Auto Ride Made Me A Cross Dresser Whore 8211 Part 1
- 4 years ago
- 24
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Auto Strip For One free porn video
The summer is never merciful in the South, but the sun baked the air like cornbread on the Saturday we four, my three friends and I, hopped in the car for a day trip to the coast for a dip in the ocean.
Loud music and terrible singing didn’t last long. Only 45 minutes passed and we had arrived at the Outer Banks, a tourist trap, but our home.
We were surely thankful for my car’s air conditioner because the thick summer, salty wind did nothing to dry our sweat. (Usually everyone complained that being in my car was like braving the Arctic. That poor a/c had only two settings: nothing and ice.)
The trip was always a short one, so my friends wore their swimsuits under their clothes, all bikinis.
I’m the modest one in the group, so I planned to change into my swimsuit upon arrival because wearing a one-piece under clothing is like sitting in an oven.
We found a favorite beach access. Nestled between towering homes, it has always been the perfect spot in which to park. Its shining feature? A bath house. Showers and restrooms are an oasis for day travelers hoping to clear away the sand before changing back into their clothes after a full day of jumping waves.
The girls filtered out of the car into the sweltering heat and stripped off their clothes since they were already in their swimsuits.
“Are you coming?” yelled one of the girls.
“I have to change into my suit,” I replied. “You guys get the cooler and towels. I’ll meet you on the beach.”
The girls left with our gear in tow.
At the bath house, there was a line of ladies stretching all the way outside the door. I definitely wasn’t in favor of waiting in the heat just to change my clothes.
So I went back to my car.
The car had tinted windows and most people are occupied with getting their beach gear from their vehicles, too busy to notice what’s going on inside one car. “I’ll just change here,“ I reasoned.
So into the passenger side of the front seat I went.
I wore my “beach day” clothes - cut-off jeans, my favorite t-shirt (a well-worn souvenir), and my cloth flip flops.
As soon as I sat down, I kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts and started pulling them down.
As I leaned forward to step out of them, I noticed a man, maybe in his 50s, watching from the third floor window of one of the homes. We locked eyes, but he didn’t look away. Safely behind the glass, so high above, he stared with a sheepish grin.
I was alone in the car and the windshield was the only window not tinted.
I made a choice.
So I grinned back, just as sheepishly.
Stepping out of my shorts, I locked the doors and slowed my pace.
Then I laid the seat back a little and pulled it forward a bit to give him a better view.
I delicately grabbed my shirt and shimmied out of it. Sitting now in my underclothes, just a plain white bra and white boy shorts, I put my hands on my stomach, arched my back, straightening my legs.
I ran my hands all the way to my inner thighs.
I rubbed my hands up and down till my boy shorts looked like bikinis.
Then I slid one hand inside my underwear, moving it around and around. I pushed the other hand inside too and pushed those underwear down slowly. I stepped out of them, the dashboard blocking his sight of that.
I pulled my hands up my body, raising my now nude hips toward him, then cupped my breasts.
I removed my bra and threw it on the dashboard.
Naked, I flung my hair as I reached down to step into my swimsuit - the modest one-piece.
I pulled it up and stopped at my breasts, gently grabbing both, not moving my hands, just holding.
Then I raised one strap of my suit, then the other, onto each shoulder.
Ready to join my friends, I slid on my flip-flops and grabbed my towel.
I leaned forward to look up - the man was still there, smiling as before.
I got out of the car, locked it, and with the keys in one hand, I looked up at him, adjusted my suit with my free hand, smiled, and went on to the shore.
Loud music and terrible singing didn’t last long. Only 45 minutes passed and we had arrived at the Outer Banks, a tourist trap, but our home.
We were surely thankful for my car’s air conditioner because the thick summer, salty wind did nothing to dry our sweat. (Usually everyone complained that being in my car was like braving the Arctic. That poor a/c had only two settings: nothing and ice.)
The trip was always a short one, so my friends wore their swimsuits under their clothes, all bikinis.
I’m the modest one in the group, so I planned to change into my swimsuit upon arrival because wearing a one-piece under clothing is like sitting in an oven.
We found a favorite beach access. Nestled between towering homes, it has always been the perfect spot in which to park. Its shining feature? A bath house. Showers and restrooms are an oasis for day travelers hoping to clear away the sand before changing back into their clothes after a full day of jumping waves.
The girls filtered out of the car into the sweltering heat and stripped off their clothes since they were already in their swimsuits.
“Are you coming?” yelled one of the girls.
“I have to change into my suit,” I replied. “You guys get the cooler and towels. I’ll meet you on the beach.”
The girls left with our gear in tow.
At the bath house, there was a line of ladies stretching all the way outside the door. I definitely wasn’t in favor of waiting in the heat just to change my clothes.
So I went back to my car.
The car had tinted windows and most people are occupied with getting their beach gear from their vehicles, too busy to notice what’s going on inside one car. “I’ll just change here,“ I reasoned.
So into the passenger side of the front seat I went.
I wore my “beach day” clothes - cut-off jeans, my favorite t-shirt (a well-worn souvenir), and my cloth flip flops.
As soon as I sat down, I kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts and started pulling them down.
As I leaned forward to step out of them, I noticed a man, maybe in his 50s, watching from the third floor window of one of the homes. We locked eyes, but he didn’t look away. Safely behind the glass, so high above, he stared with a sheepish grin.
I was alone in the car and the windshield was the only window not tinted.
I made a choice.
So I grinned back, just as sheepishly.
Stepping out of my shorts, I locked the doors and slowed my pace.
Then I laid the seat back a little and pulled it forward a bit to give him a better view.
I delicately grabbed my shirt and shimmied out of it. Sitting now in my underclothes, just a plain white bra and white boy shorts, I put my hands on my stomach, arched my back, straightening my legs.
I ran my hands all the way to my inner thighs.
I rubbed my hands up and down till my boy shorts looked like bikinis.
Then I slid one hand inside my underwear, moving it around and around. I pushed the other hand inside too and pushed those underwear down slowly. I stepped out of them, the dashboard blocking his sight of that.
I pulled my hands up my body, raising my now nude hips toward him, then cupped my breasts.
I removed my bra and threw it on the dashboard.
Naked, I flung my hair as I reached down to step into my swimsuit - the modest one-piece.
I pulled it up and stopped at my breasts, gently grabbing both, not moving my hands, just holding.
Then I raised one strap of my suit, then the other, onto each shoulder.
Ready to join my friends, I slid on my flip-flops and grabbed my towel.
I leaned forward to look up - the man was still there, smiling as before.
I got out of the car, locked it, and with the keys in one hand, I looked up at him, adjusted my suit with my free hand, smiled, and went on to the shore.
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