I wanted to tell a story, an erotic story, that didn’t feature kids of school or university age, that wasn’t a coming of age story, which actually...featured people who were ‘grown up’. It would be a slow story, about a man who began as emotionally dead, but who had the support of just a few people who could help him, just enough support. It would also tell the story of those around him. This tale is very definitely not autobiographical, but there is some of me in Stan. In some facets, quite a. And he guessed that no one else would either. He watched her from his perch outside of her window as she undressed. Her flimsy black lace bra and panties falling to the floor at her feet, revealing a pair of large, firm breasts and a clean-shaven pussy. Such a beautiful cunt, he thought. He closed his eyes and imagined himself down on his knees before her. Or perhaps with her squatting over him. His warm, wet tongue exploring her folds. Teasing her clit. Making her body writhe with pleasure.. More

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