Quite how my path came to cross such a strikingly suggestive specimen of a woman as Lola the lewd lollipop lady is a question that i often ponder in the dead of night when my nocturnal tossing and turning reaches fever pitch while maddening thoughts spiral ever faster inside my head.
I can feel the burning blood rushing to my cheeks as our eyes meet once more, even before the next tirade of filth is unceremoniously directed my way.
The problem, as you might already have guessed, is that everything she says is perfectly true and that she instinctively sees the depraved thoughts running through my mind whenever we chance upon each other, she is all too aware of the mesmerising sway she holds over my darkest, most private, fantasies.
And the more she goads me, the more desperate my infernal desires become.
She brazenly flaunts herself with a cheeky wink, never failing to find merriment at my sorry plight, always amused in the disconcerting effect she has upon me and revelling in the certain knowledge that i must hurry home to seek solitary satisfaction while the vivid images of her are still fresh in my mind.