He lay her down on the bed, using the same care generally reserved for laying baloney on a thick slice of white bread. Her meat-pink skin against flour-white sheets, her nipples resting on her breasts like slices of pepperoni - he knew he'd never look at his sandwiches the same way again.
"Come to me," she breathed, reaching out to him. "Come to me, into me, onto me, my dark sex god of the night." Tangling her hands in his long locky hair, she pulled his manly bear-like frame down to her.
He guided her hands to the top of his jeans. She undid the lock and pulled the bolt, uncaging his man-beast, strong with passion and hungry for sex. Stroking her hands along his turgid shaft, she cried out, "Oh Manuel!!! Manwell! Plunge into me! Dive into my waves like a tall ship plowing the sea!!"
"Dahling," he replied, slipping his legs out of his jeans and slipping his fingers into her slippery woman-flower, "it cahnot be pleazure if you ahre grahnted your dezire at first wish!"
His strong, dextrous fingers played her like a harp or a very expensive keyboard. "Oh Manuel! Manuel, Manuel, Manuel!" She gasped like a fish out of water or a bird in it. Juices flowed from her, from that feminine juice bar that every woman carries concealed between her legs. "Please, Manuel - say my name!!"
As he continued to stroke her fires, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Beahvive." Bringing her to the snowline of her peak, he grinned, and whispered it again... "Beeee-aaaah-veeeeeve!"