He fished. He drove a beat-up F-150. The back pocket of his jeans had a faded circle revealing the customary location of his Copenhagen can. (And yes,...I liked to stare at his tight ass!) It's true he had a sensitive side. He was a journalism major, a writer for the college paper. But he had southern manners and a southern drawl ("yes, ma'am") and a crew cut to match. We had to wear dress shirts and ties while on shift, but instead of the all-cotton Oxfords and silk ties I preferred he always. We had all but exhausted the conversation around the campfire and daddy had loaded up with firewood to illuminate my outline as I stripped off between both men.I could see daddy and Dan as silhouettes lying in wait both watching me as I disrobed, my nudity exuding my feminine scents as I disrobed my scanty underwear and feeling Dan's hand, cup my small breast and his groan on feeling my pebble hard nipple responding in his eagerness to fuck me.'You want me Danny', I groaned back in the. More

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