My relaxed mood vanishes immediately. Not “my lover”. Not “Mark”. Just “the gardener”. As if my job explains everything that anyone might ...eed to know about me.“You fuck the gardener? You’ve got to be kidding. That’s low, even for you.”“Low? Why is it lower to fuck a gardener than a brain surgeon?” I ask, but they apparently choose to ignore my exceedingly witty comment.“Brian, we’ve never been exclusive. And you’ve fucked that slut in Houston. So what are you complaining about?”“So, I’m the. “Oh! what heavenly joys, my dear mamma, you did, indeed, reduce its hardness, but just feel — it has got hard again, you must reduce it once more.” “My beloved boy, I shall always be ready to do so, but it must be the most sacred secret between us, or I should never be able to do it again.” You may well suppose my protestations were of the strongest. At it we went again, and again, and again. Mamma declared that I was a most apt scholar. Four times did I pour into her foaming and fiery cunt. More

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