The pack was empty. I rolled over and went back to sleep. Next thing I knew, the door opened and Phil said, ‘For Christ’s sakes, get the fuck out ...f bed.’ He was talking frat talk ‘Blurgh,’ I said, but he knew what I meant. ‘Isaac,’ he said crisply, authoritatively. ‘It’s late. Get out of bed.’ Now he was back to Daddy-speak. I opened one gluey eye, wiped the drool off my cheek, and looked at the clock. ‘Seven o’clock is late?’ He kneed the bedrail and said, ‘Everyone else is up and moving. The. But after a while, without the magazines, imagining I was a girl, with my legs spread wide and with a big cock entering me. just fantasizing about the feeling of being a girl with that big cock sliding in and out of me... anyway after a while i threw all the stuff away because i thought it was too weird.when i was 17 i used to mow the lawn for a neighbor, Roger. He was a single man in his 40's. one day i noticed that he had a lot of ladies clothes and panties on his line. i figured it must have. He parted her lips and pushed his dick in her mouth she sucked the head slowly and gently circled it with her tongue. He pushed it further into her mouth as she sucked him hard and fast. Her pussy felt like it was on fire her juices had started to drip down the inside of her thighs then forcefully he grabbed her head and pushed it right down on his long hard dick so it was the back of her throat, then he pulled out and thrust it harder into her mouth fucking the back of her throat, over. Such realism was commonly derided in the art world. They mocked Rockwell and Wyeth as illustrators, revered Pollock and de Kooning as innovators. Sean understood the slams against Rockwell. Too kitschy, idealized, cutesy. But Wyeth? Sean loved Wyeth, thought he expressed more in a perfectly executed portrait or landscape than Pollock ever did with a shitload of drips. Where was the technical skill in dripping paint, for Chrissakes? No, Sean was convinced, the real artists combined technical.