“Someone is living here,”I said out loud.“Yes I am,” The unexpected voice from behind me scaredme so badly that I screamed and...jumped andembarrassingly enough I wet myself. Turning around toface the voice I saw a woman about thirty-five earsold, smiling at me.“I’m sorry I really didn’t mean to scare you but youare in my home,” she said.“I-I… didn’t mean to trespass I-I was trying to getout of the rain, I should go” I. His lips held it in such a sexy way it took me a minute to pick up my lighter and light them.“Tell me about yourself, Derek.”“Nothing much to tell. Just started college, working here to earn a little coin. They tell me in there you’re a writer.”“Yup, I am.”“Published much?”I listed a few of my books and his face lit up. “Wow, man! I’ve read all of those. You’re great!”I chuckled. “I’m okay. I’m no Hemingway but it pays the bills.”“Man, that’s what I want to do, be a writer.”“Just stick with. I have to suck the stains and stinking sweat out of the prick pouches, and if I don't do a perfect job, I am punished. I also have to suck clean the underpants of several of the guys. To get the skid marks out, I have to chew and suck and really work the cotton material.>>> For most meals I eat canned dog food. It is always covered with jock spit or snot, loaded with buggers. Sometimes guys will piss on the food or jerk off on it, and now and then some shit will be mixed in with the food. "For. After all, he must have reasoned, he could always have me keep it on. It was one of those wonderfully warm, sultry, late afternoon Indian summer days. The drive and street in front of Derrick’s place was packed with cars, many quite expensive, I noticed. I could feel apprehension growing in my chest as I anticipated Derrick’s greeting. I had somehow to let him know that the sarong covered exactly what he had ordered and that it wouldn’t be there for long. We walked into a vibrant party..