My hand was still gently kneading her breast. For what seemed like a long time, but was probably just a minute, we silently groped at one another."I'l... show you mine if you'll show me yours," April said with a giggle."Okay," I agreed quickly.April rearranged herself on the couch. She turned and gathered her legs under her butt. Then she stretched and pulled off her tee shirt, leaving her breasts encased in her bra. It was the bra of a young teen, frilly and pink, complete with a neat little bow. The mirror showed him the truth of his age, the receding hair, grey at the temples; the slight pouchiness under his eyes; the failing elasticity of his skin; and the belly. Not a bloated gut, but definitely the paunch of later middle age. He squeezed a roll of fat on his hips between finger and thumb and shook his head, bemused.A flash of color caught his eye and he looked down to see a lacy blue thong on the floor near he feet. He picked it up, stroking his thumb over it's silkiness. Smiling. With the music, the lights, and the shouts of the excited men, she was in a state of sensory overload. Fortunately, the girls had practiced their runway walk and she knew where to spin, return, and take her place on the stage, waiting to be auctioned to the highest bidder.The men gestured with paddles as her president called out the bids, each table pushing her price progressively higher as she stood there, barely clothed, the spotlight enhancing the curves of her body. Even though she was. A few Keystrokes? Sure. So how come I had spent the last few weeks doing some stroking of my own as I watched a parade of huge penises on gorgeous males remind me of how disadvantaged I had been for so many years. I’d married Frank 24 years ago, and at the time, I had loved him so much, I never gave too much thought to his small, five inch, endowment. It was, after all, five inches more than I’d had in my 23 years before I’d married. How many times in those lost years had I masturbated silently.