home authors guest shorts graphical shorts
I had already spent a good half-hour considering my cock. Weighing it in my hand, feeling its heft. Twisting it, distending it, placing it atop a stack of paper transparencies and tracing its outline with colored markers. Sunshine was streaming in through the bay window; I held up my cock to see how it refracted the light. I watched dappled flecks of sun and shade reel up and down its pink-gray length. Eventually, I let that cock drop. It dangled there, looking wistful, like a sad-eyed Shire horse. I snatched at it, with both hands this time, and began to fold it - one fold, two folds, three - until I had it tightly packed between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, a cock accordion; and when I let it go, it sprung forward like a champ.
The afternoon was getting on. I hid my cock in a desk drawer and pretended to be searching for something - a pencil, an old pay stub - and feigned surprise when I discovered the cock, a plump tuber, pinched between a pile of index cards and a Swingline stapler. Oh, I stared at it. In my mind, I dressed it in a variety of costumes. I imagined it as a Spanish martinet, haughty and mustachioed and indifferent to the insults of its enemies; I saw it, in a schoolboy’s shirtsleeves, dozing near a fountain in the noonday sun. I think it was when I was clattering my cock, with a two-fisted wood-chopping motion, against the grille of the digital alarm clock, that I realized it was 4:30, and that I’d missed my youngest daughter’s Christmas pageant; and I spent at least ten minutes just looking at the cock - looking at it but not really seeing it, for I was lost in thought. But then I said, Fuck it, she was only playing a tree, and I marched over to the kitchen table, and without using a ruler or t-square - just eyeballing it - laid that cock in the exact center of a freshly laundered tea towel.
Date Written: June 15, 2004
Author: Craig Lewis
Average Vote: 3.9231