November 15,2012...FINALLY...I had time to put up another part of this story, as usual, if you scroll down, everything after the "xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx's" in new.
Here is a little bit of a new story that I am working on. I am still working on the other story, that I had posted here previously, but, it has a long way to go and a lot of work yet to be done, and since I have had it posted here for such a long time, I felt like changing things up abit. I wish I had more time to write, as I have found that I enjoy it, but I am always so busy. I am easily distracted, and so I have a dozen or more story lines in the works currently. I am letting them grow in my head, and develop their own personalities , and as little bits come to me, I write them down so I won't lose track of them.
SUBURBIA
She strolled into the market, aware that there were eyes on her, but, not bothered. Not intimidated. She wasn't an exhibitionist, well, not really, just, beautiful, and confident of that. Minka, at forty three, had a body that a woman in her twenties would kill for. Much of that was good genetics, and the fact that she had married well was certainly a contributing factor as well. At 5'2", the five inch stacked corky heels, with their tan canvas laces that ran up her calves almost to her knees, put her at least close to eye level with most of the men.
Men that made a point to make eye contact with her, not so much because she had the face of a model, with her high cheekbones and piercing eyes, but, so that it would be less apparent that they had moments before been staring at her amazing legs, smooth and perfect, and the ass that was hanging in two perfect curves beneath her frayed levi cut offs, her " shortie-shorts", and, the amazing set of perfect breasts that protruded proudly out of the top of the tight white half shirt that she wore. There was a moment, just a moment, when, every man in the store stopped and caught his breath. That is, before their wives glared at them in "that way".
She always dressed like this.....revealing....youthful...flirtatious....slutty ...like a stripper... a hooker even.....and, at one point in her life, she had been all of those things and more...but, that part of her life was long past, and a world away. Her current social status couldn't have been farther from where she started, or where she had been along the way. She had been gifted with a heightened sexuality, and a beautiful body, and felt no compelling need to hide those facts. The icing on the cake was the smooth, soft unmistakable russian accent that spilled like music from her full lips.
She enjoyed the flirtative dance. People are sexual creatures, and men, in particular, are visual creatures as well. Their inner animal with its keen senses, always searching for fertile ground to till. She liked that about men. At least as far as sexuality, most of the ones that she had interacted with at any depth were blunt, straight forward, and relatively simple in the exercise of that inner primal instinct. A time to work, a time to play, even a time to kill, but all the while, always prepared for the opportunity to sew their seed.
She had climbed the rungs of the social ladder, through her own determination and tenacity, ravenously craving what she believed to exist ahead, in the promised land, leaving the unimaginable horrors of her past behind her. As much as she still looked back quite frequently on the rich culture and fascinating history of her soviet homeland, with a certain amount of nostalgic retrospection, the unpleasant particulars of her past, were best buried, along with the bones of her mother, father, and brother, in the ruins of the collapsed communist empire.
The images of that earlier time were as clear in her mind as if they had happened yesterday. There are those people who have survived horrific experiences, and are constantly haunted by the vivid recollection of those events, ultimately becoming so hobbled by emotional scar tissue, that their lives become permanently handicapped and distorted, They cower in the shadows, and live in a constantly revolving replay of the worst moments of their lives. This was not so in her case. She compartmentalized things, and could turn things on and off as easily as opening and closing windows. Having that control made her very confident, and it showed in her every action.
Western culture in general, America in particular, with its promise of potential upwards mobility, available to those with certain rare and exceptional qualities, seemed well suited to a woman who was fortunate enough to be both beautiful, and clever. She wasn't brilliant, her level of intelligence was quite ordinary, but she was indeed an old soul, surprisingly wise, and well versed in strategy, and the politics of social interaction.
She smiled. She had been watching him, for the past two months or so. He started working at the market then, though, only part time, after school. It was almost summertime, school would be out. It was a time when ambitious young men would be scrambling around to find jobs. Hungry for money, and the perks that accompanied it. Girls like boys who take them places and buy them things.
He was handsome. Sandy hair, amber eyes, and a marvelous build for a teen of his age. She loved tormenting him with her overt flirtation, frustrating him, and watching him squirm in his awkward adolescence, caught between a rock and a hard place. The overwhelming sexuality that emanated from her was the rock upon which he could not help but to smash into, over and over again, and the hard place, hung just below his abdomen, and extended down the right leg of his jeans to an impressive length. She wondered if he , "wore that" just when she arrived, but, reminded herself that he was, young after all, and so, it must be his "constant companion."
She smiled to herself. She always timed her visits to the market to coincide with his schedule. Ironically, a couple of her closest friends had found themselves on the same shopping schedule, and they would pass each other in the aisles, smiling, speaking to each other with their eyes, exchanging thoughts. They made sure to congregate together, chatting, giggling, and without fail, every time, he would situate himself to work at some mundane task that allowed him to be as near as possible. And then they would break apart and flutter away like so many butterflies in different directions, no doubt frustrating him, until, he would come and find them, and begin the process over again.
They were confident mature beautiful women, and they were, in no way competing for flirting rights. They had an understanding. They had been a team for the last few years, doing nearly everything together despite their cultural and socioeconomic differences. They were closest of friends, but as well, they were.....co-conspirators.
This was a much more calculated game than mere flirtation and toying with the affections of a young man clearly in the hormonal overdrive that was only normal for his age. It was a game that they had perfected, first, in their younger days, as individuals, and later, when they met and discovered their common interests, as a unit. They were sister spiders spinning a web. And he was the most recent naive creature to have found itself drawing in closer and closer, curiouser and curiouser, oblivious to the inescapable trap that had been set to ensnare him. A moth, driven by an insatiable hunger to dive headlong into the heart of the flame.
She had spoken with him on occasion, usually to ask him some silly contrived question that she didn't really need answered. She found him in the produce section once and asked him to pick her out a cucumber, clarifying that length, and girth were vital, and that it must be very firm. She even commented that she just might need two or three of them. Another time, she leaned over the area where he was stacking cantaloupe, so far over in fact that, the full blossom of her cleavage was visible, only from that angle, and thus, only to him. She asked him if he had any experience finding the firmest roundest melons, and whether he preferred small melons or great big ones, She spoke to him in that hypnotic accent of hers, forcing him to make eye contact, even though he found it almost impossible not to look, no stare, at her perfect breasts.
Today, however, was different, the time for innocent flirtation had passed, and other windows and doors were to be opened. She breezed around with her little basket, tossing in this and that, without really paying attention. She was waiting for his inevitable arrival, at the end of whatever aisle she was on. He was as pleasantly predictable as any man could be. She smiled at him, and, still making eye contact, she nodded her head ever so slightly, beckoning to him, letting him know that he had to come closer now, that she needed him. He summoned up whatever courage he could find, and walked towards her with the best imitation of confidence that he could muster. She smiled, and softly said "Hello, how are you today Darling."
"I'm fine, ....I mean...I'm fine thank you Ma'am"...
She smiled at the fact that he called her Ma'am. In truth, she did have a daughter at home that was not much younger than he. "I'm looking for something , I thought maybe you could help me find it, you seem like the man to ask".
He smiled, but to himself. She had referred to him as a man. Boys his age, find it ultimately complementary to be referred to as manly and masculine. It offered a tiny morsel of sustenance to their very hungry and very fragile male egos.
She smiled again, at the way he had adjusted his body ever so slightly, to look bigger, sturdier, harder. He might have even been unconsciously flexing just a tiny bit. She had tapped a little crack into the ice.
She knew the question would immediately reduce the flexing man-boy in front of her back into the charmingly insecure youth she had spoken to just a moment ago. She smiled, and then...asked him which aisle the condoms and personal lubricants were on, He mumbled something about aisle twelve, feeling immediately uncomfortable. He didn't know very much about "sex stuff" and that lack of knowledge lay over his confidence, and suffocated it like a wet blanket.
"Be a dear, and show me would you Darling?" She began walking towards that aisle, leaving her basket sitting in the aisle, and never turned back around to see if he had the taken the initiative to grab it and follow. She heard the wheels squeaking behind her. It was as if there had been an unspoken request, no, demand, that he should accompany her, show her their exact location, and make himself available to assist her in anyway she should request.
The shy voice in his head, was screaming now at the top of its lungs, demanding retreat, but she did not allow that choice, and so, he followed her instead. He hated that end of aisle twelve. The sex things were at one end, the secret items that women used for their particular ...processes...were in the middle, and the baby things which always smelled horrible to him even though they were tightly wrapped in plastic, were at the other end. This aisle was the sacrosanct territory of women. Men ( and boys ) were no allowed here. It was forbidden.
She was keenly aware that young men his age were known to get shy or uncomfortable when matters of bodily functions, particularly menstruation, and sexuality enter the discussion, feeling some shame or sense of social repression, seemingly unaware that, everyone old enough to feed them selves was already evolving into the sexual creature that they were to become.
She turned and went down the aisle without looking back, and he followed because he desired the precious moments of her company, moments he had only day dreamed about before this, and, because, she offered no alternative but to follow her into the belly of the beast. They got to the proper section of the aisle, and he pointed generally in the direction of the " sex stuff", and stared at the floor. He had left the basket a few paces behind him, and, like an animal in the wild, instinctively fearing the unknown, he didn't move closer. She smiled, and looked directly at him, making him feel even more awkward, and said in her whispery voice, " Thank you darling"
He paused for a moment, trying to gather his voice so that it didn't come out sounding like a crackly screech. "You're welcome Ma'am".
She stood in front of the shelves for a moment, and sighed, like a little girl, a little girl in a donut shop trying to decide between fruit filled or chocolate glazed, and frustrated that she had to make a choice and couldn't have both. The kind of little girl that made you want to say " It's OK, why don't you have both", just so you could see her eyes glitter, her soft lips bending into a smile, her perfect teeth peering out from behind.
He was shifting back and forth uncomfortably, and couldn't imagine that she would want anything further from him, but, had a haunting feeling. He felt as though, he was somehow still engaged in his " service' of her, and that it would have been rude of him or some how...forbidden...to depart without getting.....released....or something like that.
His hands on experience with actual women, well, girls, the female form in general, was greatly limited, by the insecurity of his age, and his shy nature, and the real or imagined restriction of his economic strata, which is to say, he was a poor, and the small amount that he earned doing odd jobs, he felt compelled to give to his parents, who both suffered from a chronic case of meager beginnings, coupled with a lifetime of poor choices. There were certain rules to performing the courting ritual properly, and at least part of that involved expendable income. In time, he would discover that he had certain assets that money could not buy, but at the present time, he vacillated back and forth between horny and hopeless.
He had fantasized about them, and worshiped them in a manner, their amazing bodies, as if they were some different species, from the very moment puberty had come upon him. There were of course those who hid their charms as if they were secret, and for this was a mysterious enticement, though, for most young men his age, life was to short for such nonsense. Their eyes, as the eyes of countless men and boys alike, were focused on those young girls comfortable enough to display the assets they had been gifted with, girls who had the particular circumstance of having parents who didn't seem to notice or care that their daughters were sexualized at such a young age. They did their hair and makeup, and arrived at school, wearing the most provocative things they could get away with, looking like women ten years older, and displaying even more flesh during those hot summer months, when their mid drifts appeared, their little t-shirts strained against the continued growth from within, their round bottoms peeked out from beneath shorts, and their smooth skin tanned in the sun. The swimwear they wore to the pool grew smaller in direct proportion to the increased curves of their girly parts.
They learned how to walk and talk and behave like the women that garnered the attention of men. Girls at that age, are perfect narcissists, and their greatest desire, is to be desired, and their efforts are immediately rewarded tenfold with the attention of men of every age, who are programmed by nature to enter into the timeless competition, and who are drawn to them like bees to a field of flowers. To him, girls seemed to be in a constant state of evolution, and the more mysterious and tormentously desirable they became, the more unobtainable they became as well.
Amazing creatures, with such smooth skin, scented with some naturally occurring perfume, their small still growing breasts, and the mink-soft tuft of silken hairs, hidden below, behind a thin layer of cotton, carefully guarded, prized, well defended, saved for someone worthy.
Thus far, his interactions, had been the awkward fumbling, beneath the sweaters of schoolgirls girls who agreed to slip around the corner with him, girls as inexperienced as he, and though perhaps some of them were not as pretty as some of the others, they equally sharing a desperate hunger for discovery, and relief,
The first contact, hands grasping, grabbing, pulling close, tugging at clothing, two topographies coming into contact as if they were designed to do so, and then a sparing of sorts, as lips come together, he stooping, and she straining and tilting upwards, soft, wet, parted, signaling the beginning of a sparring match, two tongues, like sabers, thrusting and parleying each other. Wriggling, wet, flexing, a foreshadowing of intercourse, a throbbing spear thrust through soft pink lips. A taste like none other, that first time when you taste the desire of another, drink in their warmth, a bombardment of sensory experiences, as the circuit completes and an electrical current passes through.
Hot breath, hearts pounding as fingers explored forbidden territory, he, grasping breasts, squeezing nipples, hands shaking somewhat, sliding down, down, and feeling that smooth solid flat abdomen, the subtle slope into the navel, perhaps reaching back to explore the firm rounding bottom, and then, with some bold assertive move, sliding his hand into the front of her pants, to find the soft triangle of cotton panties, with the tiniest strip of dampness in a vertical stripe, with its unique topography,
Sometimes, when wordlessly encouraged by body language, the slight further parting of legs, a tightening of her grasp, or soft catlike mewing, he slipped fingers beneath the elastic band, to feel the warm moisture, the flesh, the unimaginable softness, all the while shaking and trying desperately not to cum, knowing that an early orgasm,would bring this to an end far too soon.
And she, the schoolgirl, his dance partner, making herself as tiny and defenseless as she can beneath his larger more overpowering masculine form, tugs at his belt, the snap, and then the zipper, sliding it down slowly, as her excitement elevates.
Her fingers slide into his jeans, feeling the texture and friction of jockey shorts now grown overly tight, discovering the prize within, firm, warm, alien, but recognizable in a primal sense, squeezing it, sliding up and down, feeling its heat, the veiny texture of the shaft, the spongy crown at its tip, unsure, unfamiliar, feeling its swollenness, its hardness. It's just like she had always imagined it, though perhaps larger, somewhat intimidating. her mind leaps forward, picturing it, thrust at her, into her, like a spear, tearing through her maiden flesh, awash in the warmth of blood and fluid, invading, conquering, pushing deep inside her...
And then... shaking...a moment when two shudder, and gasp, clinging to each other as hormones rush from brain to blood, leaning together, steadying each other, the sensation, the orgasm, that briefest of seconds at the top of the mountain, breathing the rarified air, and seeing a glimpse of eternity. For that brief moment, never long enough,they cling and gasp, then fall to earth, and catch their breath.
And then the sinking, the decompression, the deflation, as that brief flame dims, and the warmth dissipates, an inevitable awkward period follows..a feeling as though, it needed to be more, if it could have just lasted a moment longer, did I do something to end it prematurely, "will he think Im a slut"....., "will she giggle and tell her friends Im inadequate"....but the truth is, even in inexperience, and brevity, it was amazing..
They hastily redress themselves, smoothing out mussed hair, and tussled clothing, searching and finding no words. Perhaps they giggle, or perhaps, they experience embarrassment, but in either event, they retreat back from whence they came, both parties looking for the shortest route of escape, hopefully involving as little conversation or eye contact as possible.
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The top shelf had the overflow inventory, and each of those items was also available on the lower shelves, but, none the less, she pointed to a box on the top shelf, just out of her reach, and looked back at him. "Can you reach that pink box for me, the one with the black writing on it.?" He wouldn't dare suggest that she should take one from the lower shelf, and so he moved forward, to reach up for the box. He got closer, and noticed that she didn't move, and so, he strained his body to make himself just a little "taller" so he could reach over her without actually touching her. She shifted backwards, a tiny bit, and then a little closer, and then a little more, as if her proximity was somehow assisting him in his task, and then, suddenly, she was in his inner circle, that "no-man's land", where, when invaded, generally created a very disconcerting feeling.. She was inches from him, closer than that even. Close enough where he could feel the warmth that emanated from her body.
The electromagnetic fields that surround our molecules are in a constant state of agitation, performing millions of unconscious functions, seemingly, in perpetual motion, from our very first moment until our very last. A perfectly choreographed process that, from a few ounces of carbon, and various other elements, a few gallons of water, and an electrical spark, creates a living thing, unique, individual, and self aware. Driven by primal urge, yet, highly evolved and specialized.
And as her magnetic field overlapped his, engulfing him like a scalding tidal wave of raw unrefined sexual energy, he was unwittingly dragged down into the unyielding flow of her undercurrent, buzzing with a euphoria, not unlike that hypersensitivity that occurs in the oxygen starved brain of one drowning, after loosing the exhausting fight to stay afloat, in the moments prior, and perhaps immediately after, the desperate and utterly unavoidable deep inhalation of water.
The anxiety, the elation, the roar, the silence, the tension, and then .....the utter calm and quiet. The quiet part, in this case, only comes with experience and confidence, neither of which he had developed yet, even in small measure, though all the other sensations were in an unbridled cacophonous clash.
As involuntary systems and processes roared to life within him, he became very aware of her warmth, no, her heat, that seemed to bridge the gap between them, at the point where they were the closest, which just happened to be mid-thigh on his right leg. He was becoming positively intoxicated by her perfume, subtle, yet so very potent, floral, sweet. He couldn't tell jasmine from freesia, from honeysuckle, from the man in the moon, but what ever it was, it was compelling.
From his height, around 5'10", he couldn't help but to see, from above, directly over her right shoulder, past her thick flowing auburn hair, and the dangling gypsy ear rings, directly down into the cleft that her breasts created in her t-shirt. Like two cantaloupes, firm, heavy, perfect, pressed tightly against each other in a space not quite large enough to accommodate, pressing and squeezing, and reshaping, and for lack of anywhere else to go, trying to escape by spilling out of the top of her shirt. There was the slightest glint of lotion with tiny gold "sparklies" in it, and a sheen that suggested moisture, not sweat, just the moisture that comes to the surface with its payload of pheromones, during heated moments, on a hot day,
They were firm enough to strain the elasture of the shirt, yet, movement made the exposed tops jiggle just a tiny bit, a slight undulation, and he couldn't help but to imagine how amazingly soft and alive they would feel when gently cradled in his hands, and then compressed ever so slightly, just until the fingers met with some resistance, but certainly not hard enough to bruise or cause pain, repositioning, fingers never quite loosing contact with the soft skin, so that the thumb and forefinger were poised to clasp the perfectly textured nipples, to feel their firmness, in an exploratory pinch, a baby pinch, feeling their stiffness, feeling them pulse, resisting the urge to pinch them harder, or perhaps follow some primal mammalian need to seek sustenance from them..
He was close enough now to smell the cherry lipgloss that she wore, and the lotion that she massaged into every square inch of her skin, so close, that the frays on the bottom of those tiny denim shorty-shorts, were brushing right up against his thigh, below and to the right of his crotch, a hundred tiny fingers, teasing, tickling, enticing, charming the serpent, now quite curious, to crawl from the comfort of its resting place, and wriggle down through the tight corridor between his thigh, and his jeans, in search of the source. Fearless, yet a slave to its own ferocious appetite, a beast easily lured, and effortlessly captured by a predator of superior skill and cunning, for purposes yet to be revealed.
His felt his pulse, all through his body, seeming to end, throbbing, in his temple, and begin in the hidden confines of his jockey shorts. His heart was pounding. He was getting so hard, he thought surely several minutes had passed, surely she must be aware that he was frozen in place, that he had become hypnotized. She was quite aware, in fact, though actually, only a brief few seconds had passed.
She looked back at him over her shoulder, holding his gaze with her eyes and smiled. It was a smile that words could not describe. It wasn't the smile she would give the other men in the store as she navigated her cart past them. It wasn't the smile she would give the girl who rang up her items. It was different. Like a beautiful vampire, soothing her victim with warmth and compassion, moments before ripping open a gaping flap of flesh precisely over the jugular, and ravenously gulping and slurping up the crimson geyser that burst from beneath.
And then it hit him, like a ton of bricks. He had an epiphany, a flash of true reality, and was both shocked and oddly relieved at the realization. Yes, that was exactly it. He felt as though, she had indicated that he should stay, that she had further need of his services, and that he had no choice but to comply...nor any desire to the contrary, and, should he do anything else, she would be displeased. He knew he needed her validation, her....permission. She was in full charge of this moment, and he would stand there, unflinching, for a year, a hundred years, if she looked at him and told him to, with her eyes.
He felt at that moment, as though he would do anything she asked. She held him in that spot, with her command, her authority, with lust, and an impossibly intoxicating .....cruelty ....of sorts, the sort that you obsess over, that you burn with desire for, that you crave with every inch of your emotion, and fear to the bottom of your primal soul, that lay concealed from the outside world beneath her smile and her soft spoken-ness. She held his lean muscular body, his youthful unmarred skin, by his head of full wavy hair, she held him .......by his erection, .....as surely as if she had tugged open his zipper, and reached through the mail slot in his jockey shorts, and gripped it with in her delicate hands. Clenched like the reigns of a mustang yet to be broken, like a chain, but a chain of muscle, and flesh, arteries and veins, a chain that was a part of his body, and therefore, inescapable.
His imagination was running rampant, and he had positively no idea where these specific thoughts had come from. He had never had anything even vaguely resembling these thoughts before. It was if someone else was inhabiting his body, someone much older and worldly, someone sinful, wicked, thinking for him, making all of the decisions, as if, he had borrowed the brain of another, and the fantasies he was having were not his but those belonging to that other . He was shocked, confused, and, scared, and unimaginably and unequivocally turned on, in a way that he had never experienced before. The voice in his head was begging, pleading, for the opportunity to serve her every need, and to service her every desire, no matter how far reaching. He would do anything , anything, to be an implement for her pleasure.
Her gaze lasted only a brief second, and then she turned back to make her selection, but, .....at that moment....He heard her voice, not out loud, but rather, inside his head, as surely as if she had turned, locked eyes with him, and said it, in that same accent, but, spoken in a strict, harsh , and authoritative manner...delivering her commands, in a way that was impossible to refuse.....he "felt" her saying the words to him, words that buzzed, and resonated throughout him. Was she really projecting thoughts into his mind, or was he simply wrapped up in some spontaneous fantasy, brought up from the darkest parts of his sexual psyche, thoughts he didn't know himself capable of thinking.....
,,,,," You will do as I say, without question, do you understand...... Darling...you are mine to do with as I desire, and the things I desire are oh so dark and wicked, exquisite, terrifying...but irresistible..... remember this, never, ever displease me, never deny me or refuse me anything that I even slightly desire, or god help you, you will regret it beyond anything you can ever begin to imagine"..
Still in his personal space, she reached over to pull a tube of KY jelly down from the shelf next to him, and in order to reach it, she finally had to actually press up against them. They were officially occupying the same space. "Ah, I like this one, it's the kind that gets hot when you rub it on your body" She whispered to him. "You rub it on your cock, and massage it in very slowly and thoroughly, and it gets warm, and your skin tingles, know what I mean? They also have the kind that gets cold,( and then she whispered as if it was a secret between the two ) , "which do you prefer, if you don't mind me asking?"
He couldn't even come up with a reply. He was speechless. His cock was so hard, it felt as though there was some animal inside his body, trying to tear itself free and exit through his crotch. She smiled at him wickedly, "Both huh, you are a naughty young man, but ( and she whispered again), "I do too, I think that, if some sensation is good, then, more is better. I find extreme sensation , in copious amounts, to be very deliciously exquisite, don't you agree?"
She didn't wait for a reply. He was trapped. He couldn't leave, couldn't make eye contact with her, and he was suddenly aware that he hadn't even taken a breath while they were standing there and he was actually getting light headed. His heart was pounding. His throat was dry. And he could hardly focus his eyes.
She pulled down a box of the extra large condoms, and held them out to him. "Hmmm, I have another question, if you won't think me overly bold, but, I need some that are,( again whispering ) ... you know...bigger ...than the other ones. I like...full figured men...if you know what I mean. Have you tried these ones?"
She looked down at the very very visible bulge that has formed along his right thigh, even though he was desperately trying to cover himself with his inadequately small shopkeepers apron. It was an impressive shaft, straight as a battering ram, with the curvature of the perfectly shaped helmet at the end, its unmistakable outline apparent, pushing and struggling against the denim of his jeans, which were becoming tighter and tighter by the second, and said " Hmmm, by the looks of things, these might even be a little tight on you." She smiled wickedly, and locked her eyes on him, still looking over her shoulder, and still in contact with him, and with a slight turn, to look at something on the shelf, her firm perfect ass rubbed directly across the secret that he was growing in his pants, she turned back to look at him again for a moment, rubbing still more, and then, again she tuned to the shelf.
She pretended to be entirely unaware that they were even making contact, much less, in such an intimate manner, and, much to his distress, he could stand it no longer. He excused himself as politely as possible, promising he would be back in just a moment, because he had suddenly remembered something very important in the back that he had to take care of immediately, And with that, he made a mad dash for the back room, and the relief that urgently awaited him behind the locked door of the mens room.
..........TO BE CONTINUED..........