I date a girl in high school who tells me that when she is on a school bus once, she looks out of the bus window at a man in a car masturbating in his driver seat. She says to me that she thinks it "disgusting." She goes to an all girls school and wears a kilt-like, Catholic school girl skirt.
All the girls at the school wear the skirt with a white button down, blouse-type shirt through which straps of bras can be seen, especially when a girl wears a dark coloured bra and is reprimanded as a result by school administrators.
My girlfriend and me are walking up 5th Ave across the street from Central Park on a sidewalk in front of swank apartment buildings and I am lifting her skirt from behind exposing what is grained in my memory banks as white, cotton underwear wedged between supple, freckled and dimpled ass cheeks with legs which extend so that I cannot even imagine the possibilities unto this day.
Another older, woman pedestrian walking some paces behind us on the block laughs as I pull up my girlfriend's skirt and the girlfriend slaps my hand down reaching behind her when we look back at the only other pedestrian laughing at us while my girlfriend hurries our pace.
Now, twenty-five years later: I have an urge to lift a woman's skirt every time I see an appealing woman in a skirt. Also, my favourite position when engaged in sex (for all it's worth) is hoisting a skirt over the hips of a woman doggie style, with panties pulled aside.
When I go for a test at a hospital recently and the nurse asks me about how many partners I have engaged in sex, I answer:
"I don't know. Hundreds?"
"Well, we only go up to fifty plus," the nurse retorts.
"OK. Fifty plus," I say.
Luckily, the test is negative so the nurse doesn't contact anyone and I find myself with a charmed life full of lustful memories of past girlfriends: now married with yellow teeth and a chain smoking habit, the which might render a divorce.
I am not picky. I am attracted to all sorts of women. A woman in a business suit and skirt with sneakers on her way to or from work is the most arousing eye candy that I can imagine for me today.
Hey! I'm married: not dead! I purposely go out on nice days to ogle women over coffee, park with my wife and point women out to her saying:
"I'll think about her the next time I do you," etc.: keeping it fresh!
All the girls at the school wear the skirt with a white button down, blouse-type shirt through which straps of bras can be seen, especially when a girl wears a dark coloured bra and is reprimanded as a result by school administrators.
My girlfriend and me are walking up 5th Ave across the street from Central Park on a sidewalk in front of swank apartment buildings and I am lifting her skirt from behind exposing what is grained in my memory banks as white, cotton underwear wedged between supple, freckled and dimpled ass cheeks with legs which extend so that I cannot even imagine the possibilities unto this day.
Another older, woman pedestrian walking some paces behind us on the block laughs as I pull up my girlfriend's skirt and the girlfriend slaps my hand down reaching behind her when we look back at the only other pedestrian laughing at us while my girlfriend hurries our pace.
Now, twenty-five years later: I have an urge to lift a woman's skirt every time I see an appealing woman in a skirt. Also, my favourite position when engaged in sex (for all it's worth) is hoisting a skirt over the hips of a woman doggie style, with panties pulled aside.
When I go for a test at a hospital recently and the nurse asks me about how many partners I have engaged in sex, I answer:
"I don't know. Hundreds?"
"Well, we only go up to fifty plus," the nurse retorts.
"OK. Fifty plus," I say.
Luckily, the test is negative so the nurse doesn't contact anyone and I find myself with a charmed life full of lustful memories of past girlfriends: now married with yellow teeth and a chain smoking habit, the which might render a divorce.
I am not picky. I am attracted to all sorts of women. A woman in a business suit and skirt with sneakers on her way to or from work is the most arousing eye candy that I can imagine for me today.
Hey! I'm married: not dead! I purposely go out on nice days to ogle women over coffee, park with my wife and point women out to her saying:
"I'll think about her the next time I do you," etc.: keeping it fresh!
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