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” He was at the bar, in his work suit, drinking bourbon as she walked in. She had her fiery flame red hair out in loose curls cascading down her back over her black tight work dress. He motioned for the barman and ordered her a drink as she walked over to him. ”Hello…” She smiled. ”I’ve ordered you a drink.” he smiled as the barman placed an Appletini on the bar. ”Is that for you? I don’t drink girlie drinks, I drink bourbon, two ice cubes that’s it. In fact I’ll take yours you can have the Tini, you ordered It.” He smiled with an evil grin and reached for his glass. He grabbed her hand on his glass holding it in front of him as he gently stroked it and looked into her green eyes. ”Shall we go back to mine or yours?” He smiled as he stared at her, ”I mean I’ve got a good bottle of 25 year old bourbon, better than this stuff…” He let out a sigh as she looked taken aback. ”Okay, let me go to the ladies room then we’ll go.” She grabbed her bag and walked off. He paid the tab, gathered. ..yes..baby...yes...suck my dick. I placed my hands on his ass pulling him toward me. "Oh you want to be fucked do you?" he asked, I managed a moan of approval and Richard began to treat my mouth as if it was a deep wet pussy. He pound his dick in my mouth with such force. There was a mirror on the wall next to the bed that captured his slender frame pumping forcefully. My cheeks were sore and my eyes began to water. The pain was just what I needed. My pussy was on fire, I think she..my pussy...was jealous. She was use to getting all the attention. It was her praises that would be sung out into the night. But this man fucked my mouth as if my pussy didn't exist. After awhile his pace slowed down. " I don't want to cum yet" he said. I gave my cheeks a break and allowed my tongue to continue what is started, but we both quickly realized we needed it like before. He watched with pure pleasure as my tongue ring danced around his long dick. He moaned intensely as his entire dick.
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They were senior choristers and leaders of the sections. We rehearsed twice a week at the Cathedral school, although the boys rehearsed daily. We gathered before worship in a robing room off the nave, a place of jostling and high spirits, and for the Eucharist and festivals, we would march in two rows as we sang. At first I knew no one. I held back, taking the measure of all things. I took special delight in the way that the boys burst into rehearsals, infusing life into the sedate and time bound institution. Despite the uniforms, the ties and gray slacks or shorts, they were often askew and left no doubt that they were, indeed boys. So different from the boys of my childhood in Indiana—but boys, none the less. Eventually, I began to make friends with the other scholars. My American accent became an item of some interest, no doubt. I would see the choristers glance back with interest as I joked with my colleagues at the back. Among them, in the front row, was one fine.

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