All with my left hand.Every cock smells. Of sour earth, of something spoiled, of animal musk. Deodorant. Tonight the sweetness of sweat, formed since ...his man realised what might happen.His penis is totemic, sheet-white in the guttering light, and leaking. My hand circles it and rises, my fingers thin and dark against its ridged bulk. It makes a noise as his foreskin lifts. Slip.Slip. Slip.Eyes closed. Sounds like a man running barefoot through thick mud.Slip, slip, slip.Eyes open. At each. I said, “Do you ever dream of reenacting those times, with a consenting partner of course?” He looked confused and embarrassed. “Consenting?” he queried. “Yes, where she wants you to.”He looked very confused. Now feeling my wine, I said “I would like to play out being ****d.” He looked even more confused but then the light dawned. I told him my tent location.In the middle of the night I heard the tent zipper go up and he was standing there. He put his hand over my mouth a said, “You sure you. More

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