I’d been seeing Locke on and off for a couple of months. I played the gentleman, not rushing him into a physical relationship, not even attempting to kiss him, and he seemed gratified by that.
I didn’t say anything, but when I’d get home after one of our dates, I’d sigh. Here was another one who preferred not to kiss. That led to me thinking of Ludo’s fleeting kiss, and I’d wind up jerking off.
And then we happened to run into Ludo and Reginald, and of course I should have expected it—DC wasn’t that large a town.
I’d taken Locke to the Anthony Wayne Centre for the Arts where the company was performing a revival of Our American Cousin to commemorate the one hundredth anniversary of Lincoln’s death. It was planned to run through the actual date of his assassination.
During the intermissi
