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Rating: 15
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seveneternal:
i open a fresh jar of peanut butter - my sixth today - and, with light swoops of a sturdy bone from the leg of a chap with whom i am not slightly familiar, gently spread its contents around on my penis. it is hard. the act, that is.
i should clarify something: i am not slightly familiar with the owner (ex-owner, perhaps; i am unversed in the finer legal details of skeleton ownership) but am in fact grossly familiar with the man. that is to say, he is a chap with whom i am not merely slightly familiar. in other words, i know - knew - him well. in yet other words, i knew him well. with my penis.
he did not know me. his poor constitution is the culprit.
the sun does not creep; it is set in the sky, but my pulse quickens anyway. the immense stillness of the deep forest always betrays the alarming speed with which darkness overtakes this place on these lonesome winter nights. i am always uncomfortable in the frictious darkness of the deep forest, clawing at speed and shimmering with dark instincts. i spread with some panic and haste. soon this inevitable commute is finished.
i zip up, gather, turn to leave, and dead leaves rustle.
my companion does not express an intent to follow.
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