Jazzmin Flush (90)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (90)"
   
   Thomas, loyal as a candy ass kook, beyond being trained on the newspaper, I mean--he used the urban alleys cluttered with humble vagabonds not into scoping his "taking a whiz" and all, and sometimes he fumbled fecal matter in the wooded areas, burying it properly by way of digging the hole; next, pushing the bowel evacuation into nature's sewer with his hind paws; then, cleaning the pads and all by acting like a bull ready to charge atop Terra's Motherly Surface, knowing:  the Spirit that haunted and had constructed his arctic wolf had protective energies against one's own poop.
   Anyway, Thomas steered Jazzmin with guiding, human hands, almost big brother kinda creepy, but it didn't have no truth, for he was non-flawed with chaste control--and it hurt his wolf junk, a little swelling visible at times.  Thus, he was gonna make Jazzmin earn his smiles and gratitude, even stealing away his probing telepathy that he knew cerebrally aroused her.  Whatever.
   He was still intent on having her willfully collapse into his carnal embrace, smelling the lovesex that would stink of hot sweat and investigative kisses; plus, emanating his Spirit deep into her super-flow of everything.  Reminding himself of such gallant chivalry, a quest to lay Miss Jazzmin Flush in regal manner, he offered, as he pushed her across the Oregonian border:  "Come on.  I'll buy you that surf board you were always too afraid to try out.  That one with Scooby-Doo on it.  Dogs swim, right?"
   Then, crossing into the Golden State, Thomas' suspended telepathy suspected Jazzmin's return of glistening girl cool.  Yeah, one golden day they'd lay love till the synergy of ONE.