Your breathing gets slow and heavy, as if you're having a panic attack. Chef seems to sway and twist as he walks back towards you. The tray is on the ...loor. You are on the floor. You are on the tray. The drugs are wearing off. You are on the tray. You are food. The pain and nausea hits you from the stomach first; a sickly, nauseating, embarrassing ache. Suddenly you're back in preschool for a second, unable to find the courage to ask to go to the bathroom. If only someone would just ask if. I went in and unzipped. I'd had a hard on for much of the meal thanks to the photos of Mrs Maddison I'd seen downstairs. After the piss I turned around and saw a photo on the wall beside the closed door. It was a fairly dark photo and I couldn't quite make out what it was. I looked closer and was staggered at what I saw. It was a dark profile shot of a woman, her tongue reaching out to barely touch the head of a thick erect penis. The prick was shiny with spit and a thin bit of drool hung from. More

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