Being a foxy character, I'd asked whether I could write a common paper for the two courses. The two professors had agreed and the historian had suggested Feudal Germany as a starting point. I recall getting it out of the library, but nothing else. And here it was. I took it from the shelf, found myself a table, and settled down to read. It was after lunch when I emerged from skimming and browsing. I never got to the 1864 war.That was what Jim had been talking about. Gillespie's murder was a way for me to avoid doing any "real" (= scholarly) work. In fact, I guess that even agreeing to serve on that SDSU committee was work-avoidance. One could, after all, weasel out of everything. Serving on committees -- both at one's own institution and as an "outsider" -- was an important academic function, wasn't it? Maybe even the investigation of a colleague's [?] murder was research of a sort -- even if it wasn't the sort UofT appreciated most. Nonetheless, here I was on the bus again, this. My instinct was to stop, but there was no way I could, I was too d***k and too desperate, there was nothing I could do but to pee on her hand. But it didn’t stop there, she brought her hand up until she was cupping me. It was the most incredible experience, feeling the pressure of her hand against me and the hotness of my pee washing over me. Now I couldn’t stop peeing, AND I was nearly coming! Once I’d stopped, she slowly removed her hand and smiled up at me. Alcohol had now taken control of my confidence, I smiled back and said “my turn now.” But she didn’t need any encouragement, we swapped places and she squatted down, positioning herself with her legs fully open. The vision in front of me was exquisite, I leant in to take a closer look at what I can only describe as the most incredible, pale pink, glistening, orchid, without any trace of hair. With the slightest twitch she began to pee. All I could do was stare, I wanted to remember every second, record every detail. Before I.
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