Sheridan, why don’t you try writing your biography? It would make a good terrorist novel—no one would say it’s real. I mean, come on, a terroris... retiring to teach? No one’d believe it.’ Sheridan smiled and said, ‘It’s an idea.’ That was the last we talked of it for weeks. A month later he wanted me to read it. It wasn’t much: ten, fifteen pages. He had spent his free time writing it. ‘I wanted to read it to the class in the hopes that they’d learn something,’ he told me. I smirked. ‘Ha! That’s. I want to wrap my arms around you and caress your back and your beautiful heart-shaped ass." No. I'm not done with you yet." And I rise up off of you, kiss you on the lips, and disappear into the other room. You assume I am going to clean up, but you are wrong. I return shortly with an ice-cold glass of water and a very warm, wet cloth. I raise the glass to your lips, and you drink greedily. Then I take the cloth and gently massage your cock and balls, wiping away all traces of sweat and cum. More

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