I had worked several long, hard days on his sessions, and during that time we had sort of become friends. He was a down-home dude who grew up dirt poo...r and only recently had a taste of fame and fortune, pretty modest though it was at this point. Still, he was no longer living in a tar paper shack at the end of a dirt road, but in a nice Condo in one of the better sections of Nashville.Bobby invited me over to his condo one Saturday to watch some college football. I was happy to go over and take. Such as it was.He was stopped by a cordon of volunteers, of course. No civilians were being allowed into the burning area. He had nowhere to go. The smoke and excitement began to get to him. He knew he was going to have an episode if he stayed there, at the line.So he went to the only other place he could think of to go.He was in a bad way when he got there. The smoke and flames took him back to the last place there had been smoke and flames. He made it up the road, and into the driveway, but. Even as he looked at her, she shook head to clear away some of the cobwebs and sat up. Not saying anything, she reached out for his hands and pulled him to a standing position in front of her. From there, her hands were a blur of action as as she undid his belt and button of his slacks. In seconds, she had the zipper down and was pushing his pants over his hips. They fell away, landing in a pile on his feet and exposing his hardness to her, the head dancing and swaying in front of her face. He. "They're perfect. No sand at all. You are a wonder."I have to admit, that was probably the best cioppino I'd ever made. It was delicious.We chatted through dinner about inconsequential things. He was easy to talk to, as long as I wasn't making a complete fool of myself. He seemed like a nice guy."Okay, I have to ask. I know I was an utter ass last night," I said, "but why were you clamming in the middle of the night?" When you do it at night," he replied, "you can sneak up on the clams while.