“No, masturbating. It helps me unwind from stress, relaxes me, and it’s fun.”“Agreed,” she said. She cleared her throat self-consciously.“...rr, how old are you?” she asked me.“I’m twenty-nine,” I replied. “You?” I asked.“I’m forty-seven,” she admitted.“Hmm. Older woman,” I said, starting to stroke my slightly deflated cock.She noticed the association between my words and actions and asked, “You like older women?”“Yes, I like them,” I admitted, as I began to fully harden under her gaze.“Seems. What was it Helen claimed she could grow it to? Twenty two centimeters, or as she preferred nearly nine inches - and so thick. Some things were just not meant to be measured in metric, Helen used to like reminding him. Just a few weeks ago, by judicious and slow teasing with her tongue and mouth, for what had seemed half the night, Helen had proudly claimed that size with a tape measure in one hand and his balls in the other, “To make it really big.”Right now though, with his eyes on one naked. More

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