The bar was packed out, the lights low; the vibe was hot and heavy. Any other night, I would be having the time of my life. There were almost wall-to-...wall women all looking for a man, any man that could dance Salsa. I couldn’t dance Salsa. The bar was located in a salubrious and picturesque commuter town full of City types and their progeny; this was a target-rich environment. It was a place so genteel that the door didn’t have a brace of bouncers keeping out the undesirables. As the only town. The chances were diminutive… but still. No. I was pulling out my 7 inches, and I heard someone else walk in. I thought nothing of it, and started peeing. Lala la lala my mind went. Peeing is one of those absent-minded activities that us guys get used to, and just enjoy. Finishing, I zipped up and flushed. Then I walked out of the door, and something collided with me, I did not know what. Excuse me, I should say I did not know whom. It took me a full three seconds to realize that the person. There was that anticipated hand from a stranger from the back resting on my butt lightly. I couldn’t feel it at first, as it was too crowded, until the hand firmly rested on my back. I had a chill running over my spine when I realized that I wasn’t wearing panties too that day. Perhaps the stranger had realized it at the same time as he started cupping my bare butt through my saree and started running his fingers along the crevice. In spite of my long tired day, I was beginning to get excited.. At that command, I remove my top, shoes and tracksuit bottoms and I'm left standing in front of you, naked other than a pair of woman's stockings and a suspender belt. You tell me to put my hands on my head, and you look at my cock, you smile and tell me how pathetic that little thing is, how I'm not much of a man, you tell me that you wonder how I could ever fuck a woman with it. You walk towards me and cup my flaccid pathetic excuse for a cock along with my balls. They fit easily into you.