The man was about thirty years old. He was short, slender, and a tad bit effeminate in his attire and mannerisms. I ignored that. He was wearing silke... gowns that dragged along the floor of his great hall and it looked to me that he was wearing mascara. At a glance I placed him amongst the people of the subcontinent. He certainly wasn't of European or African stock and he wasn't swarthy enough to be from Arabic or Mediterranean descent. He had short straight black hair and wore rings in his. One of them was asking the others if they thought my husband could still 'service' me (that was the word he used), cos it was a waste of good pussy if he couldn't. I stopped near the iron gate through the hedge to listen. Two guys answered that they'd be willing to help.. The fourth guy was silent and then the guy who'd spoken first said "What's up Tom, don't you know what to do with it?" and the others all laughed. I'd noticed when we were being introduced that Tom was quite shy, and I felt. More

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