‘Don’t you ever touch yourself?’ He asked me.‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but it never feels good enough to keep going. I don’t have a fire. Now... �...� I moaned as he pushed in, ‘now, I have a fire.’Whimpering, I pull him back down closer, although he still supports himself with his arms. I pull my legs up to my chest, opening myself even further, whimpering, ‘More.’‘Not yet,’ he said, with an only slightly wicked smile. ‘We have to build you up first.’He rests his forehead against mine, almost never breaking. We heard nothing back until the following morning when shortly after getting out of bed a chap knocked on the caravan door, he was about 60yrs old, 6ft & had a broad Yorkshire accent. He told my wife he had been contacted by the owners about the problem with our TV in the bedroom & that he was a neighbour called Bob. My wife invited him in & took him through to the bedroom. I could hear them talking in the bedroom & the fella was doing his best to flirt with my wife, to be fair she was. More

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