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’ Enough said. When we got to her place, we stripped quickly and got into her shower, the only shower I’ve ever known to have instant hot water. I don’t know how she got so lucky, but her apartment had the coolest bathroom: neat fixtures, high-tech lighting, and that wonderful shower. We began washing ourselves individually. She lathered up her short blond hair with some shampoo and then said, ‘Here, feel this.’ ‘What am I feeling?’ ‘It’s a spot of what a minute ago was dried cum. You can always feel the slimy quality. It’s also a little bit of disappointment: it means that there was some of this delicious liquid that I didn’t get to taste.’ While she was speaking I was having a field day soaping up her breasts, her immense, almost impossible breasts. Each the size of a head of cauliflower or a cantaloupe. No matter how much attention I paid to them, I always felt a little intimidated by them up close, like there were these two other people in bed with us. Fortunately, they were. With tears in my eyes, I stepped through the door. Looking back, I now see it was not the exit door which I thought it was at the time. It turned out to be the entrance to the life and love I so desperately needed.I had no idea where I was going, nobody seemed to care. This was a Friday afternoon. I took the train to the next city, disembarking, I wandered around, now in an unfamiliar area. I passed by a building where singing came from.It was joyous singing, claiming the gospel. I stopped and listened, cold and hungry. With nothing else to do I stepped inside. Unnoticed, I sat at the rear of a small gathering of worshippers. At least I was warmer inside.The meeting went on for just over an hour. As it concluded, I shifted uneasily. People socialised with each other, everyone seemed happy and so alive. As I got up to leave a friendly, middle-aged lady stopped me. She introduced herself as Pastor John's wife, Sharon and we shook hands.She was nice, very gently asking if I had enjoyed.
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