Richard met me before Christmas break. He gave me a card, a very industrial one, with the wish inside printed by computer already and the only thing that connected to a existing being is his signature. I said thank and it was a bit of a surprise to me. After that, we headed to the cinema’s restroom where he gave me head.
After holiday break, we met up again. He came up to me with his melted by disappointment expression. He’d run out of testosterone, and now the doctor is putting the idea of injection out there. I’d been well aware the he was missing one testicle but I’d thought it was just pressure that caused him anxiety and confidence erosion. I mean, look at George, with one ball and still passionately squirting his way around Southeast Asia.
I don’t know which one makes me feel more sentimental, Richard’s running out of hormones or the likely fact that my touch didn’t create any sparks to him no more. I used to just be able to horn him up with a single look.
Other than that, we still had a good hang out, planning on gay saunas exploration in the city and having ice cream. He thought Calvin Harris is hot and said my type was rugged truck drivers, which was kind of true.