His only vice a love of the fairer sex. Since he had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he had in vain searched for a m...ster after his own heart. Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by Moliere with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air, he was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were. It was buying my fourth edition of Swinging 60s that changed my life. When I got it home -- I still lived at my parents' house -- I smuggled it up to my bedroom and opened it at random. The first sight my eyes locked onto was a pair of plump mottled white thighs framing a thick pad of wiry dark grey hair surrounding a big wide-open pussy. Immediately my hand moved, with a mind of its own, towards my fly and eased out my already semi-stiff cock. My eyes trailed up past a couple of big belly. More

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