"You want a blowjob?" I ask, reaching for my wallet. "A real mind-numbing, world-blowing, orgasmic dick licking? Someone going down on you? Sucking you off ... is that what you want?"

The bum nods, eager, and Ritchie laughs in anticipation. I dig out my wallet, pull out two fives, and shove them into the dirty, open palm stretched my way. But before Ritchie can say anything, I tell the guy, "Get lost."

"Wait," Ritchie starts. "You said ..."

I give my roommate an incredulous look. "You really want a blowjob from this dude? You don't know where he's been, what he's got. You'll be lucky if your dick doesn't fall off in the morning."

Ritchie pouts, giving me that silly hound dog look of his I usually get when it's late and he's trying to convince me to give him a ride somewhere. Those wounded eyes get me every time. "Carl," he whines.

Sometimes I hate his voice. It's like a drug, it gets into my veins, and the more he talks, the more I want to hear. When he's like this, needy and pleading, he knows I'm weak against him, I know he knows, and I suspect he's playing me just to get his way, but there's little I can do to stand strong. What Ritchie wants, he gets. And damn it, but he's already figured that out and uses it to his advantage. "You want a blowjob?" I ask again. He nods, slowly, sadly, and I surprise us both when I say, "Shit man, why didn't you just ask me?"

"I didn't," he starts, but whatever else he might've added dries up as my words sink in. "Wait. You want to?"