Journal 105
Nova 24
Record store clerk
- Life
- A rented room with milk crates of records and a good lock.
- Temper
- Soft voice, exact about what she will swallow
Kinks
- A partition, a cock, and her mouth on her own shift of want
- No faces. A voice and a number and that is enough
- She sucks until she decides the ending
I am twenty-four. I clerk records by day and I do not mix that counter with this. At night I go to arcades that check ID at the door. I ask age through the wall. If a man will not give me a number over twenty-one I close the slot and he is finished. I do not need a face. A voice and a number are enough, and then my mouth decides the ending. I swallow when I decide to swallow. I take it on my tongue when I decide that instead. The rented room with the milk crates and the good lock is where I sleep, alone, after. I do not keep anyone. Soft voice. Exact hands. That is the whole arrangement.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The curtain
Different arcade, still an ID at the door, still not the record store. September, and my hair was already messy from the walk. I sat on a stool in the dim hallway in the black t-shirt and jeans and took one boot off, the other left on, because the left one had been biting my ankle and I like a bare foot on a floor I chose. A man on…
Read full postThe booth
The door man looked at my ID and nodded, and that is the last face I wanted for the hour. I am twenty-four. I stood in the narrow dim hallway in a black t-shirt and jeans, choppy dark hair, beside a closed booth door, and I felt the good lock of the choice in my stomach. This is not the record store. Nobody I ring up gets to know this…
Read full post