She wore a long black leather skirt and a white silk blouse. Her hair shone and caressed her shoulders. She carried a small bag and I asked her where her overnight things were. ‘In the car baby. You can get them later.’ Her soft American tone warmed me. She walked into my sitting room and looked around, inspecting, nodded as if satisfied and sat in a large armchair, mine normally. I smiled to myself – she owns the place. ‘May I get you some wine?’ ‘Thank you,’ – always polite. I poured us a glass each and carried them through to her, setting hers on a small table beside her and stood by the fire to watch her. We raised glasses and smiled at each other, the tension in me all but gone. She told me to sit at her feet. She read me poetry, from a small leather bound book, poetry she had written, some I had read before but all new with her voice, and her hand stroking my hair as I listened and she read. I rested my head on her knee. Her poems are dark, opening my mind to both her desires. “Does that need warming up as well?”“What?”“Your dick.”“Why? Does it look cold?”“Dunno.”And then I noticed it was growing. It was getting fatter and now it was pulsing up and getting hard.“It looks like it’s getting warmer now, mate.”So was my cock in my jeans.The paperboy just stood there and his cock got stiff. He just stood there and let it throb up into a full hard-on. Then he took his top off. He took his trainers off and stepped out of his jeans. Pulled his socks off.The paperboy was naked in my flat, standing there with his hot cock sticking up, jutting out from his hard slender body.He said, “I’m all hot now.”“Yeah. I can see.”I had to get naked with the paperboy. I took all my clothes off. Couldn’t believe my luck – naked with the paperboy in my flat, our cocks on bone. For the last six months he’d been delivering my newspaper and yeah, I had thought he was proper fit but no way would I ever had expected him to be naked with me in my flat. We’d never even had a conversation.
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