It wasn’t really. It was chilly and overcast. But who cared? Who gave a . . ? Out of all the rocket-hot men who came out of that factory, I’d been looking at him—sure, cruising him—and now I felt like this pure bit of heaven, of delicious maleness, had been dropped directly on me . . . and all I wanted was more of him.
Lots more.
He took out a cigarette, a Camel, and offered me one. Obviously he liked something there, too. Nice. Who needed a lot of beating around the bush? All I knew was that I wanted to suck his d**k. Whatever else came with that, I was ready for—and probably, I told my horny self, it would be only . . . too wonderful.
Maybe I’m crazy. Or I was being only my own crazy self. Walking out again into the wilderness, past the huts I knew, looking for that knight on a big ho
