He gasped as my hand fondled him, feeling stiff little cock sticking up. He grabbed my hand as if to stop me and looked around nervously. Getting up I took him by the hand and led him further down the path where a box hedge shielded us. We stood together and I reached out again, pushing his trousers and boxers down to his ankles. He was still hard, his little cock sticking straight out from under his big belly. I wrapped my hand around it and started to wank him, working up and down his shaft, feeling him get harder in my hand. I could feel him thrusting forward, his cock pulsing in my hand, his foreskin pulled back and the head exposed. I moved my other hand round to feel his bum, his cheeks tightly clenched as he pushed his cock back and forth in my fist. Very quickly and without a word he started to cum, panting and grunting, his spunk oozing out onto my hand. As his cock softened in my hand I heard him whisper ‘thank you’ and then he was off, pulling his trousers up and hurrying. I turn on the overhead light, the fan beginning to spin, causing the reflection and the shadow of the studio light to pulse. I leap to her side, and brush her hair from her face. A last hope, yes she is asleep. But I know, her skin so white, so green. Pulling up the lids of her eyes for a last sign of life. She is not there, the deep chestnut brown, just like my own, now paled and gray. I can see it now, the pooled vomit cradling her face, like a sickening pillow, her last bed down. And then I notice, the smell of sick, the smell of paint thinner, so strong so overbearing. My Rene. My love. As I inch my toe backwards I turn to face the living room. My chair is there waiting for me, the ashtray full, the coffee mug empty. Settling gently, the cool leather embracing my feeble frame. I stare into space, into emptiness. I am so cold. I can feel my ribs against my spine, a crunching almost, an uncomfortable conjunction. I open the cigarette box, two lengths rolling to one side. I remove.
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