A few minutes later, the assistant came to him and said his “daughter” (an easy mistake to make given the disparity in their ages) wanted his assi...tance. When he had pulled aside the curtain of her small cubicle, she had been leaning over a chair with her bottom facing the door, totally naked but for her high heels. She had looked over her shoulder and said “fuck me honey – I want you inside me right now” and they had – right there, right then! Heaven only knows what the assistant would have. It is my fault. My anatomy is weird, and so is my brain. Phallic bits of plastic (or glass or wood or organically harvested rainbows or whatever the newest fad is) just don’t inspire me. They don’t reach the right spots. Doesn’t matter if they are realistic enough for you to think some dude must be sitting in a bathtub full of ice right now crying inconsolably, or if they look like something that modern art installation enthusiasts might buy for half a million dollars. Shape, color, texture,. ”“What? You made such a big deal about it being our six month anniversary, and wanting to do something special, and now you can't make it? Why?”She sighed heavily. “Look, I wanted to tell you in person, at dinner, but...”“What?”“We're through, okay? We're done. I'm seeing someone else.” There was a click, then silence.Numbly, you slip your phone back into your pocket and signal the waiter to bring the check. You pay for your overpriced beers, and saunter out the door like a zombie. Outside, you. He just sat there, quietly looking at me, for a while. I was still rubbing the monster in his pants, and he was enjoying it. Finally he reached down and started to undo his belt. The feelings just kept intensifying, and my brain was spinning. He sort of pushed my hand away, and pushed his pants all the way to his ankles. I was just looking straight ahead, still. He slid the big bench front seat back, and flipped up the console, then took my hand again, and placed it on that cock. As soon as I.
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