Usually cold shrinks, but I was so ensnared in my web of fantasies that I imagined her caressing me with the ice. Ice would have to figure in our next...encounter. I plotted and the embers of my passion melted that first cube and the aching returned. So I grabbed another ice cube, and another, and another, and continued my frosty fondling in the kitchen while a plan for our next encounter began to take shape. To relieve my craving, I amped my runs from two to three per week to daily. During one. Nothing had changed. I was simply sick of waking up and finding myself stuck in this tired life.I drug myself out of bed and got dressed, wondering all the while about how to spend my last day. For someone like me, I guess there wasn’t much choice. I’d spend it like I spent every other: alone with my camera, one last time.I hefted my trusty camera from its place amongst the junk on my dresser and powered it on while slipping into my shoes. An unusual message filled the display.Would you like to. Professor Johnson had a nickname on campus of “Huge”)As the evening progressed, I would slip Caroline an adult beverage now and them, and everyone was getting pretty liquored up. This is where my story really begins.After playing a long set, and having had a few drinks, Caroline needed a convenience break. Professor Striker told her the bathroom was at the top of the stairs. Second door on the right. She used the facilities, checked her make-up, reapplying lipstick, and exited when she ran. Damn, he was cute as hell. And he had just turned nineteen a month before. Mark was a tall and slender teen boy – around a 28” waist with brown hair, and brown eye. I was working sixty-plus hours per week. The last thing I had time for was traditional dating. I wasn't interested in sex, period, and my sexual fetish was giving head to young straight guys who were between eighteen and twenty-three and had large cocks cut or uncut.Mark was straight, but he had no issues with getting head from a.