By Ledley Russell

I shudder.

I kneel forward and slowly pull this coil. In my hands right now, just a shadow of his former proud state.

Years have passed, and it’s obvious.

Now unsheathed, still stale and unclean, but primed for re-invigoration.

How many other lovers have there been?

How many hands have distractedly stroked him, fast, slow, sharp nails, no nails, stressed, relaxed, or profanity-screaming?

What of the good news, the bad news, the tears, the heavy breathers, and the anonymous Johns pulling without remorse?

Secrets stay with spirits.

Arsch! Bubble-wrap strangle this old call-box cable.


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