I’ve found myself an empty room, escaping the party sweat and Euro beat.
A “tink, tink” teases the patio door. I find a pink-haired pixie, obviously naked under her gossamer gown.
“I’m a present for Jimmy!”
“Oh. Yeah. That’s me.” Answering her look, I add, “Short for… ah… Jemima.”
Guiding her in, I step out of my slacks, spreading myself on the couch.
“Cool,” she giggles and kneels between. “You smell pretty.”
I lean back into the damask as her tongue snake-dances my clit and her fingers pluck and probe.
Which leaves the question open.
Who the hell is Jimmy?
