COCKFrom my earliest memory, I was fascinated by my own penis. I touched itconstantly. My parents were always telling me to stop playing withmyself.... I couldn't help it. If my hands weren't busy doing somethingelse, they were caressing and fondling and feeling and rubbing my pee-pee and balls. Cock was the center of my life.My mom loved old movies of Broadway musicals, and if one was on t.v.we'd watch them together. From the first, I loved the way the womenwere usually glamourous, and. “James, why not point the car in a direction and see where it leads?” She said this in a Lady Penelope voice, posh and nothing like her normal speech pattern with its London accent. We giggled like children as I headed for the countryside of Surrey and a certain place where steppingstones crossed the river Mole.Her hand rested in my lap, fingertips drawing lazy circles through my slacks and inching ever so slowly towards my crotch. My cock was bent double and really uncomfortable. I shifted,. More

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