I posted again, desperate for more. I didn't really think too hard about what was spurring me on, pressing down any truly introspective thoughts about...my own peculiar interested in dick pics. But on those days when my wife was too wiped out to even give me a hand-job, I found my sexual imagination gravitating to these illicit messages.It became a pattern, and I somehow found myself in the position of being a catfishing pic collector. I wasn't gay, bi, or anything in between. What I was. “Then we can decide what to do. There’s a mini-golf course by Wendy’s, if you want. Or the bowling alley is close enough to walk.”“Sounds great! Let’s go!”I sensed a note of relief in her voice, making it clear that I’d made the right decision.I took her hand as we walked to Wendy’s. She squeezed mine a few times as we walked. We talked about our Summers and about the next school year. We were both looking forward to being sophomores. I told her I looked forward to playing against Turpin in. Occasionally, when someone catches our fancy, we'll invite them to share our bed, but our best times are still with each other."Carmen's eyes sparkled as she listened, "But does he let you, you know... ?" Let me!?" Patricia laughed, "Gary's a real slut for that, sometimes!" Is he, you know, gay?" her sister asked.Personally, I was getting a little uncomfortable being the subject of conversation, rather than a participant, so before Patricia could answer, I said, "Let's just say we both like to. " And when did you get this report?" Uh ... that was about a month ago. It's in there," he said, pointing to the papers in Matthew's hand. "It will have the date on it."McDill glanced at the report and flipped a few pages."So you examined the victim six months and seventeen days ago, but didn't know who he was for a little more than five months. Is that correct?" Yes," said the examiner, his voice tight."In fact, in your report, didn't you identify the victim as 'John Doe?'" Objection, your.