Deflecting his comment, Frisano said, “I could use bacon.”
“Yeah, me, too. I need grease.”
In both a gesture of support and of attraction, Jimmy snaked his hand down the furry trail that owned Frisano’s flat belly before taking hold of his growing c**k. Their eyes turned, locked. Held. That four-letter word would have to wait.
“You know what I could use?” Jimmy asked.
Breakfast would wait, again. Passion couldn’t.
When Frisano entered him, again, again, Jimmy felt two had become one.
* * * *
And so it had to happen, shows come, they go, Broadway was a fickle business. Triskaidekaphobia ended its eight-month run at the Harold Calloway Theatre on West 47th Street after a run of over two hundred fifty performances, including twenty-five scandal-laden previews. The Stage Fright case had
