How the hell would he hear anything with the water rushing around his head and over his ears?In the bedroom, as he stepped into his blue cotton pants,...he looked at the bed. If he cut away the first two days of the past three hundred and sixty-five, he maintained lurid memories of the luscious, lascivious evenings he had spent with an assortment of willing and, in the end, grateful, beauties.He could never get through more than two days without dipping the solid concrete of his priapic organ. Clay heard her voice from the back room when she asked one of the volunteers if he was in. He immediately dropped what he was doing and appeared in the doorway.“Hi, Michelle, I’m here,” he said with a big smile, “I’m always here. To what do I owe the honor?”“Ah,” only then did she realize how weak her excuse for stopping was going to sound so she embellished a little. “I was driving right by on my way back to the paper and I wanted to talk to you about those pictures.”The grin on Clay’s face. More

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