Category Archives: S. Czolgosz

My Sailor

by S. Czolgosz
I’d like to say that the first thing I want to do with him when his boat comes back into harbor is talk. After all, I’ve got so much to say to him. The awkward telegraph-booth conversations, clicking out “I miss you” and trying to tell him about my days, those are wonderful but so very detached. Sure, he sends me letters, and I read them three times over. The personal ones are scented with lavender, so every time I go out to my garden I think of him.
     But the first thing that I want do when I see him isn’t talk. I want to gag him and put his cock in my mouth. I want to run my tongue up the groove at the base of the head of it. I want to push him up against the wall, with my forearm against his hips to keep him from thrusting—though I’ll happily let him try—and slowly let the whole length of it into my throat. Come to think of it, maybe I should sink some bolts into the wall at the level of his waist. I’ll have to ask him to measure himself for me, next time we talk.