There was a tawny owl that had been sitting across the road somewhere most nights, and hooting at me. I like birds, and tawnies are not that common in the city, so I hung out of my bedroom window with the binoculars. I found it sitting on the chimney pot of the house directly opposite from mine. The lighting wasn’t the best as it was just beginning to get dark, but I could still see it fairly clearly. Lovely looking bird. Very soft. It tilted its head and blinked slowly at me once, as if weighing me up.
A glare of light suddenly ruined the view and I swung the binoculars down angrily to see what had spoilt a nice moment. It was the bedroom of the same house, and a guy was entering the room. There had been For Sale signs up outside for a while, but the previous day they’d gone, so I guessed new people had moved in. The guy was in his late twenties, with short dark hair and stubble, and as I watched, he proceeded to get undressed.
This was better than watching owls, I thought.
As more of his body came into view I saw that he was fit. And I mean fit. He had curves and muscles to fucking die for. And he had a Celtic tattoo on one bicep. I didn’t believe it – you don’t see that sort of thing in Emerald Crescent. I watched spellbound as he pulled his jeans off – and then his boxers – revealing solid thighs and a very substantial, soft cock. I couldn’t understand it: he seemed oblivious to the fact that the curtains were open.
This had all be very interesting so far, but then it got unreal; he bent down (displaying a couple of very fine buttocks), picked up a pair of black leather jeans, and with great difficulty, pulled them on – the difficulty coming from the fact that they were skin tight. When he pushed his cock and balls inside, they made a mouthwatering bulge.
Now I’d better explain. I’m 19, I’m a nerd, and I have an intense leather fetish. I’ve never told anyone about this, and I’ve never done anything about it apart from wanking myself silly while looking at shamefully perverted websites on my phone. So you can understand why the sight of a buff guy just across the road, in skintight leather jeans – and with no underwear – made me doubt my sanity. I wanted either to lick him all over, or to drop the binoculars and dive onto the bed to deal with my cock, which had risen, very recently, to full and painful erection.
But I continued to watch. He fastened the studded belt, put on a leather biker jacket, pulling the zip up halfway so his beautiful pecs were still visible, and then buckled on a pair of heavy motorcycle boots. There must have been a mirror on a wall, although I couldn’t see it, because he looked at himself, adjusting the jacket zip, turning one way and then the other.
For the next few minutes it seemed like he was trying out different sexy poses: thumbs in his jeans pockets, weight on one foot; feet apart, hands on his hips, all sorts. His leathers clung to his body like he’d been poured into them. Then he started to do stretches. I was salivating.
He dropped onto his bed. Because of the angle now, I could only see him from the chest down. For a couple of minutes he ran his fingers over his body, caressing the black leather of his jacket, legs and thighs, and then his hand went to his bulge. He began to play with it. Very soon, I could see that it was rapidly getting bigger. His hand movements became more urgent. And then he stopped, pulled down the zip and got his hard cock out. I only got a brief glance of it – and, fully erect, it was indeed a big one – before he bent his leg, and his knee blocked my view. But he was very obviously wanking. A few hard, fast strokes, then his body jerked as he came. I could see spunk landing on his black leather thighs.
When he’d recovered he wiped himself down, refastened his jeans, got up and left the room.
I blinked, lowered the binoculars, then lay on the bed and had a fucking wonderful wank.
*
As it turned out, this was not a one-off. The following night I was watching from my bedroom and he did almost exactly the same thing.
And the next night too. This time, I’d put my own gear on – I wanted to stroke my hand over black leather as I watched the guy. That evening the sky was cloudless, and the setting sun was in my eyes, so it wasn’t quite as easy to see him. Hiding as much as I could, I pulled the blind down on one side of the window, opened it, and positioned it so that it shielded as much of the glare as possible. That was better.
I watched as he stripped, then put on his leather jeans. He didn’t bother with the jacket tonight, and the sight of his beautiful body, with just those jeans and boots on, was hot hot hot. He was turned away from me, and I watched him stretch, then run his hands slowly over his leather thighs and arse. Turn round, I growled through gritted teeth. His arse looked wonderful but I wanted to see that bulge.
My telepathic command must have got through, because he did turn round. I stared as his fingers teased around the shape of his hardening cock. They stroked over his thighs, over his balls, and – at last – onto his cock. He squeezed the bulge of it once. And then his fingers froze.
I waited, but he didn’t continue. I raised the binoculars to his face – and saw that he was looking directly at me.
Fuck! I dived away from the window – God knows where the binoculars went – and hid behind the wardrobe. Fuck fuck fuck. He’d seen me. I knew he had. Sweating, I dropped to all fours and crawled out of the room.
The following evening when I went into my bedroom I stayed low, and at the very back of the room. This time I’d taken my leather jeans and jacket downstairs earlier and I’d put them on before I went in. Once inside, on my hands and knees, I moved just enough so that I could see his window. He was there already, standing close to it, and looking in my direction. I bobbed down. I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me, but his gaze had still seemed to be directly into my eyes. I didn’t need the binoculars, and he still looked fucking hot. Very tentatively I raised my head. His eyes shifted slightly and I knew that he’d seen me. I ducked down, my heart thumping, waited, and then raised my head again. He was still there, now definitely looking directly at me.
I didn’t know what to do. I’d never been in this situation before; boys in leather may have been what I thought about most of the day every day, but I was still a total virgin. However, just then I was so horny that this time, when I raised my head, I forced myself to stay there.
Still looking at me, he ran his hands very slowly over his leather jacket. Then one went downwards. The bottom of the window cut off my view at his waist, but I could see his hand still moving. He was playing with his bulge.
I knew that he’d already seen me, so I straightened up a little. Then, gaining courage, I stood up completely. After a moment of indecision, I moved slowly to the window. He turned, walked back into his room, then faced me again. He spread his booted feet a little, and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his leather jeans. His fingertips were stroking his bulge.
Oh fuck, he looked good enough to eat. My hand went to my own leather-covered cock and played with it.
Without warning, he turned and left the bedroom. Fifteen seconds later his front door opened, and I gave a small squeak of horror as I saw him crossing the road.
My doorbell rang.
I was close to panic. Fuck fuck fuck what do I do?
I stumbled down the stairs and stood at the bottom, shaking, looking at the blurred shape of him through the frosted glass. He knew I was in, I couldn’t not open the door. In what seemed to me like slow motion, I walked forward and turned the latch.
He was stood there with his hands on his hips. I waited for him to say something. He didn’t.
I am not good at social interactions at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. I’d frozen.
Long seconds went by.
“Are you alone?” His voice was sexy. It sent shivers through me.
I didn’t trust myself to speak. I swallowed, and nodded.
He stepped forward through the doorway and I had to move back to avoid a collision. He pushed the front door closed, and locked it.
“Living room.”
I didn’t understand for a moment, but then my brain parsed it as an order. On legs that felt like jelly I walked into the room. I daren’t look round, but I heard him following me.
He went to the window and pulled the curtains closed. Then he pointed to the floor in front of him.
My brain was slowly catching up. I knelt on the carpet by his booted feet, looking up at him: the collar of his leather jacket was turned up, and because the zip was halfway down, the front of the jacket was standing open away from his chest, revealing his pecs and the top of a solid six-pack. The chrome studs of his belt shone in the light, and those jeans… those fucking leather jeans were gorgeous and they fitted him like a second skin. My eyes traveled slowly from the belt, over that sexy round bulge, down smooth, black shiny thighs, to where his jeans disappeared into the heavy bike boots.
I looked at the boots: they were black, with the word ‘SIDI’ in white, and they had four quick-release fasteners on the sides. My eyes went back to his crotch. His thumbs were hooked into the pockets, the fingers resting at the sides of his bulge. I could have got my cock out and wanked myself off in seconds right then, looking at him.
He pointed to his left boot.
I looked at it. What did he want me to do? I reached down and touched it. When he didn’t move or say anything, I started to feel it. I ran my fingers reverently over the hard leather; I felt the fasteners, the round toe with the metal strip; I reached around to the back and caressed the heel.
The foot lifted, and the toe touched my lips. I kissed it. I licked it. I stroked my cheek against the cold leather, my eyes closed in pleasure.
He lowered the boot, but I followed it, then included his other foot in my worship. For a long time I stroked, kissed and licked those boots.
A hand lifted me, and he pressed my face against his shin. The leather leg was smooth and tight. I kissed it. Without any further direction from him I slowly licked my way upwards until I got to the knee, my hands running over his legs. I pushed my head between them and got my tongue into the only creases there were – behind his knees, then returned to the front and continued upwards.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this, it was so unlike me; I’d never had any kind of sexual interaction with another human being before, and here I was on my knees before a guy straight out of my deepest fantasies, licking his leather jeans and heading towards his gobsmackingly horny bulge.
When I got to the top of his thighs I saw that that bulge had grown considerably. There were two distinct shapes now, joined by the stretched leather: a round one over his balls, and above that, almost horizontally, the longer bulge of his hard cock. I moved forward to lick it, but his hand stopped me. He lifted me to my feet and pushed my face hard against the heavy black leather of his jacket. I felt frustrated that he hadn’t let me feel his bulge, but I applied myself to the jacket, licking it with my tongue, stroking it with my fingers, feeling the run of the zip, the smooth rounded edges of the collar between my teeth, losing myself in the touch, and breathing in the heady smell of black leather. There were epaulettes on the shoulders, and I licked those as well.
He pushed me down to my knees again, and guided my head slowly onto his cock bulge. I gasped in pleasure. It felt warm and solid against my lips, but it indented slightly under the pressure of my tongue. My fingers traced lightly over his balls, and the insides of his thighs, caressing the leather. I pushed my hand through between his parted legs and ran it reverentially over his tight, round arse. Then I traced the centre seam down, along his perineum, and back to his balls. My mouth had found the head of his cock and was working on it through the leather. Apart from getting off doing this, I wanted to give this guy pleasure as well. I felt his cock jerk under the leather.
I moved my head back so that I could see the whole thing, and pressed the jeans down around the end of his cock, so that the shape of the head was clearer. My own cock is unbelievably sensitive right on the very tip, and I teased his just there with my fingertips. I was aware that I was projecting onto him what turned me on most, but I couldn’t resist. Just doing that to him made me need to cum very badly indeed, and I did it for a long time.
There were several things I wanted right at that moment: I wanted to get his cock out and make him cum; I wanted to kiss him; I wanted to be naked and press myself against him so that I could feel his leather jacket, his boots and his jeans over every inch of my bare skin. I bent forward again and continued to work on his bulge with my mouth.
He pushed me back and looked down at me. “Bedroom,” he said.
I got to my feet, led him upstairs, and stood silently by the bed while he closed the curtains and came back to stand in front of me.
“Jacket on, everything else off.”
Self-consciously, I removed my combat boots, socks and jeans, and stood before him naked from the waist down. He pushed me onto the bed on my front, looked around and found my lube, then I heard him unzip his jeans.
I had never been fucked before. I was trembling; I’d heard that it could hurt.
He lubed up and I felt his wonderful weight as he lay on top of me, his warm breath on the side of my face. He guided his cock to my arsehole and entered me slowly. Having seen the size of him, my first thought was that it was never going to fit – there just wasn’t room. My arsehole felt far too small and tight for that. I felt the head pushing, and my ring opening. He could have done it hard and fast, and that would surely have been dreadful, but he didn’t. He kept pausing, I guess to let me get used to the feeling, before pushing further in. The head was inside me now, and so far it didn’t hurt too much, although there was a slight burning sensation. This actually got less the further in he went. I couldn’t believe it when I eventually felt his leather jeans touch my buttocks. He was in me, completely.
He rested there for a while, stroking his face against the leather of my jacket and running his hands over it. He took my wrists and pulled them up to the level of my head, then held them down with his muscular arms. Slowly and gently, he began to fuck me. He must have known somehow that this was my first time, because he was a lot more considerate than I’d been expecting.
It felt strange: I could feel this solid thing moving inside me, in and out; it was unlike anything I’d experienced before. But it felt good – especially at the deepest point of every stroke, when a pulse of intense pleasure ran through me. I think I started to moan.
I could feel his leather jeans against my naked legs and thighs, and his boots were gripping my bare feet between them. I was being held down and fucked by a gorgeous leather guy. I realised that this was something I’d needed for a very long time, although I hadn’t known I’d needed it until today.
His thrusting became more powerful, and faster. It began to hurt a bit, but I didn’t care; I wanted to deal with it.
I felt his cock stiffen inside me, and then it started to jerk as he began to cum. I tried to tighten my arse around it to make it feel even better for him. I don’t know if it had any effect.
When his orgasm had finished he released my arms and lay on me for a while, breathing heavily, then he carefully pulled out. I heard him wiping himself with tissues.
He flopped onto the bed at the side of me. “Jeans and boots back on,” he said.
I was very conscious of my arsehole as I got dressed again – it felt slippery.
He patted the bed and I climbed on beside him. Kneeling astride my hips, facing me, he moved my arms under his legs to hold me down again, then reached behind him and found my bulge. Looking into my eyes all the time, he teased it until my cock was back to full erection. My jeans were much thinner than his, and I could feel every little movement of his fingers as he played with it through the leather. They were also not as tight as his, and he was able to grip my cockhead all around it. Then, very slowly, he started to wank me.
When we were downstairs earlier, he must have noticed how I’d been working on the tip of his cock bulge, and guessed that that was how I liked it done myself, because his fingers were pinching and releasing the leather over the head of my cock, his finger and thumb rubbing just over the end. This was my trigger spot. I have no idea why – I knew that on just about all guys it was the frenulum – but on me it was the very tip of the head.
When I’m wanking, that is exactly how I make myself cum, and so having it done to me exactly like that by this hot guy – while I was also staring up at his face, his leather jeans, his heavy black leather jacket with the collar turned up, his pecs and abs naked under it – all this was making me approach the edge alarmingly quickly. But even though he was clearly aware of this, he continued to do exactly what he was doing.
“Stop! Please! I’m gonna cum!” I struggled, trying to move away from his hand – I really wanted to make this last a lot longer – but I was helpless to stop it: I felt orgasm approaching and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. “ No! Please! Not yet!” I lost it. My eyes were open wide, staring manically at that hot leather guy, and my body arched as I shot my spunk into my jeans. His fingers didn’t stop until he’d milked every last drop out of me.
I’d never shot my load in my jeans before – and those are the only pair of leather ones I have – but being forced to cum in them by him was something else. And I had been forced: he’d held me down with his weight, and his legs on my arms, so I couldn’t have got away from him if I’d tried; he’d ignored my pleas for him to stop; and he’d made damn sure that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I could stop myself from cumming.
When he’d been fucking me, even though he’d been holding me down, I’d had the feeling that he’d have stopped if I’d needed him to – but this had been pure rape . Cock rape. I’d had no fucking choice. Zero. And the feel of the spunk-slippery leather sliding over my cockhead as I was cumming, had been out of this fucking world. It was by far the best orgasm I’d ever had.
It was very squelchy down there now. He massaged my entire bulge, spreading the spunk around, and smiling slightly. Then he got off the bed, and waited while I did too. We went back downstairs.
He took out his phone. “Email,” he said, and waited.
Again, it was a moment before I realised what he wanted. I gave him my address.
He looked at me, grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me towards him, kissing me, crushing his lips against mine. Then he stepped back, nodded once slowly, and left.
I stood there – dazed and slightly cross-eyed – but a very happy boy.
*
I got an email the next day. He wanted to know if I lived alone. I told him I did.
A few minutes later another arrived. “Tomorrow 6pm. Wear your leathers.” He was a man of few words.
I let him in, and he walked past me straight into the living room. He was in his leather jeans again, but instead of the biker jacket he was wearing a leather cut-off which showed his gorgeous arm muscles and the Celtic tattoo. The leather was covered with lots of metal studs, and he clearly thought that turned-up collars were sexy, cos he’d turned this one up too. And he was right.
He made me kneel again, and he stood with his arms folded, looking down at me. “Tomorrow you will get some ropes, a blindfold, and you will give me a key to your front door.” That was the longest thing he’d said in one go.
He wanted a key to my house? What could I do? What did I want to do? I nodded, and said “yes.”
“Get up.” He led me up to my bedroom and closed the curtains. “Strip.”
I stripped.
He took the belt from his jeans – this one wasn’t studded – and used it to secure my wrists together behind my back, then he threw me onto the bed, face up. I sighed with pleasure as I felt his jeans against my naked skin when he sat astride my waist. He was staring into my eyes and, without glancing away once, he pulled on a pair of tight, thin leather gloves. His fingers reached out and took both of my nipples in a gentle grip. The grip gradually tightened, and he began to roll them between his fingers.
I was doing everything I could not to make a sound, but there came a point where the pain was too much. I screwed up my face and groaned. The grip relaxed a little.
He must have felt my hard cock against his leather arse, because he shuffled back a little so that it pressed against the leather even more. He waited for a while, then went to work again on my nipples.
Whether it was the feel of those leather jeans against my cock, or looking at him kneeling astride me, or what, I have no idea – but I managed to take much more before I had to yell from the pain. His grip relaxed, and he teased my tits gently with his leather fingers. Now that felt wonderful.
His hands traced down my chest and came to rest on my sides, just below my bottom ribs. His brown eyes looked deep into mine for a long moment, and then he suddenly jabbed stiff fingers hard into my sides.
I have always imagined that I am horrendously ticklish – though it’s never been tested – but I found out at that moment that I’d been right to think so. It was absolutely fucking unbearable; I screamed and writhed under him as he moved the fingers around. I would have done anything to get him off those two spots.
He removed his hands, and immediately jammed them into my armpits. Same result. Fuck, I couldn’t take that. I squeezed my elbows as tight as I could to my sides in an effort to protect myself, but the hands were in there and I couldn’t get them out. I was screaming in ticklishness.
Thankfully he only did it for a few seconds, then he turned around, sat on my shins and raked his leather fingers over my bare soles. This was every bit as bad.
He moved back up the bed so that now he was astride my stomach, but still facing away from me. He tickled my balls. This both tickled and felt incredibly horny, and a mixture of noises came out of me that even I couldn’t understand.
After a while he took the base of my cock in one hand and held it, while with the other he began to tease the shaft very lightly. His fingers moved gradually upwards until they were at the ridge. The hand rotated backwards and forwards, his leather fingers stroking the corona and the frenulum.
He explored my cock, trying different techniques on different parts of it.
I was moaning, and I was beginning to need to cum. The sight of his broad shoulders, the studded black leather of the cut-off and the muscles of his arms – along with the always-present feel of his boots, his leather jeans and his knees gripping me with them – would have been quite enough on their own to make me want to cum, but add to that what he was doing to my cock, and that need was mounting rapidly.
His fingers moved slowly up the head. Then – and even more lightly – he stroked and tickled the very tip.
Oh fuck. That was it. I moaned like a slut, and my body writhed, waves of intense and totally irresistible pleasure coursing through me as he worked on it, now to the exclusion of any other part of my cock. He nodded to himself as if confirming his suspicion that he’d found the button to my soul.
He stopped (damn him), and got me off the bed, then looked around the room. He pulled the leather belt from my jeans, looked around again, then he gripped my wrists and led me back downstairs. He went into the kitchen for a few moments, came back, and scanned the living room. His eyes settled on the settee. It was an old thing, and heavy.
He pushed me onto it, making me kneel on the cushion, facing the wrong way. Going behind the settee he pulled my upper body over the back of it and unfastened the belt around my wrists. He passed it behind his knees and buckled my hands back together. “Huh.” The tone of his voice indicated that he wasn’t satisfied with the arrangement, but that it would have to do for now.
I was draped, face down, over the back of the settee; my arms extended in front of me, tied to his legs. He moved forward a little so that my face was in his crotch. I was as horny as fuck and that leather bulge rammed into my face wasn’t helping. I licked it.
I felt his body tense – and then the belt he’d taken from my jeans came down across my buttocks. I yelled – probably more in surprise than from the pain. He raised the belt and hit me again. My arse felt like it was beginning to glow. I could deal with it, though I wouldn’t want much more of it, I didn’t think.
More slaps. I’d often wondered about CP: I was pretty sure I wasn’t turned on by pain, but I knew about endorphins and I’d wondered what it was like. I was finding out. After another dozen or so slaps with the belt, not just my buttocks but my entire body seemed to be glowing. It hurt, but I wanted more.
But he stopped. As I knelt there watching him unfastening my wrists, I felt my cock sliding in precum on the back of the settee.
He took me up to the bedroom again and released my wrists. “Jeans, boots,” he said. I pulled them on. He pushed me onto the bed, unzipped, and got his cock out, then got into a press-up position over me, once more holding my wrists down. “Suck.”
I took a cock into my mouth for the first time ever. And I realised I had no idea what to do with it. At the moment only the head was in. I started to suck it.
“Use your fucking tongue.”
I ran my tongue over the glans – it tasted unusual, but surprisingly not bad – and continued sucking. He pushed more of his cock in, and at one point it was far enough to make me think I was going to vomit. He pulled back a bit and I didn’t. I could handle it where it was now, so I did everything I could think of that might feel good to him.
Apparently I was successful, because in short order he started to cum, his spunk shooting into my mouth and hitting my tongue. I’d never tasted spunk before, and it was strange: apart from ‘a bit salty’, I had no words to describe it. The volume of it, however, was more than I could take. I tried to swallow it, but I don’t think I was ready for that yet, so most of it filled my mouth and dribbled out of the sides.
I’d been sucking him for a while and my mouth was aching. My control over the muscles there was no longer perfect; I tried to hold on for as long as I could – at least until he’d finished cumming – but just before he ejected the last of his spunk my lips relaxed on their own. Sticky cum flooded out all over the place.
He chuckled, wiped his cock and put it away, then got off the bed and rolled me over onto my side. I felt a hand forced quickly between my thighs from behind and another clamp over my mouth, gagging me. The fingers gripped the very tip of my cock head through the leather and he made me cum in my jeans again – in about five seconds flat.
Back downstairs, he reminded me to get the things he’d told me earlier, then he looked at me, smiling to himself, and left.
I watched his round leather butt as he walked back across the road to his house, then I closed the door.
*
That was all a while ago. Looking back now, it should have been obvious to me at the time that he was finding out what I liked, what I didn’t like, what made me cum helplessly, what he could use to punish me. He was finding out how to control me.
Even now he doesn’t say much, but then he doesn’t need to. I still don’t know his name, but I address him as ‘Sir’ – when I can speak at all, that is – my rapidly-increasing collection of gear now includes several heavy-duty gags. It also includes ropes, leather cuffs, hoods, blindfolds, tit clamps, butt plugs and other devious and unfair things. Like fucking feathers, which he delights in edging me with – and of course the bastard does it right on the very tip of my cock because he knows that’s what makes me need to cum worst of all.
He uses the door key to come and go as he pleases, and often turns up when he’s feeling horny and just wants to torture a boy or get off on leather – doesn’t matter what I’m doing at the time. He knows that I fancy him like fuck; he prickteases me mercilessly, and he uses leather to make me need to cum.
Before that bit of birdwatching, I was a nerd, a virgin whose entire sexual world consisted of pervy websites. Now, though, (all right, I’m still a nerd) I have amazing, spunk-fuelled sex with a fucking gorgeous leather guy.
Apart from our sessions, we never socialise – I’ve asked him a few times if he’d like to go out for a drink or a meal, but he just looks at me blankly and doesn’t reply.
He fucks me, I suck him, I swallow his spunk, he tortures my nipples, plays with my prostate, edges me insane, beats my arse, smothers me in black leather cos leather turns us both on like fuck. If he wants to punish me, he tickle tortures me. And I love it all (well, certainly not the tickle torture – I’ll do anything to avoid that, and the bastard’s got even better at doing it).
He has a very high sex drive and he cums often – usually in my mouth or in my arse.
I cum a lot as well, but although I’d dearly love to fuck him, or have him suck me off, he won’t even think about it. He won’t even wank my naked cock - the bastard will only ever make me cum in my leather jeans. And then always far too quickly. He knows that I try everything I possibly can to make it last longer: I struggle and fight, I strain to control myself, I plead and beg and swear at him (if he hasn’t gagged me). But he knows exactly how to do it so that I can’t fight it. He gets me strapped down helpless or hogtied, grips the base of my cock, the finger and thumb of the other hand slowly approaching the leather stretched tightly over the very tip of my cockhead. We both know that I’m not gonna last more than a few seconds. No idea why – it must turn him on to do that to me. And to be honest, cumming like that is the horniest thing ever. I have to clean my leather jeans regularly, otherwise they’d be stiff with my dried spunk.
To this day I still know practically nothing about him, but one thing I did find out: he is actually a biker – his bike was in for service when he moved in, and that’s why I hadn’t seen it around. It’s a big, green Kawasaki.
*
I’m writing this account in case it may be of interest to somebody or other; some nerd like me who thinks that the world of intense sex is something he will never ever experience. You never know. Strange things happen. Try watching out for owls.
Ah – that’s the front door. It’ll be Sir. Gotta go.