Maybe then you wouldn’t be running after every whore you meet.’ He does not answer her. He knows from experience that it would only get her angry again and lead to more insults, more beatings. He bows his head and silently prays that she just goes away. ‘I guess you didn’t lie to me after all. I can see that your dick isn’t big enough to fuck anyone.’ She throws the chamber pot at him. But her aim is bad. It hits him a glancing blow on the shoulder and bounces to near the wall. Then she drops a roll of toilet paper within his reach and walks out of the room, closing the door behind herself. He is glad when she leaves. For when he is alone he can regain some measure of dignity for his naked body. Now too, he can relieve himself in solitude. He knows better than to soil her floor, the floor that is stained with his blood. She doesn’t return for several hours, by then it is dark. She puts a bowl of oatmeal on the floor just out of his reach — the only food she has ever given him after. He stood and pulled off his shirt, his chest big and hairy, manly and defined. When he began to undo his belt and pants, my heart nervously raced. He let them fall to the floor and my eyes widened at the sight. “No wonder way he is so confident!” I thought to myself. His cock was huge, thick and girthy. It looked heavy just hanging there and I could not take my eyes off of it. Stepping out of his pants and moving towards me, I could fell myself harden as I watched his cock swing from side to side. “You can touch it if you want” he said, Somehow him saying “It” instead of “me” made it easier, made it less “Gay.” I reached out and ran my finger tip down his hanging, girthy, veiny shaft. His cock felt smooth, the skin soft. I could not stop staring at it. I held it in my palm and was shocked at its weight. His manhood began to swell under my touch, becoming even bigger and harder. I gently stroked it and marveled at its size. “That’s nice” he said, then said, “Let me see you.” He.
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