A friend and also the first guy I ever met who happens to live on the next street once told me, when I asked him what he fantasizes about said “Young chavs. Scally.”
Now, though I’m approaching 50, I actually look much younger. In fact, I was last asked for ID in Tesco only about three years ago. I used to hate it when I was younger, but now I love it. Just last week, someone guessed I was 25 and didn’t believe me until I showed my ID. If I had to guess why, it’s probably a mix of being skinny and not being able to grow a decent beard!
I have thought about turning up the next time we meet in a matching tracksuit—with bottoms tucked into socks, a cap (preferably Burberry), white trainers, and a man bag—and roleplaying along the lines of: “You’re a fag, aren’t you? I’ve heard gays are better at sucking cock than birds because they know what blokes want. I’m horny as fuck, but our lass is on the blob, so I’ve got no chance—but I bet you’re dying to suck me off, haha. I’ll tell you what: I’m not gay or owt, but if you want to do it—and can never tell anyone, because if you do, I’ll take your jaw off, pal—you can suck me off.”
Then take it from there as I wank and suck him, saying stuff like, “It’s not gay if you don’t kiss, and I don’t fancy you. Then I will bum you if you want, because our lass hardly ever lets me do it.” Until, eventually, I’m naked on all fours at the bottom of his bed, getting pounded by him, because I know that’s his favourite position.
Problem is, I know I couldn’t do it without bursting out laughing, haha. |
