“Get those pants down, bend over, and grab the pipes an older voice said. I noticed a hole in the metal stall wall and leaned forward and pressed my...eye to it. I saw the younger guy push his cut off jeans down and was surprised he was naked under them. I knew all about cocks, we’d talk about boners at school and thought we were so wise. Well this younger guy had a boner all right, it was skinny and looked a lot like mine. He bent over and the older voice stepped close to him, unbuckled his belt. "Look. I'm married. You're married. We work next door to each other. Us getting involved would be a bad idea all around. As much as I want to... I'm not fucking you."I gave her thighs a squeeze and ground her down a bit on my bulging crotch. I opted for a 'nice guy' approach, despite my raging hard-on and worsening case of blue balls."Yes, we're both married and I appreciate you telling me your position on us 'getting involved'. However, I'd like to point out your current position, which is. At this the large black man suddenly came up to her and yanked flared skirt towards the floor, instinctively Bill stepped forward to intervene but a heavy punch in the solar plexus from the black man had Bill doubled over in pain. Totally ignoring him, the man began to probe at Mary's cunt with his big black chubby fingers, he lacked all forms of dexterity and was like a virgin schoolboy bundling his way through and his manners were not much better as the demanded that this bitch remove the top. My mother, not wanting the envelope to be too thick, used the back of the cards to let me know what was happening around the house and to express her concerns about my not buckling down and taking responsibility in life.The dual use of the cards had been their practice while I was in the service. Often the cards arrived out of order and took time to sort out. When I asked my mother why she didn't number my dad's cards before she turned them over to write her messages to me she frowned, "and spy.