Like…who cares?He looked at my slender, naked body, rolled over and planted his back against the pillowed headboard. Some bum’s shoe. Gay porn Cinderella, maybe. Sher greeted Maginot with a slightly muddy looking 9 mm. Then: “Seven-one-four. “I thought Robin was a girl.”“He is, sometimes,” Sher grinned, urging me into the booth ahead of him. “There’s blood on the grass, there. Aside from that there were no preliminaries. There was a park nearby. I already knew the drill. Cream!””Who the fuck was Cream anyway?” I asked, after sipping some Veuve. And then, after he regrettably pulled out, my longing to suck it, lube and all, and experience the warmth, the heady smells, the impossibly firm flesh. “Go in the bar, have a beer. It had been a while since the City sent one of its rider mower crews out.There, Sher and I waited for them in the already hot early-morning sun. One of ‘em got cut up while trying to climb over it. They reminded me of sticking my hand in a bin in the produce section of the grocery store and lifting out two ripe, plump, fresh apricots. They don’t give a shit. “So what’ve you got for me.”“You packing?” The scruffy-looking man, whom I guessed was in his late forties but
