delicioustacos

And then when he finally got a handjob it sucked. The fat girl who had edged him last time, the fat girl with the male orang utan face complete with cheek ridges, walked him back to the toilet and her giant ass in dark gray yoga pants made his dick too stiff to piss with anticipation. But they switched girls on him. Sent in an old woman with an old woman face. She tried to give him an actual massage. Leaned into his calves hard with her fists and he could feel her old woman finger bones. No collagen in her digits. Her handjob action too rigid. She wrapped his scrotum around the base of his pipe like an upside down rain poncho. His nuts like two heavy plums wrapped tight in a clear Safeway produce bag. Then after, his parachute size sac laying askew on one thigh, he felt like one of his nuts might have twisted. She was saying something about money and he was having a daydream about explaining his testicular torsion to the nurse at urgent care. He would say it was a girl. But he wouldn’t say he paid. Why didn’t you stop her, she would ask. I didn’t want to be rude.

(Previously)

The new bomb punched a hole in the sky. Over the fireball the black cloud ceiling of seething H. R. Giger demon intestines broke open. You could see blue. The blast was up high. Miles and miles East. The sound came half a minute later with heat like a blow dryer too close to your neck. Then quiet. They’d come out of the tent barefoot in the mud, lower halves naked in the cool wet air, peering over the cinder block fence and squinting. Is it safe to look, she said. Continue reading →