Friday

The dwarf made a deep, roughly circular incision around Chris's ass crack.


Then he dug in his hand, yanked, yanked, and the cheeks lifted up like a soft manhole cover.

Chris: kkgghymddhj . . .

Blinking wildly, the dwarf studied Chris's op art-like, purplish-red, pasta-esque insides. He was looking for . . . something, anything. He didn't know. Some clue, some sign.

Guide, Dennis Cooper

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