What a wetdown

The dry cleaner’s son’s kiss is the wettest I’ve ever known. His mouth, with its full lips and lovely white teeth behind them, was, until a minute ago, a joy to behold as it talked to me and laughed with me. But now? Descending, wide-open, upon my mouth, spilling saliva into it, and now, unwelcome, unaware, still probing for further entry, drool oozing in waves over my grimace, onto my shirt, as this newly revealed boy-beast slurps his way toward his own private ecstasy? No!
“I’ll send you the dry-cleaning bill,” I say, as I push him out the door.

0 thoughts on “What a wetdown

  1. Remember when I complained that you weren’t posting enough? Now it’s too much. It is becoming diluted.
    Also, there is too much good that I have to muddle through before getting to the sarcasm. What gives? Do I hear wedding bells? May I bring my yak to the ceremony?
    Love,
    Mike

  2. The sidewalk? Now you’re taking pictures of the sidewalk? What’s next…your feet? Get a Flickr account and get over it!
    Oh wait…what’s that? A deer? Is that a deer? In Manhattan! OH MY GOD!!!!!!

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