Sunday, August 10, 2003
He walks in, comes to the counter and orders. It's the usual, I ring it up, take his money, and smile to myself. I want to say "Man, your abs really looked great in that sling the other night!" but I don't. I doubt he saw me there, he was lying back in the sling, poppers in his nose, as another man, slim and tight-muscled as well, fucked him. But it's usually the fucker, not the fuckee, who's abs are so noticeable, as he's standing, and they flex and move with the in and the out. But his looked fantastic, and that's why I wanted to say something. But I don't usually initiate conversation with customers at work, and certainly not that kind - seems somehow against the "counter-boy code," ya know, mixing outside sexadventures with serving hungry men.