There he is again, in the window. I can just make out his form behind the blinds. I can tell he’s looking out though. He seems to be leaning against the wall just next to the window as he peers through the blinds. Below his chest he moves rhythmically, like he’s stroking something slowly. He’s Cody Cummings. I’ve known for some time something of his…rituals. He waits until the sun disappears behind the hills and the light wanes enough so the sky turns a rich, deep blue. I think it’s something about the transition period between day and night that makes his strong cock as hard as one of those old, established oak trees that decorate the hillside. Looking out, past the rotting fence posts on the other side of the valley, and past the vultures circling way off in the distance, he can still feel a twinge of the passion he had for that first one. The only one he ever really loved.
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