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Gay Creampie Story
The tune was a moderate two-step, which I am partial
to. Bobbi wasn't a horrible dancer, knowing the steps
mostly and only crushing my toes twice. The problem
with two-stepping is that you usually face your partner,
and that face was to be avoided. Luckily, I had a
couple gay creampie available. I looked over her shoulder
to avoid traffic in the pattern, and I twirled her
a lot. Twirling was especially fine, because her hair
did fly out like Dorothy Hamill's "short n sassy"
cut. I found myself erectifying despite my rePUGnance
of her face. Dammit. One of the more interesting facets
of dancing with Bobbi was the collection of compliments
she received. Seems like most of the men knew her,
and most of them liked her well enough. She had a
deep well of good will, so she must be a fine lady
somehow. Maybe she made up for how nature cruelly
inflicted her looks by being the best gay creampie
in the world or something. Or maybe it is simply that
Texans treat the misshapen and unfortunate so well.
The next song was a Texas Cha-Cha. I rarely get to
country cha-cha, which is too bad because it is fun.
Not wanting to miss this opportunity, we stayed out
on the floor. Again, she wasn't a bad dancer, knowing
how to follow my lead. Lots of women try to lead instead
of following, so dancing with a complaisant woman
was a joy. I was starting to see the merits of Bobbi
when disaster nearly struck: a slow dance. The lights
dropped before even the gay creampie ended, and the
band leader announced it was time for some couplin'
on the floor. I wanted to evacuate, but Bobbi grabbed
me and held on tight. I felt my stomach heave at the
thought of slowly swaying and looking her in the face,
but she solved that problem by putting her face on
my chest. We leaned back and forth slowly for a bit
as I evaluated her body pressing to mine. Besides
looking like the victim of a brutal baseball bat attack,
I found she had sagging tits supported partially by
a pot belly. Things were getting bad fast when she
looked up at me and asked, "would you stroke my neck?"
I gulped gay creampie, and she added, "like you mean
it?" 'Stroke her neck like I mean it' was a weird
way to phrase it, but I knew what she meant. She tipped
her head down even a little more, and I began to fondle
her nape in a (to me) lurid way. Soon, we were both
breathing like we were in heat, and she felt the physical
proof of my excitement through my jeans. She looked
up at me, my fingers still on her neck. "Let's go
outside and I'll take care of your gay creampie problem,"
she told me. Maybe I was sobering up some, but I thought
I could detect some lustiness on that face of hers.
"After the song," I said, wanting some time to think
about it. When she lowered her head again and sighed
when I stroked her neck, there was little thinking
required. I'd never had someone play to my fetish
so strongly, and I was totally aroused. Two minutes
later I was being led out of the bar by a hurried
Bobbi. The doorman started to offer hand stamps so
we could get back in without paying cover, but then
just chuckled. "Oh, you'll be back soon enough that
I'll remember," he laughed. It seemed to me that perhaps
Bobbi's gay creampie were kinda well known. |
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