"Oh, I see." I mean, have you cum a lot?"He laughed at her naivete. "Gallons," he said.She looked a bit hurt, and he quickly tried to explain without ...mbarrassing himself too much."Well, I haven't done it that much with girls. I do it myself," he explained, not looking her in the eye.She looked relieved, but at the same time a look he'd never seen before came across her face."You mean, you masturbate?" she asked."All guys masturbate," he stated matter-of-factly. "If one ever tells you he. My mother was amazed at this and she told him so. But he said to her that Rebecca had told him about the outcome of my encounter with the psychiatrist.Her conclusion was that your son was someone who was happy in his own skin and felt he had no need to prove himself by any macho posturing. She told me that this made him the kind of person who could be trusted with power because he would never seek it, but he would rise to the challenge if it was thrust upon him and I agree with her.My mother. And this, his hand, now did. Fingertips brushed against smooth skin, bare beneath the jersey. They found the crest of her crack, and stroked the soft v of where her cheeks began. In front of her, she too now found refuge in a study of her phone, as seemingly engrossed in messages and memes as the rest of the travellers. The belles had stopped kissing, but one had sat on her wheeled luggage, and the taller of the two was now stroking her friend’s hair nonchalantly, seemingly unaware that her. I lured John into bed – our first time together -- but he couldn't get it up. It was mostly my fault. Without the sexual lubrication of alcohol I was a lousy lay.It is a forlorn feeling to realize that nobody in the world cares about you. That you are a footnote in other people's lives. It almost drove me to drink. Again.I needed a job and I considered becoming an accountant again, but that was beyond boredom. And I would have to clean up my act. I was still in my overseas hippie mode: blue.