It was like I was spell bound to this piece of flesh. "You want to touch it?" he offered and thrust his hips slightly forward. I stretched my hand and...wrapped my fingers around the shaft, it was so warm and silky and hard. He moaned with pleasure as I started squeezing his cock gently and moving my hand up and down the length of it. "Wait a second", he told me and drew slightly away. He walked over to my dressing table and after a few seconds of browsing took my hand lotion and came back over. But that sack of shit, Charles Dickens, that wrote that story about me lied about the entire thing. It never happened that way.Let me set the story straight about the characters first and then I''ll tell you the real story, not the fictionalized version that asshole came up with.First—there's me, Ebeneezer Scrooge. I wasn't the old miser that asshole portrayed me to be. I was a fit man in his late forties who took good care of himself and actually portrayed Kris Kringle at the Church for the. More

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