’ She thought. ‘But aren’t all artists mad?’ she asked of no one, pacing the floor and smoking feverishly on her cigarette. ‘Van Gogh cut of... his ear, Latrec indulged in absinthe, Chatterton and Plath killed themselves how many other artists, writers, poets and musicians had gone mad or died? Was it the curse of the creative thought process that tormented them, the pursuit of artistic integrity or the deep passionate yearning to show the beauty only they could see? The line from an Eliot poem. I told him that I was feeling really horny & hoped he didn't mind if I took care of my problem, and started slow stroking with my thumb and fore finger. He just really grinned even showing some teeth and started stroking. I moved right up to him and saying that it was better if we did each other. I pushed his hand away and felt him up balls & cock and started just milking his fat helmet shaped cock head. At the same time he humped forward wrapped his hand around the center of my cock and. More

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