Journey of Discovery
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Journey Of Discovery - Part 3 free porn video
As Mark was thinking about the situation, he came to a conclusion. If he was
going to accomplish what he was setting out to do with this story, he was
going to have to gather his composure and refrain from becoming "a part of
the story" himself. Developing too close of a friendship with Lysa would
potentially affect his objectivity, as well as the stories and answers Lysa
may share with him. Dinner at her place was fine for tonight. But in the
future, things needed to be kept public and totally professional.
Just getting around to playing his phone messages, Mark noticed Stevie had
called "...to see if he was doing ok."
"That Stevie," he thought to himself, shaking his head with a grin.
Meanwhile, Lysa was tooling about the grocery store, gathering ingredients
for a simple salad and a pasta dinner for her guest. In the back of her
mind, she was wondering what kind of guy Mark was under his uptight
exterior. He's not an Adonis, but he seemed he could be quite a prince. And
he appears to know how to treat a lady well. For girls, it's not just about
looks.
"Ah, maybe a bottle of wine would help loosen him up," she thought. "Better
make it two," making a mental note to stop at the liquor store on the way
home.
By the time 6:00 rolled around, Mark was well into typing out some notes on
the afternoon's conversation with Lysa. Noticing the time at the bottom
right hand corner of his monitor, Mark saved his work under the heading of
"Lady Lysa." And that's all she should be -- another file name on hard
drive. Not a friend or someone he worries about appearance and pretenses
with. This is what he was telling himself as he carefully looked at face in
the mirror, debating whether to shave and then wondering what to wear.
Washing his face and brushing his teeth, Mark then grabbed a pair of Dockers
and sweater, getting dressed and out the door by 6:15. Judging by Lysa's
address, she couldn't be more than five minutes away from his place, so he
should be a little early for their 6:30 "appointment."
Lysa wasn't running quite as far ahead as Mark. But things were pretty
simple, so it should only take a few minutes more. As Mark drove up, he
realized he had driven past Lysa's apartment building nearly every day on
his way to work. Perhaps something to work into in his story -- that people
like Lysa are around us every day and part of our daily lives whether we
know it or not.
At Mark's knock on the door, Lysa did away with formality and yell out "It's
open." Mark walked in to witness Lysa buzzing around the kitchen. She was
wearing the same clothes she had on earlier. But her hair was pinned up on
top and she had on a pair of mules with lower heels.
"I'm sorry. I'm running a couple minutes behind. Could you give me a hand
with the wine?" Lysa asked.
"Well, I don't think..." Mark started to say he didn't plan on drinking.
"Here's the corkscrew. Just open them both up so they'll get a chance to
breathe. Then pour us each a glass if you don't mind."
Mark did as he was told, offering Lysa her glass. "To friends," she
toasted, touching her glass to his.
"C'mon, give me a hand with the salad." And with that, Mark was invited into
Lysa's "cozy" kitchen -- the word real estate agents use when they mean so
small, two is a crowd.
Lysa instructed him what vegetables to chop and how much, pointed him to the
salad spinner, then the vinegar and oil. As she finished up her patented
lasagna, she instructed Mark on how much vinegar, oil and ground pepper to
mix into the salad. He then carried it over to the table with Lysa asking
him to be seated. The table was already set, just waiting for the food. She
then put their wine glasses in the respective places and apologized somewhat
for drafting him into dinner duty, but conceded she liked the teamwork and
the help.
"A girl could get used to this," she offered, looking for a reaction with
brows raised -- picture perfect, pencil thin, feminine brows.
Mark just looked up with a polite smile and a slight chortle.
"Let me get you some more wine," said Lysa noticing Mark's nearly-empty
glass but no effect from the wine.
They sat down to their lasagna dinner, politely passing this and that. Once
the main course was complete, Lysa placed two dishes of sherbet out for
dessert. Mark complimented her on her cooking as she got up to clear the
dishes.
"A fringe benefit to having a girlfriend," Lysa hinted somewhat.
"Oh, I do okay," Mark countered, missing the flirtation. "I've been cooking
and cleaning for myself for years."
"You'll have to have me over to sample your cooking sometime," said Lysa,
trying to literally get her foot in the door.
Mark quickly searched his mind for a way out, not finding one. She had him
over, only fair he return the gesture.
"Sure. Next meeting will be at my place. Hope you like Spaghetti O's," Mark
joked.
"Love 'em!" Lysa snapped in a sultry, enthusiastic sort of way with half a
wink and a smile.
To Mark, that was his cue to get down to business. He pulled out his
recorder and started to turn it on. Then Lysa interrupted, suggesting they
move from the table to the sofa to be more comfortable. But instead of the
sofa, Mark chose the center of the love seat so the two of them were sitting
a safe distance apart.
Trying to pick up where they left off, Mark asked her more about how she
came to be in her present status. How young was she when it started, how
long did it take, how much did it cost. He did not get into asking to what
degree she was what she was, and not what she used to be.
After an hour or so, he finally got around to asking Lysa what he meant to
ask her the first thing at lunch. How would she refer to herself, or prefer
to be referred to, in terms of gender.
Lysa responded at first with her own questions.
"Mark, do you find me attractive?" She paused briefly, getting no response.
"Would you say I make an attractive woman?" This time she waited.
"Well... yeah."
"There's nothing masculine about me, is there? When we're together, I don't
do anything that suggests I'm a man." Lysa was not lecturing -- just trying
to lead Mark to the answer.
"Well, no. Not at all."
"So if all I project is the image of a woman, and all you see is me doing
that, what is the impression I make?"
"That you're a woman."
"Exactly. I can't speak for other girls like me. They may want to be known
as transsexuals or transgendered. But I see those more as clinical terms.
I've always felt like a woman, or at least what I think a woman feels like
-- and wanted to look what a woman looks like, or at least what I think one
should look like. No two women are the same, inside or out. I am as unique
as the next person. And as a person, I would define myself as a woman."
"I see. I didn't mean to be insensitive," Mark said more in reference to his
thoughts as opposed to his words.
"You've been a perfect gentleman," Lysa said with a bat of her eyelashes. "I
was just answering your question. Just like a vacation, it's not about where
you start, it's all about the destination. You don't describe a journey by
where you started, but by the sites you discover and the place where you
finally arrive."
As Mark was taking this all in, he suddenly remembered why he was having
this conversation in the first place and looked down to make sure his
recorder was still running. It was. Nearly 9:30, Mark felt it might be an
appropriate time to wrap up for the night. Peering out toward the balcony,
he noticed it was pitch dark and felt staying any later might be
uncomfortable. So he bid Lysa good night, saying he would call her to
arrange a time they could get together again. He already a lot to work with,
and could probably go a while without another interview.
"I'm available most any evening this week," Lysa said as she walked Mark
toward the door. "I'll be busy during the day working on web sites I've got
lined up."
At the door, it could have been as if Lysa was waiting for a kiss as she bid
her guest goodbye. He turned back and raised a hand to wave as he headed
through the breezeway and down the steps.
When he got home, Mark played back Lysa's response the question about her
gender. And after Lysa tidied up, she played back quite a bit of the evening
in her mind as well. While Mark's ambitions still lied with getting the
story, Lysa could care less where it went at the moment. Well, not exactly.
She did hope it went well for Mark's sake. And like he said, maybe it will
reach a few people and make a difference.
Mark sat down at his computer to read his email and then check out Lysa's
website, along with any others from guests of the show. Perhaps just
focusing on Lysa for now would be the best way to go with the story, given
the local angle and all. That's funny. Lysa must have responded to his email
sometime before dinner. Just a couple of lines. "Looks like you got me!
Thanks for lunch, Mark. You're really sweet! Hugs, Lysa."
He instantly imagined Lysa hugging him. There was no denying the picture was
appealing. Especially when you note the tent he suddenly pitched in his
pajama pants. Closing his email and heading to Lysa's website was like
jumping from the frying pan into the fire. The site was awesome. Lysa
designed it herself not only as a place to feature herself, but also to
demonstrate what kind of work she could do. There was a really sharp
graphics package, tasteful but not dull fonts, a little optional background
music and some very creative ways to display her photos.
As soon as he stepped into Lysa's gallery, he knew he was in trouble. After
typing in his name to enter, Lysa's voice delivered a sultry "Hello, Mark.
Welcome to my little landing. Won't you come a little closer?" Mark was
trying to keep his distance, but really felt like he was fighting a losing
battle tonight. There were 10 categories of photos, each category with 25
pictures inside. Each image only reinforced the fact for Mark that Lysa was
a lovely woman. Coupled with their earlier discussion on gender, Mark
started to replay and reinterpret each flirtatious comment Lysa had made
through the evening, then imagining he responded in a warmer, more welcoming
way.
Mark thought, "What would have happened? We had just met, so probably not
much. But that goodbye at the front door certainly would have been
different. The way she walked me to the door was definitely and opportunity
for a kiss goodnight... or two. Now THAT would be something to write about.
Maybe it WOULD be. Not in the paper, but perhaps freelancing in a different
forum."
One thing Mark noticed about Lysa's photographs, and this was something he
liked -- no nudity. No that by now he wouldn't have minded getting a peek at
her. But it showed Lysa has her own principles and limits. He thought it
showed real class. Besides, some of the bikini and lingerie shots she
offered were just as lovely and provocative, but still very tasteful. She
could just as easily have been posing for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit
edition or the Victoria's Secret catalog.
Then something just hit Mark. Who was on the other end of the camera lens?
Was there a boyfriend? Some obsessed admirer? Or did Lysa just use some
professional photographer for her shoots? This suddenly became one of the
next things Mark had to find out from Lysa. He could be casual about it in
conversation and say it was for the story, but beneath it all was a little
sense of jealousy burning inside him. "Who has this kind of intimate
relationship with Lysa," he thought.
Despite being tired after the light buzz Mark got from all the wine Lysa
poured into him, he carried on with his surfing. He also debated whether to
send a 'less than professional' response to Lysa's little note, especially
after all of the pictures of her he just got done looking at. Unable to
completely ignore it, he simply wrote back that it was his pleasure, he
hoped to get together again soon, and thanked her for being so generous with
her time. That wasn't enough though. He finished by complimenting her on her
cooking and saying "you're going to make some man very happy some day." Then
he quickly hit [send] before he could second guess himself and delete the
note.
Then Mark thought of something else. Why not check that chat room to see if
Lysa happened to be there. He entered anonymously, so he could only observe.
Lo and behold, there she was. With yet another lovely picture of herself
posted, Lysa was chatting back and forth with a couple of girls. Mark could
see that the occasional topic of the conversation was how Lysa spent her day
and her evening. At one point, she remarked what a great day she had. She
told one girl about how she met a guy this week and how nice he seems. But
she's not sure where it will lead yet. Lysa was pretty vague on the details,
keeping things private for the most part.
Mark felt a mix of emotions seeing this lovely woman bubbling over him. He
was certainly flattered in one way, happy in another, but also a little
worried about where this would lead. Could he have a relationship with such
a girl? Searching his psyche, Mark surmised that in one way, it would
provide a deep sense of macho accomplishment to have a man play such a
feminine role for his benefit. He would have to be some kind of guy to make
a man want to be his woman. On the other hand, does it make him less of a
man to have to resort to such a relationship instead of having one with a
woman who was born into that role? Is he not straight since he is attracted
to a woman who used to be a man? This only prompted Mark to retreat back
into his safe role as a reporter and tell himself to just think about the
story for now.
Nothing else was really being said in the chat room, and there was nothing
he could see that added to what he had already learned about Lysa and her
lifestyle. So Mark left to go get ready for bed. With his 'tent still
pitched,' he knew he had to do something about it -- either take a cold show
or 'disassemble' the tent. He chose the latter, fantasizing about Lysa as he
drifted off to sleep, hoping she was thing of him, too.
Coincidentally, she was. A few blocks away, Lysa was lying awake thinking
"what if this is the guy?" Could this finally be the end of being lonely and
going to bed by herself just as she was tonight. About 11:30 now, Lysa
decided to do something just to see what happened. She looked up Mark's
number and decided to call him. When he answered, she could tell he was
nearly asleep. So she briefly considered just hanging up. Instead, she
apologized for calling so late, but she thought he should know something in
case he was planning dinner for them this week. Lysa decided to tell Mark
she was going to make plans for Thursday night unless he had other ideas in
mind.
Mark's mind instantly raced to think about what she should do. If she was
trying to force his hand, he did not want to play into hers. But if her
plans were to be with someone else, he definitely wanted to pre-empt that if
he could. Usually being the one to air on the side of caution, Mark told
Lysa that Thursday was the night he was planning to have her over for
dinner. (What he was going to serve, he had no idea.) Lysa lit up when he
told her that. She was so happy she had called him. She could hardly hide
the excitement in her voice. Mark said he already knew what he wanted to
talk about -- her web site and why so many t-girls seemed to have them. Lysa
said that would be fine. They said their goodbyes and Lysa did a little
twirl in her fuchsia silk teddy, then leapt into bed.
Mark was happier, too, for having heard from Lysa right before bed. He
wasn't wearing a teddy to twirl about in.
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- 01.02.2021
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