I’m not sure what it meant.He asked how things went yesterday, and I told him all about my nipples and how frustrated I had been last night. He said...not to worry. If nothing else, I had learned how to lose myself in self-pleasure. I argued with him about that. I didn’t lose myself. I had set my mind to a task just like any other. He didn’t believe me.I started to feel a little sick when we got up to leave. I used to calm my nerves with just a moment of concentration, but today nothing I tried. I could see her dainty white fingers wrap around that big ebony shaft and see her tongue snaking into his, and it was driving me crazy, but still I rubbed my cock through my trousers, not wanting to cum without her touch. But the thoughts persisted. I could see his thick, long black cock, pushing against her slit and popping into her after a hard push. And I could hear her screams of delight.I couldn't help but pull my dick out of my trousers and start stroking it. I could see her head moving. “I mean, well, like several times aweek?” She was gazing at me, her hooded eyes lookingdirectly into mine. I wondered why she was asking methese questions. Was she just trying to put herparticular sexual vice in perspective? Or was thisleading up to something?“Uh…well, yeah, I probably do it that much on average,”I answered. My dick was stirring in my shorts with thisturn of conversation. “And I also like to think about youwhen I do it,” I admitted. Her. Only two games left: Piss on it. Money. I needed the damn money. Nope. You’re kidding yourself. You’re still nuts, Norton. You still think you might make it back to big time, even if you hate it. Of course, it was true. I hated the goddamn game now, but I wanted- one Sunday, just one Sunday back in the NFL. Just one Sunday to show all those cruddy bastards who said I was washed up. Of course, you’re washed up, Norton. Nope. Just one Sunday. That’s all you want. Then tell them to piss up a rope..