My eyes shot open, and one of the troubadours—a man I knew only by sight—was standing not steps away from me and my open cunny. I was deeply humil...ated. The troubadour’s name was Jaufre Rudel, and he was the most celebrated—and romantically desired—poet in the court at Poitou. Jaufre was tall—taller than most men, and had swarthy olive skin, darkened with the southern sun. His hair was black and fell below his ears—the color an intriguing contrast against his clear blue eyes. Though he was not. I settled back into the sofa, twisted out of my slacks and wet shorts, trying to think of a way to get those briefs washed and dried in the next hour. They weren't saturated, they were more smeared, and "gooey".It finally occurred to me that this happened right after the rocking motion I'd done on my horse -- uhhh, aka the top of the sofa. I also noticed that my "dick" – for that was the catch word we used at school – was bigger, thicker, and harder than I was used to ... not to mention at the. More

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