Finally a moment to relax.  Some time to myself.  A quiet interval to read for enjoyment before sweet sleep.  I was deep into the Bukowski’s Notes of a Dirty Old Man, appropriately enough.  As I tried to enjoy one of the short stories about a dissolute life, Lo lay next to me, naked, her legs spread, diddling her bean, clearly looking for attention.  She spread her legs wider, putting her left leg up and over my legs.  She inserted her finger and moaned.  No response from me.  She spread her legs even further until her left knee hit the cover of my book, knocking it out of my hands.  She dipped all five fingers into her gaping pleasure patch. 

            “Hey,” I said, “watch it!”

            “Clearly you’re not interested in watching,” she retorted.

            “Is there something I can do for you?”

            “Probably not,” she replied, cursorily, as she continued to fap with her five fingers.

            “Then may I read in peace?”

            “Why do you want to read now?” she asked.

            “Well,” I said with some snark, “right now, I feel like it gives me a leg up, if you know what I mean.”

            She raised her leg even further, across my chest. 

            “Watch out, dear,” I said, “you’re spreading yourself a bit thin there.”

            “Thin?!  Thin?!  I’m a proudly thick woman,” she said.

“Look,” I said, “if you want me, then just use your words and ask for me to fuck you.”

“I shouldn’t need my words,” she said as she pulled out her fingers from her puss, “I’m using sign language.”

“And I’m using my ability to read lips.”

“See, we don’t even need words,” she said, “we can communicate perfectly well with body language.”

I got on my knees, pulled down my boxers, pulled out my hard cock and asked, “What does this body language express to you?”

“Everything I want to know,” she said, “now dip your pen in my wet well and write your poetry all over me, you dirty old man.”