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Karma

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Karen Lethlean

We were watching porn together and having sex in the living room. Then migrated outside. All my idea, because I have this thing about doing it on the balcony, on the deck chair. Something about the notion that a pedestrian might be walking along, look up and see my tight tush bumping and grinding, well, that really does if for me.

My accountant has this photograph in his office, of all places. Of an inner city terrace house and there on the balcony was a couple, going for it. Unbeknownst to a lovely old lady, handbag, and gloves, the whole bit, waiting on the kerb for the 601 bus. What the hell, my accountant, no less?

But on that night, couldn’t have taken me long, because I had finished, but I don’t think Michelle had. My policy was, first sexual encounter: orgasm comes free, after that be on your toes because I won’t be hanging about. Her orgasm quota had been met earlier in the evening (at least the amount of noise she made indicated a ride on that express bus), it was now three in the morning, so I strolled off into the flat all nude, to quiet my belligerent mind some. Have to admit I needed a little space from girlie wetness.

In response to my withdrawal, Michelle began loudly putting her things together, in that way women do when they want you say, “Oh, don’t. I’m not ready to see you go, yet.”

I wasn’t going to fall for that one; they teach you that in your first term of womanizing school. Sub clause 31(b) on Tinder … Take no notice of subtle, unspoken girlie messages.

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