Her name is Donna Newby, and she is about as tall as I am and wears awful short skirts. Yeah, Newby, honest. Like most of the other reporters, she car...ies a tiny tape recorder and a folded notepad. She wears glasses, big-framed glasses that slide down her short nose, and she looks as serious as anyone can who is that pretty and long-legged. I have no idea what color she thinks her hair is. I think I have seen trucks that color but not any human hair before hers.She showed up in Pittsburgh. By. Di's having none of it though. Instead she looks me in the eye once more and with a wicked smile and places her hand on mine as if to stop me. God! This woman's determined, if nothing else! All sense deserts my brain at this point and instead goes straight down to my cock and I'm overcome with lust. I'll never get a better opportunity than this and though in the cold light of day I might think differently, with her hand gripped around the base of my shaft once more, and the smouldering look in. My fingers slip down to your cock. I grasp it and it twitches at the touch of my fingers. Slowly I begin to stroke it between them. You moan softly.Your moans are mixed with mine. But no one hears them. We are alone. There’s no one to see us or hear us. Even if there were, we’d be oblivious; insensitive to anyone else. We’re putting on an exhibition for the dolphins jumping playfully as they follow the sloop cutting its way through the sea. But we don’t notice. We care only about our. You wanted to cry because you were feeling so lonely, for no particular reason. Suddenly, there was a tap on your window. It made you jump, but then you heard a soothing voice say ‘Its me.’ I opened the window and there I was, wearing a faded old sweatshirt and boxers. ‘Very sexy.’ you tell me, ‘new fashion trend?’ I smile and say ‘You couldn’t sleep and so I came over as fast as could. Didn’t want to waste time with clothes.’ You laugh as you let me in through the window. ‘You knew that.