I was glad to be fucking him when I did: from what I could tell, in another 10 years, he’d be another overweight, middle-aged British man making jokes about fat Americans. Just running my hands through his chest hair made me hard, and I guess, generally speaking, he was a good kisser. Still, he was a cute fucker with a tight, beefy, and spankable butt, delightfully sprinkled with red hair and so pale it glowed in the dark. Ethnically British guys make love the way they write mysteries: lots of talk and thoughtful looks, followed by a sudden burst of violence and a half pint. The hottest fuck I ever had there was in Edinburgh, but he was an Arab-Latino grad student from Mexico. He wasn’t, honestly, a great fuck, which is par for the course with British guys. It was one of those times where as soon as you see each other, you know you’re going to get naked and make tingles together. So since I was in Scotland, I did what Scots do and fucked as many willing gingers as I could find.įirst dude was my server at a pub on the Royal Mile. “When in Rome, do as Romans do,” they say.
