Touch

It isn’t only men that try to touch young boys old women try as well.
Having chosen to read a book recommended by Mrs. Snow I was nestled in the crook of one of the old leather chairs near the religious texts where no one much went, and where at least three inches of dust and a dash of cobwebs had formed. I’d gotten up to a typically Mills and Boon milestone in my book, the main character’s first kiss. From that moment my passion for such books was ignited, perhaps Mrs. Snow knew I had the heart of a romantic, who knows?
I’m greeted by a wrinkled face peering down at me and I recognise it, it is Mrs Snow. Her friendly demeanour had dipped and she asked if she could sit down on the chair next to me. I told her should could. Next thing and her crumpled hand is clutching my cock. She hurt me at first, which I can only assume was down to a mixture of excitement and fear. She relaxed her grip, rubbed my crotch and responded to my involuntary erection with a smile, before standing up and walking away.

Clara

I met a girl today called Clara. She is the same height as me and has short blonde hair that is feathered and light, so that the faintest movement sends it rustling.
I met her in the library while we queued up. She had taken out a load of travel guides and I told her that I’d go with her to Prague. She had no idea I was deadly serious.
She waited at the exit until I was done, to say goodbye. I think she wanted me to ask for her number, but I’m not really looking at the moment.

Postcards

When I was younger I used to write poetry and leave it in books in the library. I did it for ages and never heard a breath of response to it from any of the librarians.
It was some years later that I found someone else who had done the same, then another, then another. Pretty soon I realised it was one of the most unoriginal things you can do.
Nowadays I write random words on blank postcards and hand them out at train stations and airports.