It wasn’t erotic words that created art with my fluid. It was her breath in my ear, well, the sound of her breath over the phone. It was her sighs. It was her laugh. It was the way her voice puts me at ease.
One hour of pleasant Christmas conversation left my black boxers speckled, streaked, spotted, and soaked with pre-cum. The moments of the hour were captured like bursts of light on silver halide. And I was left with a warmth that wouldn’t soon dissipate.
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