He reclined on my bed. On his back. Vulnerable. His wrists strapped down, spread far from his body. His ankles, still in those boots I find so irresis...ible, spread equally, locked down.A tight black t-shirt. Black jeans. A belt -- hanging open a little, the buckle silver.And a tight black velvet blindfold.His eyes protested when I brought it out. But I said, softly, "All you need is your mouth."And he nodded. Swallowed. Closed those innocent eyes.And was gone.****Spikey little bangs hanging. Only then did he remember that he hadn't eaten anything for the last thirty-six hours. Even in the most desperate of situations, his appetite would manage to surface. On more that one occasion over the past eight years had this placed him, and the others, in danger.The Giants continued eating their breakfast while talking about family matters. The father would complain about the heavy workload that was waiting for him, the mother about her lecherous boss. While the two children would tell their. More

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