They bounced with every step, swinging back and forth like two cherries in a grocery bag. They served as a constant reminder that it was swampy as fuck out
He yearned for youth again. A time when scratching your balls was recreational, when his minor brains had not beckoned to his hand for a scratch every 11 seconds. His eyes began to water, in equal parts to mourn the loss of youth met with the inability to pinch & twist, until parting ways with the elevator traveling companion. His sugar packets had turned to salt, and his spirit was floppy.
When he'd stopped crying, Sergio composed himself before the mirror. His face was blotchy. His balls, of which he was normally so proud, had, in his depression and self loathing, shriveled and drawn into themselves. It was as though those little organs could sense the tumult, the raging sorrow, within. It was as though his cahones, in their misery and great concern for their master, had crept back to their place of origin, like two lost puppies returning home.
Then again, perhaps this was not an accurate self-assessment....
deathclawslayer21 on February 13rd, 2021 at 17:28 UTC »
They bounced with every step, swinging back and forth like two cherries in a grocery bag. They served as a constant reminder that it was swampy as fuck out
theSHlT on February 13rd, 2021 at 17:55 UTC »
He yearned for youth again. A time when scratching your balls was recreational, when his minor brains had not beckoned to his hand for a scratch every 11 seconds. His eyes began to water, in equal parts to mourn the loss of youth met with the inability to pinch & twist, until parting ways with the elevator traveling companion. His sugar packets had turned to salt, and his spirit was floppy.
hazel365 on February 13rd, 2021 at 18:28 UTC »
When he'd stopped crying, Sergio composed himself before the mirror. His face was blotchy. His balls, of which he was normally so proud, had, in his depression and self loathing, shriveled and drawn into themselves. It was as though those little organs could sense the tumult, the raging sorrow, within. It was as though his cahones, in their misery and great concern for their master, had crept back to their place of origin, like two lost puppies returning home.
Then again, perhaps this was not an accurate self-assessment....