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(Sex at the Circus, continued...)
You reach out to tap her on the shoulder and the bodyguard nearest you grabs your arm and twists it behind your back.
“Ow ow ow!” you say as he marches you away from Angelica and throws you out onto the dirt street.
“Don’t come back,” he warns you.
As you try to get the feeling back in your arm, you see that Angelica has gone and that the crowd has dispersed. Maybe she wanted you, but now you’ll never know. You blew it.
Eventually, you get home and jerk off, but you use your left hand, because your other arm is in a plaster cast. Shame.
You imagine what it might have been like to slide inside her, to squash her breasts under your hands, to feel her warm flesh against your skin.
When you come, you try to put the memory of her aside, but she haunts you.
Sometimes you wake in the night and think of her. Your fingers instinctively go to your cock. You can’t help feeling that you missed out on one of the best night’s of your life, but you also have a sense that you might have had a lucky escape too.