It’s a rather offensive poem called ‘The White Man’s Burden’. Someone cited it in a submission to the journal.”“Enough of that! There’s ... space!”Gordy was already at a table ... alone.“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”“Thank you. I got a really super gift from my best spouse.”“What did the remainder of the harem gift you?”“That’s for me to know, papa.”“What was it?”“A copy of the new AND.”“That is nice. I was looking at a copy at Dymock’s last week. But it seems to have been sold ... oh!” he glanced. They actually thought I would wear the panties to work. My mind went back to last night in the toilet as I sniffed those panties and masturbated while the wife snored away, how I lost control as the fragrance of pussy, piss and asshole engulfed me, how I stuck out my tongue and licked the juices off the crotch even cleaning the brown streak that was so pungent the taste came back just now. Her taste, not Casey’s, her pussy, her asshole, my cock was like steel in my pants. ‘C’mon, I don’t have. More

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