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A few minutes later, while Mr Grisham had been idly rearranging some sports jackets which, in all honesty, didn’t need rearranging, he heard the gentleman’s soft voice call out for him.
‘Could you please come in for a moment? I seem to have a problem and I could do with some advice.’
Young Mr Grisham had discreetly opened the changing room door and, after a hurried glance to check on the other staff, he had backed into the changing room. Without hesitation, Mr Grisham had turned round, expecting to find the customer close by. To his surprise, the Moroccan gentleman was standing on the narrow wooden bench against the far wall of the changing room. Naked from the waist down and only wearing his white shirt and tie, his impressively sized black cock had been protruding between the front tails of his shirt, pointing directly at the bemused sales assistant. Over his warm smile – and Mr Grisham’s happy amazement – the Moroccan gentleman explained his predicament in regard to putting the trousers on.
‘The problem is this erection I have.’ He pointed to it, possibly on the off-chance that Mr Grisham had somehow failed to see such a prominent member poking through two pieces of brightly laundered material. ‘It keeps getting in the way and makes it particularly uncomfortable whenever I try and do these trousers up. Is there anything you might be able to think of which could help alleviate the problem?’
Young Mr Grisham’s knees went momentarily weak and he had felt another rush of blood flow to his groin. As best he could remember, he’d never seen a bigger, or blacker, member in all his cottaging life, and to his expertly trained eye he had estimated it to have been at least nine and a half inches long. It had been straight and true, with a beautifully classic upward curve to its profile. The foreskin had naturally rolled back part way to reveal the tip of the exotically dark head, bobbing slightly in time to the gentleman’s heart rate, and as seductively black as a length of old-fashioned liquorice! Without taking his eyes from it, Mr Grisham had stumbled into the changing room, barely remembering to shut and securely latch the door before anyone else could catch an eyeful.
The gentleman had remained standing on the wooden bench. Looking directly toward Mr Grisham, he had continued to stroke his incredible schlong, seemingly hypnotising the shop assistant with his slow forward and backward movements.
‘No matter what I seem to do with it,’ the gentleman had said in a half whisper, ‘I don’t seem to be able to appease it at all.’
Young Mr Grisham had eyed the thick length of meat like a mongoose preparing to tackle a large cobra. He had sucked on a lot of dicks in his time, but none quite this long and certainly none as gloriously black as was being presented to him at that moment in time. Still, he knew he was more than up for the unexpected challenge.
‘I am pretty sure, sir, there are many ways of dealing with such a problem. In fact, at the moment, I can think of several immediately. So it will just be a case of trying to find the right method which works best.’
He had moved in closer, still fascinated by the slow movements of the Moroccan gentleman’s hand. Without looking up, he asked, ‘May I?’
‘Please, feel free.’
The gentleman had released his cock from his hand, watching intently as Mr Grisham carefully wrapped his supple fingers around the dark shaft. It had been hot and twitching to the touch. The velvet smooth softness of the outer sheath moved gloriously over the iron-hard centre, and in one slow movement he had drawn the dark foreskin back, completely exposing the glistening head. Mr Grisham had leant forward and, as he gently blew on the tip, his thumb came up to massage and rub at the base of the fully exposed head.