Also as usual, he had failed. He always failed on Thursdays and knew full well that this particular Thursday he had nothing to complain about. But Dav...d didn’t handle rejection well. He had gone back to the kitchen and poured himself a beer. "Bloody Thursdays!" he fumed to himself. "Bloody tennis! And "Bloody Sam!" He sat down on one of the kitchen stools and sulked. There was something perverse about Thursdays. Why was it that Sara would never have sex with him on the day he always seemed to. When a man leans in to kiss me, my face is smooth and soft. My First Black Guy was a man who comes into Secrets on Georgia St. in Vallejo. He became my regular and after that first time, and we've been seeing each other once or twice a week since then. I don't know his name, or what he does for a living - I actually don't think we really ever speak - but he is in his 50s, and always wears a suit. The routine is always the same, he comes in my booth, takes off his suit coat, pulls down his. More

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