Of A Previous Butt-Plug

I wrote the below diabetic monstrosity more than a year ago. And somehow, it's still very much relevant, the main drill that is. Today especially. Coz minge is on his way back. And I'm shamelessly on caramel drips !


It was one of those balmy nights. A night where summer decided to pay a visit. It was quite stuffy, the room that is, that you somewhat wished the presence of a desk fan. Like the one that served you good throughout the summer this year. The one that’s sitting comfortably within the alcove of your room. It might be a frivolous thing to request during the usual cool chilly nights, but night like this, it certainly is a friggin necessity.

It undoubtedly would have at least pledge half of a good night sleep. The other being a pair of earplugs which unfortunately you do not possess.

Anyway, the night is getting geriatric and you are ready to call it a day. The lights are off, the alarm fixed and the mobile silenced.

You are ready to mumble good night before he interrupted you. He, who is now lying in his own bed on the other side of the room. He, being the host of your crash-in stay tonight.

“Do you think you guys are going to last long?” he asked.

Holy fuck. You thought. What a question. Only a young kid like him can produce such inquiry. You simply have to hand it to him to yield a question of such randomness and trickiness that to casually answering it will do it no justice at all. So, you ponder for a moment.

And just as the moment passed, and you are about to begin your reply, as your mouth is actually open, forming the first words of your reply, you realized that by saying, yes, you are confident that it will, is no longer a valid answer. By saying yes, somehow, seems not right. It seems very much a naïve answer, and you are way beyond your naïve phase. Early twenties you are not.

So, you needed another round of a moment. And when that moment finally passed, you let slip of this.

“Ermmm… How shall I put it … Not too sure how long it will last nor do I think I should speculate it’s duration lor but I certainly do see a future with him. And as long as the future is visible, I see a long road ahead. End of the day, everything is a work in progress, no?”

And at that point, you lose track of how hot the night was, or how you wish you are a necromancer, summoning the dead to teletransport the fan over, because somehow, the night doesn’t seem that rugged after all. In fact, it feels moderately cooler.

Man, thinking of him seems to done it again!