Last Dance With The Dying (short story)
"14,000 of these were made just last month. Do you know how many of those 14,000 were properly fucked before finding their way into a landfill?" Edgar was walking along the sidewalk with his right arm extended out in front of him as he spoke. Grasped in his hand was a rubber dildo flopping at both ends with every step he took. It's coloration was eggshell brown and it had a remarkable vein protruding down the length of the shaft. A detailed specimen indeed. The damn thing looked like a real dick, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to smack it out of his hand. I pictured it rotating through the air, balls over shaft over balls, and out into the street, bouncing across the pavement. But I didn't slap it, instead I answered, "14,000 seems like a high estimate for a month's worth of rubber cock, where did you hear that?" Behind us a car slowed and cruised up next to us. It was a green Fairlane, probably late 60's. I remember my f