“Make me juicy.”He got busy with his tongue and fingers. That felt good. He managed a muffled comment, “Juice good.”“Now for even more juice...put some of your juice in there too.” I moved back and he moved in. He grabbed my tits; I started bouncing. I was enjoying him inside. I had a mini orgasm as he finished. I laid on top and shared more than a few sloppy wet kisses.He got limp and fell out. I dripped a little on his chest offering, “My very wet and juicy pussy is looking for love.”I’ve tried. ‘More scotch,’ he staggered to the sideboard to clutch the bottle like a lifeline. He pondered this image. ‘I am drowning’ he thought then aloud, ‘drowning my sorrows’. This, too, he found ironic. He didn’t usually drink. It was his wife – more accurately now his ex-wife – who liked to have her evening ‘relaxer’. ‘Anything you can do, I can do better’ His voice was cracked and harsh, redolent with pain. So he started to laugh but it sounded to him like sobbing. Time passed. The shaft of. More

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