Date: Fri, 29 Sep 2006 12:39:08 -0700 (PDT)
From: jack santoro <jacksantoro@yahoo.com>
Subject: Pact with Satan, Sci-Fi and Fantasy, 1/1

                                Pact with Satan

                            By Jacksantoro@yahoo.com



       Bob and I lay facing each other, with my prick tip inside his
long, voluminous foreskin, literally head to head. I was doubly lucky to
have found Bob. Unlike me, he hadn't been mutilated when he was born,
and still had his precious hood to protect his helmet. I'd spent almost
every day of my 30 years circumcised. Also, he had the longest foreskin
I'd ever seen, dangling off the end of his prick when he was limp, and
covering the head with overhang to spare when he was erect. He had enough
overhang to accommodate my thick, fleshy helmet right down to the groove
behind my rim, and we made the most of it. We both knew from experience
that most uncut guys didn't have enough foreskin length to accommodate
another glans, and that ruled out docking for them.
       We'd met at our apartment that evening after work, and after
eating a take-out Chinese dinner, we'd undressed and begun docking. His
foreskin was long and loose, and the first thing we did after undressing
was to lie facing each other on the bed. He'd stretched out the opening
of his long foreskin nipple and I'd slipped the end of my prick inside.
The contact was electric, and it didn't take long for us to become fully
hard once my helmet was enveloped inside his foreskin, touching the blunt
front dome of his.
       At the first contact I'd felt a little electric tingle deep in
the root of my prick, and knew that I'd secreted a drop of lubricant,
which now was crawling slowly up my tube towards the end. Bob was seeping
too, more than I was because his helmet was more sensitive than mine, and
our engorged tips were sliding easily inside his hood, rubbing nose to
nose.
       Nature had been good to us. Each of us had a straight shaft, a
large helmet shaped head with a sexy upturned flaring rim, and a big vein
running down the right side. Overall, our pricks were six inches long
from pubic bone to the end of the glans. The only significant difference
was that while he had a long foreskin covering his helmet to keep it
moist and sensitive, my prick had a thick brown scar behind the corona,
evidence of the surgery that had removed my foreskin a few days after
I'd been born.
       The doctor who'd cut me had also removed the frenulum, or
gee-string, under my glans. Bob still had his, of course, and I knew that
even a light touch on that hot spot would make him moan with delight.
       Bob was lucky too in having met me, someone who truly appreciated
his foreskin endowment. Some cut guys didn't like foreskins, perhaps
because a foreskin would remind them of what they'd lost, but I was
always comfortable with Bob's natural prick, envious instead of
resentful.
       Now we thrust gently against each other's helmets. I felt the
rounded front dome of his press into mine, compressing the nerve endings.
Bob's fingers were wrapped around his foreskin, holding it in place over
my tip, and he was twisting it rhythmically to provide extra stimulation
to both helmets.
       "Our tips are getting harder," he muttered as we continued our
docking. I'd noticed that our balls had already drawn up tightly against
our bodies with excitement, and now our helmets were filling out fully in
the final swelling that precedes the moment of release. The front dome of
his tip felt harder now as it pressed into mine.
       "I'm getting that tickle," I said to him. The delightful
friction of his foreskin around my rim had produced a light tickling
sensation in my nerve endings, and I knew that I was close.
       "Mine's been tickling for a few seconds," he replied. I wasn't
surprised, because I knew his glans was more sensitive than mine. Our
breathing had become heavy, and even though we were both trying to remain
relaxed to prolong our enjoyment, orgasm was not far away. We kept
thrusting, perfectly synchronized from long practice, as we waited for
our sensations to overtake us.
       I felt the tickle in my glans become more intense and another
sensation in the front dome of my helmet, a delicious ache that signaled
my need for release. Now we were moving more urgently, driven by the need
to spew our cream, and Bob's fingers had tightened on our pricks to
increase the pressure and friction. My breathing became ragged as my
excitement mounted, as did his. The tickle spread from my corona through
my glans, and I felt the root of my prick tightening up in anticipation
of the explosion. We were beyond the point of no return and couldn't
stop now, or even slow down.
       The supreme moment came as my helmet seemed to swell even more,
filled with a hot tingle that made me close my eyes. I heard Bob cry out,
and felt the end of his glans throb hard against mine while spewing a
gush of hot cream all over the front of my helmet. This triggered my
orgasm, and I felt a hard contraction deep inside me as the heavy
pounding of orgasm began in my body.
       I grunted hard as the first hot jet burned its way up my urethra
to slam through the lips of my slit and mix with his fluid. Bob's glans
again throbbed against mine as his second discharge erupted, and an
instant later I followed him with another torrent of cream. The hot
liquid filled his foreskin, swirling around our throbbing helmets and
filling the grooves behind them, bathing our coronas in boiling sperm. We
both cried out helplessly, trapped in the frenzy of our release.
       Our bodies strained against each other as our pricks disgorged
another load that made his foreskin distend. I knew that by now it would
be leaking out the end of his foreskin, and right then I smelled the
characteristic chlorine odor of our sperm filling the air. Another hard
throb jolted our pricks and more juice seared its way up our urethras to
flood his foreskin.
       Now Bob stopped thrusting and his hand stopped twisting his
foreskin because his helmet had become super-sensitive to stimulation. We
still continued to gush our life-juice, though, and felt each other's
throbs as our orgasms began to fade. We were in the blissful free-fall of
orgasm, our sensations tapering off but still delightful, as we emptied
ourselves.
       We lay still for a long time, our breathing getting back to
normal, as we enjoyed the intimate stupor of the aftershock together. Our
pricks softened, which allowed us to hug more closely communing and
sharing the blissful moment. Bob kissed me on the lips and murmured
"Thank you," and I nibbled at his earlobe.
       We often docked, but at other times I'd play with his foreskin,
stretching it out and generally worshipping it. I'd sometimes arouse him
by inserting my tongue inside his long fleshy tube, probing for his slit.
Other times I slip my finger inside it, working it around the sexy
contours of his glans. His prick enjoyed all kinds of attention, and I
made sure to provide it.
       One evening some days later, while Bob was out of town, I was
having a drink at a quiet neighborhood bar near us, and got into
conversation with an affable stranger about sixty years old. He'd
mentioned that many guys resented having lost their foreskins, and I told
him that I'd been circumcised at birth. My manner conveyed to him how
much it meant to me, and how badly I'd like to have my foreskin back. We
each had several drinks, and as the conversation became more intimate,
moved to a table in the back.
       "What would you do to get it back?" he asked directly. I wasn't
prepared for this question, and wasn't even sure I understood it. I knew
that once the foreskin was removed it was gone forever. I'd heard of
some guys having had plastic surgery to create a semblance of a foreskin,
but knew that this wasn't comparable to the real thing.
       "What would you do?" he asked me again. I shook my head and
murmured:
       "I don't know. Anything, I guess. What could I do?" I was
really confused by his question and his persistence. If he hadn't had
such a pleasant and sympathetic manner, I would have walked out right
then. I wondered if I were dealing with some kind of a nut.
       "What I mean is would you strike a deal if somehow, by some
miracle, your penis would get restored to good as new? Here, let's have
another drink," he said as the bartender delivered two more glasses. I
drank, looking at him curiously.
       "Ever hear of Satan?" he suddenly asked. I nodded, wondering
what was to come. I'm an atheist, and don't believe in either a deity
or Satan.
       "I'm him," he declared. Now I was sure he was a nut, but I was
reluctant to be impolite and say so even as I wondered how I might
tactfully extricate myself from this nutty conversation.
       "Yes, I know, you find that hard to believe, and even if you did,
you'd be reluctant to strike a bargain with him. Well, the popular
notion of Satan is a folk tale. I'm supposed to represent everything
that's evil in the world, but I'm really only the leader of a
counter-culture." I didn't quite know what he meant, and didn't say
anything.
       "If you want your foreskin back, I'll arrange it," he promised.
       "Okay, what do I have to do in return, sell you my soul?" I
asked, waiting for the punch line because now I suspected this might be
some sort of practical joke. I don't believe in souls either. He didn't
look surprised or indignant as he told me:
       "No, I don`t need your soul. I've got one of my own."
       "What do I have to do in return, then?" I persisted.
       Simply tell the truth. I know you live with a significant other,
Bob by name. When he gets back, he'll surely notice that you've got a
foreskin. Just tell him truthfully what happened."
       "What's the point of that?" I asked, becoming more disbelieving
by the moment.
       "As you know, I've been the victim of very bad publicity, the
personification of evil. I need some good P.R., and you can help. Don't
hold back anything, and don't embellish. Just be truthful about what
happened here tonight." He placed his hand over mine. I pulled away.
       "I really don't know what your agenda is^Å" I began but he
silenced me with a wave of his hand.
       "Please, just listen. Just go home tonight and go to bed as you
always do. If you wake up tomorrow morning and you're still circumcised,
just forget this conversation. Conclude you'd been talking with a
screwball and forget about it."
       "What if I do wake up with a foreskin? What do I do then?"
       "Do just as I told you. Tell the truth." He stared affably at
me, his manner absolutely non-threatening.
       "What if I wake up with a foreskin and lie about it? What if I
tell Bob the Tooth Fairy brought it? What will you do if I break my
promise?" He didn't show any dismay or annoyance as he replied calmly:
       What do you think, a wooden stake through your heart? Fire and
brimstone? That's extreme, and it's not the way I work. If you don't
keep you end of the bargain, you'll simply wake up the next day with a
circular scar around your penis and your glans will be dried out and
leathery again. You'll go back to being circumcised. That's logical and
easy to understand, right?"
       "I guess so," I replied, now too numbed by the alcohol and
confused by this bizarre conversation. I still didn't believe what I was
hearing.
       "Do we have a deal, then?" he asked as he held out his hand.
       Yes, I guess we do," I replied, not knowing any other way to get
rid of this nut. I shook his hand.
       "Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I have to use the
bathroom. Surprised? I have to go too, just like you." He got up and
walked to the toilet and went inside. I sat there, wondering if he really
thought that he was Satan, and wondering if he might be dangerous. I was
ready to run out the door if he made a threatening move, but as I waited
he didn't reappear. Fifteen minutes passed.
       "What the fuck?" I thought, as curiosity got the better of me
and I approached the door to the toilet. Maybe he'd had a heart attack
inside, or a stroke. If that was it, I couldn't just leave the old guy
to die. I'd tell the bartender to cal 911 and get him help.
       I opened the door and stepped inside. Nobody was there. I looked
inside the two booths to find them empty. I knew he hadn't come out
because I'd been seated facing the door and had kept my eyes on it. I
looked at the window high on the wall, which was closed, and in any event
too small for even a child to crawl through it. I walked out and went
home, crawling into bed. I was frankly drunk and still wondering about
this bizarre event when I fell asleep.
       Next morning I awoke, only slightly hung over, deciding that
although I could consume a fair amount of gin, the whiskey I'd had last
night was very bad for me. I went into the bathroom to empty my bladder
and, still only half awake, aimed my prick down at the toilet.
       The warm urine splashing on my legs brought me to wakefulness. I
looked down to see piss splattering all over me and the floor from the
end of a long nippled foreskin. I then realized why my penis had felt
unfamiliar in my fingers when I'd begun. My large, helmet-shaped glans
wasn't visible, hidden beneath the bulge in a long foreskin that
extended at least an inch beyond it. I tightened my sphincter, shutting
off the flow, and went over to the sink, examining my prick.
       Slowly I drew back the thick fleshy covering that seemed very
unfamiliar on my penis, gradually bringing the glans into view. I skinned
back until my foreskin snapped down into the deep groove behind my
flaring corona to form a thick fleshy collar behind it.
       I examined my glans. It was the same familiar helmet-shaped tip
I'd been looking at all my life, with blunt nose, expanding to a sexy
upturned rim that flared in a very attractive manner. I saw that it was a
rich purple color, instead of the pinkish-purple it had been before, and
the dry, leathery texture had changed to glossy. As a result of this
manipulation, my prick had begun to swell. I raised my prick so that I
was looking down at my slit, which had begun to pout into the usual
teardrop shape it assumed with erection. Now I pointed it down at the
sink and consciously relaxed my sphincter, eager to empty myself before
full erection prevented it. A yellow dribble began falling from my glans,
becoming a strong stream as my bladder drained itself.
       When I was finished, I carefully milked my penis to expel the last
drops, and then set about wiping up the spillage I'd created on the
tiles around the toilet. As I got to my feet the towel I'd used lightly
brushed my glans, producing a feeling of profound tenderness I'd never
experienced before. Now I realized that I'd left my foreskin back behind
the rim, locked in place by my high ridge. I also realized that my helmet
was now exquisitely tender, whereas before it had been numb by
comparison.
       I grasped my shaft and began pushing my foreskin over the rim to
cover my helmet. It slid easily, as my glans was soft and spongy, but it
quickly swelled as I slid my foreskin over it. I pulled back slightly,
relishing the delicious sensation of my new hood's gentle friction
against my more sensitive helmet, and now I felt a slight tickle deep
inside that told me I was secreting lube. I continued to work my foreskin
up and down my rapidly swelling prick as was rewarded by more tickling in
the root of my prick. A drop of clear fluid parted the lips of my slit,
and I quickly engulfed it with my long hood, spreading it over my
swelling helmet. More lube appeared to lubricate my foreskin, and I began
a slow but steady rhythm that pumped up my excitement.
       I realized that I was doing what I'd dreamed of all my life when
I'd seen intact guys jacking off with their hoods. I was stroking myself
in a manner I'd only dreamed about before, and this realization stoked
my fire. I moaned, in delight, ecstatic that I was really doing this,
giving myself pleasure the way nature had intended it, and before I knew
it I felt my helmet get very hard through the enveloping skin. Each time
I bared the front dome of my helmet I saw that fluid was steadily seeping
from my teardrop shaped meatus, lubricating my glistening glans. I was
seeping lubricant as copiously as Bob did.
       I also saw that my tip had turned darker purple, and knew that I
was close to the point of release. I was so excited that I couldn't hold
back to savor the moment, but began pumping faster as my body responded
automatically to the pleasure in my prick. I felt the familiar tickle in
my rim, but this time it quickly spread all over my helmet. The
sensations were rushing at me with the force of a hurricane, and my
fingers flew over my hot hard prick, adding to my sensations.
       Suddenly the tickle in my helmet turned into a hot tingle, and I
felt a sharp spasm deep inside me as the orgasm slammed into me. I cried
out loudly and helplessly as the hot frenzy gripped me, and my knees
buckled as I shot my first stream into the sink. I leaned against the
counter, too weak to stand, as another spasm wrenched the root of my
prick. My prick throbbed hard in my fingers as the second stream poured
from my dark purple tip into the sink, and I groaned in agonized ecstasy
at the sharpness of the sensation.
       Another hard contraction deep inside me sent the third stream
gushing white from my glans, and suddenly I yelped as the sensation in my
throbbing tip became overpowering. I had to stop stroking because my
helmet had become too sensitive. Still, my contractions continued deep
inside me, and as I held on desperately to the edge of the counter with
both hands I saw my prick bob up and down frenziedly with each
ejaculation.
       My prick was still too sensitive to touch as the last drops
dribbled from my orifice. I was breathless, overwhelmed by the intensity
of the sensations I'd just experienced. Now I was just barely seeping
white juice, the residue of my massive discharge. I was losing my
erection but my prick was still too tender to touch, as I discovered when
I tried to slide my foreskin forward.
       I turned on the shower and stepped under the hot water, letting it
rinse my body. My foreskin was still locked behind my rim, and the hot
flow stimulated my urge to pee. I relaxed under the spray, and finally my
prick lost its excessive sensitivity and I was able to cap my glans once
more. I soaped up and rinsed myself, being careful not to leave a soapy
residue inside my hood because I knew it might cause irritation.
       As I dried myself, I inspected my body in the long mirror. My gaze
was focused on my groin, and I smiled as I contemplated my image, my long
foreskin nipple dangling at the end of my penis, much like Bob's prick.
I'd always felt incomplete, inadequate, and inferior because my foreskin
was missing but now that feeling left me. I realized that I finally felt
like a real man.
       I also realized that from now on, I'd have to be careful to skin
back when urinating. This morning's experience, with the urine
splattering over my legs and the tile floor, had been relatively
innocuous. If I forgot to retract my hood when in the men's room at
work, I'd end up with very wet clothing and shoes.
       I dressed for work, and resumed thinking about the events of the
night before. I realized that Satan had been perfectly serious and had
kept his promise to me. I was now concerned about keeping my end of the
bargain. I knew that, just as he had given me back my foreskin, he could
easily take it from me. I was very much afraid of losing my precious
foreskin and intended to keep to our agreement. The prospect of returning
to a circumcised state frightened me as much or more than having a stake
driven through my heart. It was clear that Satan, if he was that, knew me
better than I knew myself, and fully understood how to exploit my fears.
       However, I also worried about how he'd view my effort. Would he
hold it against me if I didn't repeat our conversation to the last
detail? Who would I have to tell? I knew I'd have to tell Bob, and this
didn't bother me at all. I also knew that most people I knew had never
seen me naked and didn't know I'd been circumcised at birth. At work,
we had high partitions between the urinals in the men's room, so I
wouldn't have to explain anything to my boss or fellow employees.
       I also had to remember to skin back for urination. I almost forgot
a couple of times at work, and clamped my sphincter tight when I realized
I was about to splatter my clothing. Another reason for skinning back was
that if anyone happened to see my prick, despite the partitions between
the urinals, my new foreskin would be less noticeable if it were peeled
back and my glans was bare.
       Would Satan expect me to volunteer the information to people who
had seen me naked? If I avoided them to avoid having to explain the
transformation of my penis, would he hold it against me? I had the
uncomfortable feeling that I was gradually becoming trapped in a network
of evasions, if not lies.
       Bob returned four days later after the weekend, during which I'd
had no untoward incidents at work. I'd also avoided seeing any friends.
I'd turned down an invitation to go camping that weekend because I was
afraid that one of my buddies would notice my foreskin. In the woods it
was unavoidable to pee out in the open, and this was a real danger.
       Fortunately, Satan didn't hold this against me, for I still had
my foreskin Monday morning. I was supremely glad I did, for I'd been
making good use of it each day, relishing my new method of masturbation.
I had a nagging feeling I should be saving my sperm for Bob, but also
knew that he, of all people, would understand my need.
       Each day I stroked myself to orgasm at least twice, taking long
slow strokes that completely covered the head on the up-stroke and then
sliding the hood down to bare it to the groove. At first I was concerned
I'd irritate my prick from too much jacking but then I realized that it
need relatively little stimulation to attain orgasm. Slow and gentle
strokes always brought me to a gasping, shuddering climax that left me
drained and fully satisfied.
       I also had learned to sit or lie down during these sessions, as my
knees had buckled the first time. Now I usually sat in a recliner, towel
on my stomach, and brought myself to orgasm with long slow strokes.
Although I always pulled my foreskin down when I began to come because I
enjoyed watching my big purple helmet spurting, my eyes closed as the
full force of the climax hit me, and I missed the show.
       I picked Bob up at the airport and during the drive home he told
me about his trip. I was only half listening, because my mind was on our
forthcoming show and tell that evening. I'd have a lot to show and a lot
to tell, although he hadn't a clue as to what was coming.
       Once inside Bob quickly unpacked, while I prepared a couple of
martinis in the kitchen. He expected me to join him in the bedroom, but I
asked him to come into the kitchen after he'd undressed. I quickly shed
my clothes and was standing next to the table when he entered. He sat in
a chair and at first I thought he hadn't noticed anything different.
However, he was silently staring at my crotch, studying it as if he
didn't believe what he was seeing.
       "Okay, Bob, I know you've noticed my foreskin. Let me tell you
all about it," I began. I sat and related the entire story to him.
Leaving nothing out, telling him about my hopes and fears. He sat
silently, staring at my prick, and after about 10 minutes reached out and
clasped my long nipple between thumb and forefinger, as if to reassure
himself by touching me that his eyes were not deceiving him.
       This gentle handling got me hard very quickly, and his prick began
to swell too, although neither of us had touched it. I was happy to see
that he was being turned on by my new hood, and I finished the story
confidently.
       "Well, I know your foreskin's real," he said. "I even stripped
it back to see if there was a scar underneath, but there's nothing to
show that you were ever circumcised. You've even got a gee-string like
mine."
       "Yes, it's real," I confirmed. "I've been using it a lot
these last few days, getting used to it, learning to jack myself the way
I'd always wanted."
       "Yes, but do you believe that guy was really Satan?" Bob was an
atheist and skeptic, just like me. He found it hard to believe that this
had happened, although he had to agree that my prick was now beautifully
pristine and untouched by circumcision.
       "I guess I have no choice," I replied. "I find it hard to
really believe it, but I have no choice but to go on the assumption that
he was who he said."
       "I guess that's as far as we can go then," he concluded. As he
spoke he began testing the edge of my foreskin, grasping it with thumb
and forefinger of both hands, stretching it out to widen the orifice. I
guessed what he had in mind.
       "I think I just might be able to dock you, Bob."
       "That would be wonderful," he exclaimed. "That would be a
perfect way for us to celebrate your new skin." He got up, taking my
hand and leading me to the bedroom. As we walked, our heavy-ended pricks
swayed from side to side, advertising their arousal and readiness for
action. We lay facing each other, pricks pointing toward each other,
their big blunt heads still shrouded by long hoods. I spread a towel
between us, for I was certain that we'd be flooding the bed with our
cream this evening.
       "Let's get you ready," I said as I reached for his prick,
gently sliding the long hood back until it snapped down into the deep
groove behind his sexy upturned rim. His glans glittered wetly in the
soft room light. Now I stretched out the opening of my long nipple, and
he thrust forward slowly, pressing his tapered glans into the orifice. He
slid farther in as we watched his helmet gradually disappear inside my
foreskin. I felt a delicious tickle as the nose of his glans touched
mine. Now my hood was stretched to cover his wide rim and the thick
fleshy ring behind it, and I formed my thumb and index finger into a
circle to keep it clamped there.
       "Let's go," he said as he began to thrust gently. We moved in
unison, our blunt front domes touching as we thrust forward, and then we
moved back, breaking the contact. I felt both our tips sliding inside my
hood, their outlines visible through my flesh. My fingers compressed his
corona as he moved back, and now he closed his fingers over my rim,
compressing it through the fleshy sleeve. I stared into his eyes,
watching his excitement mount, as we did what had been inconceivable a
couple of weeks earlier.
       "Our balls are tight and I can feel your tip getting harder," he
said. I knew he had several days' pent up semen waiting to be released
and was ready to pop. I, although I'd been jacking my new foreskin at
least once each day, was very excited by my new equipment and the
enhanced pleasure it was providing.
       "Yours is harder too," I commented in return. "I think this is
going to be a really big one for is." Bob smiled slightly as we
continued thrusting. We were so in tune that we matched each other's
moves perfectly as we went head to head, pressing our blunt front domes
together before withdrawing. We were already on the plateau, feeling the
hardness of each other's helmets each time we bumped together.
       "I don't think we can hold back," I said. "Let's go for it
now." I began twisting my foreskin around his rim, heightening his
sensation, hearing him moan in response. My other hand reached down to
cup his tight scrotum. We increased our pace, very aware of each other's
mounting excitement.
       "You're giving me that tickle around the rim," he whispered as
he tightened his grip on the flesh surrounding my swollen corona. He
wanted me to come with him, and this time I might, because I was feeling
that tickle too.
       We thrust slightly faster, our breathing getting shallower as we
began to gasp in our excitement. Bob's face was flushed, and I knew he
was very aroused. The front of our helmets slid against each other with
each bump, and the lips of our slits kissed voluptuously.
       "It's tingling," he cried out, and I knew he was poised on the
brink. My tickle had spread all over the head, and I knew that when he'd
explode I'd be right behind him. We were panting now, taking ragged
breaths as our excitement peaked.
       I felt Bob's hot hard helmet throb against mine and then a hot
jet erupted from it, drilling deeply into my urethra because for that
moment our holes had been aligned. We both cried out as my body responded
and shot a heavy load that collided with his in my tube and forced it out
my gaping orifice. The hot cream spread quickly, bathing our helmets in
thick, viscous fluid, and then we both came again, shuddering and gasping
in our joy. My eyes had already closed, as my mind was totally focused on
the throbbing sensations in my prick.
       The next spasms jolted our pricks, and I felt my discharge searing
it s way up my tube to erupt against his throbbing glans. I felt his
helmet hammering against mine as he yelped in ecstasy, and my prick
jerked in frenzy as its root convulsed again. My foreskin was distended
with our cream, which cushioned our tender tips against the friction, so
we were not distressed by too much sensitivity this time. However, the
volume was so much that our mixed juices were leaking from under the edge
of my foreskin onto the towel.
       Bob and I grunted our way through the last spasms that wracked our
tortured bodies, until our orgasms expired. We began to relax as the last
drops seeped from our slits. Our pricks shrank and we hugged closer,
trapping them between our stomachs.
       "I'm really glad you got what you wanted so much," he said
after kissing me on the lips. "I know how much it means to you." Bob
really understood me because we'd been intimate friends for so long.
       "I just hope Satan doesn't change his mind, or think I've
broken our agreement," I said.
       "So far so good," he replied. "We'll just have to take it one
day at a time. If worse comes to worse, you'll still have some wonderful
memories."

The end