After the protest, Clemmy found herself sexually attracted to Jude like never before. Watching him stand up to Billy Emo without a shed of fear absolutely toasted her hairy loins.
His new-found manliness reminded her of a quote in Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer; “I have found God, but he is insufficient.” Jude was her God now.
“Tonight’s the night. Take me to your apartment and put my face in the pillows,” she whispered into his ear.
She wanted to be ravaged by her man. She wanted her stud to relieve all those weeks of built-up tension and anxiety. She wanted her man to provide that cathartic release she had been missing for so long.
Hand in hand, they both rushed to Jude’s apartment; his mustache blowing in the wind and her female scent escaping into the night air. They barely made it inside the door before Jude’s tongue was licking the side of her face. His greasy mustache brushed up and down her cheek, turning her skin red.
She let out a strangled moan of sheer, hipster ecstasy. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh.”
In one motion, he pushed her through the doorway, spun her around almost violently onto his couch. He pushed her face into the couch pillows, pulling her butt into the air as her back arched.
Jude was a lion and Clemmy his lioness. He gently licked the nape of her neck before biting down, almost drawing blood.
Odors of hot sweat, patchouli and unwashed corduroy filled the air. Jude grabbed his erected, unshaven manhood and rubbed it up and down against her female parts. She was moaning louder and louder as her wet labia accepted her man.
The lion pounded his lioness rhythmically with a force that was fitting of the king of the jungle.
“WHAT’S MY NAME??? WHAT’S MY NAME???,” Jude yelled as Clemmy’s head banged against the side of the couch. She tried to answer, “Jude,” but her face was stuck in the pillows.
Jude banged her harder and harder while thoughts of destroying Billy Emo filled both of his heads.
“Almost there, harder, I’m almost there,” cried Clemmy.
With three more violent thrusts, Jude pulled his member out, shot his baby-makers into the air, splashing the back of Clemmy’s head and even the edges of his mustache. Clemmy screamed unidentifiable words into the air like a crazy Southern Baptist speaking in tongues. She was healed.
He pulled her head up by her hair and shoved his tongue in to her mouth as the salty bits from his mustache transferred to her cheeks.
She pulled away, cheeks flushed red and said, “Jude, you are MY MAN. This must be how David Lynch felt when he completed Eraserhead. I love you, my sweet Jude.”