You think about picking up the panties, but refrain. Do people actually do that? Either way you cover the underwear up with a towel to keep yourself from any urges. Pleased with your gentlemanly decision you turn around, only to bump into the man again.
You squeal from being startled, but stop once you realize it's him.
"Jeez, you gotta stop scaring me like that."
He is not amused.
"I mean, you know, sneaking up behind me and all."
"Yeah, no." He says as he grabs your shoulders.
He punches you in the chest, sending you to the ground wheezing.
"What the heck?" You say, spitting up blood between words.
"What kind of pussy doesn't smell a pair of panties?" He asks.
You are speechless.
"The kind that doesn't belong in my house." He answers.
He rips off the shirt he gave you and drags your slouched body to the door.
You hit the ground and start crawling to the road. Behind you, a dog is barking. You turn around to see a big dog. As a man who loves to make papier-mâché dogs, you must admit that your dogs never look this mean.
You tell the man to calm down and start backing up to the road. When you feel the gravel underneath your feet, you sprint off, unsure of where you are heading.
You turn around and see the large dog coming after you.
GAME OVER. I GUESS YOU AREN'T DEAD YET
BUT USE YOUR IMAGINATION
After years of being misunderstood, I had hoped we finally had "our" story. I was wrong.
He had a yellow inflatable tube around his waist, the kind with a comical duck head. There was a tiny fish in one of his hands, and a trident in the other. In the background a squirrel wearing shades was water skiing.
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