Where is she? Okay, I said 7, maybe 7.30, or thereabouts. I scan the address book on the wall. Press # to dial. * to cancel call. The shrill ring is barely audible.
“Hello. Hello.” I think I hear the vague tone of an answering machine bleep.
Nothing.
I text again.
Suddenly the door swings open and she floats through likek a ray of sunshine.
She flashes me a rare smile, and tosses her locks.
Her phone bleeps – she looks down, then back to me.
‘Tis you. You said 7.30. I can’t find my keys. I need to check my mail-box. I never check my mail-box. Where… there… are… here’tis.”
She bounds back to embrace me. Says, “Thought you’d said 7.30, as she pecks me on the cheek, and folds an arm through mine.”
I’m broke. The bottle of wine under my free arm and the $20 credit on my phone was the last of my cash. Five-dollars stood between me and abject poverty. My cock was thrilled to see Sally, yet I felt somewhat distracted by my crippled credit and pending invite. It’d all work out well I says to I. I’d pawn camera in the a.m to tide me over at least the weekend.
Sally got busy in the kitchen upon entrance. There’s something about a slut at the sink. I fondled her ass while she poured my wine.
We weren’t talking more than ten to fifteen minutes before there was a knock at the door. I ducked out to the balcany ‘cause we’re not meant to be smoking in-doors.
Turns out the landlord is dropping off a diseased pidgion on deaths door. As he knows Sally feeds the flying rats he thought she might like to nurse it back to health.
Sally sat it on the table, gave it some crumbs and cared for it.
“The flowers smell nice.”
“Thanks. Their from a client… For my birthday.”
I’m a dick. I just kinda stare blankly and exhale. “Happy birthday.”
“I’m tired. We need to be up early.”
“How early.”
“I want to be up there…
I want to be up there was when I starting thinking of something else.
… by ten. That means out the door by 7.”
There’ll be no time to pawn the camera. Maybe they have a Cash Converters in Whangarei. No good. Then I’d have to find my way back there. I’m daydreaming. Sally is topless. I refocus.
“Which ones should I wear,” says Sally waving a sellection ok knickers in my face.”
I don’t know where to look. At her little budding nipples that look like wild strawberries coverred in a frosty dew, or the collection of unmentionables now fanning the table. “What for,” says I like Stoner the ill fated eighth dwarf.
“I want a photo for a friend. He sent me this leather bodice and I want to take a picture for my blog.”
“You just want to encourge guys to give you gifts.”
“Of course.”
“Then we better pose you near the flowers too.”
“But which panties…”.

I propped her upon the bed with a book and a glass of wine. She looked divine.
“Ignore me. No… better yet… I plucked the book out of her hands and handed her a pad and pencil. Write me something. Write down all the dirty deeds you need done. Write down where you want me to come. Write me something only a slut would know.” All this was making me grow. I threw her on her back and prepared my tongue for attack. Her shaven haven was heaven to play in. I was so hard I thought I was going to punch a hole in the duvet. Her knickers where soaked. I ran my tongue round her seam. I made her feckin scream.

I forgot to pawn my camera. I was broke all weekend. But my cock was smiling ’til Sunday.