“Show me them”. Lift your shirt, high above you heard. Nipples, here we go… now the whole thing…
I took a hold of you from behind when you were standing at the bar; gin and tonic, from memory. When you turned your breath stung my face, too many caps I’m guessing. After all, it was Revolver, and eight in the morning. Little did I know that I’d be taking off your shirt in the backstreets of Northcote only hours later. Bright, broad daylight, casting evil shadows on my face as I begged for your pants to be removed. Any more will give me away, but I get the feeling that more than a handful of men have played this part on one of your Saturday nights.
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