I thought I’d need a compass to find it.
Jamie tried to be helpful. “M-more to the l-l-left, P-P-Preston. ”
I’m P-P-Preston. My fingers burrowed toward the left as directed. Under an acre of Jockeys. Gee, Jamie’s mom must starch his drawers for him. The cotton felt as stiff as the dong I was searching for. I encountered more of Jamie’s plump fifteen-year-old belly. A scraggly little underbrush that might grow up to be a bush some day. Then finally my fingers encircled boy hang. A hang that would never grow up to be a Whopper.
With his dick in capable hands now, Jamie lost his stammer and became more stud-like. He still couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Are youreally gonna pull me off, Preston?” he asked innocently.