<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Cock-Gag on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/cock-gag/</link><description>Recent content in Cock-Gag on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Thu, 03 Aug 2017 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/tags/cock-gag/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>The Wrong Suitcase</title><link>/stories/2017/08/03/the-wrong-suitcase/</link><pubDate>Thu, 03 Aug 2017 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2017/08/03/the-wrong-suitcase/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;23 hours. 23 hours of chasing taxis, catching planes and running from exhaustion. 23 hours of cramped seats and a contraction of personal space from the humidity of another’s breath and scent of an armpit. 23 hours nearing an end.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;A jingle. A fumble. A bang.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;“For. Fuck. OFF!”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Dave forced himself to blink tears of exhaustion from his bloodshot eyes and force his key through the old lock blocking his way to his bed. Barely able to stand on heat-swollen feet cramped within stiff leather shoes, his shoulders hung from his neck; straining against the weight of his coat. When the lock finally gave way, he stumbled through the door hauling his heavy suitcase behind him; far heavier than it felt when he checked it onto the flight home. Leaving the case standing in his hallway next to the front door, Dave dragged his feet through his bare apartment to his bedroom, shedding the layers down to his bare skin as he progressed the hall, and collapsed onto the bed; hitting sleep before his head reached the pillow.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>