dizzy.

My first ejaculation of the evening — the fast and furious, no time for new landscapes one — was, as always, shoot into the fringe of Suzie’s bush. After, as my heart slowed to normal and I caught my breath, I watched my cream sag and ooze across her matted forest.

As a k** I had tossed my seed into the slick green current beneath my nest in the trees. The white strings of curdling come twisted and turned as it was borne away as if it were in its death throes. At night I lay awake with thoughts of my sin and murdered sperm until the murmur of my father’s voice and the creaks of my parents’ bed on the other side of the wall lullabied me to sleep.

The sounds of my parents’ bedroom were so much a part of the night as I was growing I didn’t connect them with the hot little rod that grew within my fist until I was almost ready to leave home. Thinking I knew the country I, of course, set my sights on the city.

The woman I courted was city too. She was bullet train fast; chromium slick, celery skinny and dust dry. She was just what I wanted then and desire still. What I didn’t know when I married was that the mangrove mud was still between my toes. I still cuddle into the bony corners of my wife at night and guess I will when we’re both grey and palsied but the times with Suzie and the other players keeps that mud between my toes from cracking.

It had been a good night. I had been sleeping well and the woman Suzie had brought — let’s talk about her some time soon — had been, well, interesting.

Late, I returned to Suzie. She was still be on her knees. Her forehead was sheened, perspiration beaded her upper lip and her mouth was crooked in a Mona Lisa smile. Her breasts and belly were sticky with the ejaculations of the men who had crowded around her through the evening. Most of the come that had landed on her skin had settled in her folds, on her surprisingly small and neat nipples, in the hair I’d christened at the beginning of the evening.