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On call from the director, the girl in the chair would get to her feet and put on a thong bikini and a pair of sunglasses and would mince down the side of the pool to the second set, my set, where I would be sprawled out in what had become my ‘weekend position’ on my chaise longue. She was supposed to stop, ogle me up and then say something provocative like “Hey fella! You got anything down there that could give a girl a fun time?” or “Gee! Looks like your guy could do with a little help there” depending on the circumstances. And I was to say (you’d never have guessed it!) “Well why don’t you take a look?” or “Why don’t you join the party?” or some such, and that would launch them into their routine. They would skip up to me and finger my dick thoughtfully before stepping back and saying coquettishly “Well let’s see if we can liven him up some!” They’d slowly strip off the bikini parts, pinching nipples and fingering themselves in interesting places. On instructions from Angel, they. As if the disease wasn’t bad enough on its own, there was also a large aggressive dog roaming somewhere around in the surrounding woods that seemed intent on attacking anyone it came upon. Gazing at nothing in particular, Marcy sighed as the last words her now-ex boyfriend Jeff had yelled at her echoed bitterly in her mind. “You can stay here and fucking rot! But not me! No fucking way, not me!” he’d told her, before running off into the woods alone. He was a handsome guy, in the same way that a brand new display car in the dealership is handsome. His exterior was nice and shiny because the world had always treated him rather delicately, but it had no character; no masculine grit. Marcy now realized all too clearly that it was an affliction that ran more than just skin-deep. Jeff had been a complete pussy since the moment Karen’s first sore appeared. He made a point of keeping his distance from all his friends, even Marcy, just in case one of them had also been infected. The final.
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