Warning: R18 entry because of the word "fuck".

Going out of the bank alone towards a deserted road inside this industrial park, a man probably in his late 40's was approaching, one hand holding a plastic bag and the other right on his crotch while looking straightly at me. Only when he was about two to three feet away did I notice his hand stroking a hard-on, horizontally at that like a limpid eel. Past him, I felt his head turn around while I walked on like I never saw such a thing.

Shock. Like when my crotch was grabbed inside a Greenbelt cinema, but what the hey. It's not a thing of beauty. I felt pity for the man--is this what makes him feel happy amid the risque, like being sucked in an office stairwell at 3AM? Does he have a family to love him, a wife to fuck 24/7, a webcam to jack off in the afternoon for late viewers in New York?

Penis is power and he thought that he could lure me like fish to a worm (a worm! ha! ha!). And after that, what? Body found in creek, limbs bound and mouth gagged. Lacerations in the anus. It is bondage, morbid but never kinky. He wants power. Ordinary, smalltown being that he is.

And it rests on his right hand that nobody will ever take, like the abandoned shortcut road that one will only tread out of desperation.

...

10 more Gmail invites to give.

This entry was posted by sky, on Thursday, January 27, 2005. You can leave your response.