I attempted to look out from my immersion tank. I could not tell if this stranger was real or part of my popper haze. I wondered if I had left my base...ent door open and someone had wondered in. I didn’t care. All I cared about was his cock in my ass. A picture formed inside my head of what that mammoth cock must look like forcing its way into my body…my tiny asshole stretched impossibly wide and tight around the almost beer-can thickness of the man’s humongous bull meat…the even broader. No!! and yet consoling himself with scarves, jackets and socks he kept warm enough only lacking in one important ingredient…a patron. As it happened one cold morning in the spring of that year…His heart leapt on that early morning for there entered his studio a young woman of obvious means as indicated by her elegant ensemble. “Excuse me monsieur, “ she said. “Are you the artiste called Jean?” Jean stood, smiled, bowing. She looked at him and around his small studio and said: “How can. More

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