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On the way to the vet I looked over at Wiggles. He looked weak and his fur was matted down and discolored. He let out a soft whimper and coughed up a sticky brown liquid. My eyes welled up with tears even as there was a stirring in my groin. I feared the worst.
Fortunately the vet knew just how to clean him up and the prognosis was good.
“He’ll survive, Bruce. Just don’t keep him in your ass for so long and he’ll be a happy little gerbil. Your rectum is not a Habitrail.”
It was a revelation, but somewhere deep inside, I had known this all along. Tears came to my eyes again, though now my crotch was numb.
But it didn’t matter; I couldn’t stop. Six days later, Wiggles dies and I have been empty ever since…
Date Written: March 01, 2004
Author: Ewan Snow
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