I remember fucking him well, though it’s been some time, not by choice, but the realities of life exist. The taste of him, the touch of him, the sme...l of this man, my love, the memories come back to me time and again. Yet, despite the distance, I feel his presence, his essence every day. His voice makes me weak-kneed and tongue-tied. His words distract me, leave me dripping, squirming and on the verge of coming. Late afternoon teasing phone calls at my desk are the guiltiest of pleasures. I. ‘Yeah,mate,fuck his dirty queer mouth’ and ‘Oh,that dirty fuckin’ perv’,he loving ya big cock,make ‘im gag on it’ Shit,what kinda dirty perv’ was I?I was noshin’ down on this slimy smelly teen-cock like a baby on a tit,and loving it! ‘Nasty fucking queer,had this big knob up me lass’s twat tonight,lick her fuckin’ cunt-juices off me knob’ Hmmm,so THAT was that weird taste! I could hear a bit of fumbling and I realised the other lads had got their rock-hard cocks outa their trackies and they. ComThe first time I wore a dress I was eight. It was a Halloween party,and I went as Little Bo Peep. What did I know? I was just a kid at thetime, but once I wore it, something came over me, which is when I foundout I liked it, more than a little, and wore that outfit almost anentire week after the party, until mom finally told me to quit wearingit. The next time came when I was 12, and once again, I became astorybook character, Snow White that time, but once again, somethinghappened when mom. Even relaxed she stood straight and proud. As a new person I merely stood and watched at first. Occasionally I would interject something into one conversation or another. I stayed away from her. I was afraid I would be too much of the drooling, inarticulate male. We circulated through conversations, sometimes staying to chat a bit and move on. I became a regular patron of the establishment, so we saw each other more often. And I soon learned I couldn’t have her. The people we were would keep us.
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