“Should I stay standing up, or sit down?"” he asked.“Either is fine,” I stammered. I couldn’t think straight.“I don’t think this is goin... to take long,” he said, again running his middle finger up the underside of his dick. It jumped again. This time, his finger lingered and traced a small circle just under the tip. He groaned, teasing himself.I looked up to his eyes for just a second and saw that erotic look of animalistic sexual need. His eyes were pleading with me not to make him stop. His. .and his eyes said he didn’t understand, for I always echoed that or usually said it first and sometimes lately he did not echo it. He pulled from my arms and I thought how horribly fragile we both were and everyone and everything was and he pulled from my arms and he touched his chin with his forefinger, an affectation he had had, he said, since early childhood, that meant confusion, that meant, somebody please help, that meant he had lost his way. And I pulled off him and zipped up and sadly. More

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