Bullet Head

Bullet Head

She cupped it in her hand and said it looked like a little bullet head, and then she began to laugh. Obviously, she was in a ‘let’s make fun of each other’ mood, so I removed my glasses, laid my book down and told her that hers reminded me of a boxer’s swollen lips after a fifteen-round bout.

She quit laughing and turned away from me.

I scootched up behind her, took hold of her arm just above the wrist and said, “Hey. I’m just teasing.”

“What about my tits?” she said. “What do they remind you of?”

“They’re fantastic.”

“How fantastic?”

I rolled her onto her back, buried my face in her breasts. “Intoxicating,” I said.

“But not as intoxicating as they used to be, right?”

“More,” I replied.

“Liar,“ she said. After a moment she swiped her wet eyes with the back of her hand and said, “I hate getting old.”

I resorted to cliché, “You’re only as old as you feel.” I closed my eyes, listened to her cry. Finally, I said, “Maybe I should savage you like there‘s no tomorrow.”

She smiled.. “Sure. Let’s wake up that little bullet head, get your money’s worth for once.”