I don't need to tell you that. You know that as a fact. I grope your ass. "You question my taste?" I go faux haughty. "You're the only beachbum for me..." I speak, my breath of words a waft of exotic perfume.You slap back at my hands. "Enough! Back to work. Back to skin." Your slaps are unaimed; as fast as my hands move, you are mostly slapping at your own ass.I stay away, my fingers sliding downwards to the purity of flesh. You stop your batting and eventually relax, settling against the towel,. I knew of a few guys in the unit that had forced themselves on a few of the locals, but I didn't want to pursue that route. So like most of the rest I lay in our barracks beating off to digital images on my laptops, or magazines smuggled in. In fact around 10 at night the slapping sounds of cocks being fisted drifted around our barracks. So I was looking forward to some real pussy!I drove in my car to a bar in the seedier side of town. I knew my chances of getting laid was far higher in this. More

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