As Mr. Wayland began to pour, I looked at a large painting above the fireplace. It was a portrait of Mr. Wayland. He was standing in a heroic pose wit... his right leg raised on something as his right arm was resting against his hip. He was dressed in a red British army officer’s uniform from the 18th century. He looked like a war hero. “Ah, I see you have found Mr. Jonathan Wayland,” Reynold said with the scotch glasses clinking as he approached the armchairs I was sitting in. “Stunning. " But I only just... I mean you only just.." Err.. yeah sorry mom." You mean, you want me to... again!?" Well... er, yeah that would be... I mean if it's ok?" Already?? Bobby, how many times a day do you normally... I mean did you, before your accident... how often did you masturbate?" About 3 or 4 times a day I guess." 3 or 4??!! I'll run out of shirts in a week at this rate!" Take it off then." Very funny Bobby!" I'm serious, like you said you'll run out of shirts otherwise." Bobby, I'm not. More

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