When I glanced over she was staring at my limp cock and slack balls without any effort to be subtle about it.“How many times do you think you’ve j...rked off in this chair?” she asked.“I don’t know. Once, maybe twice.”“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. She knew me better than that. “I probably made myself cum in this chair at least a hundred times. Maybe two hundred.” She ran a hand along the armrest. “It smells like you. I would hump myself right here on the corner.” She patted a worn spot at the end. When the light changed she ran across the street and stopped under the awning outside the restaurant's door. Moments later she pushed it open and entered. Water dripped from her to the floor but I and every other man didn't look at the floor. She was inside now, under better lights. My eyes weren't the only ones looking at her. Or to be more specific, looking at the thin t-shirt plastered to a well-developed chest with no hint of a bra. Each of us enjoying the best, impromptu wet t-shirt show. More

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