‘Sing,’ she whispered. And I did, but I didn’t sing any particular song. I swopped with my voice as the feelings from my loins swept over my bod.... I unbuttoned my blouse and squeezed my own breasts and pinched my nipples. It wasn’t long, the feeling had been building for the last 40 minutes and it washed over me like a wave. My legs buckled and I slipped into a wooden chair. Jenni stayed with me as I moved. She massaged my clitoris as she moved her fingers in and out of me. It built up again, I. I hadn't yet made it far enough, I told them, to even hope someday to be a "has-been." It remained to be seen, I told them, whether I might end up being one of the "never-weres." It still wasn't clear whether I had really made it, or whether this year, once again, I was going to be just a management afterthought -- here today, gone tomorrow, and maybe -- this time -- gone for good.But even if I was sent down next month, I told the Boosters, I would be OK with it, because Paul Warren, unlike all. More

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