Randi Wright
Pussy Vegetarians
Randi Wright stepped into porn straight out of Northridge. Young, green-eyed, and stacked in the middle. The curve of her waist dips at twenty-five inches, then flares again at thirty-four. All natural, all herself. She’s tiny—five-foot-three and barely over a hundred pounds. That weight moves with her when she rides. Dark hair hangs past her shoulders, and when she smiles her piercings flash: the tongue barbell, the jewel in her navel. Roses bloom across her belly in ink, the color of want. Her wrist carries its own mark. On MySpace she picked 69 as her favorite number. No wonder. She likes taking and giving in the same breath, mouth busy while someone’s tongue works her open. She keeps it simple. No pretense. Just pleasure.
Randi Wright stepped into porn straight out of Northridge. Young, green-eyed, and stacked in the middle. The curve of her waist dips at twenty-five inches, then flares again at thirty-four. All natural, all herself. She’s tiny—five-foot-three and barely over a hundred pounds. That weight moves with her when she rides. Dark hair hangs past her shoulders, and when she smiles her piercings flash: the tongue barbell, the jewel in her navel. Roses bloom across her belly in ink, the color of want. Her wrist carries its own mark. On MySpace she picked 69 as her favorite number. No wonder. She likes taking and giving in the same breath, mouth busy while someone’s tongue works her open. She keeps it simple. No pretense. Just pleasure.