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Reginald slipped his sweaty hands into the back pockets of his Geranimals. He leaned against the wall, not caring – in fact hoping – that his hair gel stained the plush wallpaper. His sweater was cashmere with real leather elbow patches. His loafers were alligator and tricked out with dimes. He squeezed his dull eyes shut and his asshole followed. There was no way he was going to lose the moment. It was all him.

In this state of rare reverie, Celia found him in the rec room.

“Don’t tell me,” Reginald said without opening his eyes, “you came to worship at the altar.” Every sweet move he’d ever made flashed before his mind’s eye. He smiled and unzipped his fly.

Celia knelt, reverential.

Date Written: February 25, 2003
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 3.6667

02/25/2003 anonymous (5):
02/25/2003 anonymous (1):
02/25/2003 anonymous (5):
06/3/2004 Will Disney: this one is extra special because it topped google's search for 'geranimals' for a while. no longer, sadly...
06/3/2004 John Slocum (4): This is all you, Snow.
06/3/2004 qualcomm (4): geranimals
06/3/2004 scoop (4): refreshingly disconcerting and oddly particular. almost, one might say, Scheherazadian, like the best of Ewan's work. Oh, I'm sorry, that's right, Scheherazadian, you filthy fucking whores. Does anyone want to check the spelling on that? anyone? don't bother. it's right. shit.
06/3/2004 TheBuyer (4): Sort of like Scheherazade but with fewer hits relating to Zena: Warrior Princess.