Monday The guy squirms against me like a worm on a hook. He's in his early twenties, built like a defensive lineman - big muscles, big gut, no neck. He keeps moaning and pressing himself against my chest and I have to hold his head to keep a good grip. Culebra said he'd been here before, but the way he's wriggling around, I'm afraid I'm hurting him. I swallow a mouthful of blood, open my eyes, and look up at Culebra. I need more but I'm unsure if I should continue. Culebra's arms are crossed on his chest. He isn't paying attention. In fact, he looks bored, and when he feels my eyes on him, he shrugs and says, "What?" My thoughts reach out. Should I stop? His own come back. Have you had enough? No. But he keeps moving. He rolls his shoulders again. He's been well paid. He's here because he wants to be. He is not a virgin, you know. He's done this many times before. He moves because he finds it pleasurable. Watch his hands. I do. They're at his crotch, caressing a bulge in his jeans. Oh my god. Is he - ? The lines on Culebra's face deepen as he grins. You could make it more pleasurable for him, you know. All