Anyway, I tell Ford over my Heineken bottle, “It’s not a religious thing. This not-having-s*x-thing with Fazan. It’s not like he wants to wait until he’s married.”
“Well, that’s promising.” He shrugs. It tells me he’s listening but he honestly doesn’t know what to say. Perhaps he’s just humoring me. Maybe not, though, since he asks, “Doesn’t he ever just slide a hand against your d**k sometimes?”
“Often. But the moments don’t go anywhere. He’s a tease. He gives me a stroke or two and stops. Sometimes he’ll even sniff my goods.”
He raises his eyebrows. “What about kissing? Don’t the two of you become overheated and your clothes come off?”
“Shirts come off, but our shorts or jeans stay on.”
He tilts his head ever so slightly to the right, questioning my situation, puzzled. “This is the
