An entry from my new autoeroticbiography, Chip Zdarsky: A Modern Man and His Erotic Trappings of Eros.

Enjoy:

"Tracy was gone and there was nothing I could do about it. I stood there in our empty apartment softly saying her name just to hear it echo back to me off our slightly-cream (but not really) walls. I began sweeping the floors, to make way for the new tenants, and over the course of an hour I had accumulated quite the dust-bunny. I looked down at that pile, lightly touching our dark cherry (but not really) hardwood floors and remarked to how the dusty grey pile of fluff reminded me of Tracy's 65-year old goochie. I felt "The Commish" stir in my jeans, begging to be released from its denim confines. So release it I did, and proceeded to tenderly ravage that dust-bunny on the cold, uncaring floor. Soon enough I came my cum (a problem Tracy had had with me) and wondered what to do with this thoroughly new and modern mess I'd created. I resolved to leave it on the floor for the next tenanants, a sticky, crusty, dirty reminder of what love can become."

Love,

Chip.