One day it was hot and I had gone next door and he was abit drunk.Do you like grapa?I didnt know what it was but I let him give me a glass.It was a ri...h red wine of Italian origin but apparently he traded tomatoes and eggs with a friend and he got Grapa.The first glass was hard to drink but the second and third and so on I was quite merry.I had on a green halter top, and denim shorts, short shorts.He was being flirty in a respectful, old person way. Telling me how he wished he was young and. I encourage those who are fans of this story to continue it if they so choose. Thank you for your understanding.))You slam the door behind you and lean against it, staring into the middle-distance across your one-bedroom apartment. You can hear the melancholy symphony of the raindrops behind the door, occasionally accompanied by the sound of rolling thunder. You don’t bother taking off your coat, letting droplets of water drip onto the floor. You look at the clock mounted on the wall. It’s a. Outside, with arms around each other, we hurried down the street for a bit, then down a side street where we found a nice dark shop doorway that was away from the street lighting. Within moments, he had our coats undone and was pressing our bodies together as we French kissed, long. tongue sucking kisses. He pressed a hand between our bodies to undo the buttons of my dress. There was no stopping him now. He was hungry. We both were. He pushed my bra up to caress my tits, then took a moment to. .. please. Turn it off.”“Keep your feet moving!”“Artie!”“Well, damn you, then!” he yelled.The treadmill slowed to a halt, and Charlie hobbled off of it like a wounded animal. Artie’s anger stuck to him as Charlie rested his hands on his hips, his face beet-red, his body fighting to catch its breath.“That was totally useless!” yelled Artie. “My six year-old daughter could do better than that. You’re not a pussy, are you Charlie?”“No, no. I don’t want to be a pussy,” he huffed.“Let’s try the.