Zip

I’ve always been a zipper-fly jeans wearer. Never been the button-fly kind of guy.
Never zipped the zipper into my cock, either. Never been that careless. Or drunk.
Until yesterday.
So, here I am in the hospital, all stitched up and drugged to the point of not caring.
I wish I had been drugged to the point of not remembering, too.
They asked for my ID and my insurance, and I told them it was in my wallet in my back pocket.
“Be gentle,” I said.
They were.
Seen the bill? The cuts will heal long before the wallet will.

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