The elevator took forever to arrive. Wait until we get inside, she said. My heart raced. But not the elevator, alas. So she took the stairs.
Tagged: Sex (778)
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When I think of you I think of my favorite word. I utter this in the afterglow, struggling for breath. But it wasn’t epic, she says, gently.
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The carpenter takes his shirt off. She says, You’re sexier with your shirt on. He says, But it’s hot. It is, she thinks, but not hot enough.
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She said, Our house is so perfect, and he agreed because it was, and she said, It’s so perfect we can’t have sex in it, and he agreed, sadly.
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She says, You don’t remember any of it? And try as I might I can’t say that I do. No, I say. She kisses me then. We’re good to go, she says.
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I wanted to say something. She noticed the look on my face and said, Don’t tell me how you feel. I returned to expressing myself physically.
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They killed a man and left town and fell in love, and consummated that love in the back of a Chevy. Even though she preferred imported cars.
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We ate the burgers with a kind of lust. Like the chicken eating in Tom Jones. But with burgers. I licked some juice from her chin. I had to.
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She calls it an accordion but I call it a squeeze box and she says that’s just my method and she calls me a softball. Then we eat breakfast.
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Every spy movie is about the sex lives of spies. She said this at the height of her sincerity. I heaved out a disgusted sounding “Oh yeah?”
