He squeezed my hand around his cock, and I could feel the enormous girth and length. I couldn't pull away…even when he let go of my hand and let out...a sigh. I just sat there, still looking ahead, with my hand wrapped tight around that bulge and frozen. “Play with it.” Was all he said, and I finally slowly glanced down at his lap, and began squeezing it and rubbing back and forth. I could feel it throbbing and jumping in my hand, through his pants. He turned down a back road that led to an old. I didn’t listen and suggested I go fuck myself. About 2AM, I reasoned that I should get piss drunk. I did. It worked. I churned out what my drunken self considered Shakespeare. The next morning, well, afternoon, my hung-over self recognized it as Much Ado about Nothing, Act III. No more booze. Mom saw what I was going through. Hell, she had seen it coming years ago. I had no talent. No gift. Just desire. Desire doesn’t pay the bills. Once, after another day of writing attempts, she called me. More

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