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It had sticky goo strung all over her fingers. “Why do they never put any toilet paper beside the urinals?” Mandy turned and walked over to a cubicle holding her skirt up with her clean hand, her panties still bunched around the tops of her thighs.Nancy for her own part simply let go of her softening penis and smoothed her skirt down. Seemingly oblivious to the big drop of cum that splashed onto the floor between her feel.“Well I've got lectures,” she smiled at me. “See you later.”“Hold up,” Mandy came out of the cubical smoothing down her own skirt. “I'll walk with you for a bit.”“OK,” Nancy looked as if she might put her arm around Mandy.But Mandy hurries in front and pulls open the door. “Looks like it might rain later,” she walked through the door.“Hump, maybe,” Nancy answered as she followed her out.The door swings shut behind them. And I am left all alone. Alone with a hard-on sticking out of my jeans. I look down at my erection, not quite sure what had just happened. Unable to. "Cat got your tongue?," he sneered. "Like it got those two kids who couldn't be bothered to defend you?" Leave my kids out of this!" Your kids?" He raised his eyebrows. "Rather possessive, aren't we? Ah, but then possession is nine-tenths of the law. Pity no man ever found you attractive enough to slip you the other tenth so you could have a kid of your own." And they say I'm a bitch. Is that the charm that won you a wife? Oh, wait, that's right. You never got married either." Yeah. That's me, the pot calling Ma Kettle black. Except, of course --" Except what?" Except Ma Kettle didn't wear tight T-shirts so the world could see what a hot old lady she was."Des looked down and cursed. Her nipples were bulging into the thin fabric of her shirt. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "It's cold in here," she said."I'm comfortable," he said, uncrossing his legs.She laughed. "Is that your ego in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"The crotch of his shorts was, indeed, tented..
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Lorna gave a howl of anguish as yet another orgasm shook her and passing over its peak she began to calm a little. She was crying and the cause of her weeping was the absence of the one thing she wanted so dearly, a man. This might seem strange since she had a husband. It may sound even stranger when I tell you that the husband, Clifford, copulated three times a week with Lorna. In most long established marriages, and Lorna’s and Clifford’s was now in its twentieth year, three times a week might be deemed sufficient. In Lorna’s case, however, it was not the number of times but the manner in which the union was engaged in. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday were the established nights for copulating. Week after week, year after year, the routine was the same. Then again, it was not only the sheer boredom of the regularity, but the way in which it was done. Lorna had married Clifford when she was nineteen. Clifford was twenty two and the darling of the local chapel. Her parents perceived.

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