They couldn’t be closer, she above, he below, his cock fully in her cunt, her face pressed to his, their lovemaking glacier-slow. She’d come three times so far, able to climax by squeezing and pressing and wanting it and willing it. He was saving his. From underneath he could last practically forever. Being 57, thirty years older than her, helped.

Sometimes their fuck stalled, their bodies joined but motionless, her cunt quiet, flexing just enough to keep him hard. “This is so good,” she whispered. “Mmm,” he agreed, giving her two gentle upthrusts. She chuckled. “But is any sex bad?” she asked. Now it was his turn to chuckle. The movement hit her just right. She came—a surprise come. “That was a good one,” she said. “Is any orgasm bad?” he asked. They chuckled together, and then mirth gave way (more or less) to passion, and the fuck went fierce and full throttle as they both strove toward climax. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he groaned, bucking upward. She gasped, a sound like oafffff with the f of it drawn out, her cunt seizing his cock as they came together.

“That was so good,” he said.

“But is any sex bad?” she asked.

“Maybe if no one comes.”

“So if no one comes it’s bad sex?”

“So you could have half-bad sex?”

“Like, that sex wasn’t half-bad?”

“Meaning good.”

“But can a bad person have good sex?”

“Or a good person bad sex?”

“It was fun.”

“It was good.”

“I loved it.”

“I love you.”

They were quiet for a while.

“It was a good weekend, wasn’t it, with your friends?” she asked.

“Did you like them?”

“They weren’t half-bad.” She laughed, forcing his penis from her cunt.

“Now see what you did,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” she said. She swiveled and took him in her mouth. She sucked and stroked and soon he was hard again and soon he was in her cunt again and they couldn’t be closer.