She twirled her longer hair round her fingers while she checked her phone with one hand like a natural text-aholic. Her digital clock read 2.21am, and she was slightly irate by the casual proposal. Nothing good ever happens after 2am. 

Her lips curled at a distant memory. 

It had started with a text. An impromptu preposition of some sort. Some call it an indecent proposal. 

A relay of messages followed fixing the little details of a rendezvous. 

She picked up a young bottle of Red Muscato that corresponded with her lightened mood. 

When he had arrived, she was inebriated while he was shivering slightly partly from the cool wind and partly because of circumstantial boundaries. 

Curfews, sneaking out and parents bring an obscene imbalance to the equation for the liberated female. She laughed at her own ambivalent desperation and most importantly how under any other instance, it would have been a complete turn off. 

She remembered his washboard stomach as in quivered against her lips as she made her way downwards. She had been hungry in every sense until upon his first thrust, she gasped. 

She was utterly bewildered at how negligible his member was. Frustrated at her own frustrations. To make things worst, flipping sides didn't help but merely escalated her dissatisfactions. 

It seemed to go on forever. At least he had decent stamina she mused to herself as she thought of every lover that she's ever had. If things could have not gone worse, he whispered every dirty thought he had in her ear. 

"Are we there yet?" she enthused. It was like riding a donkey to China, with a dildo up your ass. At the end of the porn star performance, she bid him good-bye, rolled over and had her good night's rest. 

Nothing good ever happens after 2am.