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I was just about to shake my prick like the end of my pretend piss, when I heard the john door.Now, when you're in a public john like this one, even the straights who are at the urinals tend to look over their shoulders, some of them really, really quick so they can pretend it didn't happen at all, to see who's comin' in. So, it wasn't any big deal for me to do the same.It was an Asian man. Okay, I know that saying Asia could mean Japan or China or India or Pakistan or Vietnam, or any one of the other countries. But to me an Asian man is someone Oriental.Hey. Is Oriental p.c. these days? Well, sorry all to fucking hell if it isn't, but there isn't exactly a large Asian population here in the middle of the goddamned country, so I haven't exactly had an opportunity to be able to figure out who is Japanese or Chinese or Vietnamese or whatever. I also haven't exactly had a "thing" for Asian men, either. Maybe I'd unconsciously bought into the great-mind-small-dick stereotype, although I. “Of course,” I replied.“Okay, good. Just so you know, I’m very intrigued. Can we fuck now?” she asked.“Yeah, can I finish my beer first?” I asked, reaching for my beer.She stood up in front of me and wiggled her hips as she slowly pulled her panties down, bending over as she did. Her pussy was a sloppy mess, my cock throbbed at the sight of it. My cum had leaked out of her and was smeared all over her outer labia and pink inner lips. I wanted to get on my knees behind her and bury my face in her snatch. Instead, I just stared as I drank my beer, trying to finish it. There would be plenty of time to eat her creamy twat later. She let her panties drop around her boots to her ankles, then sat back on my lap. I kept drinking my beer as she maneuvered my cock inside of her pussy. “Remember the last time you fucked me?” she asked.“Of course I do. Hell, I’ve been jerking off daily thinking about it,” I replied, before taking my last sip of beer.“Are you serious? What do you keep that slut.
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It shits her that she can’t get him out of her head, out of her thoughts, she goes to work, and tells her friends about this shithead who followed her around at her friend’s wedding, and how unbelievably annoying he was. He talks to the groom, when he gets back from the honeymoon. They were both at paint ball, and at the pub after, they talk. He mentions her, she is the groom’s cousin. They bag each other, but that in and of itself is standard. The groom offers to mention him to her, when they next talk, the man demurs, again. Won’t be good to come across too desperate. Eventually, there is another wedding, in the family. He and she both attend. His name is Nathan: hers is Chantelle. They both share drinks, hers being vodka cranberries, his beer or a scotch and coke. They fall, drunk and dishevelled, into a hotel room. They are kissing each other, he is realising something he has fantasised sober and drunk, millions of times, she is revelling in the fact that she finally admits he.

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