There was my attractive wife, looking a million dollars, dressed to kill, groping a strange man, not even a good looking guy at that - about mid-fifti...s, short, hairy back, middle-age spread, and though I’m no expert, not a big cock judging from the bulge in his shorts - right in front of me, with him leering at me like a cheap extra from a low budget porn film. Her hand started to move and stroke the bulge under her fingers, then she at last turned and glanced at me. I think maybe for. The motion set my long, braided swinging. This could not be real, I refused to let it be so. There was a pressure about me. In my head? No something deeper, etherial, almost spiritual, a force pushing against my very being. Not knowing how, I pressed back, as if denial alone could change reality. Something shifted. A blink of the eye, and everything was normal once more.The gun was on the floor. Not some gaudy accessory, but the cold steel I had carried to rescue my wife. Once again, I wore my. More

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