Helga's Red Thigh Boots


A Canadian journalist, aka Fred, finds a place to stay with a lady, aka Hufflepuff, and her adult son in Rotterdam and at first it is very comfortable until the lady develops mid-life shivering fits in the presence of the journalist.

free kindle book Helga's Red Thigh Boots
Format Kindle ebook
Published 21 Nov 2014
Pages 63
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Book Details


I did not see Helga back at the house until the next morning, which was a Saturday, and again I went down to the kitchen, ostensibly for an early morning cup of tea. I had on only my cheap cotton sarong and a collarless shirt that I had brought in India some years ago. Helga was wearing her housecoat again, with only one or two buttons done up! Underneath I could see that she was wearing something like a flannelette nightgown, and when she turned to give me a mug of tea most of the housecoat opened at the front!
She did look attractive. It was my penis that gave me away! And she saw the movement in the front of my sarong. “Oops,” she said and smiled. “Down, Fred!” I said, and she laughed. “Why do you call it Fred?” I laughed myself and said, “Quite frankly I’ve forgotten, but I’m sure I’m not the only man who has a name for his penis!” She gasped, held her hand to her mouth, and blushed! “You mean women do as well?” “If I tell you, will you promise to keep it to yourself?” “Yes,” I lied, but could not help smiling. “Do you remember Harry Potter?” I nodded. “Well there was a character called Helga Hufflepuff, which made me laugh and one morning after a shower I was powdering talc on the skin around my pubis, when I dropped the container, and swore hufflepuff, and ever since then I’ve called my clitoris hufflepuff!” We both laughed, and I looked at my sarong, and said, “There you are Fred, a kindred spirit!” “Now I’ve definitely got a problem,” Helga said, “hufflepuff is itching! What can you do to help me?” “Try talc,” I volunteered, and the coward came to the fore again as I stood up to go and shave.

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