Cuban High Quality XXX

Starting "classes".

Her legs were long and shapely, her ass nicely rounded, and her age probably near thirty. Her face was angular, but highlighted by bright blue eyes and delicious dimples. Deirdre worked as a bank teller at the town bank.

"Hello, babe," Steven drawled, "how's it going?" He leaned over and gave her a long lingering kiss that included a taste of her mouthwash.

She smiled with her eyes closed as she drifted away from their greeting. "Fine, sugar, just fine. Come in, come in."

The apartment was clean, neat, slightly worn and lived in: several rooms that took up half the footprint of the hardware store below. The furniture was nearing garage sale age, yet had a faded elegance that spoke of humble yet revered legacy. The carpet was less ragged than the hall outside, and flecks of cat hair witnessed a housemate that wisely hid from Steven during his previous visits.

Coming inside and closing the door, Steven initiated another long, lingering kiss which Dierdre responded to by pressing her entire body into his. Breaking, she purred with a twinkle in her eyes: "What do you wanna do tonight, sugar?"

"Oh, a little bite to eat, a ride around the county, and maybe we can take the top down later," he said, his eyebrows wiggling up and down electrically with original wit and building testosterone. His cock wiggled again, searching her clothed pelvis for the canyon of its aspiration.

She broke his embrace suddenly and turned her back on him, stepping away and taking several deep breaths. The wind left his sails in an instant, bewildered by her sudden rejection. His gaze probed the back of the brunette head trying to read her mind; they had gotten along well on their previous two dates, but nothing in their encounters forewarned him about this reaction. He'd gotten his hand inside her blouse and bra their last date in the back seat of his car, and thought his proposition would be favorably received. Unfortunately, she was framed by a huge, worn reproduction of the Last Supper, and it gave him no insights to her thinking.

"Look at this, Stevie baby, look at this," she said, spinning around, taking her index finger and running it around her face and head. "This is a package you found attractive. This is an investment you've expressed an interest in." Her blue eyes were steely and her brows knit under the perfectly sculpted hairdo and makeup. "I do not appreciate this suggestion that you'd like to ride around tonight with the top down; it is a lack of respect. This," she said, making the circle of her face and head once again, "is something not to be trifled with. If you only knew what it took to make this possible, the long hours of hard work to make this happen, you would think differently, buster. Mavis spent ninety minutes today putting this package together for you, full facial and perm. You do not waste an investment like this for an open air ride under the stars on a summer's evening and feel the wind"

He rolled his eyes as he turned to face the mirror on the wall behind him, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his right hand. His looked at himself in the mirror, shielded from her indignation. The eyes in the mirror held a exasperated look, visibly draining patience second by second. The urge to abandon the evening and his hopes hit him like a rabbit spotting a coyote on a nearby hilltop. It took fifteen excruciating seconds for him to summon up the courage to turn and face her again.

Her face was still locked in full pout, her eyes boring into his with steely determination. "Tell me that you're not going to mess this carefully prepared package up by riding around in your convertible with the top down," she demanded, her face screwed up in a rictus of indignation, hands on hips and a perfectly pedicured foot with bright red nails tapping impatiently.

Walking crisply behind her, he reached over shoulders and dove into her cleavage.

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