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Peter

Peter sits across from me at Starbucks. I can’t help but think of cock when I think of his name. I never tell him. Maybe he already knows. It’s somewhat common place for people to refer to a guy’s cock as “Peter” but I keep this thought to myself.

I’ve not seen his cock. I want to but I’m not allowed below the waist. We kiss and I play with his nipples but nothing more. I’m always curious about other guys and what their cocks look like especially compared with mine.

I read a poem I recently wrote. He tells me that he likes my writing but I’m not convinced that he’s honest about his opinion. It might be his way of not wanting to hurt my feelings.

I like Peter but we’ll never be more than what we are at this moment which is unclear to me. We kiss and other stuff but we don’t have sex. We don’t refer to one another as boyfriend. We see each other a few times a week.

I know that someday soon we’ll just stop meeting like this and stop texting. We’ll go on with our separate lives as though we never met. We’re two people passing each other in life and for these brief moments our separate paths are one.

Categories: writing

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