Male Inflation

"It's really silly, my fetish," I say, making significant effort to allow embarrassment into my voice. I drop my eyes from his as if ashamed, though I've had this conversation a dozen times before.

"Nonsense," he counters, smiling patronizingly. It's there to read in his face: already he is fantasizing that it must be something predictably male. His imagination takes hold of him and he surmises I must be dreaming of a threesome with him and another woman. Uninspired. The truth is far more perverse.

It was eerily dark that night, despite the cold glow of the full moon. The young couple seemed oblivious, walking hand in hand through the woods. Wind howled suddenly, rustling dead leaves that still clung desperately to the gnarled trees. The girl jumped. "Ernst, something touched my cheek!"

The young man smiled and wrapped his arms around his companion, hugging her close. She held just the right amount of air, and he felt it rush to other parts of her as he squeezed. "It was just a leaf. Nobody's out here but us."

A Day In The Life of a Popper

Before I tell you what I do for a living, I want to say two things about my job.  One is that I'm probably effectively a mass murderer according to most of you.  That's obviously not how I see it and I don't know anyone else in this line of work who does.