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he stepped over me after squeezing the last blobs of semen from the piss slit of his dick, after he pulled the rubber from his lubed cock after he abandoned cum in the cracks of the grout-stained floor after spreading those elastic knees, those stairmastered thighs beneath a fiberglass stall. He begs for a blowjob like a hooker in search of her heroin high. Take it easy, I say. Slow down dude. It was a penis of plumb-purpled veins. Blood rushed to his only brain. A leather cock-ring noosed around balls and shaft. He stepped over me as I sat bare assed with my army-green Dockers down around my ankles. Shirt up and bunched above belly button. His fingers curled around my black cock. He didn't wash his hands or check his face for anything out of place. He left me defenseless in a bathroom of putrid urinals and cum that looked like cream of chicken soup. He stepped over me without even so much as a thank you. He treated my mouth like the back seat of a used car. The door clicked shut behind him. I jacked off alone thinking I could have stayed home for this shit.
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