So I was watching these two humans starting to get it on. What? I like porn, and I like it live; who do you think dropped a hint Caligula's way?
I looked at the guy for a minute, trying to figure out what he had that could get him primo ass like the one grinding on top of him, but then I came to my senses and focused on the girl again. H-O-T, hot. Super foxy. Slammin' bod. Whatever you want to call it, she had it.
Blonde hair, big shiny curls, better than Farrah Fawcett, believe you me. Face all soft and open, panting as the guy slid his hand into her bra. So close to my ideal woman, but if she really were, she wouldn't have been wearing a bra in the first place, white lace or not.
"John," she was moaning, and the guy, wriggling dumbly beneath her like a fish on a hook, gaped up at her and stuttered, "Ma - Mary," like he'd just now figured out how to speak and grope at the same time. Good thing he wasn't trying to chew gum too.
"God, John," she called when he remembered there were better things he could be doing with his mouth, and I had to give him an A for effort when he managed to keep sucking at one of her awesomely perky nipples while pulling her tight little jeans and panties - pink, with little red rosebuds - right off. He rolled them over and got rid of his own clothes too, sitting up to strip, leaving her bare and exposed. Oh, man, was she glorious. Breasts that were two soft, pink handfuls, rug that matched the drapes, and blue eyes that could bore a hole in you if you were taking too long to give her what she wanted, like, say, a fucking for the record books. I take it back; she was totally my ideal woman.
He hopped to it, and I so didn't need to see his hairy ass flexing. Would it have killed him to let her be on top? She totally looked bendy enough.
But, man, the sounds she was making were just unbelievable, even if he was harmonizing with his grunting; screamers were always my favorites, and she could howl like a banshee. And there was just something about a girl who liked to go al fresco, if you know what I mean, a girl who had no problem getting down to business in a park where they held Sunday school picnics. I mean, I could have seen them even if they were in a goddamn useless nuclear fallout shelter, but still, it was nice not to have to make the effort. Nakedness like that - sweeter than a bakery filled to the brim - should be shared.
I dropped in on them from time to time: walking by them on a crowded sidewalk, becoming a guy eating pie in the next booth when they had their nauseating burgers-and-shakes dates. And once I became a nice old man, feeding the squirrels in the park, who agreed to take their picture as they leaned against a big, shiny black car, arms wrapped around each other.
Of course, right after that, if they'd been paying any attention, they might have seen that the little old man vanished like a puff of smoke, but they only had eyes for each other.
That was the best thing about Mary; you never knew when she'd get that glint in her eye that meant she needed a dick, and she needed it now. Or at least, John couldn't, if the way his jaw dropped every time was any indication, but I was getting better at it - why do you think I kept showing up? And, really, a girl like that should never have to beg.