She had Puerto Rican, come-hither eyes.
Her rockin’, knee-high purple boots and sweet ass went straight to my head. I saw her walking the street, and I had to have her.
I paid. Told her my real name even. She said no to fucking but when she slid plush-glitter lips down my pole, I didn’t care.
I shot – cum-droplets decorated fake eyelashes and rouged cheeks.
I asked for her number and gave her mine. She laughed, leaving parting gifts – the haunting memory of her cock, under trashy pink panties, and a phone call, “Sir, it’s the Health Department.”