He was 61 years old in a good job, well paid, but like a lot of older people he was bored and lonely. “Where am I going to find someone?” he said ...��Try the internet” I replied. As we talked further and drank quite a lot of beer he moaned on about his non-existent sex life and eventually he stood up and came over to where I was sitting on the sofa, he sat at the bottom and put his hand on my leg, “I’m feeling fruity”, “Really”, “Yes really”, “And what do you normally do”, “Have a wank so I’ll. I don’t remember enjoying a kiss so much since I was a teenager.That thought brought me back. A teenager. I was kissing a teenager. My son, in fact. I slammed my head backwards, and stumbled off his lap to my feet.I was crying, again. I looked down at him. He looked crestfallen, or something, like he was disappointed. I knew he was. I knew he wanted more, I felt it.“I’m sorry, Rob...” I mumbled, tears in my voice. “I’m sorry, honey...” I staggered out the door and to my room, and threw myself. More

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