He’d always been a writer, and had sent many short stories out to magazines, and had had two published, earning twenty-five dollars for each. But no... he was trying to write something big, something special. About the war and the shit he’d seen and the pain he’d endured and the brother he’d lost and his anger and the hatred he felt for the assholes who had sent him there and how everybody now looked at him like he was some kind of freak ever since he’d come home. But the writing wasn’t. If you were closer you could see her sometimes bunch her hands into fists as she seeks some relief, but I think that for now it’s best that you remain in the shadows.I press my lips to the side of her head and whisper.“Thirty minutes”. She groans and says no, it’s too long.“Thirty-five”. A softer protest.“Forty”. Silence.I hold her and begin to run the tips of my fingers along her arm, her thighs, with a touch so light it is gone before her body can register that it was even there. I feel her. David turned and walked down the hall leaving the Harold Raymond where he found him. Ducking into a restroom, he stepped into a toilet stall and closed the door and pulled the box out of the satchel. This time when he stared at the silver surface, he was back in his basement bedroom of his parent's house. When the dizziness had left him, he put the box back in its hiding place and opened his school books and got busy with his homework.The weekend finally arrived and David planned on doing. “How much am I bid to see the rest of the package?” I asked.“I’ll give you another fifty right now!” one said.“We all will!”Suddenly, and very unexpectedly, six fifty-dollar bills were flying through the room to land on the floor in front of me.I couldn’t resist. I slowly repeated the teasing I’d given them with the pants. This time I was showing them a little more pubic hair each time I lowered the thong. Then, I was giving them a glimpse of my bent shaft. After a short minute of teasing I.
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