The cool, dank air is tickling my skin all over. There is musky smell in the air. A basement? no. there is something clean about the smell. It's...somewhere old, I smell old polished wood, and stone...a church? perhaps.There is a soft droning sound. It's not unpleasant or pleasant. It just consumes the room. It's all I can hear. It's like...a pipe organ, playing notes that don't belong together. but it's not. Maybe it's wind, howling through an opening somewhere...but it's too. He continues back and forth, slowly taking in my ripe week's build up. Still in silence, I raise both arms up, and lock my hands on the top of my head.. Now Alex is fully burying his nose into the thick moist bushyness of my pits, inhaling them more deeply now, and grabbing his junk, giving it a hard squeeze. After a couple of minutes, he begins to softly lick the sweat from each of them. I just smile, then finally ask, “So what do you want”?Looking me steely in the eyes, Alex softly responds,. More

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