IN WHICH I SINK TO NEW LEVELS.
Hot Apollo — who’d been keeping abreast of my twin developments — came up for air just as the plane suddenly dipped. He almost fell on me as we heard the exclamations of alarmed passengers on the other side of the bathroom door.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, and grabbing me by the waist, lifted me onto the sink. I hiked up my dress as he forced himself between my legs.
“Mmmm … I purred, noting how he was straining insistently inside his no-longer-skinny jeans. Apollo looked into my eyes as I traced his crotch lightly, teasingly with my fingers, then rubbed it harder. He started kissing me again as I undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his zipper. The caged beast pushed against his underwear, the last barrier between us, and without looking down, I set him free. The feel of him throbbing in my hand made me ache for him to bury himself in deepest, dampest me.
Apollo looked down at himself now pointing at me, and not at all in a rude way. He was amused.
“He can’t wait to taste your juicy fruit. Your melons were already so delicious.”
But at that moment I wasn’t thinking in fruit metaphors, but of Thanksgiving, actually: I could hardly wait for the delicious stuffing I was about to enjoy. And no calories!
Fortunately, I wouldn’t need to wait. Apollo put his hands under my ass and pulled my hips forward, and I wrapped my legs around him, all receptivity.
I guided him between my legs, rubbing him tantalizingly up and down my slick lips. I could feel how drenched and ready I was inside. He watched.
“You are natural,” he said, referring to my pubic hair. “I love that — a real woman.”
True, I abhor the fashion for hair-free, childlike genitals, to me not just creepy, but let’s face it, once removed, impossibly itchy. Plus, if either one of us is to have a five o’clock shadow, well excuse me, I think it should be the man!
Anyway — though I had neither Brazilian nor Landing Strip — Apollo was now cleared for landing.