Irish Rocky

There's a new guy just started in our office. (Our office, listen to me) I call him Irish Rocky? That's because he's Irish and his name is Rocky. I reckon Irish Rocky would have a big sausage on him. You can kind of see it with the way he walks, like he has something big stuffed down there. (Of course he does) I can see it when he is in the lunch room eating his lunch, his pants bulge out noticeable as he sits there, usually playing on his mobile phone.

I can't help but picture him playing with it, as the microwave churns and thunks and spins around. I can see Rocky's pants unzipped, I can see his (stripy, I don't know why) cotton jocks hooked under his balls, I can see his hand wrapped tightly around his thick shaft thwacking away. 

I can see his legs stretch out straight. I can see his left hand unhook his jocks from his balls releasing them. I can see his big cock go rock hard in his thumping hand. I can see him throw his head back. I can hear the silent scream. I can see his face screw up. I can see his jizz fly into the air like a sprinkler on a summers day.

The girls at the table look over momentarily and then look away, without missing a word.

Ding ding, the microwave sounded.

Rocky looks up and smiles almost on queue.

I shake my head. I turn to the bench and open the microwave door.