Hey, Barbecutie

Posts Tagged ‘coitus interruptus

We walked through darkened midnight streets past terraced houses frozen in a.m. bliss. It was neither cold not breezy; the first and so far only mild night of the year. We were the only living things, or so it felt. We walked on, and spoke of piffling things; love and fear and jokes only we understand and stories we think we heard

– – – – then draw to a simultaneous halt. There is a front window, there is a sheer gauzy curtain. There is a TV set. On it, we make out the image of a pneumatic blonde, dressed in pink, though not for long, as she peels off her bra to reveal a pair of potentially inauthentic, magnificent but indistinct breasts, censored by the netting.

The security light flashed on as we passed the house, but in our shocked lingering, it went off again. As my partner-in-curiosity decides we should move on, his motion causes the light to illuminate once more, attracting the attention of the Alpha voyeur within.

As the scanty image suddenly transforms into the blue of the index page and we leap away from the window and down the street, speculating and cackling with a vague sensation of guilt for disturbing the dweller’s innocent evening’s activities.