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Karma by Karen Lethlean - Page 4

Karen Lethlean

On this particular night I discovered time moved slowly when you’re standing outside naked. No cars, no one taking the pooch around the block for a quick piss. I can see a few lights up in some of the towers, but to get anyone’s attention? Way too far to throw a rock, and if I buzzed any door bells, who can say if I would summon an axe murderer who dislikes having their slumber disturbed, or send annoying zaps into an empty, renovation-in-progress abode. These thoughts are disturbed by music from a bar – should pay more attention to what is open in my neighbourhood, but I usually have a concentrated focus on the one wearing stiletto heels while we are, heady with anticipation, skipping down these streets, toward my pad of pleasure.  

The doof-doof must be coming from a place with a late license, but I can’t go in completely naked. Luckily there’s some smelly running shoes left outside a doorway, so I grab one about the right dimensions, and hope I’m not putting my dick into some man-meat consuming bed of tinea. I can open up the laces and use this footwear between my legs to shield my boy-bits. Looking down, I’m struck with the humour about having a shoe-full, a foot of dick, thing. Did I mention that the shoe was hot-pink?

Just then a girl emerges from the bar with rubbish bags. She turns her pretty elfin face towards me, looks me up and down, with a pink shoe like dildo shielding what’s left of my dignity. Even though she isn’t my usual type, right about then I picture her cupid-bow of a mouth doing lovely things down below my navel. Could be a good thing, such a boyish haircut would mean not getting mouthfuls of shampoo and hair gel-laden locks in my mouth when she was on top.

Karma by Karen Lethlean - Page 4

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