Sentence The Threehundredandfortyfifth

 

“Well, there was this one guy hung round Jimmy while I was the shag of choice – he was a top BBC executive, sumpn to do with Radio 1, and he composed an acrostics for The Melody Maker or NME and he always addressed me as “our nidifugous little fledgeling,” which I thought was a bit rude, even though I din't really understand what it meant, but the thing about him was that for a kinda big fat guy, he had this strange paradoxical frog in his trousers – it was a big soft floppy thing when it

was flaccid, much bigger than Jimmy's or Martin's, but when renascent, it seemed to withdraw from the world and all that was left was this tiny little dick peeping out from his nest of short and curlies –

which often got stuck between your teeth when you gave him a blow job – and I used to wonder if the rest of it was somewhere inside him, a bit like how a niceberg's mostly under the sea and the bit that sticks up is just the tip of the niceberg which, now I think about it is where that saying comes from, though you wouldn't normally talk about cocks like that, would you? but his you probly might, it was
 
quite hard to suck it into your mouth and you had to do a lot of wigglin and squeezin to keep it in your See You Next Tuesday if he was tryin to fuck you, but I'll tell you this for nuthin: he had plenty
of the skooshy cream, so his balls was workin all right!”