Sweltering, sticky, and steamy, the oppressive heat of Louisiana was more than a colorful, descriptive alliteration for dramatic effect from a Mark Tw...in novel. From the moment he emerged from the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, Donald started sweating like a pig. He hailed a cab and headed for his swanky Bourbon Street hotel so he could wash off the perspiration and calm his nerves. In the heart of all the action, in the center of the city, he could look out his window. We chatted for a while and got on well. Then the other two left. I was alone with a twenty-five-year-old gay guy who loved cross-dressers. His name was Tom. I moved the conversation on to sex and asked him what he liked. He wanted his cock sucked like mad and asked if I swallowed. I told Tom how much I loved cock and always swallowed. He was ready and so was I. We kissed and my hand went down between his legs and I felt his hard-on. He quickly took off his shirt and undid his trousers. My hand. More

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