He was steady and consistent but not creative.
He was always on top, puffing on his cigar. Or I would suck him off, period, with no reciprocity.
Hey, it was steady work and he paid well. I forgot to post this here, but I wrote a New Year’s Eve story based on this micro story and photo I posted on Twitter. I popped the bottle early, and sat sipping from a glass of half-decent champagne on the couch as my stepdad’s grandfather clock ticked away the last minutes of the year. I had the big show on the TV, but even if I wouldn’t be caught dead in Times Square, it just made me wish I were back home in New York as planned before my canceled flight. Holidays with the family weren’t so bad, and snowy Michigan was beautiful, but it would have been nice to start the new year with a raucous kiss instead of a quiet evening. Mom and John had gone to sleep a little after ten. Both my sister and John’s son, and their families, had dispersed in the days since Christmas, so it was just me left to celebrate alone in the big sleepy house.
