“Are…are you okay Alan?’ she stammered in a hushed voice. “No Mom,” I responded, “No I’m not.” “What…what’s wrong dear? You se...m to be acting a little peculiar, like something’s bothering you,” she said still in that hushed tone. I didn’t reply right away. I kept my eyes locked on hers and in the still quiet of the hot night I unbuttoned my jeans. Mom’s eyes darted to the front of my pants then back again to meet mine. “What…what are you doing?” she asked with a heightened urgency to her. I must keep my tool room—workshop, where the pliers and scissors are stored, locked up, so I don’t succumb to temptation and snip the piercing off and masturbate!I got the idea to write about this to you after reading ?Letter from South Bend? about the Indiana housewife, a Miss Gilks who sent her husband to service male and female hustlers?but I send myself!.Because you see I’ve never had a dominant partner, not like a wife or girlfriend who would do this for me. When I did tell the wife that I. More

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