Viewing the local antiquities

Little blue pills 

Once acid; now Viagra. The Viagra pill is bigger, and doesn't have an aftertaste that makes me shudder. But each pill takes the same forty minutes from ingestion to feeling the hit; I don't know whether comes from expectation, or from how my digestive tract takes to process.

But there's still the problem of killing forty minutes; last time, I went and got my hair cut, and Tony commented that the back of my neck was flushed.

Acid, now, never did bring me engorgement; there was too much else demanding my attention. But the two pills still work the same way: A confidence game, where, since the pill licenses you to believe, you do. If you think you won't ever have a bad trip, you never do. And if you expect an erection, you'll get one.

Just warm enough all over, feeling my cock swelled against my pants' friction, I knock at the door and look to the spyhole with my prepared expression of relaxed anticipation.

Hard-soled footsteps, rattle of a doorchain—

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