Coconut Grove i like driving backwards in the fog

the filthy curmudgeon lifted his muzzle as she obliged his request, feeling the wind as it balmily passed by his swarthy face and carried the high notes of her honeyed voice seaward. he felt a stirring in his gut that was not hunger -- a stirring no gluttonous feast could appease. along his soft belly and hips he felt another thing stir; and this thing was far more primal.

he did not hide the physical accentuation of his excitement -- he felt no shame for the stiffened member that throbbed beneath him. he swung his blocky head to her and looked her level, drool lavishly expelling from his slack lips. "whut else is on det menu?" he crooned heavily, his clouded gaze upon her slender frame with tantalizing longing. boldly and unapologetically the heathen closed the gap between them, aching for the warm closeness of her flesh.