He licked his fingers, tasting his piss before putting his gloves back on and resuming work. I dreamt that night of stealing those pants and losing myself in their moist fragrant folds. Gay sex Some of the drips from his hood trickled down onto his scrunched up pants, but he didn’t seem to mind.Enjoying himself, he took his cock in his hand and waved it about like a sprinkler before holding it up (was it getting hard?) and watching as the piss arced like a fountain at Versailles, a few drops even splashing against the window. He was bit of a scruff-bag really, in a hippyish sort of way (which is just the way I like my scruff-bags); dreadlocks down to his shoulders ( I could almost feel them brushing against my face), ring through one nostril (what would it feel like on my tongue), short scraggly beard (so nice against my balls), loose green singlet draped over his thin body (I could lose myself in those hairy armpits), baggy harem pants (don’t ask!).He smelt good too, all sweat, sandalwood, tobacco and the great outdoors, which is where he was now, prowling about under some trees I’d asked him to cut back; after all, what good is having a garden if you can’t decorate
