This is a dirty old man fantasy that I wrote some time ago. If you don't like them, don't read it.

There I was, off to a regular weekend country market, of which there are plenty round here, with everything from farm produce to reflexology to junk toys.

They are full of casual dressers, people indulging their tastes instead of the prejudices and expectations of others. I especially love miniskirts, the view and the legs and the promise. I like them so much I wear them myself, not cross dressing as I see it, just substituting one article of clothing in the name of sunlight, breezes and good health, and always with the hope to delight the eye of an admirer with my shaved, tanned, totally underbare package.

I don't have a kilt, I don't follow traditional dress, but I love to provoke the same under wonder. I don't relish the disapproving scowls, but I live for the faraway look and the tongue to the lips of the women who dare to dream. My sarong I bought years ago, filmy translucent rayon finally developing a few holes, wound multiple times around my mid regions and tied close. No one cares about the top of a mini, the favour factor is how far down the thighs it slinks. Mine was light rayon, deep red with a white landscape motif, a simple rectangle 1x1.8m, halved and wrapped half-high, half of the distance from my hip to my knee, which just, barely, covered the smooth free head of my cock when it hung normally.

But today I had my string, a light leather strap wound round the base of my cock, behind my balls. It keeps everything tight, stretches my balls, keeps the blood where it does the most good, and makes the whole tackle face up and reach out with a tempting bulge. Also a plain white cotton T-shirt, can't get much more empty-canvas than that.

Wandering around, I saw right by the throng at the exit gate, a stall with a huge range of womens' clothes, skirts, dresses, frocks, sarongs, everything from the staid and annoying to the frivolous, innocent, and bold, all hung on sturdy metal racks in a labyrinth of rows and aisles interconnected randomly, under a large awning strung between trees.

I even like to look at miniskirts with no woman in them, even things I'd not wear myself, and thinking of another sarong, thinner, briefer, tighter, all the better to capture women's eyes, I ducked out of the market's stream of urchins and loose-swinging bags, and stepped into the dress stall.

Suddenly the noise dropped, damped in the massed fabrics. A scent of floral incense floated past. I made greeting with the owner, a bright-eyed grannie wearing a sarong. In the stall, quiet without its own bustle of customers, I noticed on other side of the tent, across the racks of clothing, a bare-shouldered blonde like me going through the racks.

I winked at her, she winked back, I thought she might have pursed her lips. We gradually browsed the racks in each other's direction as the owner chattered to another browser, and the market swirled outside. The blonde and I reached a corner in the aisles, she swung around first, preceded by the intoxicating scent of a bitch on heat. She wore a plain tube top accentuating her small, abrupt, hemispherical titties, and a simple wrap sarong, horrors, similar to me! but loosely tied, revealing expanses of golden thigh.

I don't often see men in sarongs, she said. Pity, it's healthy and fun, should be more of it. She looked more closely... less often with a leading knob. She smiled and moved closer. May I touch? Be delighted, I grinned. Her hand darted under my sarong, lightly scraped her nails over my gold tanned thighs. Mmm, underbare, she sighed, always, I replied. I find it so tempting, much easier and more exciting. Very true, as her fingers twirled around the head and I started to leak immediately.

Her other hand guided mine over her thigh and past the loose tie of her sarong. She was not so much underbare as wearing a coat of sticky, crusty juice... then I could recognise flecks of white over her face and across her chest.

I flicked two fingers over her clit and she twitched, then dug them in her juicy, ripe pussy. Close shaved of course, my other fingers spread more sticky juices over her belly and thighs. I pinched her clit and she came instantly, gasping and shaking briefly.

Nice package, she said, as she grasped my cock with one hand and my balls with the other, shaving is so slick and nude, your gorgeous tie makes your balls swollen and prominent and even makes your soft cock stick out... She squatted for a closer look, licked my balls while her hand squeezed my cock and stroked back and forth. As it firmed she pursed her lips and tasted my juice with the tip of her tongue, then gobbled the head, running her tongue over the tip and her lips round the shaft.

Suddenly rigid, she put her hands on my arse cheeks and pulled me down her throat, my balls crushed against her chin. She twisted her neck to and fro around my cock as she moaned and trembled with one long orgasm. Her fingers danced over my arse, one danced into my arsehole and frigged my sphincter as I felt my cock twitch repeatedly and precum juices pulsed down her throat, but enough! Not in here. Time to fuck, sweetheart, mmm, please, she murmured.

She was shaved, slick and glistening, speckled and wet from the curve of her belly, over her cheeks, across her thighs, even down her legs. She turned away, swept her flimsy abbreviated dress to the ground, bent slowly to gradually reveal her hidden treasures, a tight tanned arse, shaven brown eye, and stark, sloppy red lips, all glistening and sticky, spread with blobs of opal cream. She gripped her ankles, and murmured, you choose, big boy.

Flattered, I stirred bubbles of precum with the ripe juices in her crack and over her arsehole, she moaned, it's tight, not many dumped in my arse today, you'll love squeezing into my arsehole and I'll love to feel you spurt and blast my bowels. She winked her hole open and I felt her arse cheeks trying to grab onto my cock. what an invite! You delicious slut, how many loads in your cunt? Quite a few... I lose count after 7 or 8. She gasped as I knelt and stirred her with my tongue in her arsehole, in touch with the gang, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to add to the mayhem and splash in the soppiest cunt in town today.

I popped in from behind and she spread her knees to get me closer. Quickly my bald hard nuts were slapping her thighs and she clenched her cunt muscles, milking me, while more mixed juices squished out between us and over us. She let go her ankles and one hand reached back to spread her cheeks, the other twisting and mashing my balls. My whole groin was soon covered with love juice, from her tribes of lovers and her still gushing cunt.

I hammered her cunt, stirring all the cum from her earlier lovers until she had gasped and shuddered several times, her collected love juices dripping off both us to the dusty ground. She working back on me, grasping me with her arse cheeks, pussy, and hand, twitching and shuddering in a long rippling orgasm.

I couldn't hump her any longer, this was all too much and I let go spurt after spurt of joy juice on her cervix as she wrung the last drops from my balls. She turned, knelt, spread her legs and displayed her even wetter genitalia. She let out a gentle high-pitched pussy fart, splattering a gob of mixed cum on the ground. She kept my cock in her mouth as it deflated, then licked over my shrunken, throbbing balls and twitching thighs.

I just had time to lean and kiss her swollen clit as she picked up her dusty, stained sarong and shopping bags, turned tail, and bolted. Off to her next conquest in the chase for pleasure and satisfaction. I was left with a tingling, slimy cock, purple from the surge of blood she had stirred, and the intoxicating scent of a bitch on heat.