Keds.

You're walking down the street, enjoying the sunshine along the lake. Around you are the yuppies, the dog-walkers, the tourists. You, in your funky torn jeans and baggy Tshirt, are a spirit unto yourself as your charm and character contrasts with those around you.

Your sneakers. Dark Keds, the kind I haven't seen in years and seem to making a comeback on the fashion scene. They still remind me of hot summers in Coney Island, hanging out at the pier, first kisses and first pettings with cool, countercultural grrls like you.

Am I bad because a part of me is now imagining you on your back, your naked and strong legs tight around my waist, those Keds high in the air as I fuck you? Am I a naughty man for, in between my moments of genuinely admiring your prettiness and the way the sun races across your form, wanting to feel those rubber heels tapping the small of my back as my potent thrusts force your legs to shake?

Let me fuck you while you're wearing your sneakers. Hard and deep. Let me feel your flesh cloying wetly to the length and girth of me, your succulence being drawn from you as my hardness withdraws and pumps in again. Let me feel laces along my spine as you lock heels together, yielding to me, getting fucked, getting taken.