Operation Casablanca I free porn video

Operation Casablanca I By Adriana Ovelar I start with a reminder for all the readers of Fictionmania. Fantasies can become reality, and what was an erotic dream come true, can be transformed into a nightmare. It happened to me. I had a good marriage with Ilsa. I believe that I fell in love with her when she told me that, in her childhood, she dressed her smaller brothers as girls, just for fun. Men dressed as women excited her. She told me, tenderly, that one of her first boyfriends did her a favor by wearing her mom?s nightgown the first time they made love. I thought that the coincidence of fantasies would carry us very far away. I remember that, during the first months that we lived together, I read to her some pathetic things from an old book: "Letters from Female Impersonators" and she masturbated while she listened to me. Not many weeks later, we went downtown together to buy me some high heeled shoes and a wig. My fem-persona, Victoria, had grown over the years. She learned to apply make up and to dress in an increasingly credible manner. Her personality, submissive and helpful, was basically different to mine. During weekends, she often took a life of her own. It was very difficult to stop being her and return to be Victor, the senior analyst of the national services of intelligence. Ilsa and Victoria became friends. Nevertheless, she set boundaries and limits. Although for me, dressing as a woman was an activity that gave me a deep satisfaction, beyond the erotic thing, I often desired that Victoria made love with Ilsa. My wife insisted that she was not a lesbian. Another limit is that Ilsa was frightened that I went outside as Victoria, and had forbidden me to do so. "They can do you harm," she said. The truth is that I it did not obey Ilsa when she was out of town. If, after verifying it before the mirror, I concluded that I looked pretty and could pass. I ventured outside for shopping or to take a cup of coffee. "Doll!" a boy shouted to me once. "Thin girl, but quite gifted", a policeman told his comrade after I passed by. "Adios, beautiful!" some tourist guides said to me as I passed by a hotel. And to tell the truth, I was quite good looking. 5 feet 9, thin body, shapely legs and a good butt, few noticed the narrowness of my hips, or the excessive makeup or that I wore a wig. In early spring I noticed Ilsa was calling me feminine names and referring to me as her girlfriend more often. I?ve always liked that, and I guess I encouraged her to do it even more, by acting more feminine. I kept my chest and legs shaven, whether or not I was to dress in women?s clothes, and every night I cuddled in her strong arms (she does a lot of workout, mostly weightlifting, at an expensive gym near our house). This feminine feeling was so sweet, I dared to go one step further. My mother?s doctor told her she didn?t need to take her hormone replacement anymore, for it was not needed anymore and was affecting her liver. I took the Premarin to my office and started by taking a pill every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I noticed the mood changes, I felt different every time the wind touched my face, every time Ilsa caressed my slowly growing chest. On some occasions, while mounting me, and particularly at the moment of the orgasm, I caressed her arms, hard as rock, and imagined that she was the man, and I the woman. * I had a good marriage with Ilsa, I tell you. One night, she told me she really needed a girlfriend at the moment, so I acted still more feminine. She thanked me and seemed delighted. The next day, a Saturday, Ilsa suggested that I become Victoria for the weekend. That day, my make-up was perfect, and so was the hair, which is usually the hardest part, after Ilsa had done some needed trimming on the wig. I put my corset, a blouse and skirt of Ilsa?s (I have my own, but I tend to buy very businesswoman like stuff) and high heeled sandals. We talked and giggled like old girlfriends, and felt very close. "Oh Victoria," she said at one moment, "you?re such a great woman. You could make any man happy." I thanked her. "Please stay like that as much as you can. I really need a girlfriend now." * I was having a delicious weekend as Victoria, when my wife asked me if it was alright to receive phone calls from a male friend. "Of course", I told her. I gave no importance to the matter. That Sunday afternoon, who knows why, she wanted to see on TV the Grand Prix of Canada. In the meantime, I prepared an onion soup ?my specialty-, which came out great, and scalopes cooked with Marsala wine. At night the telephone rang. Ilsa rushed to answer it, and she talked some minutes in English. She explained to me that it was a friend that she had met at the gym, and that he was calling from Canada, where he had run in one of the auto races before the Grand Prix. During the week, she continued speaking about him. His name was Rick, he was an Englishman, spoke a very funny Spanish and he was very easy to get along with. "Oh, cool," I thought. Thursday, while we had dinner, she asked me if he wanted I to go out with her on Friday, but as Victoria. She told me she had bought two tickets for the theater and that afterwards, we?d go and have a drink, as two good girlfriends. I was enthused by the idea. I woke up very early on Friday, to shave completely ?there were very few hairs, really, since I took them off each week-, to put on rollers ? I never treated my wig as if it wasn?t part of me- and to have my clothes ready for the night. I said to myself that it was an opportunity not to be wasted with foolishness, such as trying to make love with Ilsa when we returned home. I was nervous at work and, at my return, I bathed, put a very rich cream all over my body and prepared myself carefully. I pushed my nipples up front, pressed the lower chest with tape and put dark makeup in the middle, to create the impression of cleavage. I wore a boned color blouse, an olive green skirt, barely under the knee, a combining blazer, and a large bag, also olive green. I put on a waist cincher to highlight my figure, natural color hose and green shoes, with discrete heels. The ring that Ilsa gave me, a wide bracelet and squared golden earrings completed the look. I did my makeup with great care, knowing that one can be a little big more daring at night, and I put some tiny drops of one of the perfume samples that Ilsa had given me in Christmas. I felt splendid. * When I was finishing my transformation, Ilsa arrived in a hurry from the gym. She said I looked stunning. She took a fast shower and wore a mustard colored chamois jacket, pants of the same tone and large boots, also chamois. The play was very amusing. I felt strange identifying with the other female spectators. From looking and comparing the clothes we were using, to laughing at the same jokes, although I did repress myself a little, trying to keep my laughter high-pitched. From there, we went to a bar, to talk a while as good girlfriends. Ilsa said that she was very pleased to see me so happy. She said that my femininity was increasingly natural. That she was convinced that now nobody would be able to guess my true identity and that it gave her a sense of safety. We talked about the play and we criticized whatever passed in front of us. Then, two men, near 40 years old, passed in front of us. We looked at them. They looked at us. They smiled. We smiled. Ilsa asked me: "Which one of the two seems more handsome to you?" For me the answer was very clear. The handsome one was the tallest, whose intellectual style glasses framed a very manly face. He had wide shoulders, although not into bodybuilding exaggeration. But I preferred to remain quiet, lest Ilsa think I was gay. "Come on, don?t be shy. One of the two pleases you more," she said. "I truly?" "If we have commented on the men that we see on TV, I do not see why we can?t do it now." "OK, I believe that the taller one is more handsome, but?" "But don?t worry ?said Ilsa, smiling back at the strangers-, I?m not going to call him. I?m not going to invite them for a drink, either." I laughed sharply. "Pheeew! Saved by the bell!" said Ilsa, only to remark later, "And now you also laugh like a woman." "I love you very much," I answered. "And I love you too, girlfriend." We kept making a little visual contact with the boys and soon they sent us another round of what we were drinking. Ilsa raised her glass briefly to thank them. I imitated her, but was somewhat fearful. One of them, the shorter dark-haired one, approached our table. I was sure they would want to sit with us or to ask us to go with them. My nerves clouded my senses. I only remember, vaguely, that Ilsa found the exact words to politely deny their request, and that I only looked into my handsome one?s eyes. We returned to the house amid laughter. We cleaned our makeup off and put night cream. We put our pajamas on ?I, my lilac nightgown; she, a blue marine sleeping blouse and some matching pants- and went to sleep, embracing each other. The following day, as is my routine as Victoria, I rose early, shaved very closely, combed my hair, put on make up, made breakfast for Ilsa and carried it to our bed. "You?re so pretty!" she exclaimed. "I had a great time with you, last night." I gave her my best smile. "A woman as extraordinary as you needs a good husband," she said later. I assented, convinced, happy with my girlfriend but at the same time desiring to have a good husband. A little while later Ilsa put her sports clothes and went to the gym. I remained at home, simply dressed: pink blouse, a very comfortable brown skirt, stockings, some brown shoes, originally Ilsa?s, that, by who knows what amazing magic, I could fit to my size, and my apron. I washed the dishes, ironed a bit, and prepared supper while listening to pop music: a good pot of tagliatelle with smoked oysters. When Ilsa returned, she had a pretty surprise for me: a bouquet of flowers. I felt really happy. We ate very at ease, with a bottle of wine that we finished in the room. Ilsa kept on looking at me very sweetly, and said "Victoria, you are really exceptional. I like you more than Victor. Do not misinterpret me. I do love Victor. He is my husband. But he is so stressed, he just cannot express everything that he feels. You do express your feelings, dear. I always see your great love in your eyes, your pure love." I simply smiled. She carried on. "That?s why I have told you, in the past few weeks, that you have to be more in contact with your feminine side. I have asked you to socialize more with your female companions of work. It is so that you can understand us women and know how we feel. I know that Victoria would learn very fast. I am not so sure about Victor." "You know well that we are the same person," I tried to argue. "You are and you are not. Victor is often afraid. He blocks himself. A horrible machismo lives inside of him, and he doesn?t allow you to be as you are. You must lose your fear, and not be scared of that machismo anymore." "I?m going to lose it," I promised, but I thought I was already on that path. Since the day Ilsa suggested me, with insistence, to spend more time with my female coworkers, I also started to pee while sitting down and, by the time we were speaking, I was two weeks into taking Premarin, out of a box that took from my mom?s house. That rainy afternoon we did not leave the house. And at night we saw a rented video. Two great girlfriends. One wearing pants. The other, a skirt and lots of makeup. On Sunday, after making breakfast for Ilsa and doing some domestic tasks, she proposed we go out again. This time we?d go shopping. She said that, if I wanted, I could change to Victor, but that it would be better if I went as Victoria, because the purchases were for her. I wore a black and red dress that had been Ilsa?s, and it fit me perfectly, even if it wasn?t as long on me. I fixed my hair, retouched my make up and we went out shopping. We had a great time again. I bought earrings, a handbag, two blouses with their skirts, a pair of blue pumps and, following the suggestion of my wife, some thongs, a combination of yellow panties and bra and a 34 size corset, which would certainly be very tight. She bought a blouse and bell bottom jeans for herself. We had tea and scones at the store cafeteria. The same one I had gone to, without my wife?s knowledge, a couple of times. The waiter who was the first person to ever call me "Miss" served us. My feet hurt a lot but I wouldn?t dare take my shoes off. Maybe if I?d try to put them back on, it would have been impossible. At home, I tried the thongs. They were quite uncomfortable if I had to push my penis back, but they felt real nice at the ass. "Is it uncomfortable?" asked Ilsa. "Somewhat," I replied. "They are really not for Victoria to wear, but for Victor, when he goes to work. They won?t be too tight in the behind, but will remind you of who you truly are." I could do nothing but smile. "I want him to wear them every day. To learn to feel the skin of his butt in the cloth. To feel their grab. I want him not to be able to just take out the thing he has in the middle of the legs when it?s time to pee." I laughed. There was no doubt now that I?d keep sitting at the toilet. I also tried the corset. Ilsa helped me tighten it up. Afterwards, she let me wear one of her dresses so that I could admire how it transformed my shapes. It was impressing, but very uncomfortable. "Not tonight, because you have work tomorrow and Victoria deserves a rest, but I really would like you to sleep often with this corset, it really enhances your figure." While I was still staring at the mirror, Ilsa said "You won?t deny that I?ve pampered you this weekend." Obviously, I couldn?t deny it. * Monday noon, I got a call from Ilsa. "Victor, dear. A friend invited me to dinner tonight. Is it alright with you?" "Sure, why not," I answered, ignorant of how things were going to precipitate. "OK, see you at home before nine. If you can make it." "Of course I can." I arrived home on time, and found Ilsa making her finishing touches. She looked wonderful and quite sexy in her sleeveless turquoise blouse, but was worried about her hairdo. I reassured her she looked great, and then she began wondering if she was dressed too fancy, if she?d rather wear some jeans. "OK, thanks, dear. Now help me zip this up." As I was doing it, Ilsa said to me "Now, rest well. You can put on a facemask, paint your toenails, put in rollers. When I?m back, I want to find you asleep, with your old embroidered gown and with the corset as tight as can be. Don?t you worry about me." "Yeah thanks. I was thinking I?d rest." "Come on. Get yourself pretty." She went to the bathroom and the phone rang. I went to get it but they hung up. "Why the hell did you answer the phone, you idiot?" yelled Ilsa opening the door, "Don?t you see you embarrassed him and he hung up on you? You never answer the phone and you rushed this time!" "Well, you were in the bathroom!" "Shut up, idiot, you have a way of ruining things for me! You want to shame me, that?s what you want. Now I have to wait for him downstairs. Fuck." Then the cellular phone rang. It was Rick. I could tell because Ilsa went back to the bathroom and her giggles were easy to hear behind the wall. She came back with a different face, radiant. She sat near the bed, weary. In a second, she decided to wait outside for him. Then she rang the bell, scorned me for not being quick enough to answer, and got the house keys she had forgotten. All this got me wondering through the night. From the way she prepared herself to the Freudian slip of forgetting the keys, it was obvious this was a date with just a male friend. She had dressed sexily for the Brit and had found a trivial pretext to get mad at me. I thought she felt less guilt this way. For a while, I struggled against the idea of a romantic rendezvous. It?s only unjustified macho jealousy, I said to myself. She has told me, again and again, that she loves me. If she loves me, she?s not going to cheat on me. I decided then that a relaxing mask would be the perfect way to escape from that stressing sensation. I thought that Ilsa?s suggestion was useful. Perhaps because she knows me so well, she considered that I?d be a little tense with a new situation and a little more Victoria would relax me. So, finally, I followed her instructions. I couldn?t sleep, though. When Ilsa arrived, well after one a.m., she found me in my rollers, still smelling of night cream, with my corset really constricted and with my toenails painted with an intense red color. But awake. I heard her arrive and go to the living room. I noticed the smell of cigarette smoke and got out of bed, making her believe that the sounds and the smoke had woken me up. She embraced me and kissed me passionately. "I love you," she said. "I ended up doing most of the talking, and I talked about you. Rick said I must really love you. And yes, I do, dear." In her eyes I saw that was true. They had gone to a very fancy Italian restaurant and Ilsa explained they took so long because there was such great music, and Rick was always a gentleman. It cost Rick $300 and we giggled about it. I didn?t know that was probably the last time Ilsa and I would kiss on the mouth. * I slept soundly, but the morning after it felt like if a worm had gotten inside my chest. At noon, I had an impulse, and sent flowers to Ilsa, so she?d feel she had another gentleman at home. I also felt proud that I had passed the test, and had a liberal mindset. At night my wife told me that Rick had also sent her flowers. Only he sent them to the gym, and all of her friends talked about them. She told me Rick was very rich. His hobby was racing old Formula One cars. He competed with his 1958 Ferrari in most qualifying races of the Grand Prix tournament. He worked in our country for a national bank. There was not much work on Wednesday, so I had time to lunch at home. To my surprise, I found Ilsa crying, hopelessly, with her hands over her face. "What happened, love?" I asked her. "I am so confused," she wailed. "Why?" "Because I love you, and I also love him." My heart started beating fast. I felt my soul drop to the ground. She did not look at me, and kept on weeping. "I thought you were just friends," I said. "That?s what we are. Nothing has happened between us. But I?m confused." Suddenly, she regained composure, washed her tears and looked me in the eyes. "Think like Victoria," she told me, "as my girlfriend. What do I do?" To my surprise, I thought exactly like Victoria would. "Try, experiment, be curious. At least find out if he?s a good lay." I swallowed my thoughts. I told her something about taking care of her family. Her husband. Obviously, I didn?t convince her. But I understood that the woman in me had betrayed me. "If you can?t answer like my girlfriend, at least answer me as a friend. I want you to be my friend always." "I am always your friend? and your love." "See how you always think only on yourself!" she loudly complained- "I am looking for some solidarity and what I see is hurt male pride." I didn?t answer. I went to the kitchen, made a sandwich for each one of us. We ate it and I went back to work. On my return from the office, I found Ilsa sitting on the bed, looking down. "I feel terrible," she told me, "but I don?t have to feel bad about my feelings. I love you and I love him. What I can?t do is to keep on living like this, where nothing changes. My life is shit. A boring job as a financial adviser, a boring life without any prospects, and no vitality. What I am becoming? I?m over thirty and I have done nothing with my life. Nothing." "We have made a family," I defended myself, "with lots of love, lots of tenderness, lots of understanding." "That?s precisely the problem," she refuted, "you don?t understand. You only think about yourself. We are locked, we see very few people. Nothing exciting ever happens to us. You feel safe, you have no dreams anymore, you?re happy with what you have, as if you were a freaking old man." "Hey, that?s not true!" I protested. "Listen to how we make love," she said. I felt her eyes injected with anger. "The passion is gone, the imagination is gone. Now it?s a mechanical, insipid thing. We kiss each other, you stick it in me, we try two or three different positions and I always finish on top. We do it only once a night, and always at night. It?s fucking boring." "But a few days ago, we started in the living room and ended up sitting in front of the mirror?" "A few days ago? How long ago? A month? Two months? And, in between, only routine ordinary fucks from a routine ordinary couple. But I am no ordinary woman. You must understand it once and for all. I am not. " "I never said you were." "But you treat me like I was ordinary, which is worse. That?s how you see me." "If you take a look at some stuff we do, like Victoria for example, we are not ordinary at all." "Well, that?s barely the difference. If it wasn?t for Victoria, you?d be an absolute bore. I know you?re a good person," she added, "you have values and can also be fun to be with. I love you, really. But I?m fed up. I?m bored with you. Victoria isn?t boring, she?s great, but you already know, I?m not a lesbian." "You have said very strong stuff," I rose, with my nerves all tangled, looking for a cigarette. "It?s harsh but it?s the truth. You know me. I always tell the truth." The cigarettes were in the living room. When I went back to the bedroom, Ilsa told me, with a very serious face "We should separate. Why don?t you go live elsewhere? Maybe for eight months. I tell you as a friend." My first reaction was to yell "Why don?t you go?" but I contained myself, she could take me at my word and I would lose her forever. "Let me think about it," I answered. I turned my back and went out to the street to get a breath of fresh air, to assimilate the tremendous blow I was receiving, to think that I couldn?t be apart from Ilsa, that she needed me as much as I needed her, to feel a strange sensation in my gut. When I came back, Ilsa was still at the bed, with a sorrowful face. "Forgive me," she said, "I was very rude to you." "Yes." "Why don?t we try something different, something that doesn?t put us apart?" At the moment, I would do anything to not lose her. "What about an emotional separation? What if you move to the other room?" "Okay," I assented, thinking that it was a reversible defeat. "Thank you, honey. I?ll love being Victoria?s roommate, I?m sure." "Victoria?s?" "Of course Victoria?s. Victor can come here from work and leave from here, but I don?t want to see him. I told you, he bores me to death. Victoria, instead, is really nice. It would be an interesting variation in our lives, don?t you think?" I sighed with resignation. Ultimately, Victoria was part of Victor and Ilsa would have to acknowledge that it was me behind Victoria. In fact, I thought, I could use my feminine self to fight the battle for Ilsa. * From then on, my life started to seem like a transgendered story. I moved into the other room. I divided the clothing. I soon noticed that Victoria?s side of the closet was larger than Victor?s, which was reduced to a few dress shirts, five suits, ten ties, two belts, two or three casual shirts, a vest, a jacket, a pair of jeans, two pairs of shoes and sneakers. There was also unisex clothing: t-shirts, sweatshirts and socks (in fact, most of my socks were already women?s). But now all my underwear was feminine, Ilsa had thrown away my boxers, and the purchased thongs just added to the bikinis my wife had given me, and a dozen bras. If we add my nightgowns, my silk robe, four pairs of slacks and pants, about eight skirts (most of them, Ilsa?s), three dresses, two sweaters, a tailored suit, about ten blouses, six pairs of shoes, a good stock of pantyhose, about five belts (most of them given to me by Ilsa) and, of course, the waist cincher and the corset, it is clear that I had the kernel or a big wardrobe. I started living a double life. During the day I was a dedicated employee of the national intelligence services. During evenings and weekends, I was a woman very interested in her appearance, locked between the four walls of her home. It was a double life in all senses of the word. During daytime, I was consumed by rancor towards Rick and Ilsa. Towards him, for stealing her from me; towards her, for letting the Brit steal her. But I did not only worry, I also kept myself busy during free time, in doing my own investigation. Something smelled bad about this rich Englishman who worked at a local bank. In the evenings, I went quickly into my room to become Victoria and go to the living room to dwell with Ilsa, and somehow express to her how much I loved her and what I was willing to do to keep her by my side. The research started more swiftly than I thought. I started searching for the results of all previous races of the Canadian Grand Prix. Two Richards appeared in the vintage car category: Richard Monroe, from Grand Rapids, Michigan, and Richard Deckard, from Manchester, U.K. Deckard was a teammate of Oscar Strasser Maestre, Director General of Banca Activa, and son of the late millionaire politician Oscar Strasser Lopez. It didn?t escape me that Rick Deckard the racer and Rick Deckard the replicant hunter in Blade Runner had the very same name. It didn?t escape to me either that the Strassers were classified, by the United States Department of Justice, as potential money launderers. The DEA was after them. My first intuition was that Rick was a financial specialist whose work was, precisely, to make dirty money come out sparkling clean. That was enough, for starters. I asked Guillermo Ugarte, my underdirector, to find out all about a guy named Rick Deckard, who ran cars with Strasser Maestre and could be the financial wiz behind suspicious movements in Banca Activa. We?d somehow learn his secrets, his weak flank and I would find the precise moment to launch my attack. It was bizarre: that jealous, bold, decided man, after he crossed the threshold of his house, ran to become a kind, obliging little miss, eager to be helpful to her roommate, who, in her turn, was the wife of the jealous man. I would shave thoroughly, get dressed, put my make up and my wig on, and go to make dinner or to offer Ilsa a cup of coffee. We chatted for a while and I was attentive to everything she?d say. She?d sit in a sofa, and I would be on the floor, at her feet. Sometimes, I?d give her feet a massage. We didn?t watch TV together anymore. We both had a TV in our rooms. But we shared the music. Once, we were listening to John Lennon. There was a moment in which I thought I have foreseen a path we could both follow to change our lives. Being in contact with my feelings meant I was in contact with Ilsa?s. I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I screamed it in silence. I thought that, by loving her, I gave her the power to make me happy, the power to hurt me, to make me angry, to frighten me. We listened to Lennon and I told her I felt the same things he expressed. That shivering inside sensation, the asking for forgiveness with the spirit and the guts, the acknowledgment that I was just learning to tell what?s real from what?s superficial, to tell the trees from wood. It rained out in the street, and it rained inside of me. I wanted to seek comfort with the idea that life needs a dose of pain to be complete. Ilsa touched me and a warm sensation ran through my body. I just stayed there, hoping the moment would never end. Hoping that fear would vanish. "Your love is very beautiful," she whispered in English. I noticed that her eyes were looking elsewhere. It wasn?t me she was thinking about, but Rick. It was a bitter, paradoxical situation. My fantasy of living as a woman was becoming truth but, in exchange, I felt the emotional distance, the sensation that Ilsa?s love was dimmer, while my devotion towards her remained intact. The sensation of being replaced, and I had thought I was irreplaceable. The sensation that Victor was vanishing and that it would be hard for Victoria to really be born. * Ilsa wanted Victoria to emerge and fly. She spent part of a good commission on buying me my own dressing table, so that I could get pretty in my room. She also replaced the neutral pictures in what once was the studio with romantic reproductions. She herself prepared a ?reducing? substance, with ether, camphor, clove, rosemary and sage, which I rubbed on every three nights. She thought about me and showed it. But she also proved that she wanted to be near Victoria, and to see Victor as little as possible. One evening, she brought me a new present, wrapped in cellophane, with a red bow. It was a pink five-inch vibrator. "Since you haven?t had sex lately, I thought it would interest you," she said to my astonishment. "It?s a simple one, it only has one speed. It?s smaller than a normal penis, I hope you know." I had thought about buying a vibrator, but only to use it as an auxiliary gadget in our sexual encounters. "And what do you want me to do with it? Do you want me to shove it inside?" "Of course, dear, what else would you want it for? But of course you can also practice cocksucking, which is something you will surely like." Things looked dreadful. The other thing, the dildo, looked menacing. "Some day, when we are both hot, we can masturbate together," she added. "I?ll use my finger, you?ll shove the dildo all the way, You are going to love it, I assure you." I kept staring at her incredulously. "You?re crazy," I told her, and turned around. "Wait, you stupid bitch, don?t move. Come back and look at me. I bought that gift because I love you. Because I know you?re going to adore it. Don?t act like a little girl. You?re disappointing me." Disappointing is a key word for me. I stayed and listened to her. "If you look at the mirror, you?ll find a very beautiful woman, a nice looking woman, an elegant and good woman. You won?t see a man. You won?t see a gay man either, you already jumped that stage. If you go to the mirror, look at yourself and then you tell me you see a man, you?ll be lying to me and you?re going to disappoint me. That man is the mask that the woman has had to wear. For years you have been a woman in a man?s facade. And all of us girls need sex. You?re almost 40 and still a virgin. As your friend I thought that you could lose your virginity with this little fellow," she pointed at the vibrator, "but you act offended and, instead of thanking me and running to your room to stick it up, you complain and call me crazy. Am I crazy for loving you? Am I crazy because I realize more than you do that you have sexual needs? Am I crazy because I think you can make a man happy? Don?t fool yourself. What you want, in the deepest of your heart and in the deepest of your asshole, is a cock." Tears began to crowd my eyes. Everything was confusion. Did she say that because she loved me or because she wanted to leave no trace of my virility? Did I really want a man, a dick? Why did I stand such humilliation? Was it humilliation or a favor? Was I being ungrateful? Was I a repressed woman? Could I really make a man happy? Could I make him happier than I could make Ilsa happy? "Don?t cry, gorgeous, come here," said Elsa, with a sweeter tone of voice. "Come, I?ll teach you." She took the dildo out of the box and put it between her legs, as if it were her penis. I moved towards her and sat on my favorite place: at her feet. "Come Victoria. Give me a little suck." I knelt and started kissing the tip of the vibrator. Ilsa gave me instructions, very slowly. "Yes honey, do it with tenderness, it is very sensible. (I felt the plastic, but was getting used to the shape). "Now take it on its base." (I did with both hands, as if it was real). "Lick it." (I obeyed and started to get excited, it was our first erotic game since the emotional separation). "Now swallow it all. Enjoy having a dick inside, you beautiful girl, a dick you like very much." (I swallowed it carefully, without having my teeth touch it, as if it were real practice). "Nice, baby, you suck real nice." (I sucked weakly, but licked with gusto, and I felt that my lips were getting swollen, that they moved on, they wanted more and more). "You like cock, don?t you?" (I assented and kept on pressing it with my lips). "And your ass is wet, lubricated. It wants it inside." (I put my mind on my ass and, even if I didn?t feel it was wet, I notice it had small spasms). "Nice ass, anxious ass, needy ass." (I felt the spasms got bigger). "And the cock is lubricated too. It is time to have it inside." (She moved away, letting me alone with the dildo). "Skirt up, pantyhose and panties down, keep on sucking." (I obeyed and held the vibrator in my mouth with one hand, while taking off my clothes with the other). "Now, shove it inside." (At the beginning, and through the middle part too, I felt an intense pain, because the entrance was dryer than imagined, but the end penetrated easily, and in a few seconds I had the whole dildo inside of me). "See how easy it was," she said with a knowledgeable grin, "that ass was hungry." I must have looked at her with my eyes wide open, overwhelmed. I was sitting with my legs open, and a little mast stuck into my hole, a mast I had lovingly licked between Ilsa?s legs, a pole that propelled me to move more, to wiggle my butt. That mast, I had to accept it now, gave me pleasure. "Loosen yourself, relax," advised Ilsa "and please place that enormous clitoris of yours between your legs, it doesn?t look very feminine." I complied to her orders again, and the slight pain I felt for crushing it only added to the pleasure. "Yummy! Yummy! It?s delicious!" I finally screamed. "Of course Victoria, cock is delicious. Do you like cock?" "I like it! I like it! I love it!" "Let?s see. Take it out and twist the lower part" So I did. As I bent the base, the dildo started to vibrate. I passed through my mouth to lubricate. It had a slightly excremental flavor. I spit on my hand and passed it over the phallus. Then I shoved it inside. The thing vibrated inside of me, I vibrated with it. I went up and down, always desiring to have more of it, wishing anxiously that the thing would grow inside of me, that it would ejaculate vigorously. "Let?s see, Victoria, tell me: What?s the yummiest thing in life?" "To have a cock inside of you" "It?s the best for any woman, isn?t it?" "Yes, the best," and I felt electric shocks coming up and down from the base of my back all the way to my head. "And are you going to want a lot of cock?" "Yes, a lot of cock." "And, are you going to thank me for this gift?" "Thank you, thank you," I moaned. "Thanks for what?" "For the cock you gave me, love." "I am not your love, I?m your friend. I?m not a lesbian." "Sorry, Ilsa, sorry." "And are you going to use my gift every night?" "Yes, every night." "You are going to use it until you realize that you can?t live without a cock inside. Until you feel something is missing if you don?t have a cock inside. Until you feel incomplete without it. Until there is no hour in the day in which you do not desire it," she kept on talking, while I was warmly cumming, in a slow orgasm that was amplified and unrolled from within and had me desiring that the object would stay forever inside of me. Ilsa didn?t take long, though, to break the magic. "Now go and wash yourself, you?ve left a mess. I?m going to masturbate in my room, I got too horny."