His lips close to my own. His eyes looked down at my own and I at his, feeling increasingly horny. Within seconds Lewis’s lips where on mine, kissin... me deep and hard. I loved the feel of them ageist my own. We made out deeply for a long time, his hands going into my hair and up my top. While mine when on his arms and neck and on his waist line. “We shouldn’t” I said pulling away. “No we won’t” he said. But despite what we said our eyes connected and his arms grabbed my wrists, I pinned him. He was practically dripping with sleaze, self-importance and sweat. I almost shouted him over there and then. Summing up, there was a fat chap who I assumed was the goal minder, or whatever they’re called, someone with legs like a giraffe, a wheezy youngster sucking on an inhaler, my new friend Roger ‘Skipper’ Thornhill whose semen had splashed across my boobs just so recently, and a tall coloured man whose laugh was so deep it sent seismologists into a panic. Trying hard not to do a slapstick. More

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