Beefy Buns

There was an attempt at landscaping, but the shrubs were sunburned and the flowers were wilted and dying. The parking lot, I'd noticed upon entering the premises, was full of older vehicles in various states of disrepair, including Mona's ramshackle Dodge Dart. Depressing just to visit, Mona's apartment complex, Desert Acres, should be called Deserted Acres, I thought. Although, as late as this afternoon, I'd cared about Mona only as a beautiful bitch with a beautiful booty, suddenly I wanted to take her away from this squalid environment. Her looks alone made her deserving of surroundings far more glamorous and luxurious than these. It seemed, somehow, grossly inappropriate for someone as lovely as she to live in such a hellhole. Angels, I told myself, belong in heavenly surroundings.

I rang her doorbell and waited. After a minute, when she still hadn't answered the door, I rang again. Still, there was no answer. I rapped sharply at her door.

"Hello, Brad," she said, as she answered the door.

My eyes widened, and I smiled. She was wearing only a flimsy baby blue top, through which I could see the outlines of both her erect nipples and their swollen areolas as well as the round mounds of her fabulous breasts, and a pair of pink satin thongs, the front of which showed the bulge of her male genitals and, as I would see in a moment, the back of which revealed the full, firm cheeks of her compact derriere. Remembering my manners, I responded to her greeting. "Hello, Mona."

"Won't you come in?" she asked, her tone imparting a double meaning to both the words "come" and "in."

She sure had a way with words, I thought, as my penis stirred. "I'd love to," I said, my smile broadening into a grin.

"Can I get you something?"

"Just you."

"I like a man who knows what he wants." She took my hand and lead me across her living room to the couch. Like the rest of the furniture in her sparsely equipped abode, it had seen better days. However, it was comfortable enough.