Dina's Boots free porn video

DINA'S BOOTS by Throne I knew the first day I met Dina what she was like. How could I not? She loved to talk about herself. About how she was a trust fund girl, totally self involved, and a bitch too. It didn't hurt that she was also attractive. Slender but with a full bust, pretty face with dramatic cheekbones that lent a hint of cruelty, and a fashion sense somewhere between glitzy and slutty. I was in love. I wanted to be with her. At the same time, I wanted to BE her. Hi there. My name's Todd and I'm a computer programmer, kind of good at it, able to work from home and make as much money as I need. I'm short and have a trim figure. My features are soft and my hair is silky blond. (Did I mention that Dina's is jet black, shoulder length, and cut in bangs that really accentuate her dark eyes?) My hands and feet are small and so is something else, but more about that later. I mentioned that I wanted to BE Dina. Not for her money or her attitude. What I envied was her looks. And why wouldn't I? I'm a dedicated private crossdresser and would love, love, love to look in my full length mirror (every sissy should have one) and see her image smiling invitingly back at me. In the interest of full disclosure, as they say, I should mention one more thing. Not as if I could tell this story without including it. Okay, actually two things. First, Dina loved to wear boots. Second, she got off on manipulating others, taking advantage of them, and generally controlling their lives. That made us a good match for each other. I wanted to be in girly clothes, bossed around, and overcome by my addiction to women in boots. I sort of confessed about myself to her. She wanted someone to order around and manipulate, and thought it was exciting that I couldn't resist her boots. So she invited me to become her total sissy submissive and live my life as her boot slave. Well, no. That's what I WISHED she had done. Instead, she invited me to go thrifting with her. Despite the plentiful money she had access to, Dina liked to get much of her wardrobe from thrift shops. Maybe it was her being defiant toward her wealthy family. Or perhaps she simply could find items there that weren't available elsewhere: out-of-style, odd, modified by previous owners, visibly pre- worn. Whatever. I had been lounging around my modest apartment in lipstick, panties, a camisole, stockings, and knee socks. Stockings AND knee socks? Not exactly a cool look but what can I say; my feet were cold. After she called I cleaned off my lips, stripped down to just the panties, checked myself in the mirror mentioned above, silently complimented myself on my smooth hairless body, turned around to look over my shoulder and shake my butt, and turned back around to stare at my rather undersized genitals. That would be the something else that I previously mentioned was small. On the one hand I wished I had a big cock and heavy balls. I'm a guy. Right? But on the other hand I was pleased to be boy-bits-challenged because it made me feel less manly, more of a sissy, and somewhat submissive. Also, easier to tuck away if that was called for. I swished over to my dresser and pulled out some boy clothes. Jeans with distressed knees. A pale blue T-shirt with a reproduction of a movie poster on it. The poster was for a picture that had flopped massively but which had elements in it that were considered unintentionally funny and borderline campy. So most people who saw it would assume I was just being ironic, while a few guys whose attitudes and tastes were in synch with mine would, I hoped, get the secondary message enough to suspect that I shared their less than mainstream tastes. In other words, if they liked to dress up like me, they'd know we were sisters underneath. I slipped my feet into slip-ons (makes sense), checked to make sure that my pretty face was cosmetics-free (booo), and headed out the door. Right on time Dina pulled up to the curb in her pricey sporty showy car. Fighting down my auto envy, I got in and gave her a simpering smile. She stuck her pert nose in the air and said, "Don't start getting cutesy with me, girl. I could just drop you somewhere and call one of my real girlfriends. One who's an anatomically correct girl. So lose that wimp- sister-face." I wasn't entirely sure what that last term meant, but I put my knees together, clasped my hands on my lap, gave my head a shake to flip by unruly blond hair off my unblemished forehead, and told her, "Yes, Dina. Thank you, Dina," putting a hint of sarcasm in my tone but no more. She smirked at me, which I took to be acknowledgement that I had given a good response and we were still on pleasant terms. Dina really was spoiled and, in the short time I'd known her, she had spatted with some of those real girlfriends, introduced two of her dates to each other, on purpose, and got them into a competition for her attention, and gone on an interview for a job she neither wanted nor needed, just so she could display a counterproductive attitude and get rejected, which was her idea of amusement. Dina had us at the thrift shop in under ten minutes. She parked and in we went. Now that our initial sparring was over I took time to get a good look at her outfit. She had on a tight, short-sleeved top that was made of some shiny material that gave it a suggestion of cheapness. Her shorts were super-tiny and so tight that their rear seam had vanished between her oval buttocks. But what really made the outfit, even though it didn't go with the rest, was her boots. They were glossy black, ended just below her knees, and had -- be still my beating heart -- two and a half inch stacked heels. And yes, with my love of boots, I am that good at identifying heel heights. Everything was bargain basement except that footwear, which was unmistakably expensive. What a dramatic contrast. Let's stop for a minute so I can make an analysis, indulge in some pop psychology. What I think is that she was trying to irritate whoever saw her with that mismatch. If you were dressing down to show disdain for new full-priced clothes the top and shorts might satisfy you, but the boots just screamed 'I overspent on these'. If you were stylish and ostentatious the boots could make you envious, but the other choices could cause you to gag. And that made sense for Dina. She didn't want anyone to approve of her. But she did want them to accept her. So long as they did it unconditionally. There, I think I said that right. End of digression. Those boots, boots, boots. I was enraptured. Ensorcelled. (Wow. Spellcheck tells me I got all the letters in that last word right.) Wanted to touch them with my hands and mouth and possibly rub my naked crotch against them, though not necessarily there in the thrift store, with the shoppers who couldn't afford to pay more than the prices there already staring at me, I guess because I look like a guy (mostly) but display the body language and movements of a girl (to a great degree). "What... do you need?" Dina asked me, though she was talking less TO me than AT me. "You..." She glanced around at the racks of clothing. "... need something outrageous." She picked through several tops until she found one with a high lacey collar, long puffy sleeves, and ginormous ruffles down the front. It was pale yellow and looked as if it had been worn once or maybe never, possibly because it was hideous. Dina shoved it at me and I took it by reflex. She walked away with me following uncertainly. Next stop was a rack of slacks from which she chose a pair of stretchy stirrup pants in bright red that appeared too small for me. Seeing my worried expression she just chuckled and tossed them to me. I clutched everything to my chest as she strolled around, with me trailing along, hoping none of the other shoppers were deducing what was going on. Suddenly Dina took a detour toward the back of the store where the wall was lined with bookshelves, all of them stuffed with hardbacks, paperbacks, audiobooks, some spiral bound publications, and a few magazines. She scanned the spines of books with her mouth screwed up and her brow ever-so-slightly lined. After a minute she took down a paperback copy of BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S and set it atop the clothes I was holding. She searched on, pulling out but then rejecting several titles. Reaching the end of one of the long shelves she selected another softbound book and set it atop her previous selection. This one was something titled HOW TO MAKE LOVE TO A MAN. Of course she put it there with the name facing up, so anyone I passed could see it. I felt my face grow warm and knew I was blushing. In my mind I was straight. At the same time, when I dressed en femme, I did catch myself thinking about cute guys. And butch guys. Plus handsome ones in conservative outfits who, beneath their bland outerwear, I suspected of being raging infernos of passion which I might or might not want to encounter. So anyway, I wasn't thrilled to be carrying the book like that. On the way to the checkout counter Dina impulsively stopped as we passed the coats. She snatched one off the rack and held it up. It was leather, short, and had a fur, or maybe faux fur, collar. Dina leaned close to me and whispered, "How would you like to see me wearing this and nothing else?" I felt an internal tugging, not at my heartstrings but in my crotch area. She got closer and her thigh pressed against me there. My mouth went dry. I blinked repeatedly. Her hid slipped down and, lowering the coat to hide what she was doing, she surreptitiously grabbed my crotch. "Oh, dear," she said with sympathy that sounded feigned, keeping her voice low. "You must have been at the end of the line when they were handing out penises. There was only a half of one left and they just stuck it between your legs so you wouldn't have to go without anything down there. No wonder you like to dress up like a girl. You practically are one where it counts. I won't be able to call you Todd anymore, not without laughing. No, you definitely need a girly-Q name. Your dick is so itsy bitsy I should call you... Itsy? No. Bitsy. Hello, Bitsy. Let's get you back to my place so I can dress you up and play games with you. It'll be like having my very own life size doll." She giggled. Giving me a penetrating look she added, "I've been noticing how you keep sneaking peeks at my boots. I remember how you said they affect you. Maybe instead of just the jacket you'd like to see me in only the jacket and these boots. Or one of my other pairs. I have quite a few. Would you like that, Bitsy?" Jeez Louise. We were in the middle of that store and she was still gripping my boy bits, even rolling them between her fingers. I had a raging hard-on (raging but not large) and was scared halfway to a coronary that someone would see what was going on. I wondered if my dick was leaking clear fluid onto the gusset of my panties. At the peak of my fear she just laughed and stepped away, moving again toward the checkout counter. I stumbled numbly along behind her, my eyes on her compact, well displayed bottom. I licked my lips, tasting just a suggestion of the lipstick that had been covering them not that long ago. With the muscles in my arms twitching, I set her selections in front of the young Latino woman who was cashiering. I admired her golden hoop earrings. She smiled and checked the tag on each item before ringing them up. It all went smoothly, even when she handled that embarrassing paperback. Most likely she assumed it was for Dina. When we got to the car Dina had me put the two bags into the trunk. She told me to wait a minute as she got behind the wheel, leaving the door open, then asked me to come around. When I was standing in the street in front of her she swiveled on her seat, stuck one leg out, and raised it, asking me to please push her boot on more firmly. Sunlight glinted off the polished leather. As far as I could see, it was on all the way already, and there was no need for any adjustment. At the same time I had been considering, in my imagination, what it would be like to grip that column of leather and feel her firm calf within it. I bent to the task and it was like the blood was rushing away from my brain. Holding firmly to the boot, relishing its tactile delights, I pushed against it. She allowed me to do that three times before letting me stop. Not that I wanted it to be over. But I was in the street with cars occasionally passing. She had me do the other one, even making me turn around and straddle it, so I could shove at it in that position. "I think you got it," she said playfully. When I released her leg she brought it up, not hard, and pressed it against my genitals, moving it back and forth just enough to get me wildly aroused. Then she took it away and swung around to face the steering wheel. So the blood really had been leaving my brain, to travel to my dick. I was standing there with an obvious, though not impressive, hard-on. I hurried around to the passenger side, got in, and had to be reminded to fasten my safety belt. Dina announced that she liked what we had found and would save the second shop that she wanted to visit for another day. I breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled out from the curb. But there was still the matter of her taking me to her place and having her way -- so to speak -- with me. We arrived at her ritzy building in about twenty minutes. She pulled into the private underground parking garage and drove to her reserved spot. Dina popped the trunk, then got out without speaking to me. Like a servant I grabbed the bags and scurried after her. We passed a security guy and he gave her a wide smile. I wondered who else he had seen her taking to her apartment. The elevator was fancy without being showy. Or rather, showy without being overdone. When we got out she led me to her door. From behind her I admired the way she walked in those boots, taking confident steps and letting her rump roll. As we entered her unit I took in the mix of expensive furniture, funky pieces that might have been trash picked, and even a beanbag chair that appeared to be vintage. On the walls there were pieces of framed art, all of them from what could be broadly described as the lowbrow school. They were interesting and featured varied color choices, from muted earth tones in one, to garish, animated-cartoon eye-blasters in the next. In a seductive voice she suggested, "We should go to my bedroom." Before I could misunderstand she clarified, "So I can dress up my Bitsy doll." That wasn't the main thing I had been hoping for but, if I was being honest with myself, it was as important to me as getting it on with my new maybe-girlfriend. Okay, it was more important. Being able to assume my feminine persona in front of a sympathetic girl was a long held dream. And those boots were a welcome bonus. Once in the bedroom I set the bags on her bed, but then looked at her to make sure she approved. Dina wasn't bothered that I had taken independent action. She wasn't looking for excuses to criticize me, or reasons to exert unreasonable control. She already knew I was easy to handle, literally and figuratively. She just said, "Let's go, Bitsy. Out of those street clothes and... hmmm... maybe into some intimate sleepwear first." A shudder of excitement ran through me. Really? Was I going to get to dress in HER intimates? Oh my. Like I said in the beginning, I wanted to BE her. And now I maybe perhaps please, please, please was. Or at least come as close as I was able. While I was getting control of my elation she was opening her dresser and taking something out. It was filmy and had a see-through Peter Pan collar and OMG was a baby doll nightie that looked like it had just arrived via time travel from somewhere in the mid-1950s. I was taking deep breaths. She didn't miss that. Dina let out a soft whispery laugh. "Let's go," she said. "It won't look as yummy if you wear it over what you have on. Strip, Missy. We're just a couple of girls here. No shame. Well, some shame. And maybe a lot more later." With trembling fingers I began to disrobe. Dina delicately held up the nightie and waved it at me like a flag of femininity. I got down to just my panties and looked at her questioningly. She told me, "Let's try it without the panties. It'll be funnier that way, with your itsy bitsy ding-a-ling peeking at me." Dina didn't look away for even a second. My modesty was strained to its limits and beyond. I accepted the nightie from her and put it over my head, letting its frothiness slide down caressingly over my hairless skin. As expected, it did nothing to hide me. But everything to give me the sexy girl appearance I craved. Dina nodded and went to her closet. She took out a pair of high heeled slippers made of clear plastic, that to my eyes matched the time period I associated with what I was wearing. She handed them to me, I set them reverently on the floor, and then eased my feet into the cool solid interiors. She had me walk around and I knew those heels (two inches, I was certain) were shaping my legs as they made me take small mincing steps, all of which was fine by both Todd and Bitsy, thought the former personality was being subsumed by the latter. I was getting my girl on. "Now, my pretty-pretty," she said with calm authority, "you can take these lovely boots off me. You don't mind doing that, do you, darling?" She sat on the edge of the bed. I went to her and sank to my knees. Looking up worshipfully I managed to assure her in a strained whisper that I didn't mind at all. Quite the opposite. I put my hands on one of the boots and it was like I was being given sex drugs intravenously. My dick stood up again, this time unrestrained, in all its limited glory. I heard myself panting quietly. As if she was speaking from a distance I heard Dina say, switching to a snooty tone, "Bitsy, you haven't been taking proper care of my boots. I think you should clean them off... with your tongue." I whimpered with need. A young pervert's dream was about to come true. Licking your own boots, a pair that were fake leather, had a distracting zipper up the side, and were bought at a yard sale ("I'm sure these'll fit my girlfriend. But if they don't, can I bring them back? It wouldn't be more than about 25 minutes? Yes? Thanks a lot. I'm sure they'll fit her."), and spent most of their time hidden in the back of your closet, just wasn't the same. I reverently bowed my head and place an adulating kiss on the upper. I went down further to demonstrate idolatry on the toe, holding my pursed lips against it for long seconds. It was more than thrilling. I dared to touch them and kiss at the same time, running my hands up and down caressingly. She kept the heel on the floor but raised the toe. I got down even lower and managed to lick the sole before moving upward again. She let me continue for a full fifteen minutes, which to me was like an hour in bootlover paradise. My nipples were tingling and my dick's tip was being tingled by the material of the nightie. I could have continued on and on but Dina decided it was time for me to try on and model the outfit she had gotten me. "You can do that," she informed me, "after I get into my new jacket. And maybe we have a glass of wine. And you strike a few poses for me, Bitsy." "Yes. Fine," I agreed breathlessly. "Whatever you want." "That's correct. Whatever I want." She put plenty of emphasis on that personal pronoun. First she put her arms into the sleeves of her jacket and shrugged it on (though I would have been thrilled to assist her). She had me strip out of that lovely nightie, which I hated to take off. Then I was allowed to slip into a pair of her panties, peach colored and bikini cut. Next I donned the blouse-from-Hell that she had evilly selected for me. Impossible though it may seem, it looked even worse on me than it had in the store, and that's saying a lot. It's one thing to dress as a girl, but quite another to dress like a girl who has no taste. The red slacks followed and, as I had estimated, they were too small for me, which was why they molded themselves to my lower half like a coat of paint. The stirrups held the cuffs down where they belonged and the crotch dug into my boy-zone uncomfortably. At the same time, it DID do a good job of flattening and thus hiding my candy. Dina wasn't done. She picked a pair of her shoes that she had fallen out of love with as soon as she got them home (she told me so, I suppose so I would understand that I was getting one of her rejects) and put them into my hands. "These will go perfectly with the rest of your fashionable outfit." They were canvas (brightly color spattered) with cork platforms, about two inches thick. And yes they did go with my ugly clothing. As I got them on and took a few steps, Dina hooked her arm in mine and led me to her large three-panel mirror. I was a study in poor taste. Then it was over to her make-up table, where she sat me down and went into the bottom drawer to obtain a plastic box of cosmetics that she had decided weren't for her (which meant I was getting more of her discards). With wicked glee she did and then overdid my face. In the vanity mirror I saw myself turning into a kind of slut-doll, part tramp and part sweetie face. She finished the ruination of my appearance by clapping a wig of glistening, short, red-gold curls (Halloween leftover?) onto my head and attaching big floppy bow, with black and yellow checks, to its top. After she told me to stand up, Dina couldn't suppress a loud laugh. Actually, she didn't even try to hold it back. No stifling. Done laughing out loud but still quaking from further silent mirth, she gestured for me to walk around. Those unappreciated shoes gave made my gait feel clunky, so I had to force a bit of hip-swing into it. Dina had me strike those poses she had mentioned, while she used her phone to record them. Hands on hips. Fingers laced behind neck. Hands on knees and butt thrust out. Fingertips on lower lip, mouth open in a theatrical 'O', other hand in middle of chest (but not pressing down on those flouncy ruffles). Please don't let her show the pictures to anyone, I wordlessly pleaded to Fate or whatever passed for fate in my current situation. "You are just too precious, in a bizarre sort of way," she told me, taking a shot of me with my hands on my privates place. "I can't wait until Flo sees you." "F... Flo?" I squeaked. "Who's Flo?" "One of my BFFs, except when we're not BFs, which is maybe once a week." "But... I mean... the way I look..." "You don't think it will tickle her? Maybe you need one of my bras and some stuffing in the cups?" "N... no!" I blurted. "Oh," she said, acting like understanding was just dawning on her. "You don't want her to see you because your looking so girly... and so tacky- weird." "Well... something like that." "Then I guess I shouldn't have told her to be here at about..." She consulted her fashionable and expensive watch. "... five minutes from now." I moaned and hugged myself. Further pleas would obviously not work. She was enjoying thoughts of my impending exposure too much. I decided to steel myself and just try to get through it. Though she was relishing my discomfort she did take pity on me enough to lead me to her small-but- well-laid-out kitchen and pour me a glass of red wine. Right after she poured one for herself and enjoyed a sensual sip or two. I took mine gratefully and forced myself not to gulp. As it entered my system and a warm alcohol glow spread, I felt marginally better. About halfway through the glass there was a buzz on the intercom, Dina answered it, and let Flo through the entrance security door. In minutes Dina's friend was entering the apartment. Glass in hand, trying to look less overdone and odd then the mirrors had already informed me I did look, I was confronted by a girl much like Dina, also with a bust that was a touch big for her figure. It struck me belatedly that Dina -- and her friend -- might have had boob jobs. Duh. I experienced a touch of breast envy. Not that I wanted a pair. But they looked great. And made it easier to wear female clothes. Anyway, back to my tale. Did I mention that the newcomer had on boots equally as appealing as Dina's? Flo scrutinized me, even getting up close to marvel at the run-amok application of cosmetics. I pressed my knees together. Attempted a smile that most likely resembled a response to constipation. Kept moving my hands because there didn't seem to be any correct place to put them. Flo snickered, turned to Dina, and wanted to know why I had wine and she didn't. Dina told me in a faux-bored voice to, "Please get my guest some wine, Miss Bitsy. And use one of the big glasses." Without thinking, I responded in a nervous whisper, "Yes, Ma'am." Yes Ma'am? You might find yourself reflexively speaking that way if you read too many of the right kind of stories on Fictionmania. When I returned with the wine -- in a glass about twice as large as Dina's and mine -- they were sitting on the couch chatting. Dina was describing my idolatry of her boots. Flo told her, "I don't believe you." Dina said, "It's true." Both of them sounded like they were reading their lines. Flo rejoined, "Well, you'll have to prove it to me." Dina offered, "But the only way to do that would be... a demonstration." Flo agreed, "That would do it." Adding some of the ennui she had put into her voice previously, Dina said to me, "Bitsy, get lovely dovey with Flo's boots." I dropped to my knees, failing to disguise my eagerness. Then I slowed down, as if I had at least a modicum of control over my fetishy behavior, and ever so slowly moved my lips toward that exotic footwear -- black, calf-topping, two-and-a-half inch stiletto heels, decorative straps around the ankles (complete with fake buckles on the outer sides), pointy toes -- swallowing my sudden excess of saliva rather than drooling openly. I kissed. Licked. Stroked. Pressed my cheek to. Got down flat, rolled onto my back, lifted her foot, and lowered the heel into my mouth, after which I fellated it willingly, all the while telling myself the wine was making me act so shamelessly. They resumed their casual conversation while I was left to my kinky pursuits, once more hard, my below average penis demanding more direct stimulation, while I suffered the pangs of frustration. Also, the retracted testicles and snugged up scrotum and beginnings of a dull ache down there. Such is the life of a submissive. I had the sense to limit my overzealous heel ministrations, and get back to the more normal (I know, that doesn't sound right. But 'normal' is relative, isn't it?) lavishing of attention on her leather delights. They gabbed on and on while I drove myself into a mute frenzy of urgent need. At one point I was sent to the kitchen to fetch the bottle and refill their glasses, but after that they charitably allowed me to resume my attempts to make Flo's boots fall in love with me. Eventually Dina even slid closer to her friend and got her feet into the action, so that I found myself switching back and forth between the equally appetizing offerings. When they were at last done gabbing, done too soon for their little boot boy-girl, Dina shooed me and I backed away on hands and knees to wait unassumingly. Flo stood and extended her boot toe toward me, saying, "Kiss-kiss goodbye." I dipped my head down and gave the shiny tip one last touch of my happily overworked lips. She exchanged hugs with Dina, me sneaking a peek from my lowly position at their brief embrace, and was gone. I sighed. Dina snapped her fingers and signaled for me to get back on my feet. Feeling lightheaded, I did what was indicated. She sat back down and waved for me to come closer until I was right in front of her. The woman who had so dazzled me seemed to want to do something else that involved myself. Who was I to disagree? She flipped open her phone, hit a pre-set number, and waited. "Yeah, Brad. Look, I'm not sure about tonight." Without looking she felt for and found the front of my slacks, got her hand between my thighs, and cupped my essentials in her palm. Everything fit there more easily than I would have preferred. "Well, something came up. Or at least, it's starting to come up." I couldn't argue with that. "And I might just want to stay here." She began to palpitate my three-piece set. My excitement was escalating alarmingly. She yawned. "Well, later might be okay. Maybe. But I might have a... girlfriend... visiting. Who? You don't know her." She wasn't even glancing at me, though I was being talked about, and my attention was focused on her every word (and the incessant wriggling of her slender fingers). "I don't know." She made a sound that started as a purr and ended like a dismissive moan. I almost felt sorry for Brad as he listened to it. Dina reacted to something he had said, her tone now honeyed. "Well, I certainly KNOW that blowjob I gave you was amazing. My blowjobs are ALWAYS like that. There are plenty of guys who'll vouch for them. You're just one of many." She paused, I guess to let that sink in. It sounded like I wasn't the only male whose mind she took pleasure in messing with. "Listen, I'll call you later. If, you know, my mood changes. Otherwise you'll just have to get a grip on the situation." She giggled at what she was implying. "I'm sure you're handy that way." Was she picking me over him? I shifted my feet around, aware of those unflattering shoes I had on. I couldn't be that lucky. Could I? She told Brad, "Well, maybe if you had returned the favor, after I sucked your cock, if you had done something nice for me with your mouth..." She let that hang in the phone-connection-space between them. "Anyway, we'll pick up where we're leaving off when I call you back. IF I call." She air-kissed the phone. "Bye, bye, Braddie." As she folded the phone shut she gave my stuff a final clench-relax- clench-relax-clench-relax, bringing me to the edge of spurting in my panties (which were HER panties, so it would have been doubly embarrassing), sat back, moved to the side, stood, and moved away. I didn't move. Noticed my mouth was hanging open and closed it. She went into her bedroom. I followed meekly, not sure what might be about to occur. Dina was undressing. She looked over her shoulder at me and gave a self-satisfied smile. "I feel like going out." Before I could object to being seen in public the way I was dressed and made up, she went on, "You can stay here and wait for me. If you want to. Without messing with my wardrobe. Or all the boots that are in the closet. Right over there. Otherwise, just let yourself out. You know, after you go back from being my dress-up doll Bitsy to looking like boring old Todd. Whatever. I'm going to hit one of the clubs and see who shows up. It's kind of early but I don't mind. There are some cute bartenders. I like Hank. And Cherise." She shrugged. "You can help me get ready. I'm sure you have an interesting fashion sense, despite what you let me put you in. And when I get back, if you're still here, you can wash my back in the shower and then... I don't know... I keep getting this mental picture of you all tied up with wide candy striped ribbon, which I happen to have a roll of handy, like a pretty package. And maybe me swatting your fanny until it's a lovely shade of bright pink. Or it might turn out that I'll be bringing someone home with me. Or I might be alone but cranky and just send you away." Dina cocked her head to one side. "It's fun not knowing what's going to happen. Don't you think so?" I nodded. It sure was. Scary tingly fun. ********* (End of story. Honest. No continuation in the works. I started this one and the characters just took over. So if there's anything you don't like about it, please blame Dina and your humble narrator, Todd/Bitsy. Of course, you can still tell me what you would have enjoyed reading about in a continuation, and those ideas might turn up in a separate story later. Also, thanks to those who wrote reviews of my previous effort, BACK TO SCHOOL, and responded to the complaints of some other readers. You covered all the points I was going to make, which left me more time to work on this story.)