"Oh fuck," you mumble. Your voice sounds funny, but you're too worried that you're going to wake up in bed with someone who is not your wife that you ...arely notice.You open your eyesand stare up at the ceiling. It's not your ceiling, at least there's that. Maybe your wife will be mad that you took off to God knows where, but at least she won't catch you with some other woman in her bed.You glance around the bed but find yourself alone. Definitely a woman's bed, though. The coconut smell seems. What Coral hadn't noticed and what Effie had was that the lamp was kept aloft on the head of a leather encased male slave.The two girls went over to the lamp and peered under the shade. "How does he do it? He's standing so still!" Coral said, looking at the helpless man, his gaze cut off by the leather hood that covered his head and face. The slave knew better than to react to any of the guests as the two girls stared at way the bulb holder was fixed to the top of his head with the lampshade. I had already come to the conclusion that we, I, may be compromised. It was the only thing that made sense. As you said, there is nothing to connect me to the case. I agree with your idea of limiting contact as well. Unless it's something really critical, we can't have any further contact outside of dreams. No matter what we do he is going to be nervous once he finds out that I'm 'Jimmy' and not my dad. The fact that I see Bob every day and he can be passing information to me from you will make. I won't explain the circumstances but let's just say I was in an environment where this was a possibility. At that time in my life I was (and technically am still) 100% straight. I was a a coed group for over a week, traveling through the province, city to city.While in Toronto, I joined a few of my friends who were in the group to visit a local gay bar. Nothing much exciting happened there. Actually I received more attention from the fag-hags (who assumed I was gay) which really pissed off.