Go around front to the hide-a-key?

From Create Your Own Story

Status: Naked & Exploring

You steel yourself for the foray to your front yard. You go to the gate, open it a crack, and look out. There's nobody out there.

The gate swings out on squeaky hinges. Hunching over, you sneak out, looking both ways frequently. You carefully leave your gate open.

You come to the corner of your house, and, hiding behind a small bush, you peer around.

You see your mailbox at the end of your walk. Taped inside is your spare house key. Between you and it are some long squat bushes that can serve as cover.

You look as far as you can see down the street.

Nobody is in their yard or by their windows. Nobody is on the sidewalk. No cars on the road.

Well, it's now or never.

You scamper on your hands and knees to the first bush. You take cover there and look around.


You are about to scamper to the next bush when a sudden breeze picks up. You hear the sound of squeaky hinges from the side of your house, followed by a slam and a click.

You curse under your breath. You can't see it from here, but you know your gate closed and locked.

You figure you can't go back, only forward, at this point.

As you are on your hands and knees between bushes, a delivery truck turns the corner down the way, and heads your direction.

You make it to the last bush between you and the mailbox, right as it stops two houses down from you. You position yourself so the bush is between you and it.

You keep an eye on the driver through the leaves. Minutes go by as he picks at something on a clipboard. What is he doing in there?

After forever, he finally gets out, taking a package to the front door. He rings the doorbell and waits, looking around the neighborhood.

Suddenly behind you, you hear a door open.

Your heart races as you twist your neck.

From two doors down the other way, your elderly neighbor, Mr. Thompson, is stepping out.

Shit, he's taking his dog out for a walk!

He hasn't seen you yet, but he will in seconds. And in the other direction, the delivery man still hasn't budged from the front step.

You quickly dive under the bush, curling into the fetal position so no part of you sticks out from underneath.

You can only see your house from your position, but you hear a door open, and the delivery man talking to someone.

You hear the dog tag clinking on the collar closer to you.

"Hey, Frank!" Mr. Thompson calls out.

"Hey, Mr. Thompson!" the delivery man calls back.

In a moment, Frank and Mr. Thompson meet, talking just a few feet from you. You quiver with anxiety, but they apparently do not see you.

"I ordered something last week," Mr. Thompson begins, drawing in more breath for the climatic punch, "and it still hasn't arrived. Do you know where it is?"

Frank chuckles. "I've told you over and over. No one but the computer knows where it is."

Mr. Thompson snorts. He starts going on about something "In my day," when you sense a wet tongue on your back.

It takes everything you got not to scream out. Mr. Thompson's dog is licking your back!

The shock wears off a bit, until, traveling down your your curved spine, he reaches you butt and exposed labia, and starts to lick the sweaty area vigorously.

You grimace and hold your breath. You resist the impulse to straighten your legs, as this would cause them to poke out form under the bush. You can barely pay attention to what Mr. Thompson goes on and on about in the best of circumstances, but you can tell by his tone he is just getting warmed up.


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