Marcus and I sat on the couch, and chatted about my work and his (he was a musician) and Chicago and my small town and my love of younger black guys, ...hich he found amusing. I couldn’t help but look at his crotch — naturally — and my jaw opened wide again: I could see the outline of what looked like a foot-long tree trunk in his pants. “Oh my god,” I said, as I looked down. “Is that what I think it is?” This wonderfully deep-throated reply came from him: “Oh, yeah, That’s why I am mainly a. I disobeyed and I must pay for my mistakes. Its kind of like the kid who takes the candy from the grocery store that mom doesn’t know about and makes them humiliate themselves by going back in the store and telling them what they did wrong. I know my master was displeased with me and therefore I must make it up to him, however he deems worthy. I lay in bed thinking and playing with my hair. I was wondering where you were and what you could possibly have in store for me today. 20 minutes passed. More

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