Doll
====


"Take this, Doll!" he cried thrusting into her cunt. Its tight, 
hairy lips gripped his prick as his buttocks pistoned.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He locked his mouth to hers. It suctioned his tongue, while 
the object of his affection juddered under his manhood. Her 
limbs waved frantically about while his sweat trickled onto 
her full bosom.

And then Lucy, Lovely Lucy, resisted him even less than 
before. She was deflating under his passion.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

A breath of air brushed his ear.

The stopper had popped out.

Lovely Lucy had become nothing more than a sheet of 
rubber.



Heaven
======


She pinched her husband's penis, which twitched and 
shivered under her touch. Her mouth pursed around its 
purple glans, and its full length tickled her tonsils.

He stirred, and brought a gnarled hand onto her thin, 
greying hair, and caressed its strands. The folds of his 
stomach rubbed against her pendulous breasts. 

This was heaven, she surmised, as his penis grew and 
swelled inside her mouth: its rich, excited odour assailing 
her nostrils. 

She was as content as she could be. Nobody had said that 
old age was supposed to be like this. 



Infidelity
==========


She pistons her crotch up and down onto my groin, a 
squelch for each thrust, and my penis deep inside her. Her 
outstretched hands grip my sweaty shoulders. Her hair 
lashes my cheeks as she gasps with the passion of our 
lovemaking.

A pause precedes the inevitable orgasm.

"What would your wife say if she saw us now?"

I turn my head to one side and see, for the first time, Sylvia 
framed against the hallway: one hand on the doorknob and 
the other on her horrified lips.

"Why don't we ask her and find out?" I reply.




Oopsidaisy 
==========


"Oops!" she cried, as she bumped against his shoulder in 
the street just outside Starbucks.

The paper coffee cup fell out of his hand and dropped onto 
the pavement, spilling the frothy cafe latte like a brown 
smudge. It flowed over the kerb and into the gutter.  

"It's nothing," he protested. "Accidents will happen."

"Nonsense!" she said. "I'll get you a refill. I quite fancy a 
coffee myself. What can I buy you?"


                     **********


"Oops!" he cried, as passion overcome prudence. 

It was foolish not to use a condom, but the moment was 
too precious to waste and the risk was outweighed by 
desire. His semen squirted inside her and it was already too 
late to do anything about it.

"Don't worry," she gasped, desiring only that they should 
resume their lovemaking. "I'm sure nothing will come of it."

"I'm hope you're right," he said, his penis again stiffening 
deep inside her. 


                     **********


"Oopsidaisy!" they cried, as they hoisted between their 
outstretched hands the bundle of joy that linked them 
together.

Their child was the unexpected but no less loved outcome of 
their accidents. She tightly grasped her mother's hand and 
nibbled affectionately on her knuckles. 

Her mother patted her huge round belly. 

The second child would not be an accident like the first, but 
sometimes accidents can be the best things that can ever 
happen. 

The little girl chuckled as her parents exchanged 
affectionate smiles.



Red, White and Black 
====================


Red, White or Black? Which should it be? she asked as she 
examined her colour-coded lingerie. White in the top 
drawer. Black in the middle. And red, that special colour, in 
the bottom.  

White for work and business. Black for most dates. Red for 
a special occasion. Which one?

Not white. Brian was too good a catch.

Black? This wasn't the first date.

She remembered the pleasant frisson of his hand on her 
buttocks. The tickle of his moustache on her lips. She 
wanted more. Much more.

Red, it had to be!



The Forest
==========


She lay naked on her back in the Spring sunshine: the 
warmth and sunlight on her golden skin and the caress of 
the grass underneath.

She felt a gentle tickling on her vulva and bent over to see 
the cause. In amongst the folds and contours was the 
perfect form of a ladybird: three black spots on a shiny red 
carapace.

The insect climbed the folds, ascended her clitoris and 
balanced on the golden strands of her pubic hair. It 
struggled up and tumbled into the forest below.

She smiled. She was happy to provide it with mountains 
and valleys. 





The Garter
==========


His hand reached up, clutching the five dollar note as the 
girl's leg came close. Her perfect form pneumatic and 
tremulous. He pulled back the garter's elastic, feeling it 
pinch ever so slightly on his fingers.

For just a brief moment, he could enjoy the warmth of her 
pale freckled  thigh on his knuckle. He would treasure the 
sensuousness of that moment. It would tingle in his memory 
with a delightful burn.

And then the garter snapped back in place, and he watched 
sadly as she gyrated and swiveled away from him on the 
tall, soulless metal pole.





Twenty Minutes
==============

Starless and Bible Black? 

No.

Joe slid the King Crimson album back into the sleeve and 
smiled at Becky who was lying on the futon, idly running 
lipstick around her nipples. Like Joe, she was totally naked 
and the pale areola of her nipples became redder and stiffer 
with each circuit. 

The room was strangely silent in the pause and bleating 
lambs could be heard outside Joe's cottage.

The Lamb Lies Down on the Broadway?

Becky arose from the bed and knelt beside Joe. She pressed 
her lips on the tattoo of the naked woman etched when Joe 
was in the Navy and trailed her fingers over the scar on his 
cheek.

"Hurry up!" she pleaded.

"We've got to have the right music, you know?"

"Fuck it, Joe! I don't know why you have to play vinyl 
anyway." 

"Better fidelity," he asserted.

"What does it fucking matter?" she asked.

She opened her mouth and licked the breasts and hips on 
the fading tattoo, now older than she was.

"Vinyl only lasts twenty minutes. Why don't you play some 
CDs? You get seventy or eighty minutes of that. Time 
enough for a real session!"

Joe winced. Twenty minutes these days was pretty much 
his limit. Especially with someone so energetic.

Becky settled back on the bed. 

Shit! Why couldn't he put on some decent music? Some 
garage, say. Seventy minutes of the So Solid Crew would 
suit her fine. Not twenty minutes of Led Zeppelin or Dire 
Straits!

She placed the discarded King Crimson album cover on her 
lap, sitting cross-legged against the wall, as Joe sorted out 
his aging record collection. She tugged free some Rizlas 
and shook loose some grass from a plastic sachet.

Men were fucking useless! 


















