Being Me free porn video

The following tale is adapted from a story started be SlimV. The story was never finished and sent to me to read some time ago. I liked the idea so much that I asked if I could steal it and finish it off while expanding on it. Both SlimV and myself have been collaborating on it for some time now, thanks hun for the editing. I hope you enjoy reading it and get as much fun out of it as we did writing it. Being ME Part 1 - Out of The Closet Kind of a waste, I thought as I took a brush to my long blonde hair while admiring my make-up in the mirror. Why should I take the time to get all dressed up when I'll just have to get dressed down in a couple hours? But what the heck, I'm a girl- a woman. It's my curse. I want to look my best, even if it's only for a short while. I feel better when I'm at my best. Who doesn't? Talk about feeling better! Ponytails are great for sleeping in and keeping the hair out of my eyes, but if I didn't like having long hair, I wouldn't have grown it long! I love it. It's been blonde since the day I was born. Mom said it would turn mousey as I got older, but so far that hasn't happened and I hope it never does. Her blonde hair comes from a bottle. I brushed it out so that it fell across my shoulders. The best thing about being a girl is...everything! I love the clothes. I love the make-up and the jewellery. I love the way I look and feel. Thinking about it makes me happy as I clip some gold hoops to the backs of my ears. I smile at myself as I get up from the dresser and look in the full-length mirror behind me. I'm a knockout. I turned my leg and straightened out the seam on my stocking. Standing straight In front of the mirror I pulled the black lacy blouse down under the belt that encircled my waist. The blouse was a sort of gypsy style that was off the shoulder; a line of elastic ran across the top keeping it tight on my arms. The white skirt I wore was tight denim and hugged my curves. I stood on top of four inch heeled leather pumps. The thin stilettos emphasised the curve of my calves, making my legs look long and slender. I left the room and headed downstairs. It was about 10:30am in the morning and I still had time to do a few chores before going to the gym later in afternoon. As I said, most women I know don't take the time to get dressed up in the morning if they think they're going to get dirty or sweaty later in the day, but I'm not like most women. I like to look my best regardless of the time or the things I have to do. I stepped into the kitchen. The sound of my heels clicked and echoed against the tile floor in the empty house. Wanting something to drink, I thought about coffee, but wound up talking myself into a glass of wine. It was early, but I love the cool fruity taste of white wine. It makes me feel so delicious. I opened the fridge, and found the bottle from last night's dinner and poured myself a glass. I took a seat on a stool, picked up the morning paper and found a pack of Berkley Menthol cigarettes and a slim gold lighter underneath it. I opened the pack and took out a cigarette. Slipping the white filter into my mouth, I lit it and inhaled. Being as it was the first ciggie of the day, my lungs were startled and I coughed out the first puff. My second puff was much more pleasing and I settled into the stool with my newspaper. I opened the paper and glanced through the stories; another soldier killed in an ambush in Iraq, troops struggling to keep control in Afghanistan, another useless celebrity sent to jail for drunk driving and the usual mundane muck that keeps tabloids afloat and keeps it's readership enthralled with the lives of the people they try to be, or aspire to. I took a puff on the cigarette and blew out the smoke, lifting the glass to my lips. As I sipped the wine, a deep burgundy smudge appeared on the rim. The latest issue of Woman's World sat at my side. I picked it and leafed through it. I don't regard it as hard- nosed journalism, but it's nice to know how bake a moist meatloaf and keep your man hard in bed, though not at the same time. I paused at the fashion section, this being my favourite and probably the only reason I looked at it. I took a drag from the cigarette and glanced at the clock. It was after eleven o'clock, so I still had another hour or so before I needed to get changed for the gym. The fashion section hooked me, my concentration intensified, god look at those black leather boots with the turn down flap at the top. I imagined wearing them over the knee or maybe turned down. The silver metal heel glinted in my eyes. The short shirt type dress the model wore clung to her hips and the one strap shoulder plunged across leaving one shoulder bare. Great look, I thought to myself. I glanced through four more pages of new fashions featuring; shoes, bags, make-up and the latest perfumes. I was in heaven. And then I heard the sound of a door key struggling with a lock. The tumblers turned. The door pushed open. A foot landed on the floor. I froze with the magazine in my hands and the cigarette burning between my fingers. I tried to get up. I heard a woman's voice say, "Just make yourself comfortable in the lounge, while I put this in the kitchen." I swallowed hard as I heard the footsteps come closer. The door opened as I was dropping the still burning cigarette into the ashtray. A woman walked in, stopping in front of me. We looked at each other. "Michael is that you?" she asked. No longer frozen, I fled the kitchen, almost knocking her over as I ran for the stairs. Damn heels! I stumbled but made it to the top without falling. I dashed inside my room and slammed the door behind me. Oh God, I thought as I dived on to my bed. Have I ever been so scared and frightened? My heart felt as if it would burst at any moment and I wished it would. I started crying. It might have been a couple minutes or maybe it was more, but eventually the door opened, and I looked up to see my mother standing over me while I looked up at her from the bed. The look on her face was both stern and troubled. There was a half finished cigarette between her fingers. She raised it slowly to her lips and took a deep puff. Smoke spewed down from her nose. Her voice cracked. "Do you care to explain all this?" she asked, as she made a sweeping gesture with the cigarette in her hand. I answered her with silence. "Michael, I'm asking you a question and I expect an answer." I just shook my head and sobbed. My mattress shifted under her weight as she sat down beside me. She sighed and took a compensatory drag from her Berkley. "These are mine," she said as she picked at my blouse with her thumb and forefinger. "Get changed and wash your face." I accepted her invitation to leave and exited my bedroom for the bathroom down the hall. I locked the door behind me and stared at the mirror in disgrace. Eye shadow and mascara had run down my face, making me look like a circus clown instead of the sexy little fox I had been before my mother had interrupted me. I cursed myself for getting caught as I began the process of taking off the make-up. After cleaning up, I left the bathroom and cautiously looked out over the stairwell. I didn't see anyone but I could hear two women talking, though I couldn't make out what they were saying. I was certain their conversation had something to do with me and that made my heart sink. Of course this had to be as embarrassing to her as it was to me, so maybe I was just being paranoid. The thing I'd done wasn't worthy of gossiping about. I slunk back to my room and quickly undressed, exchanging her clothes for my underwear, tracksuit bottoms and a tee-shirt. I gathered up the clothes I had been wearing and sneaked back into my parent's room. I put the shoes back in the closet and left her other clothes on the bed before going back to my room for my gym bag. My heart thumped wildly against my chest as I quietly I slipped downstairs past the lounge. I fumbled with the door and let myself out and sprinted down the path and out the gate. I was relieved to be free, to have escaped, but I knew the freedom was only temporary. At some point, probably that evening, I'd have to account for this morning. I worked up a real sweat at the gym in an attempt to purge myself of the shame and anxiety that haunted me. I needed at least another two years, but the gym closed at five o'clock. Not long after that, I found myself on the street, forced with the decision of what to do next. I searched through my bag and found a couple of pounds, which was enough to buy a Lucozade Sport and a Mars Bar. I bought them at a store across the street from the park. As I crossed the intersection, I hoped a car would run the light and hit me in the crosswalk, but I made it safely across the street and found a bench under a tree. I took a seat and did some thinking. By now you've probably gathered that I'm not a sexy fox. I'm a boy. My name is Michael McWilliams. I'm 18 and about to start college in the autumn. My Mum's name is Anne. She's 39 and teaches class at the local comprehensive school that I left only a month earlier. My dad is 44 and a police inspector. He works long hours and is seldom home. I peeled back the paper on the Mars Bar and took a bite and thought about myself and the situation I had created. The first thing that comes to mind is that I'm in a spot of trouble for getting caught in my mother's clothes. Not to mention that I was smoking her cigarettes when she caught me. I honestly can't say why I do it. It's a compulsion of sorts. I'm drawn to her clothes like a magnet and I do it as often as I can. In the early days I looked ridiculous, but with practice and a little help from the Internet, I've become rather good at it. My mum is beautiful, blonde, and slim and has a knockout figure. A lot of people say I inherited my looks from her and maybe they're right. My facial shape and skin tone are similar to hers. I can actually see more than a passing resemblance when I'm made up and wearing her clothes. As for smoking, well I just find it sexy when women do it, and when in Rome... I knew the heath risks. God you can't turn on the television without seeing some anti smoking advert of some sort. Smoking kills, it smells and affects those around you. But hey! There are lots of things that people do that affect others. Our planet is decaying under the threat of global warming. People drive cars that pollute the atmosphere and add to the problem. They have accidents and kill themselves and others. People over eat and grow obese. They suffer heart attacks and strokes. People take drugs and ruin their lives with heroin or coke or alcohol. I guess what I'm trying to say is that life is all about choices and we live and die by the choices we make. Some of you won't understand what I'm talking about. Some of you will vehemently disagree. If you're afraid to die, then lock yourself in a plastic bubble far away from the smog and industrial pollutants that will kill you much faster than a hot blonde with a long cigarette. Any way, this isn't about you. You're not the one sitting on a park bench afraid to go home. I finished my Mars Bar and stowed the empty wrapper in my gym bag. I didn't see a trash bag and I'm not one of those guys who go around littering. I don't do that with cigarette buts either. I use an ashtray. My mum uses one, so why shouldn't I? Speaking of Mum, I suppose my fascination with women smoking started with her. I grew up seeing her smoke. It's a part of her. She makes it look good. It's an elegant prop at social functions. It's a needed crutch in times of crisis. It's a reward for a job well done. It's sexy when's she's flirting with my dad. It's authoritative when she's lecturing me. It's comforting when she's hugging me. I just found it fascinating and very sexy, the way she held the cigarette delicate and erect, that initial action as she lit it, the snap inhales and the long thin stream of smoke that she blew out when she exhaled- the whole package really. The Internet expanded my fascination with the fetish and I soon learned that I wasn't the only one who thought this way. There were sites everywhere where lovers of smoking women could post photos and videos. It captivated me. As Michael I never touched cigarettes, but as my alter ego Tracey adored them. I finished off the bottle of Lucozade and forced myself off the bench. My problem with mum wouldn't disappear and I couldn't stay in the park forever. Best to get it over with, I thought as I took the long way home. As I turned down our street, I saw my father's car parked in front of the house. I hadn't expected him home so early. I was certain she must have told him by now. I didn't expect her to share it with her friends, but Dad is dad. He's her husband and my father. Surely she'd tell him. I thought about going back to the park as I put my hand on the door. But I reasoned that he'd find me. After all, he is a cop. I dropped my bag in the hallway and found him sitting in the kitchen. Dad looked up from the mail he was focused on. I looked for the anger in his face that would betray his knowledge. But it was his job to stay cool. His greeting was precise, meaningless but friendly. He called me "Champ" and said, "Hello." "You're home early," I said, lifting my chin in an attempt to appear taller. "Yeah, well, I just came back for dinner, but I got to go back out," he said as he laid the mail down on the table. I nodded and looked over at Mum who was fussing with the cook that had prepared our meal. She didn't look at me as she set the table. I took a chair. The last supper, I thought as placed a napkin across my lap. Dad passed me the gravy and asked about my day, as if he didn't know. Oh nothing much Dad, I thought as I took the gravy. I just hung around the house wearing mum's clothes. "Eh, not much," I said as I shook my head. "Just went down to the gym for a workout. What about you?" Dad answered me with his mouth full, something my mum would never do. "Oh, we've got quite a big case going on. That's why I need to go back out." I could have asked him about the case, but I didn't, it's not as if he would have told me anything anyway, confidentiality and all that. I just nodded and went back to my dinner. My strategy was to finish as quickly as possible and run. After I had eaten enough not to warrant a question from my father, I excused myself from the table, dropped the plate in the sink and grabbed a drink from the fridge. I announced that I was going upstairs to work on the PC for a while. "Okay," said my dad. "See you in the morning if you're up." I picked up my bag and walked upstairs. I removed the dirty clothing from my bag and put them in the hamper before going to my room. I switched on my PC and sat down in front of it. Had this been like every other day, I might have visited some of my smoking sites or TV sites, but thought better of it. I decided instead to do some general surfing before I switched it off and turning on my small portable TV. Shortly afterwards, I heard my dad leave the house. It was just mum and I now. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. It was 9:00. I turned back to the TV and watched the pictures float across the screen while I waited for the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. The clock continued to roll and the footsteps never came. The door never opened. At 10:30, I turned off the television and got undressed. I picked up a magazine on my nightstand and got under the sheets. The words didn't make sense. If I was reading, then I didn't comprehend a thing. I was just passing time, waiting for Mum. Where was she? Why was she taking so long to come up? If she was trying to make me suffer, she was doing a good job at it. I put the magazine back up on the nightstand and turned into my pillow. I didn't think I'd sleep. How could I? But I did. Eventually and mercifully, my mind went dark and sleep absorbed me. I woke up to an empty house. Mum and Dad had left for work. This is normally the time when I bring Tracey out to play, but that wasn't going to happen today. After what happened yesterday, I didn't think I'd be doing my Tracey thing any time soon. That isn't to say I didn't have the urge. I had it bad, but I'm not stupid. Getting caught the way I did had a way of putting my urges in perspective. I hadn't been reprimanded yet, but I knew it was on the way. At the very least, she had me on some kind of secret probation. And she would most certainly be keeping tabs on her things. I couldn't take the risk of disturbing her room, at least not in the immediate future. I tried taking my mind off yesterday by occupying myself with television. Later in the day, I took a short jog around the park. Evening came and went without a confrontation. I figured my mum wanted to keep me worrying. I wondered about Dad, but I didn't think she told him. As a macho policeman, the thought of his son dressing in women's clothes would have provoked some sort of reaction. I stayed in my room that night and waited for it to happen. I wanted to get it over with. Waiting and wondering had to be worse than the real thing. At one point during the night, I almost went down stairs to stoke the fire with my mum. But when it came right down to it, I didn't have the courage to throw my legs over the bed, much less walk down stairs to face Mum. I pulled the sheets to my chin and cowered beneath them. By the time Wednesday rolled around, I was beginning to think I'd been given a pass. Maybe I'll be okay if I just don't do it again or don't get caught. The day began with an Induction meeting at my new college that ate up most of the morning. Afterwards, I stopped by the gym for a quick workout and made it home in time for tea. Mum and I ate dinner alone as Dad was working late again. We had a lot to talk about but of course we didn't talk about it, so dinner was fairly uncomfortable for both of us. I kept hoping things would just go back to normal, the way they'd been before she found out about me. Or maybe she thought it had been a one-time thing. It could have been that I was making too big a deal out of it, but it was a big deal and I couldn't bring my self to look her in the eye. How could I, after what I'd done? I ate as quickly as I could and excused myself to my room. Better to be a prisoner in my room than to be the guest of honour at the gallows, I reasoned. I had settled down to watch some re-run of an old UK cop show. I'd seen the episode before. I remembered it as the one where the WPC gets kidnapped. It's a great scene where she gets bound and gagged in an old deserted warehouse. Bondage is another fantasy of mine, but I'll leave that for another time. I might have gotten involved with the show if it hadn't been for the rap on the door. I looked up to see my mum standing in the doorway. She held an ashtray in one hand and a pack of Berkley's in the other. The look on her face was painful as she stepped inside and closed the door. "We need to talk about the other day," she said. "Do we have to?" I asked. "It won't happen again," I pleaded. Mum picked up a chair and pulled it up beside my bed. She set the ashtray on the bedside table and lit a cigarette from her pack. "Uh-uh, no," said my mum as she leaned forward in her chair. "I saw what I saw and I need to know why I saw it. I need to know what's going on in your head." I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip. I racked my brain in search of the words she wanted to hear. Was there anything I could say to make it go away? Mum touched my chin with her fingers. "Avril Watson was with me when I found you in the kitchen." I groaned. Avril Watson is our neighbour and a friend of my mum's. She's also a history teacher at my old school. I took her class in my final year. "Did she see me?" I asked. "No she didn't, but that doesn't excuse what you did and it doesn't answer my question. Why were you wearing my clothes? And you were smoking. I thought you were smarter than that." She put her hand on my leg. "What's going on honey? Tell me. I need to know." I chose the easy way out. I told her I didn't know. "What? You don't know why you were smoking? Or you don't know why you were parading around the house in my clothes? C'mon Michael. Don't treat me like I'm an idiot. A boy like you doesn't put on his mother's clothes and take up smoking without a reason. You're either crazy or you're gay, so which is it? Or is it something else?" That was one of the pitfalls of being the son of a teacher. Mum had a habit of asking multiple-choice questions. Is it ?A', ?B', or ?C'- none of the above? "I don't think I'm gay," I said softly. "You're not?" I shrugged my shoulders. "No, I don't think so. I don't know, maybe." I shook my head and wiped away a tear. "I don't know Mum. I don't know what I am. Maybe I am crazy." Mum took a draw from her cigarette and exhaled. "Don't cry," she said as she got up from her chair and sat down beside me on the bed. "It's ok darling. You can talk to me. You know that, don't you? I've not said anything to your Dad, and I might not have to if we can talk this through." At least that was something, I thought as I rubbed at my eyes. I'd gotten lucky with Avril Watson. I didn't think my mum would tell her, but my father was another matter. I'd do anything to keep him from finding out. "Let's go slowly, one step at a time," said Mum. "We'll start with the clothes. When did you start dressing up?" "About two years ago," I sighed. "I guess I was about sixteen, maybe fifteen. It's been a while though." "What made you start? Why do you do it?" "I'm not really sure. I mean I like it, but I'm not sure why." "Does it have something to do with the way they feel? Do you like the clothes?" "Oh yes," I said almost too excitedly. "They're so much softer than mine, prettier too. Boy clothes are so boring. They're all the same. They're just trousers, shoes and shirts, but women's clothes, your clothes, aren't like that. You can do things with them, like mix and match. And they're just so pretty." Mum nodded as I talked and took another long drag from her cigarette. I watched as she got off the bed and opened the window to thin out the smoke. I was still talking excitedly as she sat back down on the bed. "Women can wear skirts, slacks, any colour any length or design. They can wear tops- tight or loose. And there are all kinds of fabrics to choose from; silk, nylon, and cotton. You name it," I said. "Okay, so you like the clothes. But that doesn't tell me why you wear them," she said as crushed out the cigarette in the ashtray. "How does it make you feel; attractive, sexy, what?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. All of those things, I guess and a bit more. It definitely feels comfortable but there's more to it than that. And I do feel kind of sexy and pretty. But the other thing is, when I'm wearing your clothes, it just feels right. You know, like it's the way I'm supposed to feel." I stared at her as she picked up her cigarettes and pulled one out. My eyes followed her hand as she placed it between her lips and lit it. The sight of her smoking mesmerized me. She exhaled and looked back and forth between the cigarette in her hand and me. "Are you telling me you want to be a girl?" she asked. "I don't know, maybe, maybe not. I just feel more comfortable as Tracey." "Oh? So that's what you call yourself?" she asked while smiling. The mere fact that she was smiling, rather than baring her teeth, put me at ease. Maybe this won't be as difficult as I thought, I hoped. "So what about the smoking?" she asked. "None of your friends do it, so it can't be peer pressure." "I'm eighteen Mom. I'm not a little kid any more," I said defensively. "I know how old you are Michael. After all, I did give birth to you. But since you want to make an issue of it, being eighteen has nothing to do with being an adult. You still live at home and your father and I are paying for your education. As far as I'm concerned, I'm still your mother and you're my child. And I want to know why my child is sneaking around the house smoking my cigarettes. If you were proud of it, you would have come to me and announced it, but you didn't do that. Did you?" "I'm sorry Mum. I won't do it again." "Don't tell me you're sorry. Just tell me why you want to smoke. Is it because of me? I need to know if I did or said anything that would make you want to start." I opened my mouth, not because I'd thought of an answer she'd want to hear, but because I was hoping one would come. Thinking better, I shut my mouth and looked down at my lap. "What is it? You were going to say something." I told her it was nothing. "Tell me," she said sternly. "I need to know." The words crawled awkwardly from my parched throat. "I think you're sexy when you smoke." "Eh, am I understanding you right? You would have sex with me?" "Not exactly, I mean no! That's not what I meant." I looked down at the floor in shame and sighed. "I just think it's sexy when women smoke." There! I'd gone and dug a hole for myself. Mum raised her eyebrows. "I guess you'll need to explain it to me because I don't understand." "It's hard to explain," I continued. "I just like the way it looks when they do it. You know, when they light it. And I love the way they hold it. It's like they're caressing it. And it's the way the smoke looks when they're breathing it in and blowing it out." The look on her face told me she was puzzled, but surprisingly, she wasn't mad. "Here! Let me show you," I said as I bounded off the bed and went to the computer. "I'm not the only one that feels this way." I clicked on address arrow in the browser and the last ten websites I visited were displayed underneath. I quickly clicked on ?smokingwomen.com', hoping she wouldn't notice the site on the bottom called ?smokeyblowjobs.com'. The monitor went blank and then the familiar black screen with red writing appeared above Suzie and her cigarette. My heart palpitated as I studied her tight black leather trousers and skin tight red latex top. She held a long white cigarette between her fingers and sported a set of red manicured nails. I would have gotten stiff if mum hadn't been standing so close beside me. I flicked through several more pages of pictures and videos of women smoking in different outfits. Some were better looking than others but they were all sexy in their own way. Mom was stunned. "I had no idea thing's like this existed" she said as she stared at the screen. "You see! It's not just me," I said with a look of redemption on my face. "But what does smoking have to do with your dressing?" she asked. "I guess it makes me feel sexy and more grown-up when I'm dressed. I don't know really. I think about it a lot though. It's just something in me, something I feel like I have to do." Mum replied by walking to my nightstand and lighting another cigarette in front of me. I'm not sure if she was teasing me, but she turned just as she performed a glorious snap inhale, followed by a long thick exhale. "I need to think about this," she said. "Are you going to tell Dad?" I asked. I anxiously stared at the floor as I waited for her to answer. "Not yet, we'll have to see" she said. "Do you think this is maybe a phase you're going through? Do you feel like you'll grow out of it?" I shrugged my shoulders. I told her I'd never thought about it like that. "Maybe I should let you be a woman for a day. It's not that easy you know, having to look good all the time. Maybe you'd change your mind if you saw what it's really like. What do you think Michael? Would you like to try it?" I told her I wasn't sure. I said I didn't know, but the voice inside me screamed yes,yes,yes. "What about Dad?" I asked. "Wouldn't he get mad?" "Probably," said my mother. "But we could do it when he goes out of town for one of his courses. As a matter of fact, he has one next month after our holiday. We could do it then." I urged myself to say yes as I watched her bring the cigarette to her lips for another teasing snap-inhale. "Just you and me for the day" she said as she exhaled. "You could be my daughter, or maybe even my sister." I was on the verge of saying yes when she pulled the rug out from under me and slammed the door in my face. "It's okay honey," she said as she touched my shoulder. "We don't have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable. Maybe we could do something more civilized, like have lunch and see a movie. Would you like that?" I nodded painfully. "Yeah, that would be nice. We haven't done that in a while." "Okay then," said mum as she turned toward the door. "It's a date." I tried to smile and be happy. After all, I had just survived the talk with mom that I'd been dreading for days. I told her everything. She might not have understood, but I could tell she didn't hate me. I should have felt victorious, but I had failed myself. "Oh darling," said mum as she turned around in the doorframe. "One last thing before I forget. I don't want you to ever dress up in my clothes again. Is that clear?" "Ok mom. I won't," I said sadly. "Good then. I'm glad we got that clear. Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow." The life that could have been, flashed before my eyes, as I watched my mother close the door. By saying no to my mom, I had said no to Tracey. I'd said no to dressing up with my mom and maybe even smoking with her. I fell down on my bed and mourned the woman I'd come so close to becoming. I awoke to the sounds of birds chirping and cars driving past my window. Sunlight peeked through my curtains, urging me to enjoy my new lease on life. I sat up in bed and flung my legs over the side. The first thing that came to mind was the last thing I remembered from the night before. My sense of relief of having smoothed things over with my mother was spackled with regrets of things that might have been had I spoken up and accepted her offer. I tried to rationalize it by telling myself that she hadn't been serious. She'd been testing me and I had passed her test. She is a schoolteacher after all. But what if last night had been for real? What if she'd been serious about letting me be Tracey for a day? Had I passed up a golden opportunity to frolic as a woman with my mother? I closed my eyes and replayed her words in my head. I wanted to relive that feeling of total ecstasy and fear. I'd almost had a heart attack when she suggested it. Be a girl with me. Hang out with me. We'll make a day of it. And what if we had? What would it have been like? I sighed as I pictured heaven. I saw Tracey and my mom together. I saw us at the shopping centre, walking across the brightly tiled floors. The stores were crowded with shoppers. I didn't feel or look out of place in my tight red dress. Mom was wearing a black skirt with a revealing top. Our heels matched and our make-up and hair looked fabulous. I took a deep breath and imagined the feeling of pushing my long sharp nails against my palm. We walked outside and took a table at a small outdoor caf?. Mom opens her bag and pulls out a pack of her Berkley Menthols. She takes one for herself and stops short of returning the pack to her purse. She smiles and looks at me. She calls me Tracey and asks if I would like to join her. She holds out the pack to me. My fear swells, making me reluctant, but her warm smile is so assuring. My eyes follow the bright red long nails on my fingers as they move across the table, pinching a filter and pulling a cigarette from the pack. I feel so naughty because I know I shouldn't be smoking, especially in front of my mother. I ask her with my eyes if she's sure. She smiles and lights her own cigarette with her slim gold lighter. I place the cigarette between my lips and lean forward as she reaches across the table to light it and the phone rings. The fucking phone rang! I open my eyes and curse some more as I stumble out of my bed and down the hall to my parent's room to answer it. My mother's voice greets me. "Good morning darling. Did you just wake up?" Her voice is cheerful but its no substitute for the fantasy she interrupted by calling to wish me good morning. "Yeah, I just woke up. Do you need something?" "As a matter of fact, I do. Can you run by the cleaners today and pick up your father's suit? I've got a meeting at lunch so I can't collect it afterwards." "Eh, I suppose so." "Good! There's some money in the drawer of the phone table downstairs. Just use that and I'll see you later. Got to go now honey, kisses!" I grunted and hung up the phone. I turned to leave but paused instead to take a look around my parent's room. I was immediately drawn to my mother's vanity and it's offering of perfumes, lotion and make-up. My eyes wandered past the vanity and settled on the closet. I took a deep breath and sighed as I thought about all her lovely clothes, which she had strictly forbid me to touch. Better get out of here, I thought, before temptation gets the better of me. Back in my room, I throw on a pair of jeans and a white shirt. Pulling on a pair of socks and my training shoes, I head off downstairs to make some toast and grab a glass of fruit juice. I pick up the paper and leaf through it, thinking about the difference between starting my morning as Michael versus Tracey. I finish my breakfast without lingering. There's nothing to savour. I would have been into my last couple days of being Tracey had I not gotten caught. Mom will be at home on holiday once school finishes up on Friday. Last year students, like myself, had the option of skipping the final three weeks following exams, and I had exercised my privilege. As you know, I had better things to do than sit in school and better people to be than myself. I collected some money from the jar as Mom had told me. Looking outside, I see it's bright and sunny, no need for a jacket then I thought. Checking the clock, I calculate that I can return from the cleaners in time to catch the Wimbledon on TV. I figured watching tennis would help keep my mind off of being Tracey. I lock the door behind me and walk about a block to the stop where I catch the 305a bus that takes me to the town-centre. My morning fantasy haunts me as I wander around the shopping centre. I see the caf? that I had imagined sitting in with my mom. I still have plenty of time, so I take a seat and order a cup of coffee from the waitress. As I wait for my drink, I look across the patio and focus on two women taking a break from their jobs. They were both dressed in navy blue blazers and skirts with white blouses. They wore matching yellow neck scarves. Both had stilettos on their feet. I assumed they worked together at the bank across the street and were taking an early lunch. I watch as the older woman takes a cigarette from her pack and offers it to the younger lady who accepts it. The older one lights her cigarette and passes the lighter to the younger one who follows suit. I'm so intent on watching them that I fail to notice the waitress has set my coffee on the table. I can't hear what they're talking about but they both appear engaged in their conversation. I watch as the younger girl, who was probably five or more years older than myself, cranes her head back and exhales a cloud of smoke toward the sky. She's laughing and looks very relaxed and happy. I wonder how long she's been smoking? Do her parents know? Could the other woman be her mother? I doubted it, but that didn't stop my penis from growing stiff beneath the table as I imagined mom and I trading places with them. I stayed at my table until the women finished their cigarettes and paid the bill. I waited to leave until they crossed the street. In case they'd noticed me staring, I didn't want to appear as if I were stalking them. After paying for my coffee, I retrieve the suit from the cleaners and begin the short journey to bus stop. As I'm walking down the street, I pass a thrift shop called Barnardos. I catch a glimpse of a dress in their display window. It catches my eye so I stop and take a look. The first thing I notice is the colour. It's red- a spectacular red. It's a halter style dress and I admire the plunging neckline. Judging by the way it hung on the mannequin, I suspected it would be ankle length on me. On me? Yeah, right. I turned around to see if someone who might recognize me was watching. I'm just looking in a store window, I reasoned. It's not like I'm doing anything wrong. I dropped to one knee and retied my shoe as I looked up and tried to read the price tag. ?20! That was well within my price range. I knew it was crazy, but I wanted that dress and I just had to have it! The thought of what to do with it didn't occur to me as I lusted after it. Of course I intended to wear it, but where would I hide it in the meantime? In my closet? Did it matter? I figured it must have belonged to a girl who had worn it to her prom. She must have felt gorgeous in it and so would I! I looked over at the bank, the one the women from the caf? had gone back to after lunch. I saw a cash dispenser embedded in the wall and made my way over to it. My pulse throbbed as I took my card out of my wallet and pushed it into the slot. Typing in my pin code, I waited anxiously for my cash to be dispensed. Three crisp ten pound notes emerged. I took them and slipped them into my pocket and walked away. Having the money in my pocket did nothing for my courage. If anything I was more frightened because I was one step closer to owning that dress. I took a deep breath and held it, hoping to steady my nerves. It didn't work. My hands were sweating profusely and it wasn't even hot. I need a cigarette, I thought. That will help. The idea of ?needing' a cigarette was foreign to me, and I immediately questioned it. As Tracey, I had ?wanted' cigarettes, but never needed them. It wasn't like I was addicted like my mom or her friends. And as far as Michael is concerned, well I've never smoked as myself. I've never even purchased my own cigarettes and I tried to talk myself out of it as I approached a nearby news stand. Once inside the shop, I bypassed the counter and went directly to the magazine rack. There was no one in the store that knew me. As I had told mum earlier, I was eighteen, so there was nothing to stop me, save for my conscious. I made a decision to ignore the voice in my head that sounded oddly like my mother's and walked up to the counter. I chose a disposable lighter from the display and looked blankly at the cashier when he asked if there would be anything else before he rung up my purchase. I looked at the cigarette display behind the counter. As a boy, I knew I should choose a manly brand of smokes, but I'd never smoked anything other than my mother's feminine Berkley's. Who am I trying to kid? I'm on my way to buy a dress. How manly is that? I asked the cashier for a ten pack of Berkley Menthols, the kind my mother smokes. He laid the pack on the counter next to my lighter and rang up the purchase. I paid the man and blushed as I stuffed my purchase into my pocket and slunk out the door. I stepped out on to the sidewalk and moved away from the shop's door. I scanned the street and sidewalks for familiar faces. I didn't want anyone I knew to see me smoking, especially women's cigarettes. It looked safe, but not safe enough and I wasn't willing to take chances. I couldn't afford for anyone to take notice and ask my mother about it, not if I had plans of stowing a prom dress in the back of my closet. I spotted a little landscaped area just the other side of the bus terminus with bushes around it. From where I stood, I could see a couple of benches and figured that it was as good a spot as any. I walked over and hung up dad's suit on the wooden bench and sat down. I removed the clear plastic foil from the packet and opened them; pulling away the shiny paper at the top. I took one out and popped it in my mouth. Flicking the lighter, I pushed the tip into the flame and inhaled. Coughing slightly, I sat back and considered a strategy that would allow for me to buy the dress at Barnardo's. As I was sitting on the bench smoking a mother and her young boy walked out of the terminus and passed me. The boy pointed at the pack of Berkley's on the bench beside me. "Look mum. That boy smokes the same kind of ciggies as you do." The woman shot me a disgusted look, took her son by the hand and dragged him away from me- the boy smoking women's cigarettes. If I hadn't needed the cigarette so badly, I would have stepped on it and ran. I finished it instead and put it out in the sand bucket by the bench. This is it, I thought as I looked across the street at Barnardo's. It's not like the lady in the store can refuse to sell it to me. I wondered if it would fit as I made my way through the crosswalk. I botched my first attempt at entering the store. It wasn't the doorknob that gave me trouble. It was my feet. They walked right on past the store and didn't stop until they had taken me fifty yards past my target. By the time I regained control of them, I was standing in front of a shoe store. I like shoes, I thought as I looked in the window, especially heels. I admired some of the styles and colours, trying hard to make sure it looked as if I was looking at the men's shoes while my eyes were really scanning the feminine heels on show. I tore myself away from the window. I shook my head and urged myself to get a grip as I turned back toward the thrift shop. The door to Barnardo's looked heavy as I stood in front of it. "Just do it," I said out loud as I pushed it open with my hand and stepped inside. The boy alarm went off overhead as the door closed behind me. Okay, so it wasn't a boy alarm. It was just a chime. Upon hearing the sound, the woman who ran the shop turned around and offered me a smile. I nodded at her as I made a dash to display of second hand books. I congratulated myself on being inconspicuous as I poured through the titles, without a clue as to what I was looking at. I concentrated on looking like a reader as I flipped through the meaningless pages. My fingers, drenched from sweat, left stains on the pages as I turned them. If the lady of the store had been watching me, she would have marvelled at my talent for reading a book with my fingers while studying the dress in her window with my eyes. She didn't see me though, as she was busy tagging some new merchandise. I took advantage of her preoccupation and made a stealthy approach toward the dress. I was so busy admiring the back view of the dress that I didn't see the shelves of coffee mugs until I was right up on them. The ceramic mugs rattled against their glass shelving. I picked up a mug just as the woman turned her attention toward me. "Sorry," I said out loud. She smiled and nodded and returned to her pricing duties. I continued my approach with a couple of old books in one hand and a coffee mug, proclaiming my love for "Big Ben" in the other. Upon closer inspection, the dress was just as marvellous up close as it had been from the street. It had a low cut back and would need to be worn braless. No problem, I thought as I spotted the tag, identifying the dress as a size 10. I was in luck! My mom was a size 12 and her clothes were a little big on me. A size 10 would be tight but it would definitely be wearable. I took a deep breath and walked up to the counter and laid the books and the mug on the top. The woman laid down her price gun and asked if I had found everything I had been looking for. She was making it easy for me. I told her about my girlfriend, the one I had concocted on the bench while having a cigarette. "Her birthday is next week, and I'd kind of like to get her something special." The woman smiled as she picked up the coffee mug. "Are you Big Ben?" she asked. "As a matter of fact, I am," I lied. "I thought it would be kind of funny if I gave it to her." She nodded as she wrapped the mug in paper to keep it from being scratched. "What kind of things does your girlfriend like?" she asked. "Pretty things," I said. "That dress in your window is pretty," I said, pointing at it with my finger. "How much do you want for it?" I asked, pretending I hadn't looked at the price. "Twenty pounds," said the woman. "By chance, would you know what size she wears?" I told her I wasn't positive, but I believed it to be either a nine or a ten. "I'll check for you," she said as she left me at the counter and walked up to the window. "You're in luck Ben!" she called out, just as two older women walked into the store. "It's a ten! I think it will probably fit!" The two women shot me a curious look. "I'll take it for my girlfriend!" I said as loudly as I could without shouting. I sweated profusely as the woman stripped the mannequin and the two older women browsed the shop. It's almost mine, I thought excitedly as I urged myself to calm down. I watched as the woman neatly entombed the dress in a disposable garment bag. She rang up my purchases and I handed her the cash. She smiled knowingly as she placed the change in my hands. As she thanked me for the business, I wondered if she knew I had bought the dress for myself. I didn't ponder on the answer. I thanked her, picked up my bags and hurried out of the store. Once outside, I was elated I'd done it. The beautiful dress was mine. Concerned that someone might spot me with the dress over my shoulder, I hung it under the protective sheet that covered my dad's suit. The dress was mine, but when would I get the opportunity to wear it? I went home to hatch a plan. I was desperate to try it on that afternoon but the risk of getting caught was too high. Even locking the bathroom and trying it on in there would be too much of a risk. Instead, I concentrated on concealing it from discovery. I looked around my room for a suitable place. I finally decided on a large game box in my cupboard. Someone had bought it for me a few years back. It was a casino set, complete with a roulette wheel and dummy card table, but more importantly, it had a raised base so that when I took out the wheel board, there was a space below. I carefully folded the garment, pausing to feel its texture as I pressed it against my cheek. I placed it in the box and covered it. I knew that it would crease it a bit but that's what they make irons for. I put it away and dreamed of the day I could wear it. I didn't think I'd have an opportunity to try on the dress until the October break or maybe even Christmas. I guess you could say Christmas came early at my house. Mom paid me a visit in my room last night. She wanted to remind me of the retirement party for Mr. Frame. "I'll be home late," she said, "so I'll pick you up a pizza on my way home, before I go." "Just me and Dad?" I asked. "No. He's working late too. Some big case." I tried to look unconcerned, but the wheels in my head were spinning. "And remember what you promised," she said with a stern look. "Yeah mum," I replied in a short and disgusted tone that let her know that I knew what she was talking about without her having to summarize it. "Good then," she said as she closed the door, leaving me to ponder the dress in my closet. I have my own dress now, I thought as I sprawled out on the bed. The lawyer in me rationalized that she hadn't specifically forbid me to borrow the garments that go beneath a dress. After all, things like bras and panties aren't really clothes. It's not like you can wear them alone by themselves. Of course I didn't plan on asking my mother for her opinion. I'd just snatch a few things from the hamper, without disturbing anything in her drawers. Nothing wrong with that, I decided as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. I woke up the next morning all bright eyed and bushy tailed. Today was the day I could wear my dress. After checking the house to make sure everyone had left for the day, I took a shower and went to work on my legs. It had been a week or so since I last shaved them and judging by the stubble, I thought it best not to ignore them. After drying off, I walked into my mom's room and took a seat at her vanity. I spent the next forty minutes or so being extra careful not to make a mess or leave any traces of used make up on the top of the table. I applied a little foundation as I considered the similarities between my mother's complexion and my own. The way we looked alike was uncanny, I thought as I dusted on some powder and then set about my eyes. I used a deep blue eye shadow and lined my eyes. I followed with mascara, lengthening and separating my lashes. I had quite long lashes, especially for a boy. My lips were next and I made good use of my mother's lip brushes and a tube of deep red lipstick. I studied my reflection in the mirror until I was satisfied with the look I had achieved. I cleaned up the brushes and raided the dirty clothes hamper for panties. I quickly found what I was looking for. I also found an excellent pair of tan hose. I congratulated myself on my resourcefulness as I stole back to my room with the bounty of pilfered garments under my arm. I slipped on the panties and pulled up the tights as I marvelled at the delicious feeling coming over me. I went to my closet and found the casino box. The anticipation built up as I removed the false bottom and pulled out the dress. I held it up and looked at the halter neck. It had a popper clasp with some additional fabric that I could tie to make it a bit more secure. Opening the clasp, I stepped into it and eased it up over my hips. It was a bit tight as I had expected, but I eventually managed to get it on and close the clasp. Tying the fabric behind my neck into a bow. I was desperate to see the finished article but I wasn't finished preparing. I hurried back to my parent's room and found a red pair of sandals in my mother's closet. The sandals had two-inch heels. I would have preferred something higher, but these would have to do, I thought, as I squeezed my feet into them. I found breasts in the form of toilet paper in the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror and stuffed the dress's cups, while moulding the paper into an effective and generous bosom. The look was grandee, but I needed some bling. I found it in my mother's jewellery box. It's always such a mess, so I didn't worry about rearranging it to fit my needs. I helped myself to a couple of rings and a pair of her clip on earrings as well as simple gold chain for my neck. I also found a set of false nails in one of her drawers. They were the pre-glued kind from Revlon. They're meant for one-time wear, but mom always seemed to get more mileage out of them was able to keep the better ones as spares. I sat down and patiently pushed them into place upon my fingers. Afterwards, I held my hands in front of me and admired the French tip effect of my long nails. I strutted over to the full-length mirror and gawked at Tracey. She was stunning. I was stunning! I trembled in front of my reflection as my imagination raced with improbable situations and fantasies. I saw myself at a dance with a faceless and nameless companion on my arm. I needed a cigarette! I remembered the pack I had bought the other day while I was in town. I went to my room and found them in my gym bag where I had hidden them. The pack and lighter looked absolutely darling wrapped tightly inside my hand. I need a drink! I went downstairs and poured some wine. With a glass in one hand and my cigarettes in the other, I sauntered to the lounge and turned on the television. I sat down in the armchair, crossing my legs, the split of the dress opening up, not to revealing, but showing a bit of tan coloured thigh. I used my French nails to open the pack and remove a cigarette. I placed it between my lips and lit it. "Tracey's back," I said as I exhaled. I took a sip of wine and watched as an Australian soap played itself out for me on the television. One of the characters, a woman, told her partner that she was finished with him. Their argument grew more intense. He grabs her, covering her mouth with his hand. She struggles but she can't overcome his strength. He pulls her across the floor, opens a door to storage room and shoves her inside. I take a puff from my cigarette as I watch him rough her up. He pushes her arms behind her back and reaches for some rope that he finds on a shelf. He ties her hands together. She screams for him to let her loose, but how often does that work? He gags her with some cloth. That will shut her up for a while, I think as I take a sip of wine. He gets some more rope and goes to work on her ankles. She'll never get out of this pickle, I think as the show fades to black for a commercial. You might recall I have a soft spot in my heart and a hard spot in my groin for a damsel in distress. I couldn't help but imagine myself in the actress's place. I took a puff from my cigarette and closed my eyes. I saw myself in my wonderful dress being held for hostage. Would Daddy pay the ransom? I got up from the chair and looked at the clock. It was barely noon, so I definitely had the time. Oh, this will be fun, I thought as I headed out to the garage. Dad had built the garage a few years back and had altered the kitchen a bit so that you could access it from the kitchen. I looked around at the empty garage trying to find something to use. I found some black duct tape and a little rope, not much, but it would have to do. I considered tying myself up in the garage but decided against it, not wanting to get oil or anything on the dress. In hindsight the garage might have been a better idea, but then again that's hindsight. I made my way back into the lounge. Taking one of the dining table chairs, I placed it in the centre of the room by the settee. I figured I could tie myself up there and watch the remainder of the soap while in my bound state. I thought of the damsel in the storage room as I sat down with the duct tape. I had a feeling there wasn't enough tape left on the spool to finish the job and I was right. So what? I thought as I got up from the chair. There's more than one way to skin a cat or tie up a damsel. I found some clothes rags in the kitchen. I guess you could say Mom is into recycling. She cuts up our old clothes and uses them for dust rags. I recognized one of my old tee shirts as I inspected a piece that was about a decimetre wide. This will do, I thought as I returned to the lounge feeling quite proud of my ability to improvise. What's more, I thought, I can throw it away if I get lipstick on it. I took a seat and looked at the TV. My show was back on but my damsel was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, she'll show up, I thought as I picked up the rope and tied my ankles to the chair legs. I took another piece of rope and make a couple of loops in it for my wrists. I checked the fit by wiggling my hands inside. Not bad, I thought as I removed the loop from my hands and tied the free end to the spindle under the chair. I wrapped the longer piece of rope twice round my waist and the chair's back, tying it off at my hip. I'd done a good job, not that Houdini would have had much trouble escaping, but I wasn't Houdini, and I didn't really want to escape, at least not yet. There's my damsel, I thought as I caught a flash of her on the screen. She's got a gag in her mouth. Might I need one? I balled up a piece of the cotton teeshirt and shoved it in my mouth. I took the other piece and wound it between my teeth tying it tightly behind my head. I tried to talk. "Hello," I said. "I have a gag in my pretty little mouth." But it didn't sound like that. It sounded more like, "Mmmnph, mmmnph..." I moved on to the tricky part. I took the two loops and slipped one wrist inside. Moving my hands behind my back, I brought them together. I slipped the free hand inside one loop and twisted it around before slipping it through the same loop again. I took up a good bit of the slack and slipped the second wrist into the second loop and twist it again, before putting my wrist through again for a second time. I pulled upwards on the knot, tightening it. Oh yeah, I wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. I struggle while I watch the TV. I imagine it's me in the storeroom. The kidnapper has me. I'm at his mercy. I watch as the kidnapper enters the storeroom with a glass of water. He loosens the gag. She drinks from the glass through her tears. She pleads for her freedom. I plead along with her. "Mmmnph, mmnph- let me go." She asks him why he's doing this to her. She promises she won't turn him in if he just lets her go. "Sorry," says the kidnapper. "You're mine forever," he says as he pulls the gag back over her mouth. She jerks her head back and tries to scream as he pulls the gag tighter her lips stretching back. I scream too. "Mmmph!" For one brief second I had a fantastic view of our ceiling, and then our wall, and finally our floor. I was on my side, still bound to the chair. "Mmmph!" That means ?Oh Shit' in gag speak. With a little patience I could have gotten myself out of the mess if I hadn't panicked. But I did panic and I did struggle. The knots grew tighter. The door opened. What? No! A woman's voice calls out my name, but she's not my mother, yet I know her voice. It is but it can't be. Her footsteps grow louder as she approaches. She'll be able to see me soon. What then? I hear her gasp. "What's this?" she asks? I look up to see Avril Watson looking down at me. What the fuck is she doing here? "Oh my God," she says as she rights the chair with me in it. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" "Mmmph." I see the look of recognition in her face. She smiles coyly. "Well hello Michael. So what do we have here?" "Mmmph." She nods as if she understands gag speak. I start working at the knot on my wrist. There's a little slack now. I see her hand move to the knot. Oh great! She's going to help me. I could use some help, but what will I tell her once I'm free. Instead of loosening the knot, she tightens it. I look up at her. "Mmmph?" She tells me to relax. "Don't go anywhere," she says as she disappears into the kitchen. Mrs. Watson is my mother's friend and one of my former teachers. She teaches at the same school with my mom. I'm fucked. Fucked? Yeah sure, she's hot! I'd love to fuck her, but I wasn't thinking of that kind of fuck. I was thinking of another kind of fucked and it wasn't pleasant at all. Did I say she's hot? She is. She's older than my mom by about four years, but she's still hot as hell. Most of the students, at least the guy students, have a crush on her. They probably have one on mom as well, but they'd never tell me that to my face. Mrs. Watson lived just around the corner from us. She and Mom often shared a car on their way to work. They hadn't started out as friends, but about three or four years ago, Mr Watson did a runner with his secretary. I never understood why he would do such a thing because his wife is hot as hell, but there you go. She and Mom got close after that. A friend in need is a friend in deed, or something like that. Mrs. Watson was always a smart dresser. I don't think I've seen her look bad inside or outside the school. She's also a smoker, but saying she smokes is like saying Rembrandt paints. I'm not sure how to describe it, but I'll try. I've always thought the way a woman smokes is kind of descriptive of her personality. Take my mother, for example. She's a fine looking woman loaded with class and style. She's sophisticated and elegant, and that's the way she smokes- like a lady. Mrs. Watson doesn't smoke like a lady. She smokes like a slut! Of course I'm not saying she's a slut. It's just that she knows she looks sexy when she does it. I mean why else would she smoke those long brown More cigarettes in the red pack? I don't know what it is with me and cigarette length. So what? She smokes long cigarettes. It's just an addiction. I know she can't help it and neither can my mom. It's just than when I look at a pack of cigarettes, I think about the kind of woman that might smoke them. My mom is a nice woman. A nice woman like her smokes a nice cigarette like Berkley. So what does that say about Mrs. Watson and her Mores? I can't say definitively, but when she's smoking them, its like she's talking to me and my penis listens to every word her slutty cigarette says. Mrs. Watson returned from the kitchen with a glass of red wine in her hand. Her walk was sultry. Or was it the sound of her heels clicking on the floor that I found so appealing? Appealing or not, the grin on her face was troubling. She pulled the gag down a bit and the cloth in my mouth fell out. "Well, well Michael! Who would have thought it? You're a little cross dresser, aren't you," she said as she took a seat beside me. I watched as she picked up her bag and removed her cigarettes. Oh shit, I thought to myself, as she took one out of the red packet and lit it with silver lighter. She inhaled deeply and exhaled triumphantly. The thin brown cigarette jutted out of her fingers. Her long painted manicured nails caught the light and glimmered as she waved the cigarette in front of her, pointing it at me. "You know," she mused, "I've always thought there was something a bit different about you." She sipped the wine and continued her thoughts. "You know you do look quite cute as a girl though. What? Nothing to say?" I shook my head no and stared at the floor. She continued to smoke; taking long inhales with a range of mouth closures and snaps. She even blew smoke rings in my direction. I wasn't staring at the floor any more. I was staring at her and her cigarette. The two of them looked so slutty together. And then it happened. My body began to betray me and I felt every inch of its betrayal, as my penis grew hard between my thighs. Not now, I pleaded silently. Thinking about it only made it worse. It grew and pushed against the fabric of my dress. If my hands hadn't been tied, I could have covered it. I wanted to look away but my eyes were locked on hers. God, she looked so sexy. Keep smoking, I thought. No. Stop. Put it out. She did, but she replaced it with a fresh one from her pack. She'd have to blind not to see it poking through. She wasn't blind. "Oh my! And what do we have here?" she asked as she stood up and lit her cigarette while looking down on me. She set the lighter on the edge of the chair and walked towards me, the cigarette protruding from her slim fingers. "I do believe you're getting a bit excited about this," she said as she raised the cigarette to her lips and filled her lungs with smoke. My cock twitched and she noticed the movement. She called me a little ?perve' and accused of me getting turned on by her smoking. "Is that how you get your jollies?" She smirked and took a long drag as watched my dress move. "You should be ashamed of your self, getting pleasure from a woman's addiction. I bet you get excited watching your mom smoke too. Don't you?" "No," I argued. "It's not like that." "I think it is like that," she said as she reached down and put her hand under my dress, pulling down my tights and freeing my erect cock. I groaned in sexual torment and mental angst. She shook her head and grinned. "You're not