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    Summary

    Richie remembers a boy with brown hair and big eyes, scrawny arms and a huge forehead. But not a face, really, or a name. Just this lingering sense that there is someone, somewhere, that needed him once, maybe.

    And that’s really the fucking sad bit, that at forty, he’s still thinking about grinding his dick against an unnamed teenager, even though he knows it’s a memory from when he was a teenager.

    It would make great stand-up material, really, if it wasn’t so fucking sad.

    Everyone remembers their first love, right? How they smiled? How much you wanted to stick your cock in their mom? Anyway,

    He’s got a few ghostwriters now, and that’s maybe for the best.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    10,529
    Chapters:
    3/3
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