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p.s.1
john connelly
luis macias
orfi
gavin wade
brandon ballengee
elizabeth cohen
thomas rayfiel
reveiws


luis macias

Slick with the sweat of his trouble and squirming on his belly now, he burrowed through the sheets searching for answers, the throbbing phantom propelling his movement. Suddenly he noticed how easily he slid on his belly, his cylindrical body exuding a rich liquid for frictionless gliding along the surface. With his skin highly sensitized from increased contact, in his mind's eye he caressed his new shape as his limbs melted into a single svelt unit. He became smooth, elongated, a curvilinear movement from his head down to his one foot. Carving out a tunnel through the pillows, his thoughts turned to his childhood when he spent a lot of time outdoors, examining the creatures, the bugs and small animals. He got the most pleasure playing with the earthworm, for as many times as he cut it, it would grow back, again and again.