SIGN MY TITTIES
joel willans
She’s a beauty, this one. Italian, I think, or Greek. Her hair’s blonde, though, and she has blue-green eyes that look all the more amazing sitting in her caramel coloured face. I wonder whether her hair is really that colour. I will find out soon enough. She stands up and starts gyrating, teasing with a slow motion belly dance. She is still wearing the bikini and I can just make out my scrawl on the top of her breast.
“Sign me. Sign my titties,” she said as I rocked into the hotel. “They’re the finest in Turkey.”
“I'd rather not, Madam,” I said all pompous, which almost made laugh because I knew I was at my weakest after a gig.
It’s all that adoration, waves and waves and waves of it. It has its own smell. A mix of perfume and sweat, panties and smoke. It smells sweet even when it doesn’t.
Joel Willans
http://www.everydayfiction.com/interview-with-joel-willans/
Valentines
Olaf Olafsson