- Shopping Bag ( 0 items )
I lost no sleep over any list of what ifs from this scenario. What if his toenails were long and gnarly? What if his asshole stunk? What if the rest of his body fell way short of my expectations? What if he's a fagbashing serial killer who planned to leave my corpse bloodied on my bed? No, when it comes to sleep, the gods of chemical make-up have been kind to me. Rare is the occasion when I need to and can't. Caffeine,
stress, anticipation of pending good or evil, none of it gets in my way,
and a proposed visit by this truck driver was no exception. Nor did I lose any sleep over the fact that he never showed up at all.
Why stress over the whims of a philanderer? Besides, all I wanted to do was suck his dick. Any further developments could only clutter my days, steal my necessary moments of privacy and solitude and doing whatever the hell I want to do whenever. Married are you? Good. Stay that way. You can be just as committed to me as I am to you. And just to prove to this one the magnitude of my non-commitment I intended to ask him not one question about it.
Almost ended up being late for work, but I assure you it had nothing to do with me waiting at home until the last possible minute, waiting to see if Gary'd have the guts to knock on my door. When I got into our office, the clock said 23:00, but I grabbed my card, punched it in and put it back in the slot just as Mark came through the door and the clock clicked to 23:01.
"Hey, you better watch out tonight," he mumbled. "There's some driver comin' in here and he's a real dick."
Assuming I knew to whom he referred, I started to agree that yes indeed this man was a real dick. But I couldn't pull the trigger, knowing I'd have to dumb down my language in order to communicate with this moron.
Did I mention that Mark is barely in his twenties and by my estimation at least 275 pounds? He doesn't work the day shifts where we all get toughened up. Don't even know if he has a day job. But I do know that Mark's bathing routine leaves much to be desired. Frankly, on this night like all others, I had no desire to initiate any form of communication with him, and even less desire to be anywhere near him. "How many times's he been in?"
"One time, but he's bitchin' 'bout everything. The guy's just a fuckin'
I reached out for the key. "Yeah, well, you said that already. Guess I'll just have to straighten him out. See ya."
I headed for the ramp and its pleasant...