jimmi campkin


Walking through the graveyard in shoes that don’t fit me properly, looking at the stones leaning here and there…. some face down and others scarred by weather and youths.  I cannot help feeling anxious.  Everything is the same – old church, young trees, dead mothers and fathers.  I got my first blowjob here from a girl with scarlett hair, clutching the cold stone as I felt the twitch and the rush and I looked down and warned her something was arriving fast, at which she took me deeper and wiggled her head and my legs almost collapsed from under me like a broken cherry-picker.  Cherry-picker.  First time.  Get it?  Sigh.

A dreadful joke for a dreadful man.  I kick a stone around to make sure it isn’t dog shit and weigh it in the palm of my hand.  Perfectly smooth, decent mass, perfect missile.  The question is, what can I…

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