I have never eaten an ice cream so fast in my life. I practically inhale it, all while carefully avoiding looking at Beau. When I finally finish, I dart off of the park bench.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I say over my shoulder as I hustle to the back of the banana-split shaped buildings to the single-stall bathroom in the back. Fortunately it is empty. I rush in, close and lock the door behind me, then cover my face with both hands.
What in the world am I thinking, fantasizing like that about Beau? Of course the man has expert use of his tongue. How many women has he been with? How many p*****s has he eaten out?
He was showing off. He wanted this reaction. I played right into his hands by letting my dirty thoughts cloud my mind again.
Why can I never seem to keep my thoughts together
