He stops as if daring himself, then he gets up. He still has his trousers on and he undoes them as I get to my knees and watch him, my pouty expressio... unchanged. He pulls them down, along with some ancient Y-fronts, which he tears at until they rip and then he throws them on the fire.His cock is stubby, like his fingers, and his pubic hair unusually long, like Mutant John’s beard, only brown instead of grey. The cock is uncut, and its head pulses in and out of its sheath. It smells of. He could feel Lola's arousal; he could smell her crouched in the dark heat, passion, lust dripping from her pores. He sensed her shock when he moaned out her name as he came. "God Dammit!" He shouted. He'd forgotten about that. She must think I'm some sex crazed pervert who calls out the wrong names in sex because I can’t remember all their names. But what if she doesn't think that? What if she knows the truth, that he's in love with her, that he obsesses and fantasizes about her constantly?. More

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