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When I had cleaned up and returned, I found that CJ had wiped himself off with a washcloth that Binggum had conveniently previously located in a bowl on the coffee table and was stuffing and buttoning his sausage back into his red-silk pouch. Binggum was stretched out on full the sofa, another wash cloth lying near him on the floor, probably used with a gentle touch by CJ in the most customer-friendly fashion, his tumescent cock nodding up and down on his belly, and a definite satisfied smile on his face.

CJ hadn't yet seen me, and was addressing Binggum. "So, dinner anyone? Or do we have the fortitude to move right onto the signing and the main course? Or do we just skip the main course altogether because the appetizer was too much?"

Binggum lifted his head and replied, "Not on your life on skipping the main course, but dinner might be a good idea and I might have to pop a few pills to continue much beyond the signing. God, I wish you weren't on the other coast, CJ—and manufactured everything my company needed."

Then Binggum and CJ simultaneously caught sight of me and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. I had shed everything down to my toes but the black net pouch jock and had only put back on the slender black leather vest and the smooth-leather black chaps. I was posing in the same doorway CJ had posed in, nicely and fully tanned, my left forearm running up the side of the door frame and my hand flopped down on the ...

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