Shealways smelled like chemicals and wore gloves. No this was someonecompletely different. The hands were larger, though still soft, and theysmelled o... ... that was it, whoever it was smelled of Old Spice, justlike he used to wear.He felt the person struggling to unlock the mitten around her fist. Ittook two fingers to squeeze open the latch but it was done and her handwas free. Then he felt the metal being forced onto her tiny fingers andhe realized what it was and the memories all came. In that case I knew her already as she is a friend of my partner and the four of us, her husband, my partner, her and myself went to that ceilidh together. A ceilidh is a good place to dance with various people, not just your partner, so I had the opportunity to dance with her too, it would have been rude not to in fact. So there it was dancing a Canadian Barn dance, a couple dance, that having my hand on her lower back, maybe slightly lower than necessary, but this sort of things happen when. “Who’s this young stud?” her friend inquires, eyeing me up and down.“This is the guy I was telling you about,” Chelsea replies with a smile on her face.“This is your little boy-toy, Chelsea?” her friend asks almost incredulously, “Well, you certainly undersold him.”“This is my friend, Nicole,” Chelsea says, looking up at me, “don’t just stand there. Hop in!”I'm a little taken aback. Chelsea is the only girl I’ve ever been with, and despite having been with her for the better part of two months,. I remember a lecture in school talking about prehistoric life of hunter gatherers, and how women were subjected to a harsh existence and used by many males for the sake of procreation, that thought alone left me sitting in soaked panties, as I fantasised men using me for sex while others queued, for their turn.Sex is real for women, more so than for men I believe, as we are the c***d bearers and need to know more, as we are left with consequences of orgasmic bliss ejaculated into us, cum.