The Skate Park—Smell me

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Ameri Ichinose

The Skate Park—Smell meFUNK—-It’s at the core of my brain. I live for it—it’s what makes me tick.Not sure how it got started—sometime back in Freshman football, I guess. Going into the locker room after practice. Fifty guys all hot n sweaty—some with it literally pouring from their pits, down to the waistline. I started getting right up next to one of them to untie my cleats—getting a whiff of some ripe rank pit. The bushy ones were best—all that hair would hold in the funk better. Feet wern’t too bad cause mostly new cleats with clean white socks didnt produce much stink. But then, off came those tite ass football pants. And all that ass now exposed, framed out only buy a tite jock, cupping all that junk. The funk would fill the room, just like a jail. I wanted so badd to kaçak casino just put my face in one of those ass cracks.I would quickly change out—getting into my jeans and tank. Throwing on a pair of kicks, with no socks. Skipping the shower, as discretely as I could—didn’t want the other guys to notice, or catch on. Then jet home as quickly as I could. It was like a race going down the stairs to the basement, pulling my kicks off, and huffing on them like a d**ggy huffing glue. I would take deep whiffs, inhaling my own foot funk. It got better throughout the year as the sneaks got more and more dirty, and thus more and more stink. My jeans would come off quickly—then flat on my back with dick in hand. Pulling hard on it’s massive 9”, well—massive for a freshman, rite casino oyna ? Pulling with my right fist, with my left arm raised up to the back of my head, I would now start huffing on my hairy pits. Still wet from practice, and sometimes still dripping sweat down my rib cage, I would tug hard on my engorged dick. It usually didn’t take long—like I said, all that funk turned me into an a****l. Sometimes I would stick my middle finger up my hairy hole, and then get a whiff. Yup—than was nasty, but I fuckin loved it. In a few short moments it would be all I could stand. BAMM rope after rope of thick juicey boi snot would fly over my head, leaving a stream down my face and belly, pooling in my massive forrest above my dick and balls. I would then go back to huffing my pit, canlı casino siteleri and with my other hand scoop up the still hot boi jizz, now sucking it off my fingers and hand. Wipeing of my face and transferring it to my chest I would often just leave it there—and wear it the rest of the day. Sliding back into my jeans commando. (I quit wearing the FTL’s when I was 14—already hanging 8”, they were just too tite)Back up to the kitchen, no shirt, no shoes. I rarely wore a shirt in the summer, unless going into a store or Wal Mart or something. I had already figured out that a few of the older dudes at school appreciated a young slab of meat poppin a 6 pac, thick line of hair creeping up from the waist, at that time already a size 12 foot, and of course the unbelievable rod showing through my just snug enough Levis, halfway to my knee. Speaking of young tite slabs of meat—wonder where lil bro is ? Im sure that sweet ass crack of his is smelling pretty ripe right now—and Im pretty sure I could pull off another nut.

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