Double Blind: Two-Faced Kelly

I track the spooky sidewalk underpass, tunneling under the train station, then reemerge in the townie chaos of Palo Alto. Cars stack up at the light as pedestrians scatter across like pigeons. I wing a right at the bead shop, lock my bike to an S-shaped rack, and cut around to the side door. My secret knock (the opening beat to “My Sharona”) is answered by the sexiest woman on the peninsula.


Kelly’s got one of those short, mousse-dependent haircuts that spindles out like an old broom, falling from her crown in triangles of black and purple. For her it works, because she’s got the face: long lines, sharp chin, Mediterranean nose with a midway bump, brown cat’s eyes and a loose-lipped smile. She’s the library book I always check out.

“Hey, Hoppy. In for the usual?”

“Sure. How about you?”

Kelly turns around, bends over and flips her skirt. She’s painted her ass like a hooker’s face: blue eyes with overlong lashes, a broad nose straddling her crack, and pouty lipsticked mouth surrounding her bubble-gum labia. She has pre-lubed herself with massage oil, so my mission is clear. I open my fly, give my dick a couple of pulls and ram it home. Then I close the door.

“Oh!” she groans. “God! I never feel complete without that cock in me. Could you just follow me around the rest of the day?”

“I think the necklace-makers of Palo Alto would frown on it.”

“Charge them admission!”

I slide out till nothing’s inside but the helmet, then thrust back in. The blue eyes jiggle.