But this time it was his imperative, thrusting mouth thattook mine hostage, his tongue which wetly invaded my lips, pushing halfway down my throat, an... this time ours eyes stayed open, gazing deeplyinto each other in a torrid contract of perverted sex- the dark, browneyes of the queer, middle-aged man and the light, blue eyes of theunder-age boy. As we kissed his arms snaked round me and drew me, onceagain, to him on the soft rug, and my left had started caressing hiserect penis whilst my own. In the Big Rock Candy MountainsYou never change your socksAnd the little streams of alcoholCome trickling down the rocksThe brakemen have to tip their hatsAnd the railway bulls are blindThere’s a lake of stewAnd of whiskey tooYou can paddle all around itIn a big canoeIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, The jails are made of tin.And you can walk right out again, As soon as you are in.There ain’t no short-handled shovels, No axes, saws nor picks, I’m bound to. More

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