52. His Wife's Breakfast

He was left aghast to see himself in a reflection from a glass door afar.

"I'm fucked!" He sighed. Then he laughed. He decisively pressed the red button on his phone to cut the call. He did not say anything to the person on the other line. He was a bit horrified to see himself. He felt his words definitely described how he looked right at the moment. He was fucked, literally, metaphorically, and ironically speaking. And maybe more!

His lab gown was kept the way he had them, wearing neatly with his buttoned shirts underneath, but his dress pants and boxer briefs were slid down to the floor and pooled on his ankles. His left hand was holding the urinal for patients. His right hand was holding his now flaccid soldier of pleasure. His head was bent sideways to clip the phone in his shoulder as he talked to Trisha over it.

"Denny, you're a stupid fool!" He knocked on his head with so much self-reproached.

The only good thing is that he did not make any mess with his cum anywhere in the