I finally found him, in his pressed starch uniform.I finally found him, in his pressed starch uniform. He looked relaxed and comfortable, the muscular mass of his body lying comfortably in one of the larger reclining chairs, a murky orange drink in hand, complete with little paper parasol. I walked over to him and said "Good afternoon, sir." He smiled and looked up at me. "Good afternoon, Shardik." Borodir's voice always reminds me of old Tarzan movies, the ones with the African kings and the melodious way they used to speak, a constant sing-song-like hum under every word as he uses. Maybe it's because he's black. I don't know. All I know is, I find it very sexy. "And what brings you to the Arc on such a beautiful day?" "I came looking for you." "And why would you be doing that?" "Remember what we used to talk about?" "Which 'what' was that, Shardik?" I hate when he leads me. "The one thing you wanted to do. The one I wouldn't let you. You remember, Borodir." "No I do not, Shardik. This one thing, what was it called?" I sighed, resigned to my old master. "I want you to put both of your hands inside me, Borodir. Fist me, Sir." "Ah, now I do remember. Tell me, are you interested in this tonight?" "Before the madness passes, yes." "Before the madness leaves you, then. |