’ The old man stopped talking for a bit, letting his guitar build the fences around the listeners, each melody, each chord, each note drawing them i..., closer to the fire, closer to the warmth. Looking closely at his wrinkled face, red with a leather tough skin, the people could see where his tears had streamed down his face as he told the story. He took a deep breath and then continued his story. ‘Now Bill spent the first half of the year building his Bois-de-arc wood fences and then in the. Shrinking the story down to the lower half of the screen I open up a few of her pictures arranging them story board like across my screen. Her smiling face brightening the otherwise darkened room as I begin once more to read. It’s not long before I know it’s gone beyond simple arousal and I am needing some kind of relief. Without looking from the screen, her curves drawing my full attention, I undo my zipper. My erection springing free, it nods to the screen as if in greeting at seeing an old. More

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