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Slowly i bring the wrist to shoulder height, you instinctively move your free handto the same position, I move my hand to lock your free hand in placeas i lean down toward toward your neck only then do you break your gaze,you lean your head back letting your eyes close you let the feeling, the presence,envelop you.caressing the soft skin of your neck with my lips sends shutters though your body, leaning your head to give me better access you snap back to realitywho is this man? How has he done this to me? Why me? I don't even know his name,At that exact moment, you hear a rough commanding voice, You may call me Sir.You turn to meet my eyes,, the only words you could find is "yes Sir"Moving both of your hands above your head I pin both with one of mine,allowing my free hand to begin to roam your body,slowly sliding the tip of my index finger down your neck, you shutterover the collar bone, down the left side of your now heaving breast,down the side of the ribs, you begin to realize how. And having muscle on the site is always a plus. Some of my guys were hittin’ middle age, so the less they had to haul loads, the better it was for everyone.The next week – the week after I figured out that the k** had some skills – might actually be good at this – well, on the ride home from a long day, he said, “You pay for shit.”I replied: “I pay for attitude, and yours sucks.”“That’s just an excuse so you can be a cheap faggot.”One of these days I’ll need a medal for not kicking his ass. Someone make a note of that. I really wanted to drive this little prick right off a fucking cliff in that moment. But – you know – I didn’t.God grant me the serenity to accept the fuck-tards that I cannot change, the courage to suffer insignificant shit-birds, and the wisdom to not kill my best friend’s son.“Ask around, ya fucking loser. Ask the guys. They’ll tell ya.”And that was the beginning of a slight change. Because I gave the guys a heads-up and of course the k** asked, and of course he.
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