August 11, 2008
I pulled Bobbi over my lap, lifted her skirt….
Too few to mention, well maybe one. The stairs creaked as I climbed to the third floor. She opened the door and let me in once she saw I was probably not dangerous. I wasn’t. The harm done was to myself. I gave in to my fascination and ache. I chose a girl who called herself Bobbi. She was young with red hair and she wore a black leather skirt and fishnets. I paid a C note to the older woman who seemed to run the place, the one who let me in. I pulled Bobbi over my lap, lifted her skirt and paddled her behind. It brought tears to her eyes. I put a few bucks in her pocket once she was back in jeans. After my time ran, I walked through Times Square and thought about my pure power trip turn on. The buzz was faint. I regretted making the girl jump a little. She, just a kid making ends meet.Submitted by: Tumble Reed
At 6:49 pm on August 19, 2008, andy commented:
Did this really happen or are you a writer wanting to practice your skills? If it really happened, you don’t seem as regretful for what happened as you do nostalgic. Boys will be boys, huh?
At 7:19 am on August 31, 2008, J.T. commented:
Man, it sucks, feeling bad about pros, but it’s so sweet while it’s happening. I’ve been to one or two. Don’t think I can do it again — you feel like shit contributing to someone’s beat up life — but I still get off thinking about it.
At 9:48 am on September 4, 2008, Anonymous commented:
Sounds like you need a lesson in love!