I was too shy. Paul didn't even *look*at me, but Jack was watching me more than the movie, or at least Ithought so. I was too busy watching women suck...and fuck guys. Thecombination of the familiar surroundings, and the alcohol, was making itpretty hard for me to say 'no'.By the third movie, I would have fucked a yak. I gave up trying to fightit, and had put my hand down the front of my unzipped jeans. I was apuddle of hot, velvety wetness. All those movies and the sight of thesetwo guys. I pivoted smartly, followed the direction of Mom’s index finger and headed for the stairs. I negotiated the left hand turn at the back door, managing, even in my state of airline induced exhaustion, not to trip over the party guests’ winter boots stashed there for the evening. Jesus, if Napoleon’s army had that many boots, they would have made it safely back from Moscow. I descended past my favourite life sized poster of Michael Jordan in his red number 23 Bulls jersey. Dad had wanted Kareem. More

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