Plot arcs and writing styles. Including his poetry and plays. And more than any of his other novels, it involved the magic realism of his plays. Roote... in realism, and yet dreamy. Surreal. It was the biography of a schizophrenic, but one who had embraced her illness, which, loosely based on the beliefs of the sixties psychiatrist R.D. Laing, to her it wasn’t an illness at all, but a gift. A way of viewing the world differently. Uniquely. And the shifts in reality allowed him to include poetry. She was not wearing any undies. I broke the kiss and raised her mini dress. Then I sat her on the bed and spread her legs. I knelt down and got between them. Gently kissing the inside of her thighs, I could see her pussy was moist."Dinner can be late," I told her.She didn't say anything. She laid back on her back, and I began slowly eating that perfect pussy of hers. She tasted so sweet I didn't want to stop, I just kept eating her out as she moaned with pleasure. Soon she was close to cumming.. “Do you like it?”“Dont say such things…I dont like dirty talk,..stop it…we cant do it!” she murmured.“Shut up you bitch…I am doing you a favour by giving my fat cock to you madam…Lets not waste time….Get on your knees, madam….We dont have a bed here…Bend down and suck my cock,…fast!”Then she felt his hands turn her around by the shoulders and push down until she dropped to her knees. She didn’t know what to do. She felt the tip of his cock touch her right cheek and move slowly until it pressed. I was in shock, first of all I didn’t even know it could spray and second, I didn’t know anyone could produce this much semen. In fact, after quite a few shots I was convinced that he was in fact urinating down my throat. I did not believe it was ever going to stop and, unfortunately, I did not get a very good breath before hand. Just at the right time he let go of my head and, sure he was done, I jerked my head back to the ground gasping for air. To my huge surprise, I felt a line of warm.