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The boys all grabbed a slice of the pizza and Haley started the movie. About half way into the movie the pizza was completely gone and she had a sleepy Aiden head in her lap, another sleepy Landon on her shoulder, and another sleepy Parker on her other shoulder. Haley was trapped. She looked down and she saw a visible tent in all 3 boys shorts. The sight was making her horny. Aiden was rubbing his head on her lap very close to her clit and Haley was worried because it was starting to feel good. Landons head slipped from her shoulder to her chest and she gasped as he started making himself more comfortable. Mmm&hellip, soft, he muttered sleepily. Parker leaned more on her and his hand snaked around her neck and was resting right on her breast. One of his fingers was lightly rubbing right on her nipple. Haley was trying not to breath because it felt so good. And after a night of hard dicks poking her she was getting hot for them. All of the sudden Aiden moved and his head was. I debated calling it a night until a cute guy took a seat three barstools down. After finishing his beer he looked over to me, the only company sitting at the bar. “Mondays suck.” “Sounds like someone has a case of the Mondays,” I returned. I had remembered that line from some stupid movie by ex-boyfriend watched all the time.“I love that movie!” He shouted. The ice was broken that easily. He moved himself to the stool next to mine. He was white and stood about five feet nine inches tall. He had dark brown hair and was skinny. His navy blue Penn State shirt hung loosely on him. He couldn’t have been more than one hundred sixty-five pounds. He smelled good, like fresh soap and expensive shampoo. We shared a few drinks and some shots. He was friendly and good with conversation. His hand found a resting place on my thigh two or three times and I made no effort to remove it. This dog was in heat and looking for a mate. “Let’s go someplace more private,” he suggested. I was.
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Michael was old-school. (A bit stuck-up, some might say.) ‘Hello sir, how are you going?’ typified the unwelcome modern trend in the service industries to mix traditional formal address with new-speak familiarity. ‘Good thanks,’ he replied, more out of politeness than for purposes of imparting personal information about his wellbeing — Michael always played his cards close to his chest. (Overly shy, some might say.) But he was able to smile at his own introversion, silently admitting, ‘I need to get out more.’ Given the choice, Michael always queued for Libby’s till at the local Co-op he frequented in North London. While Libby would be checking out Michael’s shopping, Michael would be checking out Libby’s voluminous cleavage. Many minutes had been thus enjoyed in lustful fantasy. He would wonder how many of the buttons of her uniform he could undo in his mind’s eye before it was the turn of his basket-load to be priced up. Two buttons? Would that be enough?… three or four?… this.

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