🔥 Exclusive Sneak Peek from Diaries of Dutty Desire - 'Good Mawnin’, Gyal'

Ebz Dixon
Jun 22
2 min read

Lewisham, SE13 — 7:04am

“He only came to fix the dryer — but now my legs shaking louder than the spin cycle.”

I didn’t plan to get bent over the washing machine on a Thursday morning.

I’d just dropped the kids at breakfast club in a dressing gown and Uggs, bonnet still on from last night’s protective style routine. The house was quiet. My man had left for work. The toast hadn’t even popped.

And then there was him.

The neighbour with the muscle vest and the keys to his auntie’s flat upstairs.

The one who always offered to carry my bags, said good morning like he meant it, and had that look, like he’d already imagined what I sounded like mid-stroke.

Today, I let him in.

Just for help with the tumble dryer.

Just for a sec.

Ten minutes later, my left breast was out, the machine was rumbling, and his beard was slick with intention.

“You always this sweet first thing in the morning?” he asked, tongue sliding slow and steady between my thighs, like he had all day and nothing better to do than study me.

I was still wearing my bonnet.

Still had slippers on.

But my leg was up on the appliance and my soul was halfway to Deptford Creek.

I moaned.

Not a cute moan, a fed-up wife finally getting seen kind of moan.

A let-me-breathe-through-this-before-I-buss moan.

And when he slid in?

Lawd.

It was not forgiveness.

It was filth.

Stretch and release.

Deep stroke penance from a man who knew he wasn’t allowed to ask questions.