It was the look of someone who digs you, seriously fucking turned on. Like, stupidly, impossibly, nothing-will-ever-feel-quite-the-same-again turned o.... But it was more than that even. It was a look also of acceptance, of longing, of trust and of urgent desires that needed to be quenched. Some folk call it the look of love, but unless you’ve been in this exact scenario I’d invite you not to consider me a twat for suggesting that. (Oh, and there was a gentleman sucking my cock two inches from. You cannot believe what I am going to do as I slowly spread my legs and prop my feet up on the feet of your chair. I hear you swallow loudly and your partner asks again if you are okay. Your answer comes out kind of squeaky and you cough and answer him more firmly that you are fine. You see me smiling and then your partner gets a telephone call and while he sits sideways, looking away from you and out the window, your eyes latch onto what I am doing under your desk. You see my fingers. We would inevitably pay our respectful and lusty visits to towns around Bath, Swansea, Solihull, Marseille, Lyon, Barcelona, Aachen, and Arlon making our rounds with lovers past before returning home to Mexico. The bus pulled up to the two cacti and the shaded bench upon which I sat. I hauled myself up the step of the air-conditioned Aguilla coach amidst a cloud of dust and deliberately shook the dust off my boots before paying my fare. Travelling by bus had appealed to me from the start of. And suddenly I knew how an ancient mortal must have felt when seduced by Zeus in his enchanting way. I clung onto my dream of Mrs. Santa as assurance that I would not suffer her wrath, but instead, unlike Hera, I had her blessing as I felt him penetrate me. ‘Now remember,’ instructed Santa, ‘after your body is seized in orgasmic convulsions, I will pull you into a soft embrace and slowly begin to stroke you and soothe your exhausted body and mind until you beg me to give your more. And then.