Trisha Mallu

Pull out Body’s wallet. Body needs name. Culprits, crooks, criminals, crankheads, call girls… all get pet names. Each gets nickname. Seperates me ...rom them. Takes familiarity, humanity, out of equation. Easier to drop Whorehopper off overpass than Paul Jenkins. Easier to break Dope-Pusher’s neck than John Smith’s. Body’s name is Thomas Coffee. Sixteen years old. Blue eyes. Black hair. Driver’s license expires two days short of one year from now. Means Body… Thomas… means Thomas got driver’s. I winced inside, loathe to tell him that I had attained menopause and any amount of fucking was safe for me, but smiled. I kissed him and said I had to go.I felt so sexy as I walked back to my husband, a middle aged housewife without any panties on, fucked thoroughly for the past forty minutes by a younger man whose baby making juice had thoroughly lubricated my dry love machine!!! My husband hadn’t even noticed I had gone. Nikhil cockily sauntered over after a few minutes and with a sideways. More

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