Telephone

The light was bright in the antique shop.

Chris never knew which hid the flaws and chips better, this glancing mesmerising light bouncing from mirror to mirror or the mote filled half light preferred by other shops.

His palm trailed over surfaces and found the warm bakelite of a heavy receiver and slow whirling dial, such a contrast to the phone nestled in his jean pocket.

He lifted the receiver, hard as his lover’s cock, brought the mouthpiece to his lips and thought of a kiss, wound the numbers slowly into the phone and sighed desire down the dead line.

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This post was written by Ruby who has written 108 posts on .

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