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November 28, 2019 Fiction


Steve Anwyll

Enthusiasm photo

I stand in line even though I'm not hungry. I want to talk to the woman behind the counter. Make her laugh. I ask when she's going to let me take her out. But all I get for an answer are a couple free slices as she calls me a faggot with a look in her auburn eyes that begs me to prove her wrong. Outside I toss the slices in the trash.


20 minutes later I get home. It's dark inside. I've lived here long enough to know the place by heart so I keep it that way. In the bathroom I stand at a mirror I can't see my reflection in as the faucet runs. I rub cold water on my face. It tightens my skin. I think about her. A faint yellow light from the street falls on the floor.


Sitting on the edge of the bed I remove my boots. Unbutton my shirt. Slide out of my jeans and socks. Leave it all on the floor in a ball waiting for tomorrow. I lie back. Push aside my tightening underwear. Replay her voice. Especially the slur. Warm cum lands on my chest in a burst.


image: Aaron Burch