ight at me through his glasses.

“It’s obvious you are,” he stated, tinuing to stroke his girthy dick.

“What is?” I replied somewhat indignantly, knowing somewhat (but not wholly) what he was implying.

“That yay.”

I hate being called out as “obviously gay.” It’s not that it implies anythiive about me; no, being gay is the best; fuyone who says otherwise…I just hate that anyone else look at a person and assume that a certain number of physical traits are enough to identify a homosexual. Stereotyping makes me shiver. And for the briefest moment, I was eurned off by little Andrew and I could feel my blood slowing down a bit, until he placed his hand right on my dick.

“You’re throbbing penis tells it all. It says it better than any words could say.”

Oh, that’s what he m― My thought was interrupted when he squeezed it a little bit.

I lurched forward a bit in my seat, physically trying to catch the breath that had just bee very disoriented and tripped out of my mouth before it could even mao fully enter my lungs.

“Holy fuck,” I wheezed.

He looked right into my eyes and gave me a nasty, boyish smile before he grabbed my left hand and placed it on his right thigh.

“If you want to, you touch it, but at a price.”

“What?” I said, sounding like I had just gone for a jog.

“You’ll let me fuck you ioilet back there, right now.”

I paused.

“No. I ’t do that. Two of my colleagues are back there - “

“Last time I went back there, they were asleep.”

“And this is all so unprofessional. I shouldn’t have eve you pull that thing out o me.”

“But you did.”

I paused again, and stared at it, still pulsing.

“You know you want to,” he tinued. “It would be quite the thrill,” he said, again softly tossing that filthy, slanted smile at me again.

I couldn’t resist. I wao feel him all over me. I put my right hand on his dick, stroked it a few times and then reached into my bag between his legs.

“I told myself I was just joking when I decided t s and lube to the Arctic Circle.”

“H you were.”

And then I stood up and walked quietly to the bathroom past my two colleagues from bia, Jeanne Richardson and Miryam Bugeaud, who were in fatirely asleep in their seat together, one’s head on top of the other. I looked back at Andreas looking out the window, and then tio the latri the very back.

I pulled my pants down, lubed myself up a bit, and then waited. About a minute passed before I heard a knock at the door, ope, a

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