‘To Robert,’ Sergei said, as our glasses clinked together. ‘May they fill their home with sons and daughters, and may they live long and enjoy m...ch happiness. Salut!’ Two days later, I stood in front of the altar at Madeleine’s church, with the black-robed priest to my right and the three men who would be standing for me to my left. Next to me was Sergei Hoffman, and next to him was Clark McDonald, who had started at the State Department at the same time I did and who was now my chief assistant. He wasn't short -- no, he was 6 feet tall. He wasn't a babyface – no, he had a normal, even square, jaw, and a full head of hair. He wasn't even slight -- no, he had a nice muscular physique, and could fill out a shirt. Rather, Tim was a small boy in much more private way.Tim had a tiny weeny. A little prick. A dicklet. Call it what you will. It was three inches... that's hard. Thickness? You might as well talk about a Twizler. In fact, one could say his penis was slight or thin. What was even. More

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