I mean if you're ... um ... happy ... if it's what..."He held out his palms."I'm not judging," he said.Oh dear. George knew he was making a hash of it...and tried to rally."I mean, if you look at it a certain way, I do the same thing with the people I go and visit," he said. "We're both giving people a bit of company. Only I don't have to do the ... uh ... physical side of things..."George ran aground."I'm trivialising it, aren't I? It's not the same at all. I'm not forced to ... uh ... do those. He was uncut and the foreskin hung well past the huge head. He was only about half hard, and it was already twice the length of mine, and so thick I couldn't squeeze it hard enough to touch my fingers together. His nuts hung down in a huge sack like two coconuts. I was in a complete trance…tunnel vision…as I slid the foreskin back and forth watching that enormous head peeking out, then disappearing again into its tunnel. “You like it, don’t you?” he said. I was too entranced to answer. I just. Live theatre. Unscripted. Unrehearsed. No Thespians anguishing over their understanding of the role and whether they've captured every last nuance, just you and me and whomsoever might leave their curtains somewhat ajar. That's if anyone wants to come out and play at all.Some nights, I simply sit scope in hand, sipping at my wine as blankness and blackness absorb all before my peering, prying eyes. Nothingness; eternal, unremarkable, consuming nothingness. And on nights such as these, my mind. The quiet parking floor was empty of vehicles save for a few in a cluster around where we had parked. I walked the three of us across and began to get my keys from my jacket pocket.The fact that I had spent a civilised evening at the ballet and then a dinner full of sexual tension must surely go some way towards explaining the fact that my head was totally up my arse. The three -- fuck-off big -- bastards who swung to face us from behind the pillar were a sudden surprise and I was completely.
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