ou, my good sir, are wasting your brain.” The older man moves forward until his face is just within a tongue’s reach, the two of them the nucleus of this chaotic atom. “And you are wasting our time.” Burroughs nods to Wilde, who forces Chip down on his knees. Chip stares at the oblong shape of the man’s jock, than at the black-ink tattooed portrait on the man’s biceps…wrinkled puss and glasses. Burroughs, William Burroughs. Flash recall, shamefully reading Wild Boys in high school, stopping only to jerk off when he understood what was going on. They all have different tattoos, every single one of them.

 

Complete published in Porn!.

 

<END>