Born To Be Mild free porn video

Born to Be Mild Cassandra Morgan It was the motorcycle. It was the God damned motorcycle. That accelerated the changes in her, in my wife Bonnie. The changes in me. The changes in our lives. All of it, speeding down the highway in fifth gear, weaving in and out, barely in control. That is the perfect metaphor for the way our lives have been altered. Because of the damn bike. To her, it is power. It is freedom. It is the open road and the wind in her hair. To her, it is wonder and glory and possibilities and no rules. To me, it is a threatening hunk of metal with no protection. It is going too fast, and turning too sharp. It is the possibility of pain, of blood, of destruction. Bonnie tells me I'm being silly, that I'm worrying about nothing, that I'm taking the sissy view of life once again. I think it's safe to be careful, wise to be aware of the danger, prudent to realize that the power can get the best of you. But Bonnie had had a motorcycle in college, and a person never outgrows their love of the ride. And so when she heard that Vinnie Townsend, a friend of hers from work, was selling his to buy a car, she was all in. "Marky, you'll grow to love it, I promise," she said. "The power. The surge. The wind. The sun. It's all terrific. Quit being such a pussy." "Why don't you just buy a car?" I whined. "Because it's a fucking car," she said. "This is a Harley! It's one of America's great machines. You don't get the same feeling from a car, not even a sports car. What do you want? To go 10 miles under the speed limit and listen to love songs? Hell, think Steve McQueen! Think Marlon Brando! Think Peter Fonda! James Dean! Hell, think Captain America. I don't care what you say, Marky. I'm buy this. It's my money, and I'll ride it to work. You can buy a fucking Prius if you want with your money. A pink one." And so she bought the bike. Black and chrome, with dual engines gleaming. It looked like a muscle. If I was a cop, it would have pissed me off to see it parked. That kind of bike. "Are you at least going to wear a helmet?" I asked her. She looked at me like I was an idiot. "A brain bucket? A skull condom? No, I'm not going to wear one. How the hell are you going to feel the wind in your hair if you're wearing a lid? Do you know how hot those things are? You might as well wear a microwave on your head." "Can I wear one?" She smirked. "God, you are such a fucking fairy. Maybe we can get one with Hello Kitty on it. Or one of the Care Bears. I've changed my mind, Marky. You don't get to drive it. You can sit in the back and hold on. If you want, you can sit sidesaddle and try not to wet your panties." "I'm just thinking about safety." "Jesus. You get worse every fucking day. What a fucking pansy. Fuck safety. You were that fucking kid who was afraid to play on the monkey bars, weren't you? Because of safety. Hell, this is a motorcycle, Marky. One of the great untamed beasts of the highway. There are bars for motorcycle riders. There are movies about motorcycles. There are gangs. You ever have a gang of Prius owners terrorize a town? You ever turn your head in jealousy when a Prius rolls down the road?" "But they're dangerous. Cars don't give you the proper respect in traffic. No one follows at a safe distance." She shrugged. "The price of freedom," she said. "You have to be careful. You have to wear your leathers." "Leathers?" She rolled her eyes. "A jacket. A vest. Boots. It's like a uniform for bikers. If you'd like, I could get you a little pink dress instead of leathers." "Can you stop? Just because I'm more careful than you doesn't make me a girl." "No, your momma made you a girl when she let you take ballet." "Not this again." She shook her head. "And fucking glee club. What else? Baton twirling? Dress-making? Fucking home-ec?" "You know better, Bonnie." "Look, I'm going to take the long way home. I want to ride some. I want to hit the interstate. You want to come, or are you going to drive your Prius home?' "I'll come," I said meekly. "Just go slow, okay?" I approached the motorcycle as if it was going to bite me. To me, it was a loaded run. It took some effort for me to to get comfortable against the bar in back. "You know what that's called?" Bonnie said. "What?" "It's the sissy bar. Made for you." "Very funny." And then she eased the power on, and we rolled away with our lives. * * * We had met at work. Insurance. Bonnie was a ball-buster of a salesman, always ready for a fight with someone who wanted to save their clients a buck. I was in charge of selling new policies. My job called for tact. Hers called for force. We both had our gifts. We started dating after working together, the yin and yang of our lives pulling us together. But we fought. There were a lot of times I didn't think we'd make it to this day. Bonnie could be charming, but she had a temper, and she had a streak of mean. Most of us are a blend of nice and mean, but some people are really angry all the time. Bonnie was like that. Pissed off. I don't know if she would cheat on me, but I don't know that she wouldn't. You know? In the early days, I found her exciting. I guess she found me stable. But she craved excitement. I guess I craved stability. There were times I wondered how well we fit. We streamed down the road. She was driving too fast. She was moving in and out of cars too briskly. She seemed to like the vibration between her legs, the ability to roll on speed with her wrists. Her arms gleamed in the sun. Me? I held on a little less tightly, but not much. I felt exposed. The pavement blurred past my feet. But you adjust to speed mentally, and gradually I relaxed. The city turned to suburbs, and the suburbs turned to fields, and the traffic thinned. I felt like a Bob Segar song. What's the Steppenwolf song? Born to be Wild? That's how I felt. We got close to Indianapolis, and the cop sightings were more frequent. Bonnie slowed a bit. And then they were surrounding us. Several motorcycles, impossibly loud, moving in and out of traffic. Across the denim jacket of one of them read "Serpent's Fangs." I had heard of them from their recent drug bust. One of them slowed down and glided next to us. Bonnie looked over, nodded. Smiled. The leader had blond hair and a beard. He nodded in return. He looked back at me, then at Bonnie. He took his hand and flipped his wrist, as if he were gay. Rather, as if I were. Bonnie laughed, but the sound was devoured by the bikes. He pointed ahead, then pantomimed chugging a beer. Bonnie nodded, then fell in behind him. "What are you doing?" I almost yelled from behind her. "We're going to have a brew," she said. "I wouldn't," I said. "Of course you wouldn't," she said, shaking her head. "Maybe they'll make you a daiquiri." A ramshackle cabin was on the side of the road, and the bikers streamed in. Bonnie followed the leader in, parked beside of him. Got off. I stood and stretched. I looked at the faces. Hard men, most of them with beards. Tattoos. All of them wearing sunglasses. They were bigger than me, all of them. I tried to look tough, but when you are 5-7 and frail, it doesn't really work. "Hi," the leaders said. "I'm J.D. I'm the leader of this rabble, if you want to call me a leader. And you are?" "Bonnie." I started to introduce myself, but he wasn't looking at me. He was checking out Bonnie pretty thoroughly. His eyes were taking vacations on my wife's body. "New bike?" "It is," she said. "New for me, anyway. I haven't ridden in years, but I had a chance to get something strong between my legs." J.D. looked at me. "I can see where you would have missed that," he said. She laughed, and it burned to be the punchline. "I had a bike in college," she said. "Harley?" "No, not then. A little Kawasaki. A little crotch-rocket. It got me to class." "This Harley may take you to hell," J.D. said. "I might want to go," she said. "I might want to take you," he said. "Hell of a ride, I'll bet," she said. "Excuse me, guys, but it's getting late, and..." I interruped. "Did someone ask the fag something?" said J.D. She laughed again. "The fag talks too much." "Hey!" I said, annoyed that she hadn't taken my side. J.D. looked at me sternly. "Why don't you go get us a pitcher of beer, sissy boy," he said to me. "Now run along." Chastened, I trudged to the bar. I got the attention of the 40-ish woman behind the bar and said "Hi. J.D. would like a pitcher." She nodded. She looked at J.D., who had his hand on my wife's arm. He was grinning. She was laughing. I felt ignored. "Was she yours?" she asked. "Was? I mean, she still is." She smiled sadly. "She won't be for long. J.D. usually gets the ladies he wants. Even the married ones." "Well, that's silly. I'll just..." "You'll just get killed," she said. "I'm Imogene. I work here. And I'm telling you. Don't mess with J.D. He's a mean asshole. Be careful. Just play along, and maybe he won't kick your ass." I took the beer and a half-dozen mugs to the table. "You want a cheeseburger?" he said to Bonnie. "Maybe," she said. "I like beef." J.D. laughed and turned to me. "Go get the lady a cheeseburger. And get extra pickles. Now, be quick, girly." "I'm not girly," I said. He grinned. "You're such a girl I'm surprised you don't have tits. Should we do something about that? You want tits?" "Please," I said. "I'm asking you nicely. Stop it. And leave my wife alone." I ever saw his fist coming. It slammed into my stomach so hard it might have bruised my backbone. I slumped to the floor, and J.D. put his boot onto my neck. I could barely see Bonnie shaking her head at my ineptness. One punch, and it was over. But wasn't she supposed to comfort me? Weren't we in this together? J.D. reached down and took her hand and stepped over me. "You know the drill, Imogene. Get our sissy a dress and have her wait tables. Just like Sarah. And tell Buck she's here." They walked to the back. Bonnie was touching J.D. like he was made out of money. She must have thought he fit her new self-image more than a sissy husband. Imogene walked me to a room in the back of the bar. She reached into the closet and pulled out a pink maid's dress. "This should fit," she said, handing it to me. "I'm not wearing that," I said. "Sure you are. And the panties and bra and everything else that go with it. Otherwise, J.D. will be pissed, and you've seen him when he's mildly upset. J.D. likes his sissies in dresses. He don't give a shit, sissy. He'll hurt you. He hurt Sarah, back when she was Stephen." "But this isn't right..." "What does right have to do with it?" she laughed. "I'm telling you. J.D. has identified you as a sissy. You better pick up a pretty big wrench if you're going to fight him." My sternum still hurt. I thought the best way was to just suffer the indignity and go on. I pulled my clothes off. Imogene popped a blond wig on my head. "Oh, the boys will love you," she said. Embarrassed, I put on the bra and the panties. Then I slid the dress up over my waist. I looked in the mirror, and I almost cried. This was twisted. Eventually, I walked back out front. There were wolf whistles from the bar. I looked around, and Bonnie and J.D. had vanished. That wasn't good news. Two hours later, I learned I had been cuckolded. He screwed her, and she didn't fight it. Of course, I didn't fight very hard either, did I? The difference was that I had fought some. I had objected. Bonnie just assumed the position. A few minutes later, J.D. and Bonnie walked back into the bar, I was standing there in a dress. I was wearing lipstick and eye shadow, and I was in pantyhose. Imogene had lent me a pair of heels. The bikers were having their fun with me, touching my ass when I walked by, commenting on my lips. I was humiliated. Bonnie saw me, but instead of the sympathy I expected, she broke into wild laugher. She had just broken her wedding vows, but I was the one being pointed out and laughed at. Bonnie seemed delighted. "Well, aren't you a mincing little faggot?" she said. "I always knew you had it in you. You couldn't fucking wait to get into a dress, could you? Tell me: have you sucked your first cock yet?" "No," I said, my eyes on the floor. "I don't do that." "Oh, you will." "Maybe she just wants to find one bigger than hers is," J.D. said. "Her? Someone's goimg to need a magnifying glass," Bonnie said. "It's the size of a fucking spark plug. I know. Let's call her Sparky. Like in Sparkles." J.D. laughed. "Sparky? I like that. Get us a pitcher, Sissy Sparky. And some chips." I wobbled across the floor, unsteady on my heels. I drew the beer - Imogene had let me start doing that. I walked it to their table. I set it down. Bonnie was kissing J.D. on the mouth. She seemed to be enjoying it. Had she gone mad? She stopped long enough to look at me and smirk. "You know what I want, Sparky? I want you go to the bar and take a hot dog wiener. I want you to suck on it. I mean it. Do it now." J.D. laughed as I slowly walked to the bar. There by the grill were several wieners. I took one and inserted into my lips. "Now back and forth, sissy," Bonnie commanded. "Faster. Harder. Don't you wish sperm was in it? You fucking cocksucker. You know why I fucked around on you, Sparky? Because you're a homo, that's why. I can't believe I was married to you and that little dick of yours. You should J.D.'s dick. Maybe I'll let you see it. Maybe I'll let you hold it." She laughed, a laugh from hell itself, a laugh I can still hear. I turned and walked back toward the door. Could this night get any worse? Well, yes, it could. *** He was 6-8, black and bald. He burst through the front door after we had been been at the bar for about four hours. The crowd - tough, hard bikers - separated to let him through. He walked up to the bar. "Beer, Imogene," he said. Then he saw me. His face creased with a smile. "Someone done brought Buck a sissy," he said in a gravely voice. "Now, who would do a nice thing like that?" "Hey, Buck," J.D.'s voice rang out across the bar. "I thought you might find some use for this one. I know you've liked sissy boys since you were in the joint. This one used to be her husband." He pointed at Bonnie. Bonnie nodded. "I do love me a sissy," Buck said to himself. "Especially a pretty one like this." He walked up to me and smiled. "I'm Buck. You must be Buck's fuck." I shivered. How could I get out of this? I was in a biker's bar, and I was wearing women's clothing, and my wife had just fucked the leader of the fucking pack. And now, a power forward wanted to fuck me. Buck reached out and stroked my wig. There was a soft look in his eyes. "Touch me," he whispered. "Grab my dick." "Please, no," I whimpered. "I don't want to." "You're in a fucking dress, sissy. You need a man. Now touch it, or I'll hurt you," he said. He squeezed my arm. The pain shot through it. I reached out and put my hand on his bulge. I gasped at the girth of it. Did they make dicks in that size? He leaned down, and his lips covered mine. I could feel his heat. His hand went to the back of my head, and his tongue invaded my mouth. "Imogene? You got a room for me and my wife?" She nodded. "The blue bedroom," she said, handing him a key. I looked up. Bonnie was shaking her head in disgust at the ease of my conquest. Of course, her own hand was in J.D.'s lap, and it wasn't still. Yet, it was my cheating that seemed to amuse her. I felt small. I felt inadequate. I felt trapped. "I had me a sissy on the inside," Buck said. "Better than pussy, that one. I'm going to enjoy being with you. We walked to the blue bedroom. Buck sighed, closed the door, then pulled down his jeans. Then his boxers. His large, black penis pointed toward the ceiling. This was so fast, so raw. He flopped down in a lounger in the country. "Suck me, baby," he said. I looked at the door. I could never run fast enough. I wondered if there was something I could hurt him with? Me? That was silly. I approached him. I shook my head no. He ignored me. I slumped to the floor. I leaned in and tentatively kissed the tip. I immediately felt shame of being a cocksucker. "Don't be scared of it, sissy," he said. "It's a nice dick. Suck it, and it will be good to you." So I crouched before him. I gripped the thick cock, then dabbed at it tentatively with my tongue. I sucked in the dark knob, my tongue working over the bulb. I was doing it. I was sucking a man's cock. "More," he said. "Deeper." So I went deeper, until it felt like I had a whole billy club in my mouth. He had his hands on both sides of my head by now, moving my skull up and down. I tried to forget about the shame and just concentrate on the task at hand, forget his dick was in my mouth, just concentrating on getting it over. I tickled his balls. I ran my hands up and down his legs. I was his faggot. There was nothing else to do but suck. He moaned, and I thought he must be close. I rubbed his nuts more vigorously. He groaned, then lifted my off of him. His cock made an audible pop as it left my face. For a brief second, I thought I must be done. But them he was leaning me over the bed, and he was rubbing the tip against my ass. "Gonna fuck you now, sissy," he whispered. "Gonna Buck your butt." And it was large, and it was thick, and I thought someone had stuffed a chair up my ass. Eventually, though, my ass adjusted to the invasion, as asses do, and he was into the rhythm of it. This was better than the blowjob, I thought. At least I could breathe. And it kinda felt okay. He stroked me, deep and hard, and something triggered in me, and I was shivering. I looked down and saw a wet stain beneath me. I had orgasmed from a man's cock in my ass. And then Buck came, by the gallons, and it was ... fine. No, I'm not gay, and yes, I hated the nightmare I had fallen into. But in that very second, when my man had cum, and when I had, was perfect. I underestood the joy, the closeness that gay men feel. Oh, when it was over, I felt shame. I felt I had been raped. But in the afterglow, if you knew butt-fucking was inevitable, it wasn't bad. Buck had been a college football player, it turns out. A defensive end at Eastern Michigan. Then he had gotten into a fight, and he had hurt the other guy. Being black, he got hard time for it. But there was a simple sweetness to him. Even as his victim, I could see that. "Buck likes sissy," he said, his large hand on my stomach. "Sissy likes Buck," I said and snuggled into his arm. And for the first time all day, I felt safe. * * * I woke up in the middle of the night. My ass hurt. My jaws hurt. My pride hurt. I looked next to me. The bed was empty. I put on a robe and padded outside. I walked onto the porch. There, sitting alone and smoking underneath the stars, was Buck. "Hi," I said. "Can't sleep?" "I never sleep much," he said. "The joint breaks you of sleeping. You ok?" "Sore," I said. "Good," he said, his pride showing. "Means you'll remember I was there." "Buck, I'm no good at this sissy stuff," I said. "I don't blame you. But I'm all out of place. You know." "Sparky, you're fooling yourself, okay? How long were a boy before you had sex with a girl?" "Well. Nineteen years, I think." "You were a girl about 19 seconds before you had your lips wrapped around my dick, Sparky. She's always been in you, this sissy bitch. It ain't like J.D. took a normal straight man, put her in a dress and hey, all of a sudden she's got a taste for cock. A lot of fags on the inside - they call themselves that - they the same. Just wimps lookin' for a reason to try the queer life. I bet as soon as Imogene threw you that first dress, I bet you were ready to open wide. It's real good, isn't it, bein' able to suck a dick and everyone accepting it." "What if I can't accept it?" "It won't be easy, sissy. It never is for a sissy. But you'll come around. The next time Buck is in town, you will spread that ass for him on sight." "You're leaving?"' "In the morning. But you're with me now. Oh, you can fuck whoever you want. That's part of being a sissy. I won't get jealous. But if I walk through the door and you're in some guy's lap, you get up and you come to me. You're mine now." I looked at him. I nodded. He grinned. "So do you like big black cock?" he said. I blushed. "It's not about color," I said. "No. You sissies are what they call equal opportunity employers, aren't you?" "I guess so," I grinned. "Then come over here and employ that mouth of yours on my dick. I got to ride, and I don't want to do it with a full nutsack." I did. For the second time in six hours, I licked a dick bigger than a gearshift. I went at him hard, hungrily. If he was going to leave me, by God, I was going to give him something to remember me by. * * * "More bacon," J.D. roared. And I scurried to get more. I was in a different dress today. Red. I wondered how many dresses they had, and how often they had forced a husband to wear one of them. Evidently, there had been at least one other. Sarah. Or Steve. I wonder what ever happened to her. J.D. and Bonnie ate like wolves. I supposed they had been working up a hunger all night. "Buck leave this morning, Sparky?" J.D. said. "He just fuck you and run?" I glanced at the floor. "Yes sir. He said a guy owed him money in upstate." He walked outside and looked at Bonnie's motorcycle. He wiped a spot of grease off the engine. "So, did Miss Sparky need that sissy bar to ride?" J.D. asked Bonnie, grinning. "I don't call it a sissy bar," she said. "I call it a Sparky bar. Of course she needed it." I looked at her, and I fought back tears. She was supposed to love me. I know she'd been pissed off at me, and was now enormously attracted to J.D. but we were a couple. Now, she was screwing another guy in front of her feminized husband, and she was enjoying it. "Sparky, you mincing little faggot," she said, leaning back. ""J.D. and I are going to hit the road today. Alone. But there is something you could do for me first." "Yes, Ma'am," I said as J.D. returned to the table and sat down. He looked at me. She spread her legs. "How about cleaning me?" she said. "Excuse me?" "You heard me, fairy princess. J.D. rode me pretty good last night, and I'm all sticky down there. I want you to clean me up with your tongue." I looked at her, the hurt on my face. She looked back impassively. I dropped down, and I crawled under the table. Other bikers looked on and grinned, elbowing each other. Bonnie wasn't wearing panties. I kissed her vagina softly, then began to lick upwards with my tongue. There were sperm deposits there. I fought the urge to gag. Finally, I was done. And I looked up. Then I saw J.D.'s penis. "Now me," he said. I sighed. Then I leaned in and began to lick J.D. I put his dick in my mouth and, right in the middle of the bar, I brought him off. I caught it all. Then there were other dicks exposed from other bikers. Oh, I didn't have to suck them all. Half, maybe. But it was enough cum to damn near drown. I did so many dicks without threat, without violence. Did that make me gay? "Good, Sparky," J.D. said. "Damn, does your old lady hate you. You must really have been a sissy, huh." "I...I guess," I said. "You ever hear of Sturges?" he said. "No, sir," I said. "They have a huge bike rally in Sturges. Thousands of bikers. You know, they could probably use a good sissy. You could get a couple of weeks off work, and you could suck dick till men get pregnant. Of course, you couldn't get pregnant by blowing guys." "I just want to go home," I said. "I don't want any more dicks." "But you're a natural cocksucker, Sparky. You have to do what you're good at. If not, well, I'm sure there will be a passing truck in a day or two. Maybe Buck will be back by next weekend. He liked you." "Maybe," I said. "Sparky, sit down. Look, in life, there are hunters, and there are prey. You're prey. I think you should accept this. I've seen a lot of guys turned, on the inside and out, and you may be the most natural sissy I've seen. I mean, when you sucked my cock, you really sucked. You must like it." "It...it's the natural thing to do." He laughed. "Yeah. It's the natural thing if you're a cocksucker. I'm telling you, Sparky, you've been a sissy since the day you were born. It just took us to bring it out of you. Think about it. I hit you one time. Once. And you've sucked a dozen dicks. Now, which will you forget first? Me hitting you? Or a dick in your lips?" I didn't say anything. Was he right? Had I always had this in me? The dresses were starting to feel normal now. I could barely remember men's underwear. It had happened so fast, being dominated, being turned, being...a sissy. I looked in the mirror. I adjusted my wig. I freshened my lipstick. This was me now. Does God help sissies? * * * I was beginning to get accustomed to my new clothes. I no longer tried to talk my way out of my daily dress. I simply slid on my panties and bra and fixed my hair and did my makeup. It was the way things were. I began to take pride in my appearance. I wasn't the prettiest girl you've ever seen, but I looked okay. I was the right height, the right weight. I worked hard on my eye makeup. I worked on my posture, on the way I sat, on the way I walked. It was a natural thing. Treat a man like a woman, and he can become one if he tries. I had been a sissy for weeks now. I might as well be a pretty one. That was me. An acclimated sissy. I still pined for Buck. I was still his. But I began to flirt with the rest of the guys in the gang. Hey, I wasn't a virgin. I wasn't there to play hard to get. Bikers are different souls. There often isn't the jealousy of outsiders. I could sleep with, say, Curtis one night, and the next night, he would just grin while I was picked up by Lonnie. A lot of bikers have been to prison and lost any distinction between a woman's anatomy and a sissy's. I had my place at the bar, and as long as I kept to it, I was safe. I was the bar maid. It's who I was. I had been there almost a month, and I had seen Buck only three times, when a biker named Bamm-Bamm started to flirt with me. He talked about buying a place. He talked about us living there and making a home. I just smiled and shook my head. I was already home. *** Bonnie was wearing new clothes when she next returned. She had a jacket on that said "Serpent's Fangs" on the back. She was one of them now. She was his. "Sparky, Sparky," she said, looking at me. I looked at her, beaten. I was the hired help now. A waitress. A maid. A whore. Had I resisted hard enough? Was I strong enough? Did it matter? "Yes, ma'am?" I said quietly. "Girl, can we talk?" Bonnie said. "I know you think I'm a bitch, and maybe I am. I fucked J.D. too soon after I met him, and that was wrong. But you have to know that I've been so frustrated with you forever acting like a sissy. Your fucking cooking class. Your fucking Book Club. I felt like a fucking lesbian. Ask yourself, Sparky: Don't you think you would have eventually sucked a cock? Don't you think you would have eventually worn a dress? Because I thin k so." I looked at the floor. Maybe she was right. "Now, mince a little for me. Go on. Walk around. Roll that ass. Let your wrists go limp. That's it. Stick your ass out. You're a bitch now, Sparky. You'll have a thousand dicks before the year is out. You'll have your own tits. Hell, I'll be a memory. Your wife? Don't make me laugh, dick-licker. Hell, I was a lesbian when I was married to you. Now I'm with a man." I hung my head. I glanced down at my dress. I saw my hose. I saw my heels. What I could not see was a way out. * * * "Honey, it's okay that you're a sissy. Some guys are. No use cursing the fates because of it." I stood there in my dress, still feeling out of place. I was a man. Why had I given in so easily? Wouldn't it be better to be hurt than to suffer this? But Imogene was consoling. She didn't expect me to fight my way out. She expected ... surrender. She expected me on my knees. I had been a man recently enough to know that this wasn't right. I shouldn't be staring out the window, waiting for Buck every evening. I shouldn't be serving drinks and feeling hands on my ass. I shouldn't have the entire biker bunch treating me like the waitress they flirt with. Yet, here I was. Sissy Sparky. "You know, all men with gentle souls are not sissies," Imogene was saying. "Not everyone is either a bad ass or a fucked ass. But you are, Sparky. From what you tell me, you've always been a little compliant, maybe a little submissive. It isn't just that motorcycles scared you. Hell, being a man scared you. A lot of guys fantasize about playing football. You'd be afraid of breaking a nail. Sports? Would rough sports scare your bra right off of your tits? Admit it, Sparky. You're a sissy. It's okay. All sissies aren't attracted to men. But you seem to be." "I had no choice!" "Maybe not the first time. Maybe not the second. But the third? The fourth? Sparky, I've seen you. I've seen you touch up your lipstick when no one is around. I've seen you adjust your bra. I've seen you smooth your skirt. Hell, Sparky, you like dressing like this. On your own, maybe you'd fall in love and listen to the birds sing. But you'd also suck cock. You know you would." Would I? I thought about a penis coming closer to my face, straight and thick. I think about the slit being close to my tongue. I was beyond panic. But was I beyond pleasure? That was the question, wasn't it? * * * Early that afternoon, after the lunch crowd but before the riders returned for the evening, I was sitting with Imogene again. She reached over and handed me two pills. "Advil?" I said. "Estrogen," she said. "J.D. swaps weed for them. He got these for you, to make your titties grow." I looked into my hand. I wanted to toss them as far as I could. "Don't do anything you might regret," Imogene said. "You'll need your tits in the coming days. It'll keep the guys out of your ass for a while." "What if I get a ride to town?" "Then you'll be back. You know you will. You're a biker bitch now. Buck's biker bitch. You don't want to ride motorcycles. You want to ride motorcyclists. I think the inner sissy has been awakened in you. If I'm not wrong, you've got a lot of blow jobs ahead of you." I looked at her and shook my head. "How would you know?" I asked. She shrugged. "You think you're the first one this ever happened to? There was Sarah. Then there was me. Bikers don't care much if it's pussy or ass. Trust me." I looked at her. My mouth fell open. "You, too?" Imogene smiled sadly. "I was a car salesman," she said. "And then I wasn't. Just like you, I was the hot little number at the bar for a while. There are always sissies. America spits them out like fast food." "But you..." "I've been here a while, sissy. Six years. I've had my tits for a long time." "You're really a sissy?" She shrugged. "There have always been sissies, sweetheart. They called it different things, but back in ancient Rome, there were sissies. In old England, there were sissies. Hell, on the Chisholm Trial, there were sissies. You think you're the first sissy to ever suck a cock?" I looked down. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. "Don't cry," she said. "I'm proud of who I am. I had no idea how to be a man when I was a salesman. But I found a home here. I found my family. There are worse lives than being a sissy. You should just accept it. What would you do if you went back to being a guy, really? This is what you'd do. You'd put a dress on and find you a man. That's who you are." I took a breath. I picked up the pills from the counter. I tossed them into my mouth and dry-swallowed them. My surrender. Imogene smiled. In the distance, there was the faraway thunder of motorcycles. It was time for me to go to work. (C) 2015 by Cassandra Morgan