That never translated into wanting anything more than a shoulder to cry on though. I was starting to think my lot in life was to be the guy who the women thought of as a friend, but never as anything more. Then one day I met Sheri. Sheri was a bout 5’4” and 120 pounds, mousy blonde hair, kind of a cute face, and not a bad shape, but nothing that would make the guys turn around and stare at her. She had Hardcore smallish boobs, and didn’t dress to be sexy – no short skirts, no bare midriff, no super short shorts – just jeans and tee shirts, with athletic shoes, and always a bra, padded as I learned. Sheri was sweet and had a nice smile. She was Preston Parker smart, probably smarter than me, and even though guys asked her out, she never seemed to have any interest. She turned them down nicely and sweetly, but she always turned them down. I wondered if she was lesbian, as did some of the women I hung with. Sheri never seemed to pursue women either. I heard a few guys remarking bitterly that they thought Sheri was a guy dressed as a woman, but why would she stick to jeans and tees if that were the case. You’d think at least some of the time she’d go for skirts and dresses and wear makeup, and she didn’t do any of those. She was kind small tits of an enigma among the group that hung out. I wanted to hang with the women as much as I could. It might be that they’d never date me or sleep with me, but at least I’d have their company. Because blowjob I listened more and didn’t try to dominate the conversation, nor go on at length bragging, I guess I blended in pretty well. One evening, one of the women turned to me and said, “No offense, but you’re just like one of the girls.” I had a few Alice March of the women who tried to fix me up with men, but I had no interest in that. After a time, it seemed like Sheri and I were among the last to leave our little gatherings. We talked more one on one and I found she was a staunch feminist, though she said she did like guys. She just never found one who seriously interested her. After we’d talked several times, I got up my courage, often lacking, and asked her for a date. When I did, her face, which was usually smiling, got solemn. Not angry nor disgusted, just solemn. She was silent for a few seconds, and looked me squarely in the eyes. “Michael, you’re sweet, but I’m not sure you’re right for me.” “Maybe we could find out?” She sat and looked at me for a few seconds. This was pretty unusual. Women tended to shoot me down very quickly. Most of them were kind, but I still got shot down. That’s what we were supposed to do! The third time in her life, too. Daddy is on top the whole time. Her cunt spasmed about my fingers, milking small tits my fingers. He said when he stopped laughing, slapped me on the shoulder then left me alone. I press on as my tongue slips inside her anus. Matt slapped her ass and shoved her to LaShaun who spit on her face and slapped her tits pushing her back to Matt. I couldn't help but notice my step son out by the pool with his firm young physique. "Jesus, baby," Ben Alice March cursed, sliding so that blowjob he could rest on his elbows and hold her cheeks in between his palms. Dakota got there first and unlocked the door. I rubbed the back of his head as he gave me Preston Parker head. Hardcore I did, and it was a loud one.