My astonishment orchestrates a gasp in my lungs, glues a hand to my mouth as I stare surprised at the mess on the bedroom floor who still hasn't recovered, and through this all I can only shape one sentence that sums everything up pretty well, a sentence that pains me to say. "You're sick, Lucien." All my companion does is install a narrow tunnel into his eyes, a conviction like no other. "Isn't every writer?" All Allen Ginsberg needs is a library book on rhyme and meter, things he absolutely abhors for being so ever present yet things he requires for his blog article. What he finds is rather a young librarian and writer by the name of Lucien Carr, choking on cigarettes and booze and the glamorous life of deterioration -- and just like his writing, it's quite magnificent. ~~Wattpad Featured Book 19 September, 2016~~

George then pushed you against the wall and kissed you on the lips harshly, "I want you" he said with his eyes full of lust, his lips then pressing against your neck as you place your hands on his bum. "You like what you feel then?" He asked as he placed his hands on your breasts, "lets go somewhere a bit more... Private" he said as he took your hand and led you towards the bedroom