The last time we checked on Sir-Skittles he was walking through Central Park. Our immigrant from Pakistan was having trouble with the New York cold weather. His cold water flat was also cold. Sir-Skittles had not been able to get any paying action. His ass was empty of any cum. That's not good when you need to pay for electricity. Now, he was walking from public restroom to public restroom, offering his sorry, brown ass. Unfortunately for him, at that hour of the night, the johns were safe and warm at home. There was nothing more to do than go back to that cold flat. Maybe, seeing the twisted coat hanger hanging on the wall would give him some maternal warmth. Looking at it reminded him of his mother. She had given him the coat hanger and told him, "My botched abortion, if you are in need of consolation, remember, I didn't want you to be born, but, this coat hanger just wasn't long enough. Blame it on bad luck"
That's when he emigrated to New York. He had the idea of opening a little market like many of his countrymen. Unfortunately, our Sir-Skittles got into the sex trade to raise funds, to open that little market. He got hopelessly hooked on anal sex, and, getting paid for it made it even more inviting. The holiday prospects looked dim. Bara Din (Christmas) will be a sorrowful affair this year. Maybe he should reconsider Pa-Freddy's offer of sex for a hot meal and bath for the holiday.