Dorothy Fucks Tin Man and Scarecrow OZ Threesome
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Interview With A Tin-Foil Hat free porn video
Interview with a Tin-Foil Hat
By Cassandra Morgan
"If you google the word 'sissy,' do you know what happens, Doc? You get
33,600,000 hits. Try it.
"If you call up Fictionmania, and I have, you get 5,259 hits. When you
look up the keyword "femdom.' You get 2,660 with 'maids.' You get 714
with 'sissy' and "354' with mistress. They're everywhere. Yeah, I sound a
little obsessive. I know. But I think the lifestyle is chasing me. Is
that nuts?
"I'm sorry. I knew you shrinks don't use that word. But, jeez, doc.
"I know, I know. It's one of the fastest growing lifestyles in the world.
I've read that. I think it's the sissifying of men in this country.
Everything is political correctness and gays are getting married and
Olympic champions are women and Pride Parades and ooh-la-la. And now I'm
coming down with it like a flipping virus.
"Guys are allowing this! They're inviting it. I read that more maid's
dresses are being bought by men than women. The tit clinics have lines
around the block. In Europe, men are wearing skirts. Everything is a hate
crime.
"I have to tell you, Doc. I have never been a big fan of psychiatry. I
figure it's just a lot of confused souls talking out their problems. You
might as well talk to a bartender. No offense."
The man was babbling. He had yet to tell Kim even his name. He had walked
in off the street and begun to shout at her secretary, how the whole
country was going to hell with a feather duster and it was the fault of
the government and big business.
Kim handed him a cup of coffee. She talked to him in soothing tones. She
led him to the couch to sit. He immediately laid down.
"Now tell me your problems, Mr...."
"Nelson. Brady Nelson. And damn it, Doc, you've got to help me. The
fucking sissies are everywhere. Did you know a maid's dress can go for
100 bucks. I looked it up. Who is going to pay 100 bucks to mop floors."
Kim smiled.
"You certainly have done your research, Mr. Nelson."
"That's because they're trying to get me, too. They're trying to get
every red-blooded man. They want to turn us all into mincing faggots.
They want us to blow on the skin flute. They want Queerios for
breakfast."
Kim kept a straight face. It was hard, since she was, in fact, a sissy
submissive herself. Hell, she was married to Phyllis, another sissy. They
served as maids in Mistress Anita's mansion on the North side.
Information such as that, she thought, could make Brady Nelson's head
blow up. Hell, just hours ago, she'd had Phyllis' dick in her mouth and
two fingers up her ass. She wondered what Brady would say if she showed
him a picture.
"Mr. Nelson, why do you think the government is trying to turn America
into a bunch of submissives?"
"Can't you see it! A strong safety can't even hit a receiver any more.
There's the infield shift. No Confederate flags as NASCAR. And they're
after Mr. Trump just because he said a few things about Mexicans and even
Harry, a guy I work on the trucks with, said last week that he was gay.
No wonder the fucking Sissies or whatever that group is hates us."
"You mean Isis?"
"Yeah. Isn't that what I said?"
"Not quite."
Brady stood up. He walked to the window. He looked around
"I thought I heard a plane..."
"No, Brady. We aren't anywhere near the airport's flight patterns."
"You know, I was the fucking sissies that were responsible for 9/11.
That's what I was told. It was a big-shot Hollywood director who was mad
because the Office of Straight Men was in the Empire State Building."
"Sir, the Empire State Building is fine, and 9/11 was far too great a
tragedy for conspiracies," Kim said, her voice not nearly as amused as it
was.
"Fucking sissies," he said. "They faked the moon landing, too. Do you
know Neil Armstrong was wearing a bra in a TV studio in Phoenix? J. Edgar
Hoover wore a dress. When Kennedy was shot, he was wearing a butt plug.
You can look it all up."
"Brady, when did you first think there was this grand sissy
conspiracy..."
"Doc, I guess it started with all that women's lib shit. No offense. They
were trying to turn us all into chicks. It wasn't that women wanted
equal
rights. They wanted to be better than us. They wanted us to do the
ironing."
"Brady, there are a lot of places in this country where women still have
to fight for equal rights. Look at the boardrooms of American companies.
A lot of white males."
"Well, white males built this damn country. They had all of the major
inventions. They even discovered the great Northwest."
"Sir, did you know a woman guide who was native American led them to the
Great Northwest."
"Was she a sissy, too?"
"I don't know," Kim said. "She might have been. Maybe it's why Lewis and
Clark didn't give her credit."
The buyer rolled his eyes at her, as if she had made a horrible mistake.
"That's Lois and Clark," he said. "They made a TV show."
Kim smiled at him. She noticed a paperweight of a metal tennis ball on
her desk. She wonder if she could hit him with it. Would the board
understand?
"Never mind," Kim said. "Now, tell me. When did you start to have
troubles with sissies?"
"When I was a kid," he said. "I had a football coach who got fired.
Slapped a kid. Fucking sissy school board. They never heard of tough
love. I bet they would have liked it. Now every fucking kid gets to play,
and everyone gets a trophy. Then they go home and watch fucking
Spongebob
cartoons. We had cartoons that blew each other up. Like Bugs.
"Bugs wore a dress..."
"Soy. I hate soy. A man eats meat. Fuck quiche."
"Brady, let me ask you. Have you ever been a submissive?"
"Who...me? What have you heard? It's lies, dammit."
Kim smiled. "Who is telling lies, Brady?"
"Okay, I had a girlfriend who asked me to clean up the apartment when we
lived together. But that doesn't make me a sissy. I worked nights, so I
did it. And I didn't want to get my clothes messed up, so she bought me
this blue maid's dress. It didn't mean anything, though. I only wore it
during the days."
"I see. Did you wear makeup?"
He squirmed in his seat. Finally, he nodded.
"A little bit," he said. "It was a game between Molly and me. She said if
I was going to clean, I might as well wear the dress. And if I was going
to wear the dress, I might as well wear makeup. And if I was going to
wear makeup, I might as well grow my hair out."
"Did you..."
"No tits!" he almost shouted. "Molly asked me, but I said no. No way. A
real man doesn't have tits."
"But does he shave his legs," Kim said, guessing.
"It grows back," he said.
"Do you still wear maid's dresses, Brady?"
"Sometimes. I mean, I own the damn clothes. I might as well wear them."
"Is Molly still around?"
"No. She left me for some fag boy. Her hairdresser, probably. A drag show
dancer. Something."
"Oh, do you like drag shows?"
"God, no. They're all queers. Big dresses, big hair, pumped up titties.
And they charge $17 dollars for a drink. Two or three nights of that will
leave you broke."
Kim almost laughed again. She imagined him wearing a tin-foil hat to keep
the radio beams from his home planet at bay. Stop that, she thought to
herself. Don't think mean thoughts. Breathe deep.
"Brady, do you have a Mistress?"
"Hell no. That's not for me. I told her that I couldn't afford her
"tributes" any more. So I broke up with her. Real men don't need
mistresses. Especially not at $20 a shot. So I dumped her."
"Uh, Brady. Where did you meet this Mistress?"
"On the internet," he said. "On Facebook."
"You found a domme on Facebook?"
"Well, where else would you find them?"
"I don't know. A bar. A club. Church."
"The fucking Pope is a sissy," Brady said, changing the subject. "Did you
see those gowns?"
"Brady, who else do you think is a sissy?"
"Roger Goodell. The commissioner of the NFL is a sissy. He likes Michael
Sam more than he likes Tom Brady. Now, Brady's a man. I mean, I'm not
gay, but I'd kiss his dick. Wouldn't you?"
"I'm married, Brady. I only kiss my wife's dick."
Kim said that to provoke him, but if he heard her, it didn't register.
Now he was storming around her office, talking about how Obama was to
blame for Hollywood being filled with fags and he had heard that a
certain Supreme Court judge wore panties. Judge Ross, he said.
Kim shook her head. Amazing.
"Dianna Ross was a member of the Supremes," she said. "She wasn't a
Supreme Court Judge."
Then Brady was storming around the room again, talking about Tom Cruise
and John Travolta and Kevin Spacey and all the other actors he had read
were gay. Sissies, he said. He had read that every one of them wore cock
cages and drank their Mistress's urine.
"You know, Brady. Women are wonderful. Have you ever thought that perhaps
sissies were paying homage to them as a species?"
"I think they're all dick-lickers. No offense. I'll tell you the truth. I
don't know how they stand it. You can damn near put your eye out with
one. And the taste is too damn salty.
Kim bit her lip. "You've ... performed fellatio?"
"If you mean have I sucked a cock, I have. But only two times. Three, if
you count Sheila, who is this cross-dresser I know. I did it the first
time because Molly told me to. It was part of being submissive, she told
me. So I did it. But I didn't like it, so I'm not gay. Right?"
"Three times?"
"You get four before you're officially gay. I've heard that. But ass sex
doesn't count at all. That's just a form of masturbation."
"Having a man penetrate you is masturbation?"
"Yes. It's just playing ass-darts."
"Brady, let me ask you a question out of left field...
"Left field is for sissies. Real men play center."
"Brady, are you wearing panties now?"
"Well, yeah. But it's just because they're more comfortable against, you
know, my junk. When you shave down there, the material feels terrific. It
doesn't have anything to do with being a sissy. I don't wear bras."
"Of course not. That would be sissy."
"There is a movement,you know. When a guy buys a vacuum cleaner, they
give you the pamphlets about being a maid. Did you know Davey Crockett
was a sissy? And John Wayne? And Patton? And Charlie Chaplin?"
"How about Howard Taft?"
"Who?"
"A former president."
"I think he wore diapers."
"Oh. Well, some restraint is good."
"Did you know they got to Patrick Swayze? He was a real man when he did
Road House. Then he's in a flipping dress. I think he married a man after
that fruit movie. It's a shame. Doc, you know any sissies?"
"A couple. Very well, you might say."
"Well, aren't they the silliest cock-suckers you've ever met?"
"You know, in this case, they might be."
He nodded. He grimaced and looked at his coffee cup.
"Do they put sperm in their coffee?"
"And on their cereal," Kim said, not resisting. This had started out
looney and had now gone utterly crackpot, clinical terms aside. But going
where else?
"Some of them are pretty, though. And, man, they can suck your cock. I've
only done that 5 times, maybe six if you count Sheila, this cross-
dresser
I know."
Kim grinned. He had repeated himself, but the number of blowjobs he had
performed had gone up. She wondered what it would be next time.
"You know, in 100 years, we're going to be a nation of sissies. They'll
even marry each other and suck each other's cocks. All the cars will be
pink, and all the panties will be frilly. And the crusts will be cut off
our sandwiches. "
"Oh, you don't like pink?"
"Too hard to clean," he said absent-mindedly.
"Have you tried sperm as a bleach?"
"Hey. That might work. It kinda tastes like bleach."
"Stronger than dirt."
"Look, you're going to think I'm some kind of bigot. I'm not. I don't
think it ought be sissy season for more than three months. Ha."
"You know what I really think, Brady. I think you're passive-aggressive
about sissies, and I think it's because you are one."
"Me? No, not me. I"m a real man. I belong to the NRA."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yep. Me and Steve. He's a guy I watch sports with. He's a real man,
too."
"How can you tell."
"Well, his cock tastes like oil, for one thing."
"Oh, do you ... do things for him."
"Oh, I just clean up a little on Saturdays. I get out the maid's dress,
and I polish. Then I go to the bedroom and polish his knob. He's got a
great dick. When you grip it with your painted nails, nothing is
prettier. He's a fun guy. Calls me Brandy."
"I see," Kim said, not trusting herself to say any more.
"Anyway, I guess I better go. It's happy hour. I meet real men during
happy hour, and a bunch of us always meet at O'Malley's. Want to come? I
guarantee you we won't watch the fucking Care Bears."
"I better not."
"You sure? I'll buy you a fuzzy navel?"
"Yes, they're nice. Look, Brady, if you want to talk more, we need to set
up an appointment and get your insurance information."
"I'll do that, Doc. But there is one more thing. Just one."
"Yes, Brady?"
"You didn't really believe that shit about 9/11 did you? That was silly."
I looked at him. He was smiling, and he didn't look deranged, and in that
instant I knew I had been had. It was a setup to get a reaction out of
me. Damn it! I was such a gullible little girl!
"Surprise!" Brady grinned. "Mistress Anita says hi.
"And, Kim, it sure was fun pranking you."
(c) 2015 Cassandra Morgan
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