My cunt wants you

Where had the time gone? He wondered how long he had been asleep and curious if she had left hours ago or just minutes before he gained consciousness. He longed for her pussy, which had taken his swollen cock and tamed it -- several times in the course of the night. He ached to inhale more than the ghost of the pungent aroma they had created in the middle of the night. 'Sometimes, sex isn't just sex,' he thought. 'It's a joyful connection in a world full of missed messages, wrong numbers and busy signals.'

They had flirted at a bar in a very '80s, unabashed way, and found the retro nature of their behavior to be an extreme aphrodisiac. He told her something he had never told another human being, using a word that had never crossed his lips in more than 40 years of life: 'I want your cunt.'

It hung out in the air between them for a second or two and in that time he de-evolved back into the gunshy, skittish man-thing he used as his everyday shield.

'I'm..." sorry, he was about to say, but there was no need. She looked around quickly, shot a hand up her short skirt and alternately dragged and wrestled her thong panties off as they sat.

"Here," she said. "Let's see if my cunt wants you."