	“What are you doing here, Paul?”
	“How do you mean?”
	“It’s a question that has plagued existentialists for centuries and here I am expecting an answer 
from you.”  She shook her head, a wry grin on her face.  “Why don’t you join the party?”
	“Because I’m too busy trying to remember how many office workers are fired for their behavior 
at New Year’s Eve parties.”
	She laughed, tossing her head back in the process, letting her blond hair streaked with gray 
cascade off her shoulders, onto her back.  “It’s not a good sign when the filter between the brain and 
mouth is that badly eroded.”
	“You aren’t joining the party either,” I commented.
	She shrugged.  “It’s New Year’s Eve.”
	We sat in silence for a minute.  “I’m wondering what amount of pleasantry you’re looking for.”
	Shelia, my supervisor’s boss giggled.  “That’ll do, I think.”
	At 24, I was strikingly attractive, with a face more pretty than handsome, dark blond bangs that 
hung into my eyes and, well, calves.   Vain enough to go to the gym four times a week, but not vain 
enough to . . . 
	“I see you’ve shaved for a change,” She said. I smiled, blushing.  Shelia blinked.  “We should get 
you out of here.”
	She drove in silence while my head turned every few minutes from either her to the window or 
the window to her.  “Can I cum?” I asked.
	She gave me a look that seemed to say, “God, I hope so.”
	Disinhibited, I began to unbutton my shirt and pulled it widely open across my torso.  
Unbuckling my belt, I pulled out my penis, spreading my pants wide to reveal my hairless crotch.  I began 
absentmindedly rubbing myself, relaxing into the slow sensuality.  A hand in my hair, moving over my 
chest, around my stomach, the other idly toying with my balls and cock, not enough stimulation to get 
more than half erect in my drunken state.  When I finally turned to see if Shelia was watching, she 
moved her eyes to meet mine and muttered two words, “Don’t remember.”  Pulling into a strip mall, 
she parked in front of a packaging store and emerged from it a few minutes later with a bag.  She 
dropped her hand in and pulled out two airline bottles of whiskey and handed them to me.  “Quickly 
now,” she said.
	I remember my head lolling off to the side while I masturbated, and then there was a bit of 
awkwardness and inappropriate laughter on my part as she guided me up the sidewalk to her house.  
Images are hazy after that.  Warmth, mostly, and a prickling sensation in throat, my over-eager 
enthusiasm gradually eroded to desperate, docile, desire by a blur of teasing and reprimand until I 
returned affection and pleasure givingly rather than demandingly.  Her hands on my body, and her eyes, 
inspecting, concerned, as she moved around me, touching me from all places at once.  Lying on the bed, 
begging and whining at a near shout, “Please, mommy, suck my dick.”  Again and again.   Her face 
hovering over mine, me feeling like a baby bird, my tongue out imploringly.  Saltiness.  I came to, bent 
over her kitchen table, wearing white fishnet stockings, my cries about how my shitter needed her cock 
echoing in my head.  
	“Can you cum?” She asked.
	“I don’t know.”
	She slapped my ass, hard.  “It’s probably the only way to shut you up.”  She pulled out of me and 
guided me to the bedroom.  The relaxed, satisfied sense of having been well-fucked made the pillows 
and quilt feel especially luxurious.
	“Did you?” I let the question hang.  Shelia smiled, lips tightly closed in amusement and pointed 
to the clock.  “Four-thirty?  Holy God.  Whose idea were these?” I asked, snapping the band on one of 
my stockings.
	“Do they really bother you all that much?” she asked, rising up my body to kiss me.
	“I don’t think I can get hard,” I mumbled beneath her lips, self-conscious.
	“You just need a half hour.  I’m going to get a shower.”  I lost consciousness before I heard the 
sound of water.
	I was slow to rouse.  Lips kissing me, a hand fondling me.  Instinctively, I rose and pushed her 
into the mattress.   Rising behind her, grabbing her waist and pulling her hips towards mine.  Inside her, 
fucking, the world still not making sense, I listened to her pant and moan.  When I began to join her, she 
encouraged me with a worried tone, “That’s it, baby.  That’s it, baby.”
	“Nooo,” I whined, and came inside her.  Blackness.
	
	
