”“How?” She tried to grab him again, but he moved just out of reach to scoop up some sand in his bucket.“I have a theory about it, actually.�... He flipped the bucket upside down on the sand and then lifted it. The resulting cylinder was almost six feet tall, and the bucket shriveled up like a used balloon. “Wanna hear?”“Do I have a choice?”“It’s your dream. Well...” he looked around. “Kind of.” He pulled a squirt gun out of his pocket and sprayed down the sand with a continuous stream, making it. My left hand reached up and grabbed him by the base ofhis shaft, and all the memories of that day in the public washroom cameflooding back to me.The heat of the skin of a cock. The pulsing energy and life of a cock.In my hand, again.Where it should be.I moved him to the left, and moved my mouth to suck on his othertesticle. To clean it, of course. But also, to adore it.Finally, when both were clean, I aimed his magnificent rod on thehorizontal plane, toward my face.I looked up at him.He. More

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