“Oh, painted smirk of a hopeless dawn, the girl is still wearing her breeches...”
“What,” came a deep male voice, “is this?”Silence froze, her hand still outstretched, clutching a damp, dirty cloth. Oh, dear Lord. Slowly she raised her eyes and found herself face-to-thighs with Mickey O’Connor’s extremely tight breeches.”
“There are only two styles of portrait painting: the serious and the smirk.”
“Oh yeah," Zane says and smirks at me. "I had her for dinner once. Best meal of my life.”
“I wanted to wear the mantle and the pearls. I wanted to know the man who painted her like that.”
“It was at times like this that one of those waves of bestiality ran through the mine, the sudden lust of the male that came over a miner when he met one of these girls on all fours, with her rear in the air and her buttocks busting out of her breeches.”