There are two rules in this life:

1)Don't go shopping when you're hungry
2)Don't daydream of 17 year old sex slaves when your balls haven't been physically emptied for more than two months.

From that I suppose it's quite obvious what has happened.

Sitting in the green armchair, doing nothing more strenuous than admiring the progress of my window boxes, the peace and tranquility of the afternoon gently lulled me away to mysterious and far off places. Behind my eyelids it was orange. Shadows flitted past and the sounds of the day drifted through like lost messages from history. A light breeze blew in through the open window and gently wafted through my fringe. I felt like I was on the beach. As I meditated further and allowed myself to be carried away, the orange glow dulled and dark shapes and images began to form. Then there was a picture, then a backdrop, then a sound. “Hee hee hee.” It is Brian the Postboy. He is wearing a tightish pair of blue mini-shorts and his right foot is turned outwards like a dancer. He looks cute, much cuter than in real life. I eye his legs. They are not flimsy and effeminate as I had imagined, but rather slender like those of a lean, young footballer. Their every shape, muscle and contour seems designed to lead one's hand upwards. "Hee hee hee!”  I am past the knee and squeezing my way up his thigh. Somewhere in the distance an alarm is ringing out. I wake with a start.

My hand is under Brian's shorts. I am massaging the underside of his balls and heading for his arsehole. He lets out a light groan and pokes his crotch forward. Loud music from a passing car looms in and out. I come to all hot and bothered. Reality seems boring.

Brian is back. The wind is wafting through his hair and his Royal mail shirt is blowing open. He has a flat firm body, not muscular but sleek. A smooth line of soft pubic hair runs down from his belly button, once again leading to his groin. My eyes open. I am still dreamy and tingle all over. Jaws moves around hypnotically.

Brian pulls his blue shorts to one side. It is a meaty, delicious cock that springs out and pokes a good eight inches to the heavens. He drops a gob of spit into the palm of his hand and starts slowly rubbing it around the head of his dick. His mouth is slightly open revealing the tops of white teeth and a bright pink tongue. His eyes are weird looking. He looks drunk. I jerk awake in my chair. My legs are parted and my hand is on my crotch.

Brian is looking up at me like a whore. His tongue is tickling the peehole of my cock. He buries his face into my groin and holds my dick to his cheek. His mini-shorts are kicked off on the ground. I want to spin him around and put my tongue in his arse. I want to open this kid up and fuck him so badly that he'll squeal. A motorized whirring pulls me back to consciousness. It is John and he is coming down the hall. I panic to cover up my dick which has somehow found its way outside my pants. I tuck it away and out of sight just in time.

“John, we need to speak,” I said pulling myself together in the chair “I need to tell you some thing.” John didn't respond, just drove forward and parked up near the window with his back to me.
“John, please listen, it's about Brian. I've changed my mind... I think he could be the key that unlocks your old self. I'm willing to give the sex, er, visit thing a go... anything, I'll do anything to try and lure you out of that chair.”
“Really?” said John spinning around deftly.
“Yes, really. Really, REALLY!” I beamed.
“And you're sure that tomorrow afternoon when Brian arrives that you won't throw a last minute wobbler and do something pathetic like locking yourself in the toilet or leaping out the window, or something?”
“No, no,oh no,” I laughed, cracking a smile that instantly cheered the place up. “It was just a shock at first, that'as all. It'll be fine.” When I said that, John zipped in real close and for the first time in weeks he actually threw his arms around me and planted a kiss on my third or fourth rib. Then he apologized for his outburst yesterday and even said he was sorry for giving me “one hell of a beating” the other day. Now it was my turn to rest silent. Things were back to normal and that was really all I wanted. As John remained flung around my waist, I grabbed a hold of his Miracle Chair and prayed. I prayed that Brian the Postboy would get flattened by a double decker bus – outside of that I could see no other escape.

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