It was “Girls, Girls, Girls,” by the Crue. That was my Firebird. I was out of the door like a shot, running through the grounds, hopping the fence...and heading to the headlights in the distance. My car was parked in a little gravel parking lot outside the center grounds. Leaning against it was Angie. She was five foot ten inches, ninety-three pounds of hot. She was wearing cutoff jean shorts that hung so low I could see her pelvic bones peeking out from the belt line, and a Def Leppard T-shirt. He asked if I wanted to help,I said sure. He turned towards me and said to pull his sick a little bit. I reached up and stroked his dick softly and it started to stiffen. That's it,he said. How about squeezing my balls some. Ok,I said. Having to use both hands,I held on to them and tugged a little while massaging them. As he finished rinsing off his chest, he said to hold out my hands. He sprained shaving cream on them and said to rub it all over. I slid my hands up and down his big dick,then. More

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