"Shawn called you Jay," said Shannon, "and I kind of like that. May I call you that also?" Sure," I said. "That comes from the boy I dated when I was ... senior in high school. When he went into the Marines, he'd write me letters and started calling me J; just the letter. I liked it, and it stuck." Neat! Tell me more about yourself," responded Shannon.We had some kind of natural rapport, he and I, and I spent the next twenty minutes talking about growing up, being adopted, finding mybio-mom and. He just seemed to want what he did to be effective. If it didn't work, he would try something else.So if he didn't need to excel, it had to be something else. Did he feel the additional preparation made him more able to improvise? Did it have anything to do with performance at all? I'd never seen him attempt anything he couldn't accomplish.Then I thought back to something he had said at Thanksgiving: I, in particular, have been blessed with so many gifts it seems unfair for one person to get. As he walked, he daydreamed. Or more precisely, he fantasized. This particular fantasy was one he kept returning too, combining all his favorite fetishes. He fantasized about dozens of beautiful women, of every age, race, and body-type. All were clad in either harem outfits or Nazi uniforms (his most secret fetish, given his Jewish heritage). One and all, they called him "Master", and eagerly obeyed his every command. As he visualized a dark-skinned beauty in the uniform of the Waffen-SS taking. It was a different condom and surely should have been used the night before, I was very angry about the fact my father cheating on my mother but at the same time I was also very excited about the whole scene.In the evenings after our dinner Parvathi used to clean the dishes and go to her room. We usually used to chat for a while on different topics and afterwards retire to our respective rooms and spend rest of the time watching TV or reading. But that night after coming to my room I switched.
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