The Long Road 2 free porn video

The Long Road by Princess Pervette == 1 == It was when I was twelve, just on the verge of adolescence, that two girls tricked me into wearing dresses. It didn't look like it at the time, but my long journey into femininity had begun.... **** I had gone away to stay for a week with some friends at their summer cottage. There were Mr and Mrs Stevenson, their two daughters, Lynn and Carol, and their son, Jimmy. Carol was sixteen, Lynn was fourteen, and Jimmy was my own age. Lynn and Carol were pretty, both brunettes with good figures, but it was to be still another year before I got interested in girls. Nothing out of the ordinary happened the first two days. We went swimming, we ducked one another, we played a clumsy sort of baseball with a big, soft beachball, and in the evenings we played cards, talked, or listened to the radio. We all had a good time, and it looked as if it was going to be a delightful vacation. But on the evening of the second day, Jimmy came down with a fever and a terrible pain in his gut. When the symptoms hadn't gone away the next morning, Mr and Mrs Stevenson drove him back home and took him to their doctor. That afternoon we got a phone call: Jimmy had appendicitis and was going to be operated on. So that left Carol, Lynn, and me alone at the cottage. I guess they figured that age twelve, I could still be trusted around the girls. They should have considered whether the girls could be trusted. Because when the cat's away.... That evening, the girls thought it would be funny to see whether they could get me drunk. I didn't realize this until it was too late. There was beer in the cottage, and some whiskey, among other things, and we started drinking. I had boilermakers--whiskey with a beer chaser. My dad sometimes had those, and they seemed such a masculine drink. That's ironic, considering the way the evening developed. What I didn't notice was (surprise, surprise!) that the girls were drinking only a fraction of what I was. It didn't take long to get me silly. I can't have had more than two, or at most three, before I was giggling. Everything seemed funny, and no matter what I said or what either of them said, I laughed at it. The girls were laughing, too, but--I realize now--at me, not with me. Then they started considering how they could take advantage of me in my befuddled state. Their first thought was to take all my clothes off. I objected, but I was too out of control to stop them, and soon I was sitting there naked, with all my clothes strewn on the floor and the two of them laughing and making fun of me. "Okay, girls," I managed to get out, "fair play. Now you've gotta take your clothes off, too." I giggled. Carol said, "Oh, no, this is our game, and you're It." Then Lynn leaned over to her and whispered something to her. Carol erupted with laughter, and Lynn started laughing, too. "LET'S!!" they cried, almost in unison. Lynn left the room. In my fuzzy state I began to feel apprehensive. Here I was, naked and drunk, and these girls were cooking up some other devilment at my expense. But I just giggled some more. "Listen to you!" Carol said when they came back. "Giggling just like a schoolgirl!" That should have warned me. Lynn had an armful of her clothes. "We're going to dress you up," she told me. "`Dress' is the word for it, too," Carol added. Lynn had selected a garter belt and a pair of nylons. The garter belt was white and lacy. "Here. Put this on." "Oh, no!" I said. "Oh, yes!" Lynn said. "Oh-h-h-h no!" I said, and started laughing again. But my protests were only spoken. I was too drunk to mount any effective resistance, and I laughed at the idea just as I had been laughing at everything else. So I didn't struggle as they slipped the garter belt on me. Then Lynn held first one of my legs and then the other while Carol rolled stockings onto them and clipped them onto the garter belt. A pair of panties came next. They were pink, with lace around the top. She held them out to me. "Here. Put these on." I was giggling as I drew the panties on over the nylons and the garter belt. I was laughing and crying out, pretending to be alarmed, saying, "Oh, help! Help! They're turning me into a girl!" "Right!" Lynn said. "There she is. A perfect little girl in her little pink panties!" Then she got a bra and put it around my chest. It seemed as amusing to me as it did to them, and I let her slip the straps over my arms. I was still laughing and making silly, drunken jokes about being turned into a girl. They looked me over. "She doesn't have boobies," Carol said. "Boobies!" Lynn said. "Wait...." And she ran back to their room. In a minute, she was back with some handkerchiefs, and they stuffed the bra cups with them. "Eric, you've got to see how you look!" they said and steered me in front of a mirror. There I saw a boy in bra, panties, and stockings with a silly look on his face. I started to giggle, and my reflection giggled back at me. Looking back on this, I think must have been a pretty revolting sight --drunk, silly, and dressed in girls' underwear. But at the time it just seemed uproariously funny. "This calls for a drink," I said, and opened another bottle of beer. "Here's to pretty girls--of both sexes!" I laughed at my own joke, which I would have known wasn't funny if I had been sober, and took a hefty swig from the bottle. The girls just looked at me and smiled. They had no trouble getting me to put on a dress. As I remember, it was a pretty blue creation, with white ruffles on the top and on the sleeves. My hanky-stuffed bra gave the front of it a nice shape. Lynn's heels didn't fit my feet, so they compromised with a pair of slippers. "There's pretty little Erica," Carol said. Anne giggled and ran off to her room. She came back with a camera. "We've got to get this on film!" she said. "Oh-h-h-h no!" I objected. "Oh-h-h-h yes!" Carol said. "Erica, the pretty girl, is going to get her picture taken in her new dress!" "Oh-h-h-h no!" "Hold him, Lynn!" Lynn grabbed me. There was a flash from the camera. "Okay, Erica," Carol said. "We've got you nailed now. That shot is blackmail material and you know it. So stand straight and look pretty. You might as well have a nice picture while you're at it." Still laughing drunkenly, I struck a pose with one hand behind my head, and there was another flash. "Turn on your heel so we can see the dress flare out," Lynn said. I spun around, and as I did so, my head spun, too. There were more flashes. I took another drink of beer. Then I realized that I had to pee. How was I going to do that with all this stuff on? "Gotta pee," I mumbled. "If you're going to pee, you've got to pee like a girl," Carol said. She and Lynn grabbed my arms and helped me to the bathroom. I was unsteady on my feet by this time. I made it to the john, and they helped me pull down my panties. I started to sit down on the toilet, and Lynn hastily pulled up my skirt so I wouldn't pee all over it. At this point, the joke backfired on them. My head was still spinning, and I closed my eyes. Never, NEVER close your eyes when you're seriously drunk! The dizziness overcame me and I suddenly felt sick. It's a wonder this hadn't happened sooner; boilermakers are potent things. And without warning, I upchucked, right there while I was sitting on the toilet, all over the floor of the john and, what was worse, all over Lynn's blue dress. Lynn was furious. "You silly, drunken slut!" she cried. "Look what you've done to my dress!" I was too far gone to notice. They hastily got me up and held my head over the john while I emptied my stomach. That was the disastrous end of our evening of fun. They got the dress off me and steered me to the room I had been sharing with Jimmy. I think I was out cold before I hit the bed. **** I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. What had I been doing? Then I remembered the boilermakers. Never again, I thought. I tried to sit up and decided that wasn't a very good idea. Then I looked down and saw the panties. I was still wearing them. That brought the whole evening back in a rush. I felt wretched--headachy, queasy in my stomach, and dressed like a damned fool in Lynn's panties. And in her bra, too. Why had I let them do this to me? The girls must have heard me stirring. They came in and glared at me. "You're a disgrace," Carol said. "I'M a disgrace? It was you two who got me drunk!" "We couldn't have if you hadn't been willing. And you almost ruined Lynn's dress." "You think I enjoyed washing your disgusting vomit out of my dress?" Lynn asked me. "I should have waited until this morning and made you do it." "Anyway, we've decided on your punishment," Carol said. "You're going to have to dress like a girl until Mom and Dad get back." [You saw that coming, didn't you?] "Maybe all week." "No, I'm not. I'm going to get these things off and my own clothes on." "Your own clothes? What clothes? Look around. Where are they?" That was when the joke backfired on me. I looked around. My clothes were gone. "While you were in your drunken stupor, we came and got them. We took them over to the Joneses' cottage this morning. Of course, you can go there and fetch them, if you don't mind going in a dress. It's on the other side of the lake. Or would you rather walk over there naked? You'd be quite a spectacle either way." So that's how it started. I spent nearly the whole week wearing Lynn's dresses. She had jeans, but they wouldn't let me wear those. You don't bring lots of pretty things when you're vacationing at the lake, so there wasn't much of a selection. It was either that blue dress or a simple brown skirt with a ruffled blouse. The wouldn't call me anything but Erica, and they made me help with the housework in the cottage. When I did the dishes they found an apron, in some floral print and full of ruffles, and I had to wear that over the dress. I had only one respite, the third morning after I had gotten drunk, when Mrs Stevenson phoned and said she would be driving out to make sure everything was all right. They retrieved my clothes that morning, and I was back in them when she arrived. But after a couple of hours she left again to go back to Jimmy, who was convalescing after his surgery. As soon as she had driven away, Carol advanced on me menacingly. "I suppose you think you can keep those things on, now that you've got them back." "Well, you can think again," Lynn said. "We have those pictures, remember." So I took off my boy clothes and got back into Lynn's clothes that I had put on that morning. That evening they put makeup on me. And cologne. And the next day they went into the nearest town and bought a dress for me. Not a vacation dress at all: this was pink and white with lace and ruffles. They made me model it for them as soon as they got back, and I had to wear it all that day. Now at about this point, when you read crossdressing fiction, the hero begins to like wearing dresses, and in a couple of paragraphs he is turned around and becomes a wildly enthusiastic transvestite. It didn't work that way for me. Or did it? It's hard to remember exactly. Enthusiastic? No. I hated it. On the other hand, I have a feeling that there may have been something very nice about that dress; but that may just be my mind revising my memories in the light of what I know about myself now. The mind does things like that. In any case, I wasn't keen anything except getting out of those damned dresses. The next day I decided this had gone far enough. I had gotten drunk and nearly ruined Lynn's dress, it's true, but I felt that I had by this time fully atoned for that--especially since the cologne, the makeup, and the new dress were outside the punishment as originally set. I watched my chance: some time the girls were going to be away again, and when they were... I was lucky. They went off to town again for groceries that afternoon. As soon as I was sure they were gone, I went into action. I took off my skirt and put on a pair of Lynn's jeans. Then I looked around to see whether either of them might have a boy's shirt. Carol had. The clothes didn't fit very well, but they would do; I could pass for a boy in them. I lit out for the Joneses'. On my way, it occurred to me that they might not be at home. I didn't know what I would do in that case. Maybe I could break in; I was desperate enough. As it happened, they were at home. Or at any rate, Tina Jones was. She met me at the door. "Hi," I said. "I'm Eric Watson. Carol and Lynn sent me to get my clothes back that they left here." Tina smiled. She obviously knew the whole story. "So your sentence is over, is it, Eric?" "Yeah. And I'm sure glad it is!" "Well, that's kind of funny, Eric, because they told me that they would come and get the clothes themselves. So why are you here? And they said it would be a week." I thought fast. "Er, well, I got time off for good behavior." She laughed. "Okay, they're in the trunk in the upstairs bedroom. Just go up there and get them." I went upstairs. There were three bedrooms, and I had to look around until I saw one with a huge trunk in it. I went in and opened the trunk. It was packed full of old clothes, and my things must be somewhere in there. I started rummaging around. I could hear Tina talking off in the distance somewhere. All this was taking time. I kept searching through the trunk, but I didn't see any sign of my stuff. Maybe there was another trunk. I closed this one up and tried one of the other rooms. No trunk there. Maybe they weren't in a trunk. Maybe this was some sort of trick. I saw a closet and started looking in there. No sign of my clothes anywhere. Well, I won't describe the rest of my search. I tried all three bedrooms, tried the closets, looked under the beds. Nothing. I was about to start downstairs and ask Tina when I heard voices. Carol and Lynn! The caught me in the hall. "So!...you little sneak!" Carol cried when she saw me. "Trying to get out of your punishment, you creep!" "I thought there was something fishy about your story," Tina told me. "So I told you that story about the trunk just to get you out of the way while I called Carol." "We had just gotten back when the phone started ringing," Lynn explained. "And it was Tina blowing the whistle on you," Carol added. It was three against one, and while I could probably have handled two of them, three were too many for me. They dragged me downstairs, and there, to my horror, I saw the pink and white dress. And a bra and panties. "You're going to put that dress back on right now, Eric," Carol said, "or those pictures we took are going to be all over school in the Fall." I knew they were capable of it. I put the dress back on. Then they sat me down and made up my face. And they made me walk down the road, all the way back from the Joneses' cottage to our own--dressed like a girl. We didn't meet anybody, thank God, but a couple of cars passed us on the road, and when the drivers saw me they honked their horns at me. One of the guys yelled "Fairy!" out the window at me. When we got back, Carol said, "`Time off for good behavior,' was it? Well, this is *bad* behavior, and we're extending your sentence until it's time to leave for home." Actually, it wasn't quite as bad as that, because the Stevensons came back three days later and that was the end of it. Our week's outing ended up being about ten days, and I had spent seven of them in Lynn's clothes. It was the rottenest vacation I ever had in my life. Not a very auspicious start for a crossdresser, was it? By the time I got home, I felt that if I never so much as saw a dress again, it would be just fine with me. But the memory of that week in dresses stayed with me. And as time passed, the memory of the shame and embarrassment faded, and in a sort of funny way, I was glad that I had had the experience. But I felt no desire to repeat it. == 2 == The next stage on my long road didn't begin until I was in college. In my freshman year, the roommate I was assigned was an absolutely great guy named Chris. We hit it off from the start, and Chris became my closest friend in college. When we weren't occupied with homework, we would go out for beers (3.2 beer mostly, which they served in the student union, or the real stuff when we could get away with it) and have long talks together. At the beginning of our sophomore year, we decided to move out of the dorm and share an apartment. About three weeks into the Fall term that year, I went out one evening with a girl I was dating at the time. I had been seeing her for about a month, and it looked as if things were beginning to click with us. But that evening we got into some silly quarrel, and she finally flounced off. So I came back home to our place much earlier than I had expected to. I was looking forward to seeing Chris and telling him how unreasonable she had been. And Chris was there. He was sitting in a chair, reading a magazine ...and wearing a skirt and blouse! And nylons. And heels. And apparently a bra, to judge by the way the front of his blouse looked. He was alarmed when I came in. Then he brazened it out. "Well...I guess you know my secret now." But he was obviously concerned about how I would react. I was shocked, of course. This was the last thing I would have expected. Was Chris gay? My best friend, gay? Had I been sharing an apartment and...well, everything...with a gay guy? Walking about naked with a gay guy watching me? But then I considered--in all this time he had never hit on me, so I guessed I didn't have much to worry about. Besides, I genuinely liked Chris. When you discover that your best friend is gay, either you have to revise your opinion about your best friend, or you have to revise your opinion about gay guys. I began to revise my opinion about gays. It took only a moment for these thoughts to pass through my mind. And, interestingly, my first concern was to reassure him. "Chris, don't sweat it," I told him. Then, trying to make him feel better, I added, "I once spent an entire week wearing nothing but girls' clothes." And I told him about my experience with Carol and Lynn. "My God, Eric," he exclaimed when I was done. "What an absolutely rotten introduction to dressing!" (That's what he called it, "dressing.") "If they had done that to me, I think it would have put me off drag for the rest of my life." "Well, I was never *onto* drag, if I can put it that way. But yes, it was an experience I never wanted to go through again." I paused and considered. Then: "But how...er...how did you ever...I mean...." "How did I get started? I don't know. It always just appealed to me. When I was eight...no, I must have been nine...I saw my sister when she was wearing only a bra and panties. And...well, I had never seen her naked--well, nearly naked--before...but mostly what I noticed was what she was wearing. I mean...it wasn't so much how little she was wearing, it was how nice her underwear looked. So different from my own. And so much prettier. And the next day, when she was out, I snuck into her room and put them on. You wouldn't believe how good they felt. So then I tried one of her dresses. And I've been hooked on girls' clothes ever since." "But...well, Chris, don't get me wrong, I don't mind, really, but... well, I would never have thought you were gay. You don't seem the type at all, if you don't mind my saying so. It's okay, I'm open minded, but...." "Gay? I'm not. Dating Marion isn't just window dressing. I really like girls. I really like her." "Oh. Er...well, gosh, Chris, I'm sorry. It's just that I always assumed...." "You always assumed that crossdressers are gay," he finished for me. "Not surprising. Most people do. But they're wrong. Don't you think I've read up on my condition? Researchers say that we aren't gay-- or, at any rate, very few of us are--and that in fact most of us are especially keen on girls. Maybe that's what does it." He grinned. "Maybe we love femininity so much that we want a little for ourselves." I was thunderstruck. I had never dreamed... And over the next couple of weeks I began to work through that week with Carol and Anne and to think of it in a new light. I wondered whether it was the automatic association with being gay--and being called "fairy" by that guy in the car--that had made it such a terrible experience. That and the fact that it was a punishment for an evening that still left me queasy when I remembered it. Chris and I quickly reached an accommodation. If he wanted to wear drag, he wouldn't have to wait until I was out. It was okay with me if he wanted to dress up while I was around. I must have felt I had to be tolerant because of my own experience. You can see what was happening. I was going over that week when I was twelve, remembering it and working through it. I said that most of the horror had worn off over the years; now all the horror was gone, and all I remembered was how the clothes had felt. That is, I sort of remembered. Had they felt nice? Had I enjoyed the feeling of the skirt about my legs? Or was I just imagining that? And all the while Chris was routinely wearing dresses when I was around. Between these two things, I was spending a lot of time thinking about crossdressing--thinking about my experience and at the same time getting used to the sight of Chris in drag. At first I felt funny about having a man in a dress sitting calmly reading or doing his homework. But he actually didn't look too strange, once you got used to it. In fact, he was skilled and very experienced, and sometimes, when he took real care and went all out, I could have sworn he was a girl. And knowing that he wasn't gay made it easier to live with. I wasn't entirely free of homophobia in those days. **** I guess it was inevitable, under the circumstances, that I would be curious and think it might be interesting to try drag again, this time voluntarily, especially since Chris seemed to enjoy it so much. It might feel awful, but then again, maybe it wouldn't.... I think, now, that from this impulse alone anyone could have foretold everything that was eventually going to happen. You mustn't assume that it was a quick decision. I must have changed my mind a dozen times. I would decide that I would ask him if I could find out what it was like, and then I'd have second thoughts and decide that it just wasn't for me. After all, I hadn't liked it when Carol and Lynn made me do it; why should I feel any different now? But then I would change my mind again. It must have been a couple of weeks before I took the plunge. We were out drinking that evening, and after the alcohol had removed some of my inhibitions, I took a deep breath and said, "Chris...er, what does it feel like?" "What does what feel like?" Oh gosh, did I have to spell it out? "What does...you know...wearing ...those things...what does it feel like?" "You mean wearing dresses?" I was so uncomfortable with this conversation, and yet he was so relaxed and at ease saying that. I was amazed. I said, "Yes." "Like heaven. Like the most wonderful thing in the world." "I mean, don't you feel, well...." I hesitated. I didn't want to say "silly," so finally I settled on "...awkward?" "No. Never. Excited, yes, but never awkward. Never silly. When I was thirteen I started jerking off wearing Sis's things, and I felt guilty about that. And ashamed. But never awkward. But as I got older, that somehow went away, and it just made me feel...well, sort of excited and calm, both at once. "And these days, the excitement is all gone. Along with the guilt and shame. The fear of discovery...yes, that remains, but that's Society's fault, not mine. I just feel wonderfully calm. As if this is something I'm supposed to be doing. Something that's profoundly *right* for me. When I really need to relax, I put on a dress." He smiled. "The best tranquilizer in the world." I had to steer the talk around to myself. "Well, I think *I'd* feel awkward." "But nobody's asking you to dress up." Then he looked at me sharply. "Or are you...?" "Well...you seem so happy that way, it's so nice for you, at least I guess it is, you look so peaceful and contented that way, and it was so awful for me, and I'm wondering what the difference was, and I, well, I thought..." I was babbling. He cut me off. "You want to try it, don't you?" I just sat there, not looking at him. This was it. I could say Yes or No. The thought of saying Yes made me uncomfortable. But if I said No, I knew that I'd never be able to bring this up again. After a long time, I raised my eyes and my courage and said, "Well...yes." "Eric. Either you are a crossdresser by nature or you aren't. I can't make you into one just by lending you some of my clothes. And I'm not interested in making converts. Not you or anybody else. But you know, you had a rotten introduction to it. I remember thinking at the time--in fact, I think I said to you--that being dressed as a punishment was the worst possible way to start. Oh, I know, there are some guys who get off on being forced to dress. Some men even go to prostitutes and pay them to force them to wear dresses. They get off on that. But not after getting drunk and barfing all over some girl's dress. And not while they're hung over. "Dressing should be fun, Eric. I mean, if you're inclined to that sort of thing by nature, and if you're not hung up on some guilt trip, it is. If you want to try it, sure, I'll help you. But it's got to be your idea, not mine, and you're going to have to make sure you aren't going to turn all guilty on me. And I think we're going to have to go slowly. And we're going to have to do it when you're cold sober. Alcohol and dressing...I don't suppose that's necessarily wrong, but in your case I think it would be too much like the first time." I didn't get much sleep that night. I wish I could tell you that it was because I was so excited at the prospect, but it wasn't. All the doubts, all the hesitations that had been bothering me over the last couple of weeks came back to haunt me. I was beginning to think I had made a fantastically dumb mistake. I finally managed to get to sleep by resolving to tell Chris in the morning that I had changed my mind. But in the morning, Chris was up and in drag and looking absolutely great. He had a brunette wig on, and his makeup was flawless. My decision to tell him to forget it melted away. "Chris, if you can make me look that good, I'll be all for it." He turned and looked at me. "It's not how you look, Eric. It's how you feel. And I'm not going to dress you all the way. Not yet. We're going to do this one step at a time, so you can stop any time if you want to. I'm not forcing anything on you. Remember that. "Now," he said, holding out a pair of panties, "do you want to wear these? It's okay if you say No. We can start some other way. But this is probably easiest. Do you want to?" "Er..." I hesitated. "Do I have to say so? I mean, it's sort of an admission...." "I'm not looking for an admission, Eric. I'm looking for your consent." He paused. "Look, Eric, this is a touchy business, one guy putting another guy into drag. People could get ideas...and you could have second thoughts. Or guilt feelings. I'm not asking you for a signed statement, but I want your explicit consent every step of the way." I could see his point, but I felt squeamish about saying that I wanted to wear them. Then I thought: do I want to wear them? Well...what I really wanted was to see what it was like. And if that was what I had to do to find out what crossdressing was like, then I'd have to do it. "Okay," I said, "yes." Then I realized that I'd have to undress. I took off my pants and my shorts. Then I thought I'd better take off my shoes as well. He handed me the panties. They were of some sort of pink satiny material, shiny and smooth. I wish I could tell you that I got a terrific hard-on as I pulled them on. That's what's supposed to happen at this point, isn't it? But I didn't. I was surprised at that. Didn't transvestites get dressed up for the sexual thrill? I thought they did. I said all this to Chris. "Yeah, if you were 12 or 13, you probably would. And you'd probably jerk off in them." I was embarrassed. "But that goes away with time. And it's better if you dress without jerking off, especially now. You aren't so likely to feel guilty afterward." Once the panties were on, I adjusted myself. As I did so, I asked him, "Why do you keep harping on this guilt business?" He sat down and lectured me. "Just think a moment, Eric. Think about what you're doing. You're doing something no man is ever supposed to do. It's the deepest prejudice in society today. Hardly anybody makes a fuss about gays any more. There are legislators who are openly gay, and they keep being returned to office. But it's going to be a cold day in hell when some public figure openly declares that he likes to wear women's clothes. It may happen some day, but not in our lifetimes." He went on. "We're all indoctrinated about that from childhood on. Before we know anything about sex, we know, or we think we know, that the difference between boys and girls is that girls wear dresses and boys don't. And in putting on drag, you're breaking that taboo. Probably the deepest taboo left. You're violating your own masculinity, supposedly your most precious possession. Even S&M is easier for most people to accept than guys wearing girls' clothes. Do you wonder that I'm concerned about guilt feelings? "I'm not interested in teaching you to crossdress. What I'm interested in is teaching you to do it without guilt--that is, if you want to do it at all in the first place. Do you know what it is to hate yourself? To hate what you are? To buy bras and panties and dresses and then to throw them out in a massive purge, only to be driven to buy more, all the time feeling like shit because you can't control yourself? "Transsexuals, when they are kids, sometimes pray to God that they'll wake up some morning and find they've been turned into girls. I never did that, but I used to pray that some morning I would wake up free of the desire to dress. Those were the good days. On the bad days I'd pray that I just wouldn't wake up. I went through all that, and it took me years to cure myself, not of crossdressing, but of guilt. I don't want to see anybody else go through what I went through. "Eric, I don't care whether you crossdress or not. It's none of my business and I don't give a shit one way or the other. But I'm determined that, if you do, you're going to enjoy it, right from the start, and won't go through the self-hatred I went through." I had no answer to all that. But the panties, once on, felt surprisingly comfortable. I learned later that they had spandex in them, and that was why they accommodated themselves so well to my cock and balls. In fact, they were some of the most comfortable underwear I had ever worn. "What's next?" I asked him. "That's it." "You mean, I'm to wear panties and nothing else?" The idea appealed to me, sitting in our room with nothing on but the panties, which felt amazingly soft and smooth. I could hardly keep my hands off them. "Eric, I told you, we're not going to do everything at once. Put your pants back on and wear the panties under them all day. See how you feel about it. If you can't handle it, you have your answer. If you like it...well, maybe we can take another step next weekend." So my first week in drag, if you can call it that, was an anticlimax. Every day Chris lent me a fresh pair of panties, and I went to my classes with them on under my regular clothes. I expected to be self- conscious about wearing them. I expected to be continually aware that I had them on. Since that time, I've read crossdressing fiction in which the hero is continually aware of his panties. Feels them rubbing on his dick. But these were too snug to rub anywhere. I would forget that I was wearing them, except occasionally, like when I went to the john and the awareness returned with a shock. And I didn't feel uncomfortable wearing them. In fact, they felt pretty neat. In fact, I liked them. After dinner the next Friday, I was eager to take the next step. Knowing that Chris would ask me whether I wanted to, I anticipated him. "Chris, I want to take the next step, whatever it is. You don't have to ask me. So what comes next?" I hesitated. "A...bra?" "Nylons, I think." He paused. "Yes, those are probably the next thing for you to try." I wondered: was I going to have to wear a girdle? But Chris got out a little lacy thing that I recognized as a garter belt. I remembered that from my drunken evening with the girls. I took it, took off my shoes, socks, and pants, and started to put it on. "No, Eric. Better to put it on under your panties. Much easier when you have to go to the john." So I slipped the panties back off. And I missed them. Just for those few seconds while I was drawing the garter belt on, I realized that I missed those panties. I put them right back on. By this time, Chris had gotten out a pair of nylons. "Now, do you know how women put stockings on?" Somehow that phrase got to me. How women put stockings on. That was what I was about to do. For some crazy reason that sounded more feminine than wearing panties. But, well... I said, "They sort of roll them on, don't they?" "That's right. Roll them up into a doughnut and then unroll them onto your legs. And watch out for your fingernails. In fact..." He looked at my hands. "...I think you'd better have a manicure first." He sat me down at my desk and carefully filed all my nails. He took a long time over it, occasionally running a fingertip over them to check for rough spots. Somewhat to my surprise, he cut them all quite short. "What color nail polish do I get?" I asked him. "No polish yet. And clear when the time comes. Now, see how you do with the nylons." They went on all right. I had to smooth them on my legs to get the tops within reach of the garters; then I clipped them on. Eric said, "Now, stretch your legs out." I stretched them out. "Look at them. See how the stockings enhance your legs. Look at those smooth contours. If you like that, you're half way there." He was right. I stretched them out further and admired them. I had never thought much about it, but I realized now that I had good legs. And the nylons made them look gorgeous. "Notice how they darken your legs. Dark legs are nicer than pale legs. And look at the shading: light at the front and a little darker at the sides. Do you like that? Does that appeal to you?" "Yeah, Chris, they're neat. I never realized.... But all those hairs don't look so hot. Maybe I should shave them...?" "Let's see how things go first. If you shave your legs, that's a pretty big step, because the hair won't grow back very soon." I thought of something. "If you think I'm going to cover these up again with pants," I said, "you're crazy. I want to look at them." I stepped very carefully over to my dresser, rummaged around until I found a pair of shorts, and put them on instead of my pants. And I left my shoes off. And look at them I did, all evening. I liked the way they looked, and I liked the way they made my legs feel. I sat at my desk, doing homework and occasionally looking down at my legs and running my hands over them. They were so smooth...! I was getting hooked. It struck me: if the girls had had Chris's patience and skill, I would have been dressing over all these years. Well, maybe...I still wondered how I would feel wearing a dress. I was all set to put everything back on the next morning. But Chris vetoed the stockings. "Save those for the evening, Eric. I want you to keep getting used to the panties." I was getting used to them, all right. Chris may have been just giving me a chance to find out how I felt about all this, but to me it was as if he was actually *training* me to become a crossdresser. And I was coming to realize that that was just what I wanted. He may have been going slowly for the reasons he gave me, but to me it was tantalizing; each small step, I found, left me longing for the next. That evening he asked me how I was feeling about what we were doing. And I told him how each step made me eager for the next. "Okay, maybe we can go a mite faster. But not much. Part of your problem was the punishment business, and part of it was being hung over. But it may also have been a case of too much too fast. And I'm not going to make that mistake here. I'm not looking to make a crossdresser out of you. I told you, either you are or you aren't. But I want to do is give you a fair chance if you really are one. "Nevertheless," he continued, "I think maybe you're ready for a skirt." Ready for a skirt...! No-one more eager than I. While he was searching in his closet, I took off my trousers and panties and put on the garter belt and nylons. As I put the panties back on, I wondered what the skirt would be like. I envisioned something pretty and feminine, with lots of lace and ruffles and flounces and things. I hoped it would be something like that. But instead, he got out a very plain, dark blue skirt. The only thing feminine about it--aside from the fact that it *was* a skirt--was that it was rather full. "Tight skirts are sexy," he explained, "but a full skirt is more practical. More comfortable." I felt I was all ready for a sexy, tight skirt, but I didn't object. I stepped into the skirt. "The zipper and the closure go on your left side," he said. I rotated the skirt into the proper position and, with a little difficulty, zipped it up. It fit my waist well. I twisted back and forth, trying to make the skirt billow out. Finally, I did a sort of turn. But the skirt wasn't adapted to that kind of thing; it was too heavy. It stubbornly refused to billow. Chris smiled at my efforts. "It isn't that kind of a skirt, Eric." I blushed and sat down, remembering to smooth it under me first, so it wouldn't get wrinkled. I was rather proud that Chris hadn't needed to tell me that. My first skirt, I thought, as I ran my hands over it and felt its texture. Then my heart skipped a beat as I realized the significance of that word, "first": the first of many, that suggested. And I realized that I was getting into this heavily. "Is that it?" I asked. "For tonight, yes. Just sit around and see how you feel wearing a skirt. Does it seem right for you? Or does it feel as if you're making a fool of yourself?" I looked like a fool when I saw myself in the mirror, all right. It was hardly better than that time with Lynn and Carol. But I simply decided not to look in the mirror. And when I looked down at the skirt, ran my hands over it, and saw my nylon-clad legs sticking out under it, I liked what I saw. And I liked how it felt. Panties, a garter belt, nylons, and a skirt. I was on my way. Then there was a further delay. I was impatient; Chris refused to rush things, even though he must have known that I was now becoming really keen on crossdressing. I started bugging him to let me try a bra. Finally, the next weekend, he relented. He got out a tape measure and put it around my chest. "H'mmm...33...34? Add four inches...I think probably a size 38 would be about right. That's going to be a problem for you. I wear a 36, myself. But...." He rummaged in his dresser and got out a bra, and then pulled out a small piece of cloth with little hooks in it. "...This ought to do the trick." He held it out to me. "This is called an extender." He fiddled with it and the bra and the extender. "Hold up your arms." He put it around me. It felt strange. Of all the various things I had persuaded him to let me wear, this was the weirdest. Tight about my chest, with some kind of wire inside that pressed against me. Then he got out a pair of breast forms and showed me how to get them into the cups. They were heavy. I felt as if I was going to have to lean backward to keep my balance. I knew how girls were built, but I had had no idea of how much weight they were carrying about on their chests. "Okay, Girl, that's it," he said after I had put on a skirt and blouse. "You are now completely dressed. Oh...except for heels, of course. And maybe a wig. But all the essentials are there. Now ...how does it feel?" "Very peculiar...but nice. But you know, I feel everything squeezing me and pulling at me. The bra, the garter belt... It's...kind of nice." "That's the real test, Eric. All that pulling and tugging is the one thing that will never let you forget you're dressed. Are you going to like it? Are you going to like being reminded, every minute, that you're wearing women's clothes? You can talk all you want about panties and skirts, about dresses and bras, but if you don't enjoy all those little discomforts that keep reminding you of what you have on, you aren't a crossdresser." I guess that meant I was. As that fact gradually sunk in and I realized how I loved it, I began to appreciate how neatly Chris had handled the whole thing. I had listened patiently to all his lectures about guilt feelings, but had found them, well, rather tedious. But now, as I realized I could dress without shame and without guilt, I saw how much he had done for me. He had been right: he wouldn't have been able to turn me into a crossdresser. But he had managed to release "the girl inside," as I thought of her, in a way that ensured self-acceptance right from the start. No shame and no guilt. He had completely neutralized the effects of that Summer with the Stevensons. Shame and guilt...! That week had been a veritable orgy of shame and guilt. Well, of shame, anyway. Shame had been the point of the game and the object of the punishment. The two girls had opened a door for me, without realizing that that was what they were doing, and had then slammed it shut. Now, Chris had opened it again. And, having achieved that joyful self-acceptance, I went all out. Fortunately, most of his clothes fit me fairly well--except for his bras--and I took to dressing every evening and ran through his whole wardrobe. Shaved my legs, too. And even wore panties to bed at night instead of my pajamas. In fact, I quickly became even more keen on drag than Chris was. He had said that the excitement had eventually passed off; but for me, the excitement has never gone away, not to this day. Maybe it was because I had started so late. Or maybe people are just different. And the feeling of femininity the clothes gave me: that was something quite new to me, although you would think I would have expected that, and the more I dressed, the more that enchanted me. I was surprised to discover how important and appealing an aspect of crossdressing this was. I was surprised to discover now much I loved being a girl. I took my courage in my hands and bought some clothes. I chose a time when everybody was Christmas shopping. I didn't actually claim that the bras, panties, and dresses were for my girlfriend, but I had them gift wrapped and let the clerks draw their own conclusions. Chris was surprised at the way I went overboard. As he watched me primping one evening in a new lacy bra and panties, he got a worried look on his face and said, "I feel like Frankenstein. Have I created a monster?" "Nope. You've just made me what I always was." I hadn't realized "what I always was." Certainly not that Summer at the Stevensons'. But without intending to, Chris had released something inside me, a feminine persona I hadn't known I had. And that was going to mean more and more to me over the coming years. I was well down that road to femininity. I no longer think it was an accident that threw me together with a crossdressing roommate. There is such a thing as Fate. He kept giving me tips: how to look and act more convincing in drag, how to apply nail polish and makeup, how to walk in heels. I was having the time of my life, dressing every minute I was home. I remembered his remark about a dress being the best tranquillizer in the world. He had been dead right. He started teaching me how to "pass," too. "You would pass better than I would," Chris told me one evening. "Here: let's just see how much we can do." And he went to work on me: careful choice of "sensible" clothes, not overly feminine. Low-heeled pumps. And lots of work on makeup. "Remember, better too little than too much," he told me. He spent a long time applying that "too little," just the same, fussing over me, softening the contours of my face, and keeping up a running commentary on what he was doing and how I should do it. At the end, I fulfilled the dream I guess every crossdresser has: I looked in the mirror and saw a girl looking back at me. Why did all this surface now? Why not when I was 6 or 7, as with most transgendered guys? I don't know. I spent a lot of time thinking back to that experience when I was twelve. A priceless opportunity to start crossdressing back then, a priceless opportunity to discover my transgendered nature, and I had blown it. Five years when I could have been enjoying this rare delight, lost, never to return. But then I realized that it hadn't really been I who had blown it. The Stevenson girls had. It made me angry to think of it. But... well, it wasn't actually their fault, either. They hadn't known what they were dealing with. They hadn't seen a potential crossdresser; they had only seen a drunken boy whom it would be fun to dress in their clothes. == 3 == I was still thinking this when the Christmas holidays arrived and I went back home. I wondered: would I see Lynn and Carol? I was sure to. What would I say? Would I say anything? I thought how weird it would sound: "Remember when you made me wear girls' clothes and I hated it? Well, now I love it!" No. That would never do. Better not to say anything. The decision was taken out of my hands. I went to a big party on New Year's Eve, and Lynn and Carol were both there, along with Jimmy, or Jim, as he preferred to be called now. From the moment I laid eyes on them, I was wary, and I decided it would be a good idea to drink as little as possible. If they brought anything up--and they were quite capable of doing so, I knew--I wanted to have a clear head. Nothing was said until the small hours of the morning, when they offered to drive me home. As we were riding, Lynn suddenly said, "We still have those pictures, you know." There was no point in playing dumb. So I played it cool, instead: "You bothered to keep those?" "Oh, they were too priceless to throw away. You looked soooo funny!" "What are you two talking about?" Jim asked. Lynn looked at Carol. "Should we tell him?" Carol said, "Let's *show* him!" She looked at me. This was the moment of truth. Dressing without guilt or shame: that's what Chris had taught me. And now these two fiendish girls were trying to dump a load of--well, maybe not shame or guilt, but embarrassment-- on me. I think that was the hardest decision I ever made in my life. "Sure," I said, calmly, "show him. But show me, too. I never saw them, you know." That stopped them cold. Of all the possible reactions I might have shown, this was the one they had never expected. I was expected to squirm and writhe with embarrassment. And I had failed to squirm. "Let's take him back to our place!" Lynn said, probably trying to elicit some sort of objection from me. "Okay," I said. "No time like the present." At their place, we all went up to Jim's room and Carol and Lynn disappeared. I could hear them giggling. They came back with an envelope full of prints. "If you're thinking of taking these away from us, Eric, think again," Carol said. "We have the negatives in a safe place." And she tossed the envelope into Jim's lap. He opened the envelope, drew out the prints, and started looking through them. He opened his eyes wide. "Oh...my...GOD...!!" "While you were in the hospital, we were all on our own," Carol explained. "We thought we'd see if we could get Eric drunk, and then when we did, we decided to dress him in Lynn's clothes. And there you see--ta da!--Erica. Pretty little Erica." Jim gave me a strange look. "How...how could you let them do this to you?" "You let them get *you* drunk on boilermakers and see how much resistance you can put up!" I said. "But this picture"--he handed me the one in which I had been posing, hip-shot, with one hand behind my head--"you look as if you liked it!" "Well, in a situation like that, you have two choices. You can sit there and be embarrassed, or you can refuse to be embarrassed and just brazen it out. That's what I did." That wasn't really true: I had been too drunk to analyze the situation that way. I had just been clowning. "Anyway, now that I've seen the worst, let me look at the others." I hadn't seen the worst. Jim handed me the other prints, and I looked appalling. Just a visibly drunken twelve-year-old with a silly look on his face, wearing girls' clothes. But in addition, I was seeing them through different eyes, now, eyes that had been trained by Chris in all the details of crossdressing. I could spot dozens of things about me that were just plain wrong, silly, elementary errors I wouldn't make now even if I were drunk. I laughed it off. "Well, I couldn't have gotten a job as a model, could I?" The girls laughed. Then Carol said, "You're taking it mightly calmly, aren't you?" "What am I supposed to do? Blush? I was drunk then. What did you expect me to look like? A Victoria's Secret girl?" Lynn and Carol exchanged glances. "Well...," Carol said, "you could redeem yourself now...." "I redeemed myself all that week," I pointed out. Jim gave me a sharp look. "I got sick from the boilermakers and puked all over Lynn's dress," I told him. "The dress they had had me wear. And to punish me, they made me dress like a girl the whole week." "That's a cruel and unusual punishment if I ever heard of one," Jim said. "But of course," Carol pursued, "you'd never do something like that again, would you?" I sure would. I had, many times. But I wasn't going to tell them that, and I wasn't going to offer to. I said something evasive. "I think you should do it again," Lynn said. "See how much better you can look. And do it without getting sick. Redeem yourself." "I think my things would fit him better than yours now," Carol said. "Let's go to my room." They left. But before we followed them, Jim looked at me. "Are you really going to let them make you do this?" "Jim, I'm not going to let them embarrass me. That's what they're after. They're doing their damnedest to make me squirm. And I'm not going let them get away with it. If they want me to dress up, I'll dress up. Spoil their fun." When we got to Carol's room, she said, "Okay, Girl. Strip." When I had been drunk, they had forcibly undressed me. But I wasn't drunk now, and I felt funny about undressing right there in front of them. I felt funnier about that than about putting on Carol's things. "Don't be shy," Lynn prodded. "We're big girls now. We're not going to see anything we haven't seen before." Carol gave her a look. So I sat down and, as nonchalantly as I could, took off my clothes. Then I realized that my legs were shaved. Would they notice...? They didn't. They were too preoccupied with deciding what I would wear. It was all old stuff to me now. I just pretended I was in my room at school with Chris. They handed me a pair of panties. "Wait," I objected. "Garter belt first...." Then I realized my mistake. I wasn't supposed to know that. "Particular, aren't we?" was all Carol said. But she got a garter belt and I put it on. Nylons and panties followed. Then the bra. It was tight. "Do you have an extender?" I asked. Oops. Another mistake. "`An extender'?" You seem to know an awful lot about this...." I searched for an excuse. "Well...er...my girl uses one...sometimes." Lynn gave me a fishy stare. Then she said, "Well...I think I have one." And she went and got it. I was nervous, and I made blunder after blunder. Blunders of knowing too much about what I was doing. I had been entirely too skillful in rolling on the nylons. And now I hooked the extender on like an expert. And, like an expert, I fastened the bra in front and then rotated it around so the cups were in front. "You've had practice, haven't you?" Lynn accused me. "You know about putting the garter belt on first. You know about extenders. And you put those nylons on as if you had been wearing them all your life. The bra, too." "Well...it doesn't take much imagination...." She raised her eyebrows. "What other things do you know that don't take much imagination?" I didn't answer. But I put the slip on much too adroitly, and when I put on the skirt they gave me, I got the closure over to the side and zipped it up with entirely too practised a hand. And I failed to fumble over the buttons on the blouse. Finally, when I sat down and unconsciously smoothed the skirt under me, Lynn said, "You know entirely too much about this! I saw how you adjusted that skirt, just as if you had been doing it all your life. What do you do, wear girls' clothes in your room at night?" That was exactly what I had been doing for the last couple of months. What should I do? Make a clean, er, breast, of it? Before I could say anything, Carol put in, "And you've shaved your legs." She had noticed. "That's right!" Lynn exclaimed. "No hairs underneath his hose!" That did it. I was caught. Well, no guilt and no shame. "These are all very nice," I said, coolly, indicating the skirt and blouse, "but I really need some makeup, don't you agree?" And, without waiting to be invited, I sat down at Carol's vanity and started looking over what she had there. "Foundation, blush...I think it would take a bit too long to do the whole job. And these aren't my shades." They gaped at me. "Maybe just a bit of lipstick. And eye shadow, of course." And they all stood there dumbfounded as I applied the lipstick--with an expert hand, if I do say so myself--and the eye shadow. I made a show of looking myself over in the mirror, critically. "Not too bad at such short notice," I said. It wasn't true: I had rushed the job and not done it well. But it worked. I had shifted the shock over to them. They both just stared at me. "You've been doing this all along, haven't you?" Lynn finally said. So I told them about Chris. "It was just by chance, but it got me thinking about that time that Summer. And I wondered whether...well, if I weren't hung over and being punished...whether it might feel better. And it does. Yes. I've been dressing for a couple of months now. And I'm beginning to build up a wardrobe of my own." Jim, predictably, asked whether I was gay, and I had to explain all about that, too. I don't think he believed me. In fact, I know he didn't believe me. But otherwise I had gotten through the whole thing pretty well, I thought. No guilt and no shame: and the girls, unprepared for such an attitude, were flummoxed. The crowning moment came when I asked them whether they would make duplicates for me of the prints they had. I didn't really want them, but when they looked at me, open mouthed, I knew I had gotten the effect I was after. I didn't see any of them again until Spring break, and at that point nothing was said about New Year's Eve or about my dressing. They were pleasant and didn't treat me in any way differently from the way they had before I had come out to them about my dressing. I still thought of them as really nice people. They weren't. == 4 == That summer the three of them invited me to spend a couple of weeks with them at their cottage. This would be the first time I had been back since that disastrous time when I got drunk, and, remembering that time, I wasn't too keen on going. But the girls pressed me so sweetly, and Jim said, "C'mon, Eric, it's great out there! Remember?" I remembered, all right. "We're going to have lots of fun!" So finally I said Yes. I should have said No. Well...maybe I was right to say Yes. It was to be the next step on my long road. The next couple of steps, in fact. Carol drove us all out there. And no sooner had we arrived and gotten settled than she suddenly turned to me and said, "Okay, Erica, this is how it's going to be. For the next two weeks, you're going to be our girl servant." They were all looking at me. "That's why you're here," Lynn added. "You like to dress like a girl. Here's your chance." She pointed to a big suitcase. "Your clothes are in there. Go to your bedroom and change." I was miffed. A hell of a way to treat a guest, I thought. But I didn't have much choice. Were now miles away from anywhere and they had the only transportation. Then I figured, what the hell, I loved dressing, and, servant or no servant, they were in effect giving me license to wear drag all the time for two weeks. I could live with that. Even at school with Chris I could only dress in the evenings, and I hadn't been looking forward to this summer, when I'd be home with my folks and not able to dress at all. Being their "girl servant" wouldn't be too high a price to pay for dressing all day long, seven days a week, for two weeks. I was to learn how wrong that was. That first afternoon, I lugged the suitcase upstairs to my room and opened it up. I had actually brought a couple of things of my own-- just a few pairs of panties, one skirt, and a gaff for concealing my male organs--on the off chance that I might some time alone to dress or that they might not mind, but the contents of the suitcase were impressive. There was a generous selection of bras, panties...the whole works. Makeup, too. They had been very thorough. Among the skirts there was a short, black mini. There was also a matching white petticoat, a little white apron, and a white blouse. It was clearly intended to serve as a sort of improvised French maid's costume. Well...why not? If I was going to girl it up these two weeks, I might as well play it to the hilt. I shed my boy clothes and put them away, happy in the knowledge that I wouldn't so much as have to look at them for two weeks. I found a garter belt and put it on. The old excitement came flooding back. There was a rich assortment of hose; I selected a pair of fishnets. Then it was on with my gaff, the ruffled panties, the petticoat, a bra (which I stuffed with a couple of pairs of nylons--I missed Chris's breast forms), the miniskirt and the blouse. I sat down and put on lipstick and some dabs of rouge on my cheeks. I decided I made a pretty good French maid. I came downstairs and was rewarded with a chorus of whistles. "Erica won't do for her," Carol said. "For the next two weeks, your name's going to be Fifi." "Okay, Fifi," Lynn said. "You can start your service by taking our bags to our rooms and unpacking them. And hanging everything up." The fact of being a servant was a good deal less fun than the fantasy. But, as I unpacked their things and hung them in the closets, I kept my spirits up by glancing down occasionally at the pretty uniform they had improvised for me to wear. This was the most feminine outfit I had ever worn, and it gave me a lift to look down at it or to catch sight of myself in the mirror. After I had finished with the luggage, I had to dust the place while the others were out having fun in the lake. I hoped they wouldn't expect me to cook dinner, and to my relief they didn't. But I had to do the dishes. **** That evening, I discovered what being their "girl servant" really meant. After I had finished the dishes, I hoped I'd have a chance to relax and to chat. It had been warm doing the dishes and I had taken off the skirt and blouse and was just in my bra and panties. And nylons. Then, as we sat over our coffee, Carol suddenly said, "It's really shocking, the way some people take advantage of their servants. Forcing them into doing all kinds of degrading things." "Yes," Lynn continued, "sexual services. Pretty nasty ones, too." "Well, Fifi shouldn't mind," Jim put in. "She's a slutty little girl, isn't she? That's what slutty little girls are for." "Yes, just look at her," Lynn went on. "Sitting there in nothing but her undies..." "...and such *naughty* undies, too!" Carol said. "She chose them herself, and look at them. White bra and panties, full of lace. And ruffles." "And she stuffed her bra, too," said Lynn. "Trying to make her boobies look bigger than they really are." "No shame at all," Carol said. Then, to me: "Girl, your place is in the bedroom." This conversation had clearly all been planned. Maybe even rehearsed. And I wasn't having any. "Er...look, guys, being a servant is one thing, but..." "SHUT UP!" Carol said. "We know what kind of girl you are. We know where you belong." "I bet he and his roomie are at it all the time," Jim said. "Tell me, Fifi, do the two of you take turns or do you do 69?" I was angry. "This has gone far enough...," I began. But the three of them got up, lifted me out of my chair, and marched me into the bedroom. If rape is inevitable... With a sigh, I lay down on the bed. And intimacy with Lynn or Carol would be sweet on any terms, I reflected. As for what Jim might want... I shut that thought out of my mind. I was sure the girls wouldn't let that happen. Wrong again. "Doesn't she have pretty lips," Carol said. "I can't wait to feel those lips and that tongue on me. Can you, Lynn?" "Oh, God, Carol, I'm dripping already." "Well...now's as good a time as ever. You want her? Take her." Lynn didn't bother to undress. She just reached under her skirt, pulled off her panties, which already had a wet spot on them, climbed onto the bed, and sat on my face. She was fully dressed except for the panties, and as her skirt enveloped me, I was lost in a world of darkness and sweet feminine scents. I had never had the hots for Lynn, but she was a pretty girl and I certainly didn't object to what we were about to do. I knew this was going to be great. She pressed down onto me. I could feel her pubic hair rough on my face. I began to get a hard-on inside my panties. I was going to give her the best sex she had ever had, if I could. I learned a lesson that night. If you're going to satisfy a girl that way, the nicest position for both of you is with you on your back with the girl squatting over you the way Lynn was doing with me. Your neck doesn't get tired, and she has complete control. She can put anything she wants onto your mouth. And Lynn certainly did. She positioned her clit on my lips and whispered, "Kiss it, Fifi. Use your lips and tongue." I kissed her and started working my tongue back and forth on her clit. She cried out. "Oh, God, don't stop!" I wasn't about to. I had never done this before, but I knew from the start that I would love it, and I threw my whole heart into pleasuring her, using first the smooth bottom of my tongue and then the rough top of my tongue, back and forth, like a cat lapping up cream. And she was giving me plenty of delicious stuff to lap up, too. After a long time, she shifted so