Me, too.” Dove looked at him and smiled.

Johnson missed his mouth when he went for a sip of wine, so Dove passed him her napkin. He began to blush, stammering, “Sorry, your smile made me forget where my intake orifice was.”

All my orifices know where you are—especially the ones that grow hair.

Dove tried to take her mind away from his man meat, but it was like her brain was paralyzed by dick osmosis. Johnson’s feet were big, which meant…
He has a monster cock.

He apologized profusely. “I knew that frog position was too freaky. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that, Johnson. Did you notice that like every third thrust I was like a virgin? That was my asshole.” Dove put a hand on his shoulder.

I don’t think one stalker is allowed to call another stalker a stalker.

He shrugged and laughed a little. “It was a stupid idea. Who takes a girl to a funeral as their first date?”

Dove fought through her gown so she could find his hand and hold it. She wanted to lick it, too, but restrained herself. “You do. It would be my honor to go to this old fart’s funeral with you. Except pretend I said that like a person with a heart.

It couldn’t be good to want something this bad. Want someone this bad. I’m just me. Oh God. I’m me, and he’s him.