Fuck My Face! – Miss Banana

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“Know what we’re doing today?” Mila asked after breakfast. Even with an open road before me I average fifty kilometres per hour and never exceed seventy. “She does fancy you, then?”

“Shut up.” I couldn’t still make myself really believe that Amanda fancied me, but it gave me a strange feeling that it could even be a possibility anymore. Finally, when Mila’s finger disappeared inside her vagina, I felt hot enough to take off the T-shirt. This afternoon, I was thinking, we could go for a short drive.”

“Where?”

“I made appointments at a beauty parlour for us. It’s you.”

“You were expecting someone else?” I hadn’t met Mila in four or five years, but she hadn’t changed at all. When I tried to masturbate, I couldn’t even rouse a flicker of self-arousal, forget an orgasm. After rubbing herself to a second orgasm, she almost fell down on top of me and lay on me looking down at my face, her hair a curtain around our heads, out breasts squashed together, her throbbing vulva pressed against mine. “I’m just not important enough to bother anybody.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. “I did too,” I whispered back, kissing her. This time it would be Mila. It was a Saturday so I was off work, sitting on the sofa trying to immerse myself in a rereading of the second volume of the unexpurgated