My entire arm was just about dwarfed by my gi sleeve and seemed half it's original size. My hand wasn't much better, as years of callouses a...d powerful muscle were replaced by slender fingers and creamy silk skin. It reminded me of something. ?Awww, such a cute hand.? The girl smirked, putting her hand against my disfigured one. ?Does it remind you of anyone?? I did notice. Her hand was the same as mine. ?WHAT DID YOU DO?? I snarled, jumping away from her. Bernie’s father had passed away when he was a teenager and his mother had raised him to be a responsible, educated, loving man. As a sheep farmer, he had learned to organize his time and his life to accommodate his responsibilities. He was up early to feed the animals and took them out to the pasture to graze every day after eating a hearty cooked breakfast with Martha, often discussing either the previous night pleasure or planning their next little private experiments. Little did the. So anyway, I read this story about a guy givinghimself a blow job, ( the last one I had from my matewas years ago ) and I tried out the suggestions rightaway. Couldn’t do it. Tried very hard, because for somereason the idea really appealed to me. Imagine beingable to get a blow job anytime the fancy strikes. To make a long story short. I kept at it fromtime to time, and one day I figured it out. I was homealone, Cindy was out shopping, and I had just readanother story about. But then my dad has this thing about mobile phones; he wouldn't have one, and refused to call one, even if the shit had hit the fan."Just what the hell is going on, Donald? I've been trying to call you for hours," he demanded when I entered the house.Then I remembered that I'd turned my phone off. If my father had tried to call me on my mobile, I knew I was going to be in for a hard time; especially as Mum and Dad only call me 'Donald' when I am not the flavour of the month."Susan has been.