There were men and women, every size and shape, from extremely skinny to overly obese. Most were somewhere in the middle. There were young mothers who...were hauling their kids from one garage sale to the next. There were a lot of middle aged women and then there were the elderly. I wondered how some of them even got around.The way people dressed was interesting too, from some with jackets and coats to those wearing shorts. Being fifty-five made me stare at the women. Well, maybe it wasn't my age. Once their mother had left, Zack and Stacy made their way to my back door. They were both naked and rearing to go. I was not going to disappoint them. We tossed a coin to see who went first, Zack was pleased with the outcome. He took a card from his pile, it was to be a simple no thrills birching. With a throw of some dice it was determined that it would be twenty-four cuts of the birch, twelve delivered by Stacy and twelve by me. He was unlucky, it could have been a lot more. We secured him. "After a few glasses of wine one night, my curiosity got the better of me, "Paul, exactly how long is your penis?" "One way to find out," he chuckled. Emerging from his study with a ruler in hand, he unzipped his trousers, presenting his flaccid tool. "Hard or soft?" he joked.Dropping to my knees, I took the ruler and measured, "3.5 inches soft," I announced. "But I think we can do better than that."I tend to be pretty conservative about sex; straight missionary stuff in the bedroom with the. His hand pressed to my splayed open crack, finger as far as it would go up in me. He wriggled his finger, opening me more. He pressed the tip on my prostate. I felt like I was pissing, exuded so much pre-cum it stringed to the mattress on the floor of the van. I moaned."Oh, yeah, baby, moan on that big cock," he grumbled. "Feels so good," he praised me. He pressed again, another string of pre-cum, again, again, again. "Ungh, ungh, ungh, ungh," deep in my throat. Pre-cum flowing, steady,.