Davo

by N.R. Walker

God, the skirt. He had the body of a footballer, grease-stained hands, work boots, and a pretty skirt. It was an Achilles heel I didn’t know I had, apparently.

He slipped out the door and I was left standing there holding a bottle of Sprite, smiling like an idiot.

Junie beamed like a proud mum. “I put condoms in the bag with his sandwich. Just so you know.” “Oh my god!” “No need to be embarrassed.” “I’m not embarrassed. I’m mortified.

“Don’t splash too much,” Davo said. “Attracts the crocodiles.” I shrieked, and he cracked up laughing. “I’m kidding! There are no crocs here.” “Davo!” I grabbed my dick. “I peed a little!”

We are but a speck of dust in the time of this place.”

“Earth would have been nothing but a fiery, volcanic planet, rivers of lava, that kind of thing.” He sighed. “And now here we are, three billion years later, and I’m lucky enough to exist at the same time as you.”

He might not have been able to say the words on the tip of his tongue earlier, but my god, when he kissed me, I sure could taste them.

He had more time to do more sewing now, and he’d made me a lot of pairs of shorts. Some were great for wearing in public. Some were not. Like the pairs that were so tight, it looked like I’d been poured into them. Or the pairs with the flap at the front so I didn’t have to waste time taking them off. I could just pop the flap, pull my dick out, and lift his skirt.