Well, this wasn’t exactly going to plan, Paul thought. He watched her continue to watch her phone. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was playing hard to get.<br/><br/><i>Of course, she’s playing hard to get, Old Man! She’s a girl. They like pulling this kinda crap. Live for it, even. Now, it is highly recommended that you quit your dawdling, and grab dat ass.</i><br/><br/>His little nudge wasn’t all that productive, as she asked with a smirk, "Oh, does that mean you<i>want</i>me now?" Hmm, should he answer her question? Paul wondered.<br/><br/><i>Yes, you answer her question. And here’s how, Old Man. Follow step-by-step now. Grab! Dat! Ass!</i><br/><br/>Whatever Charlette was scrolling on her phone sure musta been interesting. He observed how her attention remained on the device instead of looking at him.<br/><br/><i>Oh, for the love of . . . She’s looking at fucking woolly socks, Old Man! Y’know what I’m gonna say, right? Right?! Quit looking at it, and just grab it. Grab. Grab. Grab. And I ain't talking about them woolly socks neither. </i><br/><br/>Hmm, maybe he was on to something, after all. Instead of grabbing her curvy tush, however, Paul laid a hand on her right butt cheek, and proceeded to rub both buns in a circular fashion. Kinda like rubbing a magic lamp, hoping a Genie or a Jeannie would appear after so many rubs. The fabric of her shorts was soft and smooth, just nowhere near as soft and smooth as the skin of her mighty fine booty. That sensation was indelibly etched within his memory bank.<br/><br/><i>Well, that’s a fucking start, Old Man! Geez, worse than having my fucking teeth pulled. </i>