Nineteen, maybe twenty.
Here in front of me, just for me.
Brunette, bony shoulders, blue eyes, contacts. Small features, tidy. On her knees, naked, tits, hardwood floors, pink.
I show my cock.
She smiles, coyly.
She doesn't watch me undress.
Leather chair, beige, squeaky. Dark room, quiet, assuredly private, no neighbors, no one.
Inches away, me: working slow, hard.
She: wet, clicking beneath her middle finger, mouth open, eyes closed.
Me: rising, shuffle-step ankle-pants, closer.
She: stops, freezes.
Clear picture, smooth cheeks, long lashes, red red red.
Busy wrist, arching nut, grunt grunt, runny screen.
I bury my elbow, pointy, into the DVD player.
Spark, pop, black puff.
Forty, maybe fifty.
I stopped counting years ago.
