It was humiliating.He couldn't figure it out. For more than a month now he'd been putting the wood to Marcy like John Henry drove railroad spikes. All...fucking day long, day after day. He felt like he had been reborn, come into his own, his virility greater than when he had been a pimply-faced teenager. Then today, when he had strutted in and slapped down his new Gold Card, he had taken three of the most expensive whores upstairs, booking them for two hours. They had fucking fallen asleep. Fuelled by a girlie magazine, my hand went to work. Once fully engaged, I closed my eyes to allow my imagination to provide more explicit images than the printed pages offered. My surprise can be imagined when the bedclothes were gently turned back and my hand was joined by another. “Oh dear,” said Connie Davis, “you must be in a bad way.” It was Sunday morning and she had brought me a cup of tea. In my embarrassment, I almost knocked it over while trying to cover myself. My landlady seemed to. More

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