Wonder & Junk

S.K. Nicholas

S. K. Nicholas


The stink of inactivity turns me on like you wouldn’t believe. My own. Yours. Both at the same time. Everything ignites. Everything trembles. The thought of us spending days on end in bed together like the old people in Willy Wonka– it does more to me than all the porn in the world. Our filthy bodies. Our sweat. The grease of your hair in my eyes and the spit from my mouth covering you like a second skin. The bedsheets, they stick to us. They’re damp and smell of boredom and sex and more boredom and violence. You make me hurt you, and hurt you I do, and then comes hours of holding you. Just holding you. Nothing else. My seed in you. On the sheets. On my fingers. On your tongue. On scrunched up tissue paper tossed all over the floor. Our love letters. Our mistakes and regrets…

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