Handing over my saddlebags I took a seat and waited as he put the bags into a cubby and gave me the ticket from it. He washed out a glass with a filth... rag and filled it with beer so light it made my piss look black, and my threatening depression deepened. If this was the good stuff, gold was hard-won and I might only make enough to cover the room, food, and beer with none left over. I had two gold pieces but expected to use them both to fill up my bike in the morning and head on to the next. These guys that I dated weren’t lousy lovers (at least for the most part). I just felt like I wasn’t quite getting the whole picture. I enjoyed sex, and the marijuana seemed to open me up to the possibility that I could be significantly more sensual, more attuned to my desires. I had always masturbated, since it first felt good, and I was pretty certain I knew what an orgasm was (boy, I would learn). I had never been a regular practitioner, however. My mood had to be right, and even then, it. More

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