He likes sex. He likes her (when she's not being a pain in the arse). Seems like a good time to him.
When his trousers come down, he automatically puts a hand over the bulge - protection instinct, or maybe just checking it's still there. It occurs to him that with her sitting there like that, she's at just the right level to...no. He can't ask that right off. She's not a prozzie.
This is weird. But not a bad weird. Just weird.
He sits next to her instead, and gets rid of the trousers and his socks. Right then. He's sitting in a room in the Old West, in 1888, in nothing but pants and his gold chain with a Yank girl who probably doesn't know the meaning of the word blowjob. She thinks she's out of her element?
He looks sideways at her, and grins again. It's like being twenty again, and working out how to do it with a good girl instead of one of the slappers in the working mens clubs of a Saturday night.
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He likes sex. He likes her (when she's not being a pain in the arse). Seems like a good time to him.
When his trousers come down, he automatically puts a hand over the bulge - protection instinct, or maybe just checking it's still there. It occurs to him that with her sitting there like that, she's at just the right level to...no. He can't ask that right off. She's not a prozzie.
This is weird. But not a bad weird. Just weird.
He sits next to her instead, and gets rid of the trousers and his socks. Right then. He's sitting in a room in the Old West, in 1888, in nothing but pants and his gold chain with a Yank girl who probably doesn't know the meaning of the word blowjob. She thinks she's out of her element?
He looks sideways at her, and grins again. It's like being twenty again, and working out how to do it with a good girl instead of one of the slappers in the working mens clubs of a Saturday night.
'Lie down, luv.'