- His body was hard — not hard like Milosevic, the Serbian strongman, but hard like the marble on your shower floor, when you fall and bang your knee.
- Her shoulders heaved like the tiny sobs of Snuggles the cat being run through with a roasting spit.
- Her embrace made his manhood swell like week-old roadkill on hot asphalt in the Georgia sun.
- Her petticoats dropped to the ground, rustling like a cockroach in a sugar bowl.
- As she kissed her way down his manly chest, he felt his Amalgamated Crane Company stock increasing in value.
- Beatrice was on him like a piranha on a corn dog.
- …then he kissed her, like a butterfly kisses the windshield of a Porsche on the Autobahn.
- Her breasts heaved like a stormy ocean, and her pointed nipples were like hypodermics washed up on the shore.
- With his broad shoulders and slim waist, he was a yield sign — yet she could NOT!
- He tore open her blouse like a Publisher’s Clearing House letter in which he, and some guy named Steven Bouber from Stockton, California, were potential finalists for the ten million dollar prize.
- His manhood stood at full attention, stiff and stony like the vice president.
- Sleekly malevolent, driven by a violent hunger, Donovan glided through the chum-filled waters of the singles bar, oblivious to the remora of Annabelle’s adoring gaze.
- Like the wind, she ran, her breasts lurching like a motor boat over a wake, and then, as fluid as a fine imported transmission, she whipped out her man-organ and pissed away his dreams.
- Her sun-glazed back formed a golden arch as he moved his face toward her happy meal.
- With each breath, her chest heaved like a bulimic after Thanksgiving dinner.
- He Beatty-ed her shamelessly, making her squeal like Ned and hallucinate like Warren.
- He awoke my slumbering womanhood with his double tall loin latte. “Starbuck!” I cried.
- His chest was her pillow, and oh, did she drool.
- Claire felt swept away by this dark stranger, a helpless dust bunny in the roaring cacophony of his gas-powered leaf blower.
- His finger, weathered and rough from years on the ranch, danced in and out of his nose like a slimy ballerina.
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