He was wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a denim shirt, unbuttoned, over that. His feet were bare. ‘Yes, that’s true. But Aladdin wasn’t ...he genie in the lamp, you know. He was just a street waif who got lucky.’ ‘Do you have a name?’ Julie asked. ‘Marcus. Marcus Antonius.’ She stared at him again. ‘Marcus Antonius. Marc Antony. Like Caesar and Cleopatra, that Marcus Antonius?’ ‘Well,’ he said, looking a bit sheepish. ‘I did admire Marc Antony. He was quite nice to me when I was a young. Heart pounding and my pussy leaking, what comes next could have unintended consequences. My voice is soft, “Not someone, sweetie,” a long silence in the night, “two someone’s.” The air goes out a thousand miles away, a long, ragged sigh. I see him, still holding his cock. What goes through his mind? Jealousy? Lustily? If I am lucky, a little bit of both. He swallows hard. My fingers and his surprise evoke a little breathiness on my end “Are you k**ding me?”Her word is chosen for maximum impact,. More

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