My time running on the track team was just about the only thing that had been able to stop the constant buzz in my head since the last time I was with...Malcolm.The wind in my face, the burning in my thighs, and the ground flying by underneath my feet freed me from the constant questions I had for myself. Was I a slut? Was I a sinner? Did the needs of my body outweigh the needs of my eternal soul? Do I even believe in all that, or do I just force myself to so that my mother doesn't beat me?It was. The black stranger lovingly squeezed and caressed my wife's exposed tits with great appreciation. He looked down at them as you would a work of art. In the dim light I could see the redness of her nipples made erect by the roughness of his big calloused hand rubbing over them. "You got a beautiful wife, man." The black man suddenly said. "Thanks, I think so." I relied cheerfully. "Does she give head?" he asked. I was taken aback at his boldness. Obviously he wasn't going let a golden. Your name is Drew Ré, and as of today, you are twenty-one years old. You are the middle child of Ludovico Ré, one of the wealthiest men in America and this years pick for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive", amongst other accolades and honors. Sometimes, you find it frightening to live in the shadow of one of the world's most powerful businessmen, but you know that you are also meant for something great.In the window, a reflection of yourself stares back; you are lean, rippled with tight. His hair was down tothe middle of his back and held in place by a band that incorporated afringe of white lace. His eyebrows were barely discernable narrow blacklines, so high they gave him a surprised but innocent expression. Hiseyelashes were so long you could imagine them causing a draft as heblinked and several shades of violet shadow decorated his eyelids. Allthese things proclaiming naivety were contradicted by his lush, full lipswith a red colour so shiny they looked wet enough to.
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