Jack would make his way home about eleven o’clock or so at night and sit on his porch and relax for a while before he would start to write. That ga...e him a bit of time to regain his composure if he had a bit to drink and wouldn’t adversely affect his writing. Not that he felt it could be any better or worse from the booze, but you never knew.When the summer ended this year Jack thought he had just about finished writing his story and by the time the leaves turned from green to hues of gold,. We disembarked our train at the Midtown station and walked the block to my apartment. I didn’t even get my key into the apartment door before I was pressed against it and man handled quite well and thoroughly by a very impatient pilot with great hands. Riley slid his hands up my back and around my waist turning me in his arms. I smiled as he leaned in to give me another taste of his lips. He kissed me like I was softest, warmest, tastiest thing he had been craving for ages. Laughing inside my. More

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