It was a year-round stream with large rocks and thousands of little unidentifiable to me, fish. The rough-hewed bench aside of the creek was made from...cypress. It seemed like an ideal place to get a few things answered. We sat quietly for a few moments. I had no idea how to start the conversation. Morna saved me the trouble."So, Arland? Exactly why did you bring me here and don't give me that sex slave crap again?"It was a comfortable location and a comfortable place to talk."I am not sure.. It got so I couldn't bear to wait more than a half-hour outside whatever window or other locale I thought would pay off. Beating off got to be a chore, too, even. For one thing, it made my cock sore. For another, there were only so many times in a day I could do it.The alternative, I hated to admit, was worse. It was that I had no idea what to do if I wasn't watching and waiting for some girl to take her clothes off. Pathetic? Ya think? Why, yes. I made a promise to myself that when I told this. More

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