Forty minutes later: no response, no doorbell.Forty-five minutes later: ‘Shit. I crossed the line, yet again.’An hour later: Doorbell: It was her....She had done a spot of shopping.It turned out that Molly did not own any skirts. In an effort to get the full experience, she went out and purchased one. I felt both embarrassed and honoured by her actions. She was simultaneously excited and nervous prior to our premier sexual encounter.With her back towards me, I instructed her to remove her. Everyone I cared to give anoccasional injection to.I raised my arm and checked the spot where I'd stuck in the needle. Theskin was flawless, without the least damage. No puncture, no bruising.Yes, the healing worked.And was that worth my manhood? Are you kidding? To not have to watch myparents and everyone I ever cared for slowly grow old and die, to nothave to do the same myself? To never feel the ache of arthritic joints,to never watch the world fade and grow dim as time slowly striped me. More

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