Where I should have been opening up to another human being, I remained a prisoner of my own self-imposed isolation, reveling in my own loneliness and ...solation. I had become my own judge, jury and executioner. I knew nothing about grief or depression, yet I was dealing with unexpressed grief and I was clinically depressed. It was as if I deliberately decided to kill off a part of myself to make life bearable, to cut off the emotions that plagued my mind, never realizing I was cutting myself off. Second, there was no way I’d be able to finish him without a steady supply of lube, or, in this case, my saliva. I wasn’t about to keep spitting on him over and over. It felt rude and wasn’t very efficient. My only other alternative seemed crazy though.I looked up at Dion’s face. His eyes were fixated on my rack, but he chewed on his lip with such a hunger I simply knew I couldn’t let him down. I looked back at Mr. Chapman and saw him stroking himself through his pants. He wasn’t bothered one. More

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