The Streets are Full of Dreams

The streets are full of dreams, the girl tells me I should come in, I tell her I can’t and walk away but she follows me down the street, holding my arm, skin on skin, it’s hard to resist, so I walk back with her, short skirts have always broken me. She tells me wait and walks away and just enough string runs its way below the line to leave me watching her tight rope walk.  I want to get in I tell her, she turns and smiles, just wait, so I do, and she leaves me alone with the Ethiopian man who speaks flawless English. She’s special he says. She’ll fuck you good. And I wonder if she’s fucked him good, imagining the mount and cock and her small frame being rammed and taken from behind, of course, she would scream and slowly my silly hoe et returns, the table is set, she says, bending with full comprehension of cause and effect, we walk, skin on skin, and vodka makes its way to fill our many cheers, to dreams and dreams we shall have, we say and eye each other.  Below, I feel her feet from crest to fold start, she’ll fuck you good, so our glasses fill for one last dip to toast. To play without courage, and courage without play is not this place, so sip and stand, around me my silhouette she plays, and we carry through the music with her ass against my cock and my hands below her skirt until I give up trying to hide it, the room is open she whispers, I tell her I can’t and know it’s a lie, she smiles and says, I’ll kiss and make it better. So we walk, and through this hall of broken light and shadowed mirrors, I pass the Ethiopian, who smiles and nods. He’s fucked her. Curtains part, the bed is white. They fucked here. My silhouette she plays and I play with her.

Cheers, hope you enjoyed.