Moments earlier, his wife had called out to him, not to forget to 'Stuff the bird', and he looked at us sitting there, said, 'Right Girls, Watch', and...did it.He stared at both of us, as we watched him, our captivated attention on his penis drove him to 'Stuff it', longer than he intended, and gave him a reason to enjoy his liaison with the dead bird, two young girls looking at him, was his reason to orgasm, and as he washed himself at the sink, his sperm cooked at 200C, with an added onion in. I could ask around, but that feels too sad and clingy. It would undoubtedly get back to him, anyway.Then, one rare Saturday when I don’t have to go into work, I hear a light knock at the door.He is on the other side, standing casually when I open it. A small smile curves his lips.“Are you busy?”My heart thuds. “Umm, not really.”“I was wondering if you could give me a haircut.” He runs a hand through his hair, shuffling around the choppy layers, and gives me a big smile. “I’m becoming a bit too. More

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