It was Suzanne in Reception saying I had a visitor. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I asked her who it was. The answer came back, “A Mister di Angel... is here to see you.”The only di Angelo I knew was my late husband Gianni, who I understood was killed in 1929 in Canada, murdered with his only brother by rival bootleggers. I asked Suzanne to send him up to my office. I got up out of my chair and met him at the doorway. I couldn’t believe it! It was my Gianni, raised as if from the dead.I pulled. The nock became harder and louder and the door opened. From down the passage I heard her ask if she could get her cart.I so wanted to ask her to take over from my wank aid. She shouted out again and a head popped out from behind the bathroom wall. I was still thrusting into my aid and we looked at each other. Now every other time I’d been ‘caught’ it lasted seconds. This woman watched me for at least three thrusts before she said, “I just need my cart please” and she steep in further to. Two guys and two girls. As soon as we landed on the rooftop, all four of them greeted Frank as if they were lifelong friends. Which on second thought, they probably were. All looked unique. All of them would stand out in a crowd individually. I briefly wondered if being remarkable looking was one of the criteria for a being with a special core. Then I remembered my own unremarkable features and decided it would be best for my ego if I didn’t dwell on it.Frank took the time I was sizing them up. . "I was in denial, I didn'twant to think that I was enjoying myself watching another boymasturbating in front of me, while I was myself." There I said it, Inever thought that it would ever have this type of conversation withsomeone. I liked that finally, maybe I had found someone that I couldreally talk to about...me. I could tell he was curious, "It was my firsttime I have ever done anything like this, i mean with someone elsepresent. I wasn't sure how I, or you, would accept it. But I did.