“A typewriter? Who brings a fucking typewriter out into the middle of a field?
And it’s a Smith Corona. Probably infected. I’m staying away from you.”
His questioning tone had devolved into incoherent grumbling as he made to rise.
But she was young and quick and was quickly astride his somewhat reluctant form.
“You should be pleased I like ancient things.”
She grinned down at him as she ground herself into his groin.
“It keeps my finger nimble, too.” she said, demonstrating.
She stripped off her shirt. He reached for her stiff nipples, reminiscing about tuning in his old wireless.
