My retarded Sulphur Crested Cockatoo, Hanns Schmidt had looked on as the mouse had zigged when he should have zagged. The bird rocked merrily on his p...rch and let loose with his customary litany of death threats before lapsing into demented mutterings about nothing. I would have got rid of Hanns a long time ago but I had heard that Cockatoos tasted like shit. Maybe with a bit of cranberry jelly on New Years day.Actually in the interests of accuracy it was really the early hours of Christmas. I knew it was different, and it was going to be a dozy. I told myself that touching was not sex. I touch myself all the time so his fingers were not doing anything worse than what I did at night. In fact his fingers along with his kissing made the pleasure so much stronger. As I kissed him back I relaxed my legs and opened them just a little. I could feel it coming and I wanted it.Just as I was going to scream into his mouth my pleasure, he stopped; he actually pulled his hand away and moved it. More

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