It wasn’t easy, tracking him down. Long John Call. Delta blues guitar, the greatest of them all.
“Is it true, the pact with Satan? You sold your soul to play?”
“Oh hell no. I already chopped better than anybody. I traded for this.”
He stood his old bones up, opening his robe. She gasped at the swelling, stiffening, monstrously perfect cock waving at her.
“That’s right, sugar. Pure glory. So what you say? It’s your ride to heaven, but got the Devil’s due to pay.”
“Price?”
“Get just once.”
The ever haunting memory goes unspoken, of course.
Hers to bear.
