Terry compatible with John

Terry came in about five as he’d said he would and was a little skittish, blowing out my match as I went to put on the grill for buffalo sausages.  He remarked the fieriness of my look.  Since he’s intrusive, it’s difficult to get on in an already too small kitchen.  I dropped the oven tray on my big toe and couldn’t look at the painful result because I still had him to cope with.  He kept picking and eating on the hoof which I didn’t mind at all and got through slightly less wine than night before. 

His day had gone sour.  He’d abused his mother and she’d set the police on him, he refusing to take their call.  He was not in a fit state for us to go to the Caravaggio.  He conked out on the bed again.  I found out the toe had been blooded and put it in cold water the bathroom sink where I laved it and then dressed it.  This didn’t stop blood getting on sheet and duvet during the night. 

As I was washing up before going to bed myself I was thinking of Terry or fantasising I suppose because, “Oh dear,” I realised I’d induced a semi-erection.  In bed he put his leg over but he had clothes on and contact was through the duvet so that didn’t count. 

I hadn’t had time to shop for John’s coming but had simmered bone stock for soup which would have to do.  It didn’t.  He went out after a shower for a McDonald’s.  Before that, by taking viagra, he’d some success.  Reader, I buggered him.  His face was in agony but he wanted to persist and in the end found it most satisfactory.


About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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