But that seemed bad. He had heard from the pastor at church that getting hard was nasty. If you liked it then it was even worse. A sin. Something you ...id because it wasn't nice. It was still dark outside. He could tell, looking out the window. He could go back to sleep. But he was awake now, and he could tell, from the birds singing, that it was getting close to time to get up for school. He sat on his bed, touching his cock. He was looking at Faith. She wasn't awake yet. She was lying on her. He hesitated, his hand upon the handle. “Look,” he said, “I expect there’s some deep and binding laws against it, but could I phone you sometime? I mean I’d like to see you again, but not, er, professionally, if you know what I mean.” She almost laughed at the look on his face. Like a guilty schoolboy looking for mercy but expecting none. “Mr Farmer!” she said, and thought she saw him wince, “ It’s 818213. Can you remember that or shall I write it down?” But Ben had beaten her to it, scrawling. More

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