Last night, I was caressing and fondling Henrik Lundqvist’s tool.

From the top of its sticky, bulbous knob to the bottom of its long, wide, hard, smooth shaft, I became familiar with Henrik’s wonderous and winning weapon. I had it five hole, in the slot and top shelf. I even got a little paddle action in!

Through the tunnel and out, moving along rhythmically, stopping intermittantly, opening and closing, going in and out, out and in until… finally, I had to release my grasp. Time had run out on my rendevous.

The man who had caught Lundqvist’s stick last night wanted it back. As we both exited the train at the Central Islip station, I thanked him for sharing his prize and for a memorable ride.