ekstermanĝi

Long time ago, I missed an opportunity. I’m not really kicking myself, but hindsight is always 20/20.

Must’ve been April or May of 2017, Edna and I were getting our shit together in regards to the business and getting me outfitted which necessitated various trips to thrift stores in the area in hopes they had desks available.

For what it’s worth, it was fun sitting with Edna at my computer performing Google searches for nearby thrift stores and other charitable organizations. We bemoaned the fact that the Habitat for Humanity ReStore in Toms River wasn’t going to open for months. After collecting our destinations, I set about devising a route to visit them all in one fell swoop, and we were off to the races.

We hit several stores before turning around on Northampton Boulevard to commence the second leg along Route 37 east. We wound up at some warehouse charity shop, wandering around in hopes of finding a business desk while Edna was finding distractions in a frame full of photos of strangers and talking about how we could solve the mystery of these people and return the photos.

She was talking a blue streak, such is the way of Edna, and she got down on all fours to look underneath something or to better examine something low to the ground. Edna mentioned how she thought she’s coming close to her period because she was starting to feel frisky. To the best of my recollection, she mentioned how she would be down for being eaten out. Not by me, but just the action in general. And that’s my forte.

And I should’ve knelt down to rub her glorious, womanly ass and graze my thumb around her cleft before making an offer I’d hope she wouldn’t refuse.

Chris S.
Anomalist, esperantist, cyclist, typist, dodecaphile, ailurophile, and oneiromancer. Chris lives near the shore with his wife, cats, and the Jersey Devil in his backyard.

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