LONDON DEC 2005 - DARRYL'S TURGID WHOPPER

My God, I take my hat off to anyone who makes a career out of social work. It can be brutally depressing. I tried it this last December, as a General Assistant at a holiday centre for disabled kids. I'd meet the bus in the morning and we'd go around and pick these kids up from their homes. Altogether we had about 60 of them at the centre. My main job involved helping the personal carers clean the more severely disabled kids, and change their nappies. For some reason - maybe it was the excitement of being changed - the older boys had erections more often than not when we changed them. There was one black kid, Darryl, about seventeen. True to form, whenever we got Darryl onto the bed this great turgid whopper throbbed into view. His carer, Sarah, was a good looking West Indian woman in her late twenties. We would both peer down at Darryl's member, made to look even bigger by Darryl's shrivelled, paralysed legs, because there was nowhere else to look in the small room. I'd be at Darryl's head holding him steady, and Sarah would be at the other end cleaning him up. She had to delicately hold his dick with a thumb and forefinger to clean around it properly, and whenever she did so Darryl gurgled with pleasure and writhed his strong shoulders back and forth. Sarah usually frowned to hide her embarrassment, and I'd have my hands full trying to hold him steady, but every time we hoisted Darryl onto the bed and his whopper came into view a tangible sexual awareness sprang up between us, as if we were watching porn together. It almost felt, after we'd finished changing Darryl, as if I could come right out and say, look, your place or mine?