by Ari Collins
I'm awoken by the smell in my sheets. Or maybe it's your dildo jamming into my back. Or the furry handcuffs tickling my nose, or my sweat-wet pillow. Each time I'm jostled awake by our forensic sexprint, I reremember. And I smile. And I won't clear and clean the bed until you come back.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Scene of the
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8 comments:
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
I know it's good to write what you know, but dang, Ari, WE didn't need to know!
Says Zel. With a note of disgust.
Guys. That dude is totally not this dude. This dude too is grossed out by that dude. Seriously. Good thing only that dude has the capability to think like that.
Wait.
Being an imaginative writer who can get into nasty characters' heads SUCKS.
-Zel
Does it?
No.
The "forensic sexprint" is a brilliant coined phrase.
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