As if sensing his concerns, Eric said: "Mark, this isn't a joke. Mr. Forrester has indeed left you his entire estate. Including the house that you onc..., uh, had quite an evening in."Mark mind flashed to an old memory. "But how could you…"Eric put on another DVD and Mark was stupefied to see himself flayed on a table with man after man after man rimming his ass, fucking him, and ramming dicks into his mouth."Oh my God! Where in the world did you get that? Fuck! I can't fuckin' believe all. I crumbled it into a tiny ball and tossed it into the kitchen bin then I called my secretary, Joyce. Joyce had been with me since I’d hung out my shingle six years ago. I still laughed when I thought about her interview. Her parents had grown up in the Bronx where some words had mighty strange pronunciations. I had first learned of this from some of my father’s friends. “Oil” was pronounced “erl” and “burner,” “boiner.” Somehow the term “oil burner” was reversed into “erl boiner.” Joyce. More

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