Vacant New Jersey

Photostream » January 2018 » Fairfield Hills Hospital

Waxing Gibbous

Upon turning the corner in the attic, I was immediately caught off guard by the woman's massive breasts, not so much from attraction but rather disgust combined with amazement that the human vertebra could support such melons without succumbing to scoliosis. For a moment all I could do was truly stare, like some perverted, wide-eyed Asian sitting alone in the back corner of an inner city titty bar trying desperately not to stroke the snake in his now tight pants. After my bout of elongated gander, my eyes began to focus back to reality, however my mind was now consumed with wonder. I wondered how she wound up pinned to the wooden beams within the same cobweb covered asylum attic as I found myself exploring within. How long had she been up here, and why? She wasn't a particularly thin woman either, although her massive jugs allowed her overall figure to appear skinnier, so I assumed she was eating well? I felt dirty touching her, like I was violating myself, herself! Then she began to expose more and more of her body and I couldn't help but continue to stare. The explicit acts grew dirtier as I looked further. They began to involve objects used to pleasure and fill all sorts of holes, yet no dialect nor conversation followed at all. As I broke my trance like stare to look around, I spotted yet another woman completely revealing herself in another corner, her legs spread wide open over an old 70's chair. Yet as quickly as she appeared into my vision, a gentle breeze swept her away. I began to notice the entire floor of this room was littered with pornograhic images ripped from some 1970's era magazine with the poster sized fold-out spreads of various pornstars all thumb-tacked to the attic beams. Was this the janitor's secret jack-off spot, hidden in the confines of the attic cupola, or perhaps the making of some bored teenagers porn stash, stolen from under his fathers bed? I decided it was an idea no longer worth pondering, for as I grasped my wrist over the first rung upon the ladder leading up the the pinnacle of the cupola steeple, my palm became coated in a mysterious goo, a glob I hoped was just lube used loosen the rusty hinges of the wooden trap door atop the ladder I had to butt open with my head; sometimes you find the weirdest shit in abandoned buildings.