CRATUS' COOTS 5: Gregg (NEW!!!!!)

By absman420 published July 27, 2014
Summary
A new chapter 5 years in the making!

CRATUS’ COOTS 5: Gregg

by absman420


The shoot had already gone long, but the model was spectacular and the photographer was trying to get as much as he could. Looking at his face, the model couldn’t have been more than eighteen, nineteen on the outside -- tight, youthful skin, not a line or wrinkle in sight, not a bag or blemish or freckle or mole-- but then the dichotomy of his hugely-muscled physique, thick, powerful muscle sculpted into an incredibly hyper-masculinized body. His waistline shouldn’t even be possible, so thin compared to his monstrous shoulders. And that’s only if you could peel your eyes away from his unbelievable abs, his rocky eight-pack, his overdeveloped adonis belt.


And that freakin’ cock was the stuff on which careers were built! (The photographer’s cock had been hard the whole shoot.)


But when the photographer saw the model shooting impatient looks at his assistant, he was reminded the session had gone too long already, so he called a wrap.


Everyone was relieved -- apparently, the model had some taping to attend that evening and was anxious about getting there on time. Not that you’d ever know that from looking at him. The model seemed happy and calm as he quickly scanned through some of the proofs while he dressed. HIs body was just unreal…


So the photographer said to him, “Gregg, I know it’s not cool, but I gotta ask you, buddy. How old are you… really? You look like a teenager, but you have the body of a freakin’ god, man. It’s freakin’ me out.”


And Gregg smiled a big, mischievous grin, exposing his perfect white teeth and said, “You worried you might be shooting some kiddie porn?”


“Well, no… but… well, maybe.”


“Don’t worry,” Gregg said, taking the photographer’s arm. “I’m sixteen.” He waited until the photographer gave him a reaction, then added, “...with thirty years experience.”


The photographer was somewhere between relieved and confused. “What?”


Gregg smiled. “I’m forty-six.”


The photographer thought Gregg was shitting him again. “Yeah, right. You’re twenty-one if I’m lucky.”


“Well, then, you’re lucky -- twice over, plus four.”

But really, if anyone was lucky, thought Gregg, it’s me.


His assistant drove, but Gregg rode in the passenger’s seat -- he was uncomfortable being chauffeured in the first place and riding in the back seat made it even worse. He was a chatterbox and it was easier to gab in the front seat. “That photographer didn’t believe I was forty-six,” he said as he tweeted on his notebook.


His assistant rolled his eyes. “You love that joke,” he said. “You know you look like a kid. Hell, even I forget I’m not babysitting a teenager sometimes.”


Gregg chuckled. “But that’s cuz of the way I act, not how I look.”


“True.”


They laughed -- Gregg always laughed. Now. He was in this perpetually good mood that couldn’t be dampened no matter what the circumstances. A drill sergeant could be screaming in his face and he’d smirk and kiss the guy. It didn’t matter.


He was young again!


They were on their way now to some event/promotion for the man responsible for Gregg’s rejuvenation -- Nic Cratus, the fine doctor of masculine miracles -- probably another evening of standing around wearing next to nothing as people gawked at him and Cratus shilled. Not that it bothered him -- quite the opposite, he LOVED the attention. And frankly, he’d do anything for Cratus -- anything for the man he owed his eternal youth.


In his (first) childhood, he wasn’t much of an athlete, though he had a good body anyway -- he only worked out because he liked the aesthetic, not lifting. In the beginning, he was just a go-go boy and model, but soon he was doing porn and escorting, too. True. he didn’t have the biggest cock in the industry, but he had as ass to die for. He’d literally hypnotized men with it when he was dancing -- they would just shell out the cash.


But porn has a shelf life -- and porn stars have an expiration date, even the muscle-daddies -- and Gregg was feeling the effects of both. He had no interest in being a DJ, as so many of his fellow “stars” had become, and he had no talent for anything but sex. (Which he really did love.)


When Cratus came along, Gregg couldn’t believe his luck -- although soon it became obvious to Gregg that Cratus was a fan. So he worked that angle, forever teasing the good doctor with his body and his gorgeous ass. Maybe that’s why he got invited to the South American compound over so many other qualified candidates. (It wasn’t until he got to the compound that he realized Cratus only had eyes for Ravishing Rick. But that was okay -- Gregg had eyes for everyone else.)


It turned out, at 45, he was the youngest. Cam had just turned 50, Ravishing Rick was 59, Daman was 62, and god alone knew how old Jasper was (although nearly as old as god would be a good guess) -- at least 80, if not more. Gregg lost track of how many times he’d had sex, although he could count on one hand the number of times he’d topped. Didn’t matter. During their six months at the compound there’d been little to do other than lift or fuck -- and Gregg liked to keep busy.


He beat himself into better shape than he’d ever been previously -- Cratus’ Cocktail made it easy. Still with no real love for training, he did love the results. His core was better than any man he’d ever seen (even Ravishing Rick). Gregg would marvel at himself as he flexed his impossible abs in the many many mirrors in the gyms. How many times had he masturbated to his own flexing? Another number he didn’t dare try to calculate -- too many zeroes.


When the whole Jasper-thing was going on, Gregg had a moment of doubt, perhaps, but then he rationalized that Jasper was nearly twice his age -- maybe the old coot had been too old for this kind of shit. Nobody else seemed to have any problem.


On the Monday of their last week there, Gregg was awakened at 4am by an intern he’d never seen before -- frankly, one that was fucking HOT! Even in the dim light, Gregg could make out his guy’s build, his muscular arms and thick shoulders, his hot ginger hair.


Gregg slept in the nude, and like all the rest of the guys, like the sun, his cock rose for this 4am injection -- it was already hard in anticipation. The intern let out an impressed whistle of air. “Damn,” the kid mumbled while he gave the shot. “I can’t believe don’t nobody wanna get fucked by that.”


Gregg was still sort of asleep. “What?” he murmured back.


“I mean, a guy would have to be crazy not to just wanna climb up on top of you and ride that rascal.”


Gregg smiled. “No one’s stopping you.”


And that’s how Gregg got one more notch on his “top” belt -- his third since coming to South America. And this red-headed kid was GOOD! It wasn’t long before Gregg threw the kid on the bed and fucked him face to face, getting off on how different it was to fuck for a change.


For his part, the kid loved it! Begging for Gregg to unleash -- “Harder! Harder!” kind of stuff -- and Gregg, whose core was stronger than anyone on Earth (even Ravishing Rick) gave it to him, pounding away months of frustration and need. When he finally blew in the kid’s tight hole, he was surprised he hadn’t crushed the kid’s hips into dust.


But the kid was good -- so good, in fact, that he was already stroking Gregg’s cock with his hole, working it into another hardon. The kid smiled devilishly. “Think you got another one in you, hot shot?” he asked. “I got a lot of time to make up for.”


For sure, Gregg did -- then he let the kid fuck HIM in their third go-round, doggie-style. The kid’s cock was nice and thick -- and for his age, his technique was amazing. How long had this kid been sexually active?


“You fuckin’ rock, kid,” Gregg said as the lay collapsed in a sweaty heap, the kid’s semi-hard cock still up Gregg’s hole. “Where’d you learn to fuck like that?”


The kid snorted. “I’ve been fuckin’ guys goin’ on sixty years. If I don’t know how to do it by now…”


“Wait… what? Did I hear you right? Sixty YEARS?”


“Ayup.”


“That would make you as old as…” Gregg suddenly rolled over and faced the kid, the kid’s cock slipping easily out of his ass. “Jasper?”


The kid smiled and flicked his eyebrows.


“Oh my God! Jasper! We thought you were dead! Look at you… what’s happened to you?”


Jasper never lost his smile, but touched Gregg on the tip of the nose. “Same thing that’s about to happen to YOU!” he said. “Cratus sent me to collect you boys for your final treatment.” He climbed out of bed and began slipping his cargo shorts back on. “But first, I have to give Cameron his morning amp. And I’m hopin’ he’ll have something to give to ME!” He flicked his eyebrows again blew Gregg a mock kiss.


Gregg smiled and shook his head as he watched what he’d thought was a kid get ready to leave. “Jasper, you were great. I’m glad you’re well.”


Jasper laughed -- still the same as it had been when he was an old man. “Yeah, I’m much better off alive than dead.”


“No, I mean…”


“I know what you mean,” he said at the door. “You’re a nice guy, Gregg. I’m glad we finally fucked. Now I got one more to check off my list.”


“Cam’s gotten pretty big.”


Jasper laughed. “I can take him,” he said and left the room.


And all during breakfast, they could all hear the truth in that statement, as the moans and groans echoed out of Cam’s room all over the kitchen.


Ravishing Rick was bitchy. “That little piss is fucking everybody but me! Just cuz I wouldn’t let him suck my dick our first day here! What an asshole!”


Daman, shoveling eggs in his face, speaking while chewing, said, “Maybe if you went in there real nice and sucked Jazz’s dick -- you know, like as an apology -- maybe the dude would forgive you and you guys could move the fuck on.”


The look on Rick’s face showed that he’d never considered that possibility, but that he liked the idea of it. He shook his head and shrugged and waddled his muscular ass into Cam’s room.


When a minute or so had passed without and forceful ejection, Gregg figured Daman had been right. When the moaning and groaning started and rose in uncomfortable elevation, Daman, the man who’d had the great idea, mumbled, “Think I’m gonna go train till this noise works itself out.”


Gregg smiled. “We could always join them…”


Daman met his glance and the corner of his mouth turned up. “That we could…”


That was how Cratus found them about an hour or so later, all jammed up in a pile that looked like a muscular version of TWISTER. Cratus laughed. “I had a feeling I shouldn’t have let Jasper give the morning amps. Now you guys see why I didn’t allow you to play with my interns.”


“Gonna join us, doc?” Ravishing Rick called, still fucking Jasper’s ass -- it would be his third orgasm in Jazz’s hole.


The good doctor laughed, casually adjusting his own big cock beneath his scrubs. “I think today I got something even better to offer than sex.”


That stopped them -- because not one of Cratus’ Coots could imagine anything better than sex. (But that’s what old people who become young people always imagine.)


“Gentlemen,” Cratus continued, “it’s time for your final treatment. And as you can see by the condition of Jasper here, it packs quite a wallop!”


They were much more eager to untangle themselves now than a few minutes ago -- Gregg noted that his was the first (but hopefully not the last) time the five of them fucked together as a group. It was good chemistry. This whole experience with Cratus was nothing but good chemistry -- good BIO-chemistry! He laughed at his own dumb joke.


Covered in each other’s sweat and cum, they followed Cratus out to the patio next to the pool, where it was shady and comfortable in the height of the morning sun. Without warning, Cam pushed Gregg into the water -- Gregg went, but not before grabbing Cam’s arm and taking the hulking bodybuilder in with him. It was nice to rinse off, refreshing. Rick joined them in the water, but not Daman. As they got out, Cratus joked, “You’re acting more juvenile every day,” and shook his head.


“Wasn’t that your goal?” asked Gregg, smiling.


Cratus chuckled. “To make you young -- not immature. Listen, guys, in the last six months, you’ve all improved and embraced the program, but in a few days, it’s going to be over -- this part, anyway. What happens next is up to you. Of course, I’d like you to continue on with me, but you have lives and I get that.”


“What are you talking about?” asked Gregg, sitting comfortably in his lounge chair.


Cratus stiffened, almost formalized. “Today you get the final treatment. The last one. No more 4am wake up calls, no more shots and near constant blood tests. After today, you’ll never feel the prick of one of my needles again. You’ll be finished.” He smiled confidentially. “You’ll be immortal.”


“That’s the second time I’ve heard the word ‘immortal’,” Daman said. “Was that mean? Like, we live forever?”


Cratus nodded doubtfully. “Not sure about that,” he said. “But nearly. Nothing will hurt you. You’ll heal almost immediately from any wound. You won’t age -- your cells will continue to regenerate and remain healthy. You won’t catch any disease or suffer any sickness. But can you be killed? Can you be shot? Can you be beheaded? Can you drown? I don’t know -- if you wanna run some tests later, I’m sure we can come up with something…”


They all chuckled nervously at that. This man was sitting before them offering eternal youth and near invulnerability -- Superman should be so lucky.


“Okay,” said Cam, always the rational one. “So we get this treatment. So then what? We go back to our lives like normal? Well, there’s nothing normal about me right now -- I’m 345 pounds of muscle with 3% bodyfat. I’m a freak -- and you’re just gonna send me back out there? An immortal freak?”


Cratus smiled like always -- nothing could break that man. “But you love what you’ve become, don’t you, Cam? You LOVE being a 345 pound freak, right? And if you love yourself, everyone else is gonna love you, too. And LOTS of guys are gonna wanna BE like you. And frankly, they CAN be! They’ll be able to BUY my system for themselves. See? I want you guys to work for me. I want you guys to help me build my empire!”


They were mostly speechless at this, absorbing what he’d said.


“But we’ll have plenty of time to discuss our future together during your last few days here. First things first -- time for your final treatments. Now, it’s gonna take a couple of hours to go through the complete process, so I suggest doing it someplace comfortable, like here on the patio -- but you may want your own bed, or privacy for some reason. Whatever.”


“I’m happy right here,” said Gregg. “Fire away.”


Unfortunately, it wasn’t a shot -- it was an IV drip -- Cratus had a bag for each of them, smartly labeled, in a small cooler. “This is gonna ‘finish’ you,” Cratus said as he slid the IV needle into the crook of Gregg’s arm. “I mean… ‘complete’ you. I mean, take you to your genetic ultimate… ah, just relax and enjoy the ride.”


He hung Gregg’s IV bag on a tiny, portable stand and then moved to the next lounger to hook Cam up. It took Cratus about ten minutes to get all four of them on-line -- Jasper had already had his treatment, remember -- then he said, “It’ll take about an hour or so for that to empty. I hope nobody has to pee.”


They laughed and Cratus left, promising to be back in a few minutes. Jasper followed him, and it didn’t take a genius to guess what they were gonna go do.


Gregg didn’t care -- it was all good. They chatted amiably amongst themselves for a while, but then Gregg noticed that he started to feel high. When he went to ask if anyone else felt odd, he found he couldn’t form the words, he just lay there, immobile, with a big stupid grin on his face. He noticed his cock was suddenly rock hard, too -- and getting harder -- but he felt so relaxed and so good he didn’t even grab it. He just watched it grow and throb.


Without warning, he orgasmed, sticky white cum shooting up onto his hairy abs -- a wave of bliss overtook him. And then another. And another. He shot again, but the feeling didn’t lessen -- it intensified. He was riding this impossible wave of ecstasy -- it just kept ramping up.


Within minutes, Gregg passed out from the bliss. When he woke up, hours later, he was a completely different man.


******************************************


“We’re almost at the venue,” his assistant, Mikey, said, breaking Gregg from his reverie, as they turned into the television station complex.


Gregg smiled. “Great! I haven’t seen these guys in too long! I hope nobody’s aged,” he laughed.


Mikey rolled his eyes. “You’re so weird.”


Gregg was excited to see Doc Cratus and the boys -- it’d been almost a month and he was longing to be with some “like-minded” friends. In the six months since they’d left the South American compound, each of them had exploded on the scene singularly and collectively. Gregg had been a physique model and porn performer before, but now, six months after his debut as “Gregg Stone -- hard as a Rock”, he was negotiating an exclusive contract with COLT Studios. There was some back-and-forth over Gregg’s obligations to Cratus and his company, but COLT seemed to be willing to work with him. Once they realized Cratus was only peddling the process that produced Gregg, not Gregg himself, they were willing to compromise.


And so the ridiculously over-muscled, hairy porn-star with the baby-boy face was born -- Gregg Stone, hard as a rock -- true vers and taking the world by storm!


All of them had changed, transformed, maximized… whatever. They all had this new, ageless look about them -- were they 20 or 40? -- it was impossible to tell. Ironically, Jasper looked the youngest, at 83, but Gregg was the only one with any body hair, so he didn’t mind. One of the games Cratus would play with his audience was to have them line the guys up in order of age (correctly: Gregg, Cam, Rick, Daman, then Jasper), but nobody EVER got it right!


Gregg didn’t know what Jasper was doing for work -- probably still collecting his pension and making extra cash giving blow jobs -- but the old dude was talking about doing some sort of underwear modeling or something. He should -- he was definitely hot enough for it. Gregg had a hard time listening to him. Sure, Jasper LOOKED eighteen, but he still droned on like an eighty year-old man telling stories.


Gregg was the only of them to assume a “new” identity -- though it was really more of a stage name, he used his real name on his bank accounts -- the rest of them made no secret about who they were and who they’d been. Look at Daman: he’d played pro-football for over a decade before he’d blown out his knee, then he’d coached for nearly a quarter-century -- at 63, he should be ready to retire. Instead, he showed up at training camp, all rock-solid 375 pounds of him, demanding a tryout.


It took him a while to convince them it was him. When they asked what happened, where he’d been for the last year, Daman told them nothing but the truth: he’d taken part in a medical experiment with anti-aging growth hormone and this was the result.


After they saw his performance on the field, crushing anything that stood in his way, a true Juggernaut, they understandably put him through every medical exam and procedure they possibly could. When they found nothing abnormal about him -- not a trace of illegal substances or performance-enhancing drugs -- they hired him. The first player over sixty in the league EVER! He was getting a ton of press -- he began to feel like ESPN’s “goto” guy -- but that’s just cuz he was kicking ass during pre-season. They covered him like they were waiting for him to fall apart -- not that THAT was ever gonna happen.


But what Daman was getting in attention was nothing compared to Cam.


Cam took the bodybuilding world by storm -- and why wouldn’t he? At 6’2”, nearly 350lbs of solid muscle, under 4% bodyfat, Cam made even the freaks look like pussies. He plodded on stage for the NPC southern california championship, without even a refined posing routine, easily won the open class and the masters over 50 class. But when he took the overall from the predicted winner, the hometown hero heavyweight, even CAM was surprised.


He was the center of all kinds of speculation -- but he took all the drug tests happily, proving again and again that he was completely natural. Bodybuilders started begging him for his secret and he’d reply, “Hot sex and lots of protein!”


Nationals (and with that, pro-qualifiers) were less than a month away, but Gregg knew that Cam was doing nothing different than normal. He didn’t have to -- his body was perfect now. And the way Cam’s gigantic cock filled his posers -- he’d had to have them specially made to fit without fear -- his opponents were intimidated before the first flex. If Cam had become nothing else at Cratus’ Clinic, it was certainly an exhibitionist -- and Gregg had completely shown him the way! And posing so completely turned Cam on, it was only a matter of time before he went full-tilt boogie and popped his own top. Gregg suspected that’s why most people REALLY watched Cam, to see when his dick would come flopping out.


Speak of the devil -- as Gregg’s assistant parked the car, Gregg spotted Cam walking toward the building. Look at that beast, dressed in a sleeveless black v-neck, tight black cargo shorts, a black ball cap with a broad rim and a cocky angle, mirrored sunglasses and flip-flops. He was a superhero in disguise.


When he saw Gregg, he opened his arms wide for a hug, a huge smile on his face. “Gregg Stone,” Cam said, kissing him, “making me hard as a rock!”


“Ha!” Gregg said, putting his hand flat on Cam’s pec, but keeping their pelvises pressed together. “How ya doin’, you big goof?”


“Busy exploding on the scene, same as you.”


Gregg smiled. “Maybe you could make yourself busy exploding into me a couple times tonight?”


A flick of the eyebrows. “Why do you think I come to these things?”


Arms around each other’s back, they entered the studio, where they were met by an assistant producer (an intern) and led to their dressing room, a large “chorus” room in the back -- no star rooms for us, Gregg thought, laughing to himself. Diva.


Ravishing Rick and Jasper were already there, and when Gregg and Cam entered, the two separated from making out like they were guilty teenagers (which was what they physically looked like). “Interrupting something?” Cam joked, throwing his huge gym bag down on the floor.


Gregg didn’t quite get what was going on, but because of his profession, he rolled with it. Apparently, Ravishing Rick and Doc Cratus were “together” -- Rick had recently re-signed (renewed?) his contract with the Pro Wrestling World, and his comeback was taking the fans and the world -- you guessed it -- by storm.


So Cratus and Rick were an item, but Rick also had a thing for hot twenty-somethings. After working his way through several dozen of the local boys, Rick was disappointed in the quality and skill -- which led him to connect with Jasper, somehow, though Gregg was unsure of the details. It seemed to Gregg that Cratus and Rick AND Jasper were together, but Cam explained it differently. “There’s no sexual contact between Cratus and Jazz,” Cam said. “so it’s a situation, not a triangle.”


Gregg shrugged. Whatever -- as long as they were happy. And God knew, they were ALL happy now -- Cratus had seen to that. That was the other gift his treatment gave -- perpetually good mood. Nothing could kill that, either.


So when they burst into the room and Cam yelled, “Interrupting something?” Rick and Jasper separated, but recovered quickly -- Ravishing Rick adjusted his hardening cock in the tight black square-cut briefs he wore, their uniform for these “events”. Jasper just smiled and pinched his nipple offhand.


“I was kinda hopin’ to suck his cock afore you got here,” Jazz said. “But as usual…”


Gregg joked, “We cum too early, Jasper?”


They all laughed.


Daman arrived a few minutes later and it was the five of them again. It seemed impossible to resist the urge to circle jerk, so they did. Gregg realized in their time together in South America, he’d really bonded with these guys -- he loved them, in a way. Brothers -- they were all…


And when they shot together, they were even more connected.


They dressed, each in a tiny pair of black spandex square cuts that hid nothing, as a matter of fact, Gregg thought they made them look even more naked, the way the material clung to their overdeveloped packages. There was a makeup gal at this event, dabbing under their eyes and powdering them -- she loved Gregg’s cheekbones.


Finally, a stage manager showed up and escorted them to the studio -- Gregg could only imagine how this poor little guy felt leading these huge hunks of beef down this narrow hallway, from the massive Juggernaut Daman, the freak bodybuilder Cam, the pro wrestler Ravishing Rick, the COLT-star Gregg, to the jock teen Jasper -- none of them with a cock less than ten inches. As they lined up backstage in the wings, waiting to be introduced, Gregg suddenly felt Cam’s hand on his ass. “This is mine after taping,” he stage-whispered. “I call firsties.”


Gregg chuckled pushed his ass back into Cam’s hand -- he reached behind and grabbed Cam’s cock. “Fuck me in front of the cameras,” Gregg teased. “You know I want to make a movie with you.”


“Lemme get my pro-card first…”


And then the taping began and they heard Cratus talking to the interviewer on stage and could feel the energy from the live audience. Cratus mixed science and showmanship, indeed -- but he sure wasn’t selling snake-oil.


“Well, how about I SHOW you what my formula can do?” they heard Cratus say over the sound system. “Let me introduce my crew: I call them CRATUS’ COOTS!”


On that cue, they filed onto stage amidst the gasping and cheering of the audience, these old men now immortal, these studs, these human musclegods..


These crazy old coots.




AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD:


Well, I guess it’s been about five years now, hasn’t it? To an immortal old man that isn’t a lot of time, but to the rest of you readers, yeah it’s a bit of a stretch. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED: I’d started writing CRATUS’ COOTS and was receiving very good commentary and thoughts on this story, which always motivates me to write more. I’d constructed it with a narrative back-loop that I was enjoying and was eager to explore it in later chapters. (Interestingly, Gregg was the only character for whom I’d no pre-conceived back-story and I toyed for a long while with making him a cop, but somehow the chapter never fell together. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there, just interesting trivia maybe.)


When the “Daman” chapter came out, I was greeted with cries of racism -- apparently, I was guilty of being a white man writing a black character. There were some points with which I agreed, but largely it was what it was. Daman spoke in the rhythms that I heard all around me in my neighborhood, my gym and from my friends. This particular troll persisted in writing me LONG-winded letters about my racism and privilege, some of which I read, but mostly ignored.


When the “Jasper” chapter came out, this harassment persisted. Not only on the site where I initially posted these stories, but following me to OTHER web-sites that had picked the story up. It got to the point where it really began pissing me off.


We authors write stories and share them -- we get no compensation -- we get no royalties. All we get are the satisfaction of good comments and thanks. If I were paid, or producing through an imprint, then yes, an editor would have every right to sit down with me and share concerns that there might be some things to look at about Daman, but that would be their job. And I would get paid.


I write these stories as a release and for fun. I don’t write them to be harassed and criticized. I just want you to masturbate and enjoy -- maybe leave a little something in your head for later. I’m certainly not interested in being politically correct.


So this Daman-situation and the trolls it unleashed pissed me off enough that I didn’t share a story for nearly two years. And of course, I never finished CRATUS’ COOTS.


What prompted me get back to it five years later? I happened to re-read the story a month or so ago and really liked it. I’d forgotten how much. So it was in my head and after my last story -- which I didn’t think was very sexual, but it’s getting good press -- and, more importantly, I wasn’t mad anymore.


So here’s the end of CRATUS’ COOTS -- maybe not worth a five-year wait, but certainly happy to have punctuation at the end of a long sentence. Please heed the words I’ve written here and be thoughtful about the way you critique your free masturbation material.


Thanks!












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