A Good Match

Darren trotted down the stairs of the block of flats, easing the door behind him and plucking his mobile out of his pocket. He had kept the card the taxi-driver had given him so he knew how to catch a cab home. He punched in the number while striding along.

That was a fucking blast! That Shell had been a fucking good screw.

Darren thought about Trace, reminiscing on her rather more prominent bosom and her looser twat. He felt good. In only a week's time, there'd be another expression to describe what he'd just been doing. And it wasn't 'playing the field' or 'sowing the wild oats'.

It would be 'adultery'.

Darren smiled. He could hardly wait!