“Sit down and buckle up!” I said firmly. “Fine!” she said. She sat down and buckled up. But I could still smell her pussy. She had always been...a wet one, and soon after she sat down I could smell her wetness as it seeped through her dress, ran down her crack and soaked her asshole. My hand instinctively pressed my crotch. Finally we get to her apartment. She gets out and slams the door, I watch her—admittedly almost hoping for another slip of the skirt—telling myself that it’s because I want to. A shadow covers his genitals but she knows what's there. She remembers the thick, ropey penis that lies there, nestled over the heavy sac. She runs her hand lightly across his chest tracing the scar. Down over his rippled abs her hands wander, moving towards their reward. He seems to hold his breath in preparation for what is to come, but then releases it as she travels over his stomach. His pubes have been trimmed, she remembers them much thicker than this. Her hand covers his manhood. More

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