Bob Flanagan

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With my wrists locked in front of me, no matter what I'm
doing, it always looks like I am deep in prayer. Thank
you, God, for these beautiful black handcuffs, and the
hard-ons they inspire. Thank you for the titillating click
click click of their internal ratchet mechanism. Thank
you for the security of knowing that each and every
movement is restricted by a force much greater than mine.
And thank you for inhabiting me with a soul that not only
expects, but thrives on such handicaps, man-made and
otherwise. Although I can barely make it up the stairs
with these bad lungs you gave me, I still say thank you as
I lie here, unable to move, except for the slight
thrusting of my hips against the sheets, my penis
throbbing in spasms of unrestrained pleasure, coming, as I
quietly speak your name.

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