“Linda, baby, mmm. . . .”
I’d have preferred Dick, Peter, or even Bruce, but it was Maury who was talking in his sleep and his dreams were of the opposite sex. For several weeks there had been Sharon, then Alice, and now, lately and with more frequency, Linda. Still, the name was an incongruity; particularly since Maury’s thick sweaty leg was thrown across my hip and the moisture of his pubic hairs was beginning to mingle with the sudden stickiness of my own hairy buttocks. What kind of Linda, for instance, would possess that same piece of flesh that was throbbing between my legs and which Maury was now beginning to stroke in what I knew to be his feigned sleep?
“Maury, wake up. . . .”
I knew my attempts at wrestling loose from him would be in vain. My protestations would only add…