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I doubted his intention the moment I saw him.
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Dark bar; various crowd; inherent horniness in the pants that spread out like a handshake to everyone around me.
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He said he was French and I took that baguette for a bite.
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Over two Tom Collins (his buy), we talked about the things we liked, always with a reference to each other. I liked the latest MoMA exhibit too. He liked my liking of a couple of bands also.
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We invested a little bit in each other. We stuck our dicks in the ATM and waited for the bank’s response.
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I always thought that sometimes a PIN-number works and sometimes it doesn’t. I have been lost in a strange neighborhood many a time only to find that my PIN was bunk.
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People could get arrested for what I might have done.
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I knew I had no cash, nothing really to offer, when the offer of a cab came around. I took the cab, the offer, the trip to another neighborhood I knew I would have a hell of a time getting back home from.
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Once at the place we were going to, I said a few words about something and then just started sucking. I kept at it until he moaned and wanted me to stroke his studded nipples – which I didn’t really care for in the first place – and tell me when I was going to come.
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I didn’t come. I felt I owed him something, but he had passed out right when I thought this and so I felt like leaving quietly would be the best way to keep myself from owing him anything, anything at all.
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