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It surely wasn't there when he first lifted me on his lap. It would make me feel weird, kind of a good weird. I remember feeling warm and tingly down there but nothing more. I don't remember when it became more than that. I do memories however of more. One memory in particular, Mom had to work early. During our usual routine, daddy did not only blow smoke in my face, he had he sit on his lap facing him, with my legs wrapped around his back. He told me to open my mouth and placed the fireside of the joint into his mouth and leaned forward. He blew smoke into my mouth until I started choking. Each time my body jerked and spasmed, the spot under daddy robe got harder and harder. I remember it poking hard at my center. Harder than usual but my head was spinning from the weed, all I could do was lay my head on daddy's shoulder. He lifted my body and laid me down. At some point, I remember daddy putting his mouth on me "down there". I couldn't move my body, even when it felt like something. Nevertheless, upon Mr. Black’s announcement, the more muscled waiter pushed a rolling divan into the room. Atop the divan lay the lean, taller waiter with the green eyes. He was dressed the same as you — in other words, he was naked. Like his head, the rest of his body appeared cleanly shaved. His lean musculature shone in the candlelight. His long penis dangled, and at the tip was spread whipped cream, with a cherry on top. His green eyes looked at you, and he smiled.“Dessert,” said Mr. Black, “is served. This is Marcus, and his friend is Isaiah.” You looked back at Mr. Black, uncertain. Turned on, but uncertain. “How did he know?” you thought to yourself. “He must have seen the way I looked at Marcus and reacted to Isaiah’s smile.” And then, as you contemplated further, you thought, “Of course he knows. He always knows. He probably knew even before I did.” Mr. Black watched you thinking, saw that you were wavering, and said, “Go on.” You stood, your legs momentarily weak. You walked.
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