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Kevin worked at the diner. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, although try telling my parents that. They'd be spending God knows how much money putting me through college (they said), and here I was dating a man who could barely cross his Ts in the right direction. And he rode a motorbike. And he lived in a trailer. And he had the biggest cock you've ever seen, although I don't think mom and pop ever discovered that about him. Unless, of course, they caught me smiling when I was thinking about it.

I thought about it a lot. Kevin wasn't my first lover and I had no intention of him being my last. But, after spending three years dating the pimply toads that hatched around town, and never finding a piece of meat bigger than I could imitate with a finger or two, I was on the verge of giving up sex altogether. And then my friend Sally introduced me to Kevin, who promptly poured his beer down my front and leered, "I'm sorry, you're wet. Do you want to swap T-shirts?"

I was furious for about 10 seconds. But there as something about him... "yeah, I think we'd better," I replied and, there in the middle of a packed nightclub, I stripped down to my bra, wrung my shirt out over his sneakers, then stared him in the face. "I'm waiting...."

Good for him - he pulled his shirt off, handed it me, and spent the rest of the evening posing topless and muscular, while I all but melted into his Slipknot top, breathing in diner and motorbike, sweat and beer... ...

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