So there I was, sitting in my car at the seaside lovers’ hang-out, with a total stranger. She was sexy. She was good-looking. She was adult. And she seemed compassionate. So I’d found it easy to express to her that fact of how devastating my recent break-up was.
Notwithstanding the fact that, being the dog that I was, I’d used this as a ploy to get under her dress (and it worked) she also genuinely seemed to care – a fact which served to make me feel even more like a dog.
And, still unable to extricate myself from the dog-mode’, I considered the fact that my mission was not fully accomplished, as we’d only engaged in foreplay so far. After all, she was a consenting adult so, if my ploy worked, then why should I not go further to express my desire to bed this sensuous and beautiful consenting adult?
She stirred as she slowly returned to wakefulness. Stretching to rid herself of her sleep-induced grogginess, she smiled as she turned to me to express, “That was totally awesome.”
“There’s more where that came from,” I replied, “Would you be offended if I were to express to you my desire to actually engage in adult copulation with you, my sweet?”
She chuckled as she repeated, “Adult copulation? Are you related to Shakespeare, or something of the sort?” she continued, “They way you express yourself sometimes is so poetic.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment – thanks,” I said, “But that still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” she said, “You want to put your adult cock into my adult pussy and express yourself by way of rhythmic thrusts into my nether regions. Is that what you seek?”
“So who’s the Shakespeare now?” I quipped, “Yeah, that’s basically it.”
“No,” she said, “Allow me to express that; apparently, you did too good a job with the foreplay, I’m beat, I’m drained, and my pussy is still throbbing from that intense orgasm – I’d never come as hard as that before. Can I get a rain-check?” she asked.
“And besides that,” she added, “I’d really want to see you again and, if we end-up doing it, I want it to be in a comfortable bed – not in a car – where I can give it to you the way I want to, and when I’m rested enough to have the energy to give my pussy to you in the right way, to have you coming back for more.”
She continued, “If I give my pussy to you now, I’ll probably never see you again – I don’t want that – and so I duly request a rain-check. The defense rests – and so does my pussy!”
I was flabbergasted. For the first time since becoming an adult, I’d found that I was unable to express myself. Maybe she was right, though. If my car were a train, women would probably call it the ‘Adult Express.’
Still, who could argue with her logic?
And, still, I didn’t know her name!