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" He giggled a bit at that, then held a hand over his shoulder, "Gimme your beer dude, mine is empty." I handed him my half bottle of beer warm from being between my thighs and right next to my ever hardening cock. "It's kinda warm," I murmured. "I like it hot!" he said, as he turned the bottle up and drained it.He leaned back towards me, saying, "Get up dude, I'm thinking I'll stretch out a mite for this." I stood and he turned in his spot, his eyes going straight to the healthy bulge in my jeans, as if he'd anticipated it. "I know what you want," he said, as he stood halfway up and dropped his baggy jeans, kicking them out of the way. I didn't know if he really did, or what he was willing to do about it, but his tanned body was beautiful in the starlight coming through that open blind as I saw the erection tenting out the front of his holey tighty whiteys! "Looks like great minds really do think alike," I muttered, half hoping that he wouldn't just flop onto his stomach on the couch. We had little to do except sleep and talk. Master would read to me, which I enjoyed because I'd never been much of a girl for books and it was strange to find that I enjoyed the stories Master would read each afternoon. I especially found Hemingway to be stimulating for some reason, listening with rapt attention while I imagined the scenes and characters in 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and while I didn't really understand the story, I understood well enough the feelings behind it and I would cry sometimes, so that Master would put his book down and lie down beside me, holding me until I stopped.The talks we had were simple ones really, nothing more than everyday conversations that anyone might have. He would tell me about my brothers, or about his work being a lawyer for the Indians. I would tell him how much I missed being outside and I tried to persuade him to take me for walks, but of course he wouldn't. Master barely let me out of bed for the first week, and I really was pretty sick.
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