Dangers of the Burbs

Two posts in less then a week. Shit... almost like old times...

I grew up in the country. Middle of Butt Fuck Egypt. My nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away and was my grandmother. Living like that you learn some bad habits. Like for instance the one this rant is about, Not locking your doors.

As some of you know, I sleep commando. In the buff. Letting my tallywacker run wild and free between my 400 count egyptian cotton sheets. When me and the Mrs. are fucking, we both sleep in the buff. Tonite, we were fucking.

About a half hour ago. At 2AM, we both heard some bumbling out in the kitchen. At first, we figured it was the cat. When "the cat" opened the closet door, I figured it was time to get up and check. Low and behold, there was a man rumaging thru my closet. I'd say early 20's and definately not practiced in the art of holding his liqour. I escorted him out and after some "convincing" he finally left. When I am pissed off and naked, my hairy self can be a bit threatening looking. I watched him wonder around outside and our neighbors across the street finally gathered him up and escorted him into their house.

Stace had in the meantime, grabbed the phone, and a shirt, and locked her self in the kids room, to protect them. I'm not sure how she was going to protect them with the cordless phone, but I guess its more menacing then a floppy dildo.

After she came out, we found a rather nice watch on our kitchen counter. I threw on some pants and a shirt and walked across the street to give it to the neighbors to return to their drunken pal. Lots of apologies and OMFGs and an "I'm gonna fuckin kill him." And I returned home. My house smelling like cigarrettes, I bolted the door and shut off the porch light.