Fri_PS_Battle_122105
Out of context: Reply #13
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- mg330
Tucker's head tilts back, he feels a surge of endorphins from head to toe. His eyes, closed tight in the moment, produce a dazzling array of stars, bright flashes of light, and quick pulses of excitement akin to a child at his first carnival fill his body.
Tucker's toes start to twitch - however eccentric he may be, he is like most humans; his body chugs along with standard orgasmic operating procedure.
Tucker begins to call out "Oh, oh, oh..." but suddenly in the throes of lust and passion he remembers the golden rule of D.C. political journalism: The walls have ears, everywhere, everyday.
"Best control myself," whispers Tucker, to himself.
Yet the surge of sexual lightning bolts pulse yet again throughout his body. His manhood is bursting at the seams. It is as if Mt. Kilauea, Mt. Etna, and Mt. St. Helens have channeled their strength and fury directly into Tucker's central nervous system, and his body has positioned itself in such a way that, when he erupts, the climax of passion will be equivelent to one million Hiroshimas.
Tucker braces himself. He has lost all control, and his body is at the mercy of nature and fate. There is truly no turning back, and he holds back for mere nanoseconds so that the pleasure will be that much more awesome.And it happens. Tucker explodes. His eyes roll back into his head, over, and over, and over, resembling a slot machine. His face is flushed. His palms are sweating profusely, and he expects that temporary paralysis will soon take over his body.
Yet in that brain of his, that magnificent, always ready for a political quip brain he knows his hardcore viewers depend on each night, a statement, or rather, a talking point, is processed and prepared for the masses. Tucker knows he cannot disclose this statement, oh, no. But in a moment of complete and utter sexual exhaustion, Tucker forgets how the walls see and hear all in Washington.
And Tucker speaks:
