102018 IF JJ ever changes his mind, she says, one hip out & making me crazy, just have him call me. (she looks over at me and grins) Us. (keeps looking at me long enough to be a combination of cruel and gracious; she’s torturing me, yes, but that’s how she lets me know that I still matter. she hangs the phone back on the wall and then she’s all business again. She must be feeling really generous today because instead of going right back to work or to the bathroom or to the bed to get her stuff together or whatever would naturally come next, she walks over and leans on the frame of the bathroom door, leans on her right elbow with her hand above her head and says, I’m not going to give up until I get a nice big hard sweaty man--like JJ maybe--to come up here and climb up on top of you and fuck you in the ass. Sitting on the toilet as I am I’m already a little vulnerable obviously, but now i’m possitively childish with the effort of restraining my fear and delight and something else... asrtonishment? that she knows me better than i know myself? hard to say, in the moment. the head of my penis is suddenly pressing against the underside of the toilet seat and it feels sweetly uncomfortable and i want to shift my position to let it out but i don’t want to while she’s still standing there watching me with that sweet wicked grin, and so it just stays hooked in there and hurts while i look up at her not sure what expression i’m having or want to appear to be having but thinking i look like a wide eyed puppy in spite of myself. i really have to shit too but again--not such a big fan of doing that while people are watching. while she is watching, i guess. but she’s always full of surprises and can obviously read my mind or at least my guts and she just grins a little more and the grin gets a little more evil, and she says, Go ahead. What? Go ahead, she says, with the slightest downward nod toward the toilet. I know you have to take a shit, so what are you waiting for? I-- She just looks back and raises one eyebrow and angles her face ever so slightly to the left. I mean I-- She just waits. I look at her as if I can’t look away. I just hold my gaze steady to meet hers. It feels like I don’t have a choice; it feels like a presumption to just stare at her face like that but it also feels like i’m commanded to do so, like my gaze is locked in with some kind of invisible lines of steel, some invisible taut leash, and i can’t look away. my forehead wrinkles up. my mouth opens slightly. my whole body tenses like a bow and arrow. my chin comes forward but i’m still staring directly into her sarcastic eyes, and my pelvis tilts forward and down. it’s a combination of straining and letting go and i bear down and push and with a hot gush of relief here it comes. a big hot turd just shoots like a projectile, fast and massive and satisfying and clean, into the toilet. it shoots so hard it makes a splash. i can’t help it--i makde a grunt and i’m mortified and thrilled to hear myself, because it sounds like a moan of forced pleasure. i sound to my own ears like i’m getting fucked. my guts are swimming with relief and butterflies. She looks interested and amused and idly curious, like a little girl watching somebody at recess doing something they’re not supposed to do. Then she just smiles bigger for one instant, and walks away. i start hearing the rustling sounds of getting on with the day. we’ve got places to go, things to stir up. I’m panting. the tense springs and cords of my erect body start to relax. I wipe my ass but that shit was so clean and complete i barely even have to. After washing my hands and looking quizically at my own face in the mirror, i go about getting dressed. pulling my pants up over my erection and feeling keyed up and vibrating and half crazed--it’s something i’m almost getting used to. almost. ---- that’s all i know about that. I know about that only because I was that guy once. It’s saturday morning and i didn’t get a heavenly mesage from the messenger biurd while i was sleeping. like you’re suppsed to. mornings are supposed to eb basicaly synonymous with magic. right now they’re just synonymous with typos because of my stupid two finger typing techniwue. i use my thumb on the space bar. i do aooccasionaly useds the third finger of each hand, but nmostly it’s the first and second of each hand. so i guess it’s more of a 2+2+1 finger typing methosd. IF i sit and make myself do it i can use that third fingr, and i’m trying to do more of that because my left hand has been hurting a little bit in the space between the fingers, in the “web” area if you know what i mean. SO if i can learn to use more fiungers more, i can leave my hand lying flat more instead of having to arch it up and contort it thousands of little times a day. and then if i could learn to use my pinkies too that owuld be straight amazing. Tat’s going to be hard. though. I’fve almost never used my pinkies. they’re jsut so far out there, like pluto. they’re not even real fingers. they’r fingeroids. nasa reclassified them when i was about 8 years ols and so i never learned to use them. i never bothered to put any way stations on them, or send ships to restock them for the colonists. basically we had one capsule go there one time to survey the place. it was a polar bear driving a station wagon. he landed on a knobby knoll, rolled down the winder, stuck his stubby elbow on the jamb, rested his other hand on the steering wheel, looked around and said, “Meh.” And then we’ve never sent anyone back. Incidentally, i talked to that polar bear once, for an interview, when i was working for TMG. I don’t remember much of it and i’ve lost the recording, but i do remember this one part. It went like this: ME: So, tell me, mister polar bear, was there anything there, on, um, on Pluto I mean PB: naturally ME: haha, yes, of course, I mean, that is what we’re talking about (i was really bad at interviewing) that i guess surprised you, or was somehow unexpected, or made you, like, PB: Well there was one thing. ME: Oh really? PB: Yes. Come close, I’m going to tell you about it. Closer. Closer. Yeah, lean right in here, real close. Closer. No, seriously. Come on. Closer. And then when my elbows were diggin hard into the table, and i was leaned all the way across, my ass up out of my chair and my whole torso straining to get across the whole width of the table, and for some reason I obeyed when he kept saying “closer” so that my face was literally like 2 inches from his furry snout, that’s when he whipped one massive paw around behind my head, planted it firmly at the base of my neck so that, already unbalanced as i was, i couldn’t move at all or else i would completely faceplant on the table. he held me there, rock solid, and, musky and winey and wie eyed, he pushed his big face forward and kissed me, hard, long, wet, slippery, and i resisted at first, it was just so so much, so hot and slobbery, i was like ugghhh, but he didn’t let go and he didn’t let up and i felt this funny feeling in my knees and in my groin and at the base of my neck, and my jaw decided it wanted to experiment with maybe just relaxing the slightest bit, and my mouth opened and softened and let him in and his massive muscular tongue explored, slowly, big and hot, just took its time, took ownership of my mouth and i breathed through my nose and a low moan came up out of the back of my throat, and when he finally let go and pulled back and removed his massive paw from the back of my head and let me hang there in mid air over the table for a second before i flopped back into my chair, dazed, buzzed, and hard as a quivewring rock, he said, I have to go. we’ll have to finish the interview another time. But of course I never heard from him again.