Monday afternoon 3:50 pm. Back of Almelo station. Tension shoots through my body with every black car. Just a little while and then I’ll be face to face with the man I’ve been in contact with over the past few days. The car mechanic who offers MOT inspections in exchange for sex. In scents and colors he tells what he expects from the appointment, he leaves nothing to the imagination. But he reveals as little as possible about himself. The phone rings, it’s an email. “See you in a minute xx,” it reads.
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