That was my fantasy name for myself. Uh, you know. Pretending I was like Elvis Presley, a handsome stud popular with the women who-who looked just lik... the guy in the mirror. My word, I thought, I couldn't go to the office like this! Who would understand? How could I explain to them what I couldn't explain to myself? I called in sick."No problem, Butch," responded the boss. You could actually hear the leer on his face. "If I'd left with Vyvica Kesselsen, I wouldn't be able to get out of bed. I place my hands on the button of his pants and undo it. I slowly unzip, then lower them. I hear an audible sigh and know it's because the thin layer of his boxers is the only thing between his cock and me. I look up at him and think, 'will he stop me?' as I place my hands across the elastic of his boxers. I feel a strong, yet gentle hand on my own and look up at the steel eyes looking down on me. "You don't have to. It's okay," he tells me. He smiles gently, removes his hand, and begins to. More

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