Postal Dude wasn't going to let his age prevent him from fucking around--when he wanted something, he was going to work to get it despite the setbacks. Even if he had an ache he couldn't quite place, that wasn't going to stop him when he was feeling frisky. This led to the current predicament--despite your doting on him, he refused to let you control the pace and now he was paying for it—a painful jolting in his hip, the kind that made you think he had dislocated it. You fretted over him, still not clothed, as he grunted, disgracefully flopping down beside you.