“I didn’t say nothing over the radio about needing folks in the south lot. What gives? And why the fuck are you wearing a goddam sweatshirt? It’... July, for Christ sake.” By this time, Connor had moved close enough for the sentry to get a look at his face. The old man squinted tired eyes, examining Connor from head to toe. Connor stood there, resigned to the fact that escape was impossible. Then the old man spoke.“You’re that kid from the band, aren’t you? Connor or Carson or something?”“Yeah,. Won't... resist ... but I ... do not ... want."He laughs as he reaches for his belt. "Excellent! Perfect! We'll startwith just your mouth for now, see how it goes."He quickly unbuckles the belt, undoes the buttons on the waistband,unzips and the drops his pants to the tops of his thighs. He pauses fora few seconds, his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer shorts. The urgein me is growing stronger. Finally, he pulls them down, revealing a limppenis, which he dangles just inches from my. More

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