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It's something that all guys do even if they say different, but that day I just couldn't get my eyes off the three bouncing dicks around me. I liked what I saw and liked it even better when I felt one of those cocks brush up against me when we wrestled. And I got the feeling that I wasn't the only one.Still, none of us was gay and it was nothing more than an accident when a hand glided over somebody's cock or ass and if it felt good, that's just the way things are. I mean, if you close your eyes, does it really matter who is touching your cock?So the four of us wrestled with each other and I ended up on the grass with Tony sitting on my chest and kneeling on my shoulders telling me to give up. I wouldn't, of course. I kept struggling and twisting and trying to throw him off. He was bigger than me, though and I couldn't do it. He just put hs weight forward on my shoulders and kept repeating "Give up?" I kept saying no and shaking my head from side to side. And everytime I turned my. "I took it from him and looked at it. It really was very small, not even the size of an aspirin, so even if it was bad, it couldn't be that bad, right?"There you go." Deke was smiling, watching me swallow it down with some champagne and Michael refilled my glass. "You're all grown up now, Deb. You're not a little girl anymore, are you?" And his hand was on my knee, stroking my skin gently, moving just under the hem of my skirt.I laughed, feeling self-conscious at what he was saying, and I pushed his hand away, but it came right back."You're a beautiful woman, that's for sure." Michael had started touching me too, leaning across the bar and rubbing my right arm, putting his mouth close to my ear. "I bet you're boyfriend is missing you right now, isn't he?" the man whispered.I giggled and shook my head slightly, pushing Deke's hand away lightly, and waiting for it to come back. "I don't have a boyfriend," I told him, feeling my face turn red and my whole body was flushing, really. I'd.
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But sex was not the only problem, it was just part of the bigger problem, that we talked less and less, would hardly ever hug or kiss or hold hands. I’d found myself avoiding her so that I wouldn’t get my head bitten off over stuff like a few soapsuds. I found all this pretty depressing. It was the first time in my life I’d ever had to deal with real depression. You know, what doctors might refer to as “clinical depression”. Not that I was certain what that means, but it was like something was eating at me. I felt angry with her, with myself, I thought I must be some kind of a loser, I wanted to hurt myself, get the urge to suddenly drive my car into a power pole, or one day just walk out with nothing but my passport and credit card. All pretty cowardly responses, I have to admit. And it was two-way thing. There must have been fault with me as well as her. When I am angry or depressed I get crabby, say things that are sarcastic,.

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