Whenever we got drunk the sexuality of our conversations would get so steamy I would catch myself wishing the tales of our escapades were with one ano...ther. Granted, I love cock more than any woman out there, but Stacey's pussy was something I wanted more than you could imagine. As time wore on after the divorce, and my cock drought carried on, I became sexually frustrated and desperate. The next Saturday night I decided I would make a move at Stacey. I needed a good ole big O, and I wanted. It was two lives living in me, one almost sixty and the other barely twenty-five. Both of them were cut off well before they were done. Neither of us ... them ... had had children ... it wasn't from lack of trying but things ... there are always things ... just like there are always 'they.' 'They say' is the beginning of more trouble and argument in the world than any other two words I can think of ... except maybe, 'which God?' followed by 'yours or mine?'"David?" Sorry to have to wake you,. “Shut, up!” He hissed and spun my dazed body. He thrust me against the concrete blocks holding back the hill above us. “You think you’re so fucking prestigious, eating here, after humiliating me in front of my friend.” His fat pinnined me, face first, against the wall.“I-I-” I didn’t dare talk. I felt his hands on my knee skirt, pawing at the hem.“Spread your legs, Bitch.” He slapped the inside of my thighs.“No, PLEASE!” I would rather die- Terry grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so hard,. Roger Carmel whirled around, hearing the thank of something coming from what he had assumed was the coat-closet door. Anger stirred in him, and with caution and modesty thrown aside, he crossed and wrenched open the door, and the pale light of the living-room fell across the hulking figure of a middle-aged man, his straw-colored hair brushed European style back across his head, his large nose and dilated nostrils quivering, and his two, small, marble-glittering eyes filled with the kind of.