The Loneliness of the Middle-Distance Runner's Asshole

Harry turned the lock on his door as quietly as he could and was rewarded with a muted click. It was lunch time and the interns we deep in the bowels of the Rayburn building, swapping pudding cups and STDs. Harry stepped out of his shoes and Haggar slacks and slipped off his shirt. He was naked underneath, except for drooping socks, bunched around his ankles like dark blue foreskins. He carefully placed both pants and shirt on padded hangers and zipped them into a wardrobe travel case.

All 342 pages of the PATRIOT act sat on his desk, fresh from the copier, warm from its light and smelling of fresh toner. He sat in his overstuffed leather chair, a present from Nancy, and placed his feet on the edge of the desk and leaned way back. He groped for the stack of papers. He crumbled the first page tightly and inched it slowly into his gaping anus. With a sigh of pleasure his forced the page back out and it bounced away when it hit the floor. He crumbled, inserted, and defecated another, and then another.

By the time the interns got back from lunch, Harry was a hundred pages in and already thinking about which one of them would lick him clean when he was finished.

Phtirius pubis

Harry scratched his balls through the binding crotch of his suit pants. They had been itching for days; he even tried showering for the first time in weeks to make it stop. Harry pulled his underwear away in order to reposition, but only ripped out four ball hairs bunched in the elastic instead. His phone rang. Nancy. Again.

"Stupid bitch," he muttered. His secretary looked around the corner of his open office door. "Not you," he said, "the other stupid bitch." With a frightened squeak she disappeared. Rahm had broken her in at Sarah Lawrence but she was slipping. Time for a new one that would be still be impressed with working for Harry, show him the proper deference. This one had already been knocked up four or five times. Chuck’s supply of under-the-table levonorgestrel wouldn’t hold out forever.

A phone rang again. His personal cell this time. Nancy again, her pinched asshole mouth and startled eyes on his caller ID. She had been naked when he took the image, twisting his thumb in her rectum. She was begging him to take another Viagra. Begging him to again writhe and wretch over her wrinkled skin and grotesque genitals. He had cropped the picture down to just her face to help him feel nauseous when he wanted a drink.

Harry scratched his balls with the phone until it stopped ringing.