Who invented the blow job?
Like, who wakes up one day and thinks “today, I will suck a dick”
Any truth is better than indefinite doubt.
- Arthur Conan Doyle
His long elegant fingers brush the keys of the piano in the servants’ hall, touching them right where you touch them when you play. You don’t see his face, you can’t because his back is to you, but the whole posture seems to express sadness, melancholy. You don’t know why, to be honest. He’s been like that for a few days now and he didn’t give a reason for that. It’s curious, really, especially because you had thought that everything was almost back to normal between the two of you.
He presses one key, slowly, gently. He lets go of it, pushes it again. Then he sighs and puts his hand back in his pocket.
Ohh, this is so beautiful. Thank you for this, thank you.