My hand massages your balls before I suck you into my mouth all at once. Once you are hard, I stand up and you lead me to the bedroom, kissing my neck...as we go.I pounce on you, my butt wiggling in the air. I want you so bad that I begin to tear off my clothes and yours. I need you in me, deep in me, hitting that part of me that only you do. Stretching me like only you do.I get us stripped, tearing at your shirt, only to leave kisses all over your chest, then yanking my own off so that my tits. I was wrong, as I worked around the house, she had a strange, almost hopeful look in her eyes. Every time I stopped for a moment, she would begin with something about “Last night...” or “Did you mean what...” and I remember being so busy as to block it out and keep working. Then bedtime rolled around, and she finally took my hand and asked, “Were you serious about what you said last night? Do you really want to do that?”She was looking into my eyes and I figured the gig was up, she was about to. I never knew I would find something else to admire also.Sitting behind the dugout watching the game, it was not long before I noticed a masculine hairy man gazing at me. It was one of his assistant team coaches. He nodded his head at me, when our eyes locked. Seconds later he got up and walked to the restroom.My heart raced. I hungered for his hairy sweaty body, but I knew I also had my other half with me. What to do! My hairy 7 inch cock twitched in my wranglers. I got up and walked towards. Scummingham Estate is rough. When I say rough I don’t mean ‘a few problems with anti-social behaviour’ rough, I mean ‘Police won’t go in without riot gear’ rough. The unemployment was almost 100%, and the only people working were cash in hand, so the idea that a Working Mens Club was necessary was something of an ironic joke. I sat on the bus clutching my carrier bag full of stripping gear (A red thong, black Speedo’s, baby oil and a bow tie) as the bus pulled into the estate. Almost.