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I peered through the spyhole again and his face, not a pretty sight to behold, looked so disappointed, the irony had not escaped me, John was the guy I always thought about whenever my masturbation night came along, and now, on a night like tonight, here he was outside my front door, if I opened it and let him inside, I could be having his baby in the morning. My legs felt weak, my heart was suffering palpations, and my pussy was leaking like a sieve, everything my body was telling me, just like on my wedding night, screamed, ‘Let him fuck you’, only, as I watched him turn and start to descend the stone stairway, there was the voice of reason, my heads voice was strangely silent, and my voice said, ‘John’. He stopped and turned to see me standing framed in the doorway. I saw his eyes traverse my body, covered by my terry-towelling coat, and my black large slutty diamond patterned stockings, from my mid-thigh down to my toes. I ad been thinking about letting him leave, as my hand. Opening the screen door and stepping onto the stone threshold, he looked up and down the street. It was completely deserted. Swearing under his breath, he slammed the door, locked it again, and returned to his chair. When he reached toward the table beside his chair, his hand stopped in mid-air. It was gone. Jumping to his feet, he looked nervously around the room. He placed it on the table when the doorbell rang. He knew it was there, but now it is gone. Shaking nervously, he eagerly retraced his steps. Nowhere along the path from his chair to the door did he find it. Damn, damn, damn. Where was it? Back and forth, he went – chair to door, door to chair. It was simply not there. He was now drenched in his own sweat. Standing by his chair, slowly turning to look through out the room, he could not find it. Rushing into the hall, he looked by the phone, still nothing. Where the hell did he put it? Going back to his chair, he over turned it to see if it may have fallen. He began.
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