
Eighties lad. Anger. Arrogance. Hormones. Confusion. You let me run my inquisitive fingers over your innocent chest and pinch those indulgent nipples. And then, with burning eyes, you always hit me.

Eighties lad. Anger. Arrogance. Hormones. Confusion. You let me run my inquisitive fingers over your innocent chest and pinch those indulgent nipples. And then, with burning eyes, you always hit me.