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”She said. We agreed. A little while later, Mom and I were sitting at the table drinking coffee when we heard the roar and brake squeal of Dad”s truck pulling in to the driveway. He slammed the truck door getting out, and I stepped into my bedroom to see what he was going to do. He came in, slamming the door as hard as he could, roaring, “You dirty filthy bitch,pack your goddamn clothes, and get out of here, you don”t live here anymore, you slut!”I stepped out of my bedroom, holding my baseball bat behind me. I said, “I think not, Dad, if anyone is leaving, it”s going to be you.” He glanced at me, chuckled to himself,”Well, well, the little pup thinks he”s big enough to take on the master, does he? suddenly his hand shot out, overturning the kitchen table, and he started walking toward me stomping his feet. I guess that was supposed to scare hell out of me, but all it did was make me mad that he had scared hell out of Mom.I took a step toward him, swinging around sideways and brought. The heat, and the fresh air on my skin, and the regular swaying of my dick in my shorts got me kinda horny. The hill levelled out, and the path went into some dense woods. I jumped off the path into the trees to have a piss. I was standing behind a tree, pissing through my semi, when I noticed something bright red about 50 yards or so deeper into the wood. I went a bit closer and realised it was a lad in a footy top. He had one hand leaning against a tree and the other was pumping away at his dick. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. He was wearing 3/4 length trackies that were pulled down to just below his smooth hairless arse cheeks. I was determined to have a closer look, so I carefully crept round behind the trees until I was about 20 feet away. I could actually hear the slap slap slap of his hand on his cock, and I could hear his fast breathing. I was hard as fuck by this time. I was standing right behind him, and all I could see was his jiggling arse. I carefully crept round.
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‘Wow.’ I say as evenly as I can, suppressing a gag. ‘What about you?’ She asks, sipping her Malibu. ‘Well, did you know only one in five men wash their hands in the rest room?’ She stares at me. I pounce. ‘It’s true. After the third beer, most men barely even bother pissing in the urinals. In fact, that lack of hand washing is the number one reason for yeast infections in women.’ She stares at me. I stand. ‘I gotta use the rest room, if the waitress comes by, order me a beer huh?’ I say, gesturing the to the two empty bottles on our table. I walk away, snickering. In the rest room, I find a guy sniffing coke in the mirror, talking on his cell phone. ‘Yeah,’ sniff ‘all I can say is thank god for trust funds.’ He says. Part of me wants to slam him against the mirror and pretend I’m a cop. You know, shake him down, take his coke, maybe even his wallet. What’s he going to do? Call the cops and say someone took his coke? Not if I take his fucking cell phone too. The part of me that.

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