The sounds of clinking glasses and bottles, the interplay of voices, the smell of beer, cigarette smoke and burning incense... admiring the ability it took to make it all appear so very nearly real. But it wasn't, and I knew it wasn't. As soon as I layed eyes on Harve I felt an urge to burn him to a cinder, but I realized that he was no more real than the image of my lost love beside me. It was all so two dimensional."Stop it Charlie. You're pissing me off."The image of Harve and everyone around us faded away and I was back at the top of the staircase with Charlie standing before me.She smiled up at me. "You have the most orderly mind I've ever been in. So precise and exacting; so logical. Harder to read than anyone else I've known too. And you don't get fooled by your own memories. Most people do, you know. They're easy to confuse and lead. Why do you suppose that is?" I can tell the difference between what is and what I'd like to be. I don't spend a lot of time wishing things were. Each rod and groove and vein of his partner's incredible erection was cruelly detailed before his jealous eyes. He had never seen any part of any man look so gross and menacing. Not even in a blue movie, let alone in action with his wife.Each knowing inthrust of it in his wife, even each withdrawal from her, caused his partner's cock to glide suggestively within its wet translucent sheath of milk-white skin and slightly over-bulge and subtly flex as if, despite its obvious steely hardness in her, this awesome hardon had a personality and life completely of it's own."Yesss... oohhh yesss George... give it to me... give me all of your big cock," the woman panted and before the cuckolded deacon's astonished eyes, each inthrust by his partner, completed by an upward rutting tilting of his pelvis urged powerfully by his supple hips was burying his stupendous cock not balls-deep, but a mere one inch short of arsehole-deep into his wife's cunt.But worse, each outstroke of his partner's cock.
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