Coda Josh Grant

My contract ended. Work is over. There was a wrangle over my next 6 month contract. I held out in principle and said no. They got somebody else to do it. It is strange being home after 16 months in an office. First day. I must call Jumbo. He dropped by a short time later. "Good to see you are off the waggon, my good boy." I'd be your good boy. "We're a dying breed, that is for sure." I laughed nervously and wondered if I had missed any screenings I should have had attended to. "You can't even drive any fucken where without the fear of loosing your fucken license," said Jumbo. "It's not fair. I'd go a row of shit houses if I got stopped today. Where's my liberty? Where's my freedom?" "Your what?" I spluttered. "What delusion do you live in?" "Come on Mr Legal Eagle, who can I sue for that. Its loss of enjoyment of life. Yeah, that's what it is, loss of enjoyment of fucking life....

I thought it was my imagination, Irish Rocky following me to the toilet, but now I am not so sure. There has been a few times now when he comes into the toilets after me. You see, I walk passed his desk when I have to go. And he wears distinctive shoes, so I always know it is him. I could hear him in the next cubicle sliding his jeans down. I could hear the slip of his undies down his skin. The light in the toilet cubicle is overhead, so I could see the shadow of his cock and pubes momentarily, on the floor, before he sat down. What looked like a substantial cock on the flop, so that was always a good sign. Lots of pubes, I might suggest he clipper, if we were in the same toilet cubicle. Then there was silence. I could hear him shift about on the toilet seat. I could hear skin rub gently on skin. Just that faint ffffpppp. Slip, slip, slip, slip. I wondered, momentarily, what he'd do if I looked over the cubicle wall? But I didn't.  The skin and skin sound didn't sto...