That I was. She knew it and made sure I never forgot it. Yeah, I was a snake that slithered into her bed one drunken night and acted, well, contemptibly. She was drunk, but not drunk enough to ignore my appearance.
It might have gone better if the lights were off, or if she would have continued drinking as I crawled up the curb and into her bedroom. But I could see it in her eyes, in her demeanor as I shed my shirt and unfastened my belt. Oddly, while I found her glistening breasts and stomach enticing, she actually shuddered as her hand slid over my sweaty breasts and large stomach.
Awkward. It was awkward as her hand pressed against my chest, holding me away as she contemplated the night. I guess, after considering how difficult it might be to find a less offensive reptile that late at night, she slid her fingers down my stomach and through my matted pubes whispering, "Okay."
I tried, I tried my best as I slithered over her, my tongue flicking down her salty neck, over the ample mounds of her breasts and onto the pert nipples. She seemed to gag as my tongue coiled around the tiny knobs, but they still hardened as her chest rose and fell, in deep, mournful breaths.
Following a bead of sweat, I serpentined down her body, slinking through the dense, wet forest of pubes and probed into the darkness between her lips. My thin, forked tongue slipped in and out of her before moving upward to flick across her clit. I could feel her move beneath me, but it was restrained as if she hated herself for pressing up to me.