Instead, his hand left the goblet and he raised it to his eye level, pulling his fingers into a tight fist.He was losing control of his hands and arms... He was losing control of his feet and legs. All of his appendages periodically trembled now and there were times when he wasn’t able to find the strength to rise – or to move at all. He stared down at the scored wooden table, its surface a darkened patina from smoke and dirt and age. He tapped his fist upon it lightly and, ignoring the wet. He had gone into a trance and begun slowly stroking himself at some point during my show. He stopped suddenly and pulled his hand away. "No, don't stop because of me. I think it really looks sexy seeing you do that. And when I realize you're thinking about me while you do it, it makes me a little crazy myself."There was a long silence as he digested what I said. I moved to the bed and sat on the edge and then repeated my question, "Have you ever done that thinking about me before?" All he could. More

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