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Best Neighborhood Ever
By Gingerfred Man
Chapter One - A Very Good Morning
"Here are your lunches, boys. And don't forget your books, Eric. Bye.
See you at three. I love you."
And Eric, my third-grader and Bob, my fourth-grader were out the door
and onto the school bus.
My name is Greg and I'm a stay-at-home dad for our two sons. Martha,
my wife of ten years, is the breadwinner. She spends four or five
nights a week on the road. Sounds difficult, I know. But it works for
us.
Martha's plane had left at 5 p.m. the day before. That day was Monday.
I loved Mondays. Not because I disliked Martha. But what I had when
she was gone was better.
Far better.
"Ping"
My phone let me know that I had a text.
Of course it was Sam.
I opened it.
Oh my.
A luscious picture of a hard, fat, drippy prick, framed by the tops of
black, seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings and
garters. The caption said, "Breakfast is hot and ready for you,
Beautiful."
My prick twitched and my mouth watered.
It was going to be a great day!
I sped to my car.
Five minutes later, I pulled into a familiar driveway. A very familiar
driveway. And I leaped out, hustled to the door and let myself in.
What a greeting I received from the home's only occupant.
Sam, who liked to be called Samantha when we were together, was dressed
to thrill. She was wearing the black stockings and garters from the
picture; black, four-inch-stiletto, fuck-me-pumps; a lacy black bra;
and the skimpiest black nightie on planet earth. Her face was made up
to pantyboy perfection and she was wearing the curly blonde wig that
she knows I like best.
Oops!
She forgot her panties.
Again.
And her nice, meaty cock was looking right at me. Weeping for
attention.
She gave me a deep, wet, tongue-filled kiss, then broke it off. "No
penis play until you get dressed, Sweetie," she wisely said.
I was mildly disappointed, since I wanted to hit my knees and suck down
that sweet morning load I knew Samantha was saving for me.
But she was right. It's way more fun when we're both dressed.
So I went to what had become my room and went to work on transforming
myself.
I seemed to be getting better at makeup since Samantha and I had
discovered each other two months earlier. And my wardrobe, with all
the sweet lingerie Samantha had in her house for me, was worthy of any
34-year-old pantyboy out there.
That was to be a lilac day. Stockings. Heels. Corset. Bra.
I was yummy.
Don't take my word for it. The mirror said so.
I was ready to meet my lover.
Who was in her bedroom, in a comfy chair. Playing the "string game."
Seeing how long she could make a string of pre-cum extend from her
penis to her finger.
Teasing me.
She knew I loved to be teased. And pleased.
Samantha did have the good manners and good sense to gasp, then praise
my beauty when she saw me all lilaced-up.
I was pretty stunning.
So I gave her a little teasy show. Prancing around the room. Showing
her how stiff my cock was for her. Then turning around and showing her
my pink wrinkle.
Which she would be filling with that beautiful monster between her legs
several times that day.
I was the bottom in that relationship.
But by no means neglected.
I spunked at least as many times as Samantha did on our play dates.
I was six years younger, of course.
Samantha was divorced, so we always met at her house. At least three
days a week. Sometimes five.
It was what I lived for.
So it was time to get serious.
I stopped teasing and sissied over to Samantha on my big heels. She
gave my cock a nice, brief suck, then requested that I hit my knees
and have my breakfast.
I didn't mention that I had already had Cheerios and blueberries. That
would have spoiled the mood. A very good mood.
Oh.
Samantha's cock was magnificent!
She was equally and wildly attractive as a man or a woman. But she
overwhelmingly preferred being Samantha, not Sam.
I gave the knob a nice, soft kiss. Samantha moaned so sweetly. Then I
licked the head all over.
Delicious pre-cum!
Some prefer to only lick a knob - never taking the glans into the
mouth. I like to do both.
Though I had never sucked a cock until I met Samantha, I had become
quite proficient.
Samantha agreed.
I chowed down big-time.
And it was, in fact, better than Cheerios and blueberries.
Though a bit messy when my girlfriend couldn't hold back any more.
"Oh, Heather!" Samantha groaned as she succumbed to her near-fatal
orgasm.
Oh dear.
Thank goodness I had become so much better about swallowing Samantha's
loads since that first time.
Chapter Two - About that first time
Sam and I met at a little league game four months earlier.
My kids were playing.
Sam had no kids, but he liked baseball. Or so he said.
I wondered whether he was some perv looking to perv up with some of the
boys.
I was almost right.
He did want to perv up.
But it was with me.
He had seen me in the neighborhood and couldn't get the image of me, in
stockings and garters, sucking his cock, out of his mind.
We got to know each other slowly.
One Wednesday night two months after we met, when Martha was gone, I
got a babysitter and went to Sam's house for a few beers.
We got to talking about our women. And how they had disappointed us.
Sam's disappointment ended in divorce. "It was all about nagging,
manipulation and emasculation with her," he said. "Almost no sex. And
she wouldn't even dress the way I wanted."
Oh!
I seconded all that. And even added, "Mine's away all week. Goodness
knows what she does on the road. And with whom. Even when she's home,
the sex is sparse. And I know what you mean about dressing."
It was only because there is truth in beer that I was able to utter the
next sentences: "I love stockings, Especially seamed, fully-fashioned,
reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings that you hook on with a garter belt.
And she won't wear them."
Had I been looking into Sam's eyes at that moment, I would have seen a
flame ignite. It was exactly where he wanted to be in his seduction of
me.
He said, "I love stockings too. And I know what you mean about the
seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings. Would you
excuse me for a moment?"
"Sure," I said. Sam probably had to go to the bathroom or something.
You don't buy beer. You only rent it.
He was gone almost 15 minutes. Was he OK?
I started to get up to see, but Sam reappeared.
Except it wasn't Sam
It was Samantha.
And she was scorching hot.
Black stockings. Garter belt. Fuck-me pumps. Black babydoll. Blonde
wig.
[Gulp]
What was happening?
Had Sam gone crazy?
And why was my cock so hard.
Sam saw my hard cock and my conflicted thoughts and pounced.
He knelt in front of the sitting me. Opened my legs. Pulled my zipper
down and pulled out a red, throbbing Mr. Johnson.
Mr. Johnson was very happy when my obviously sick, gay, soon-to be-ex-
friend took him into that soft, wet mouth.
I was horrified.
Mostly.
But, goodness.
Sam looked awfully feminine. More so than any woman I had known.
And he was spectacular at sucking my cock.
I did not, as honor required, slap him with my glove and challenge him
to a duel the next daybreak.
Instead, I shot my cum down his throat.
He swallowed every sodomistic drop.
It was glorious.
And who needed honor when sex was on the table?
Sam licked his lips, locked eyes with me and said, "Did you like that,
Honey?"
I didn't want to nod, but I did.
Sam smiled and said, "Samantha's got lots more where that came from,
Baby." And she went down on me a second time. That time she caressed
my balls, and licked them in between terrorizing my knob. She even
slid a rude finger inside my asshole, which was the little extra that
made me cum again.
Hard.
I forgot all about that dueling stuff and found myself tongue-kissing
her desperately.
And [blush] maybe it was the beer, or the two galaxy-class blowjobs,
but I returned the blowjob favor.
Twice.
Well.
A catholic boy's two constant companions, Mr. Shame and Mr. Guilt rode
home with me that night.
My babysitter probably thought I had witnessed something awful. Because
I could hardly face her, let alone the rest of the proper, hetero world
after what I had done.
I slept badly, but managed to get the boys off to school.
And then Sam called.
Actually, it was Samantha.
"Did you like what we did last night, Honey?"
Hang up. Change your number. Move to Mongolia.
"I'm never doing that again, Sam."
"That wasn't what I asked you, Greg."
I gulped and said "Yes" in the smallest voice I could muster.
"I knew you would. Why don't you come over here and I'll get you some
stockings and garters too. Makeup and a wig if you want them. Then we
can get on my bed and see what happens."
No!!!!
I couldn't!!!!
It was immoral. Adulterous. Disgusting. And gay!
But I said, "OK" in that small voice again.
And began trembling at the lustful images forming in my mind.
That day, all of those images would be realized. As would other acts
almost too unspeakable to mention. But I will mention them.
Samantha had the door open before I could knock and she practically
pulled me into the house.
She was all in pink that day, including a bustier with garter snaps.
And I had never seen sheerer pink stockings or higher pink stiletto
pumps.
Oh!
It was so wrong.
She had forgotten her panties that morning and her cock was pointing
right at me.
Her sweet, hard, hot, fat cock.
Which I HAD to avoid. Forever. Or become a gay pariah. Forced to
ring a bell as I walked to warn decent people of my approach.
A bleak future indeed.
But fuck the future.
I hit my knees and took her penis as far into my throat as it would go.
Samantha squealed with sissy joy.
I was hers. And she knew it.
Even though I hadn't yet femmed up.
Samantha's sexual excitement was contagious.
I felt as if my ears were on fire. And my cock was threatening to rip
my pants. But I held back my cum. Because I knew that wearing
stockings would be on that day's menu. And I was saving my first load
for the moment when I would look down and see nylon covering my thighs.
Samantha did not hold back.
She gagged me with a tsunami of sissy cream.
Most of which I swallowed.
I kissed and licked Samantha's cockhead until it was all clean.
Then Samantha drew me to my feet, thanked me, and kissed me. Deeply.
Oh!
Where were those stockings?
Samantha took me by the hand and led me to a bedroom that she said
would be mine. It was filled with girlish gear. Delightful girlish
gear.
She led me to the bathroom, pulled my pants and boxers off and sat me
on the toilet.
Was she going to...?
Oh.
Samantha shaved my legs!
I remember vaguely wondering how I would explain that to Martha. But I
was so sex-crazy at that point that I didn't care.
Oh, it felt great to have smooth legs.
How I was able to keep from cumming, I still don't know.
But I even held back when Samantha slowly slid each black, seamed,
fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-toe stocking up my legs.
Then I spunked.
And cried.
My full masculinity had left the building.
Good riddance!
Samantha knew what I was feeling. She cleaned up all that cum with
washcloth and towel, then kissed me and told me, "You're a new you now,
Honey. A better you. Welcome to femininity, Heather."
Heather?
I liked it.
And I liked the garter belt Samantha slipped on me. And the training
bra. And the two-inch stiletto sandals that, at first, refused to
cooperate with my equilibrium. But then they felt great.
Samantha even sat me down and applied some rudimentary cosmetics to my
face.
Bottom line, my bottom was fine!
As was my face.
No prom queen. Maybe her middle-aged aunt. Good enough.
A bit of mirror self-adoration was followed by some amazing sex.
Including my first fucking.
I was terror-stricken about Samantha sticking that huge thing into my
virgin hole. But she took it slowly. Licked me out to get me ready.
Which I really liked. Then used half a bottle of Spermbutt Anal
Lubricant on my bumhole and her cock.
And she was in.
Oh.
Being fucked was amazing.
I was on my back. Knees up. I winced at insertion. But flung my
calves around Samantha's back and urged her on.
I was already a very good "bottom," wasn't I?
My prostate had never been so happy.
And it triggered two orgasms before Samantha had her first.
Just to be sure we were doing it right, Samantha and I fucked twice
more that day.
The first of many magnificent days.
Chapter Three - Flashback over. Back to the beginning of the story
Samantha fucked me gloriously that lovely lilac-lingerie day two months
after we started sissying up and I was wondering if it was possible to
be happier than I was.
It was. But I didn't think so after what happened next.
Samantha and I were lying in bed. Kissing in the afterglow of a great
fucking when, suddenly, I heard the sound of applause.
"Brava! That was amazing, Samantha and Heather."
And a different voice: "Yeah! I hope you'll let us play too. You
ladies are spectacular."
Huh?
Two fully-dressed and cosmetized pantyboys were standing on their big
heels at Samantha's bedroom door.
I looked at Samantha. She knew them! And she arranged for them to
watch us fuck!
Horror!
That was IT for Samantha and me. No more pussy for you, Missy!
You betrayed me!
I started to get up.
But Samantha pulled me back down and said, "Heather, this is Jennifer
and Mandy. You may recognize them, if you look real hard, as Joe and
Mike, neighbors on your block."
Oh my gosh! Yes!
Joe and Mike were pantyboys too? And Samantha knew them?
"Pleased to meet you, Heather," Jennifer said. "I'll bring your hedge
clippers back soon, I promise."
Should I be ashamed?
Or excited that I was about to expand my circle of pantied friends?
I chose B.
They both look hot as a fur coat that fell off a truck. But Joe, I
mean Jennifer, held a slight edge.
She was all in pink, including a bustier, stockings, bra, and big
heels. The bad girl had forgotten her panties and I could see why.
If I had a cock as big and beautiful as that, I would never cover it up
either.
Mandy was megadishy as well, in her yellow ensemble that included a
translucent babydoll nightie and skyscraper heels.
Was I salivating?
Samantha saw the lust in my eyes and pounced on the opportunity.
"Jennifer has been interested in you since way before you became
Heather, Honey. Like me, she thinks you're an amazing beauty. And
she's very much a top. Mandy and I are old friends and she's a bottom.
We have the rest of the day and your pussy is all lubed and leaky.
Should Mandy and I go into the other bedroom and you and Jennifer can
talk about hedge clippers and such for a few hours?"
A few hours!
Riding that monster penis for a few hours!?!
After being betrayed and swapped by my lover?
Sounded good to me.
So I eagerly (perhaps too eagerly) agreed.
I hoped that Samantha got the message that she wasn't the only pantyboy
top I wanted in my pussy.
Wait.
Wasn't that Samantha's message to me?
Anyway, Samantha and Mandy vacated the room pretty quickly and Jennifer
was in bed with me in a flash.
Kissing me.
Telling me how beautiful I am.
A girl's head could be turned with all that.
Not to mention my asshole.
Which seemed to be pointing right at Jennifer's deliciously big,
diamond-hard penis.
I guess I really was "easy," since Jennifer buried her bone in my
backyard 18 minutes after I met her.
Which for a woman would be a world's record.
For a pantyboy, it's a little above average.
Jennifer's meat torpedo had struck its target with explosive impact.
That big, thick pantyboy penis had struck up a beautiful relationship
with my prostate and I was delighted to see them getting along so well.
So well that I was a simpering, whimpering, squealing and screaming
sissy in very short order. Though - full disclosure - I may have
hammed it up a smidge just to get back at Samantha.
Though, from the sounds of it, Samantha's performance with Mandy seemed
to be getting high marks from the participants as well.
I don't think that Jennifer nor I mentioned hedge clippers once during
the next three fuck-filled hours.
It was a glorious expansion of my sissy circle.
Chapter Four - Admiration
Samantha and I got reacquainted the next day.
The best way a couple can reacquaint.
And we were definitely a couple.
Since one cannot (or should not) fuck continuously for five consecutive
hours, there was always some pillow talk.
I asked, broadly, if Jennifer, Mandy, Samantha and I were the only
pantyboys in the neighborhood.
Which, as it turned out, was the wrong question.
I should have asked, were there any men in the neighborhood who were
fucking neighborhood pantyboys. But Samantha was to answer it anyway.
Samantha answered the question I did ask as well as she could. Even
filling in details.
A complete answer would have required a precise definition of what
constituted our neighborhood.
But with a 12-block area, by Samantha's reckoning, there were ten
pantyboys.
Wow!
Samantha went further to say that there were five committed tops and
five willing bottoms. The perfect happenstance.
And then she added, "Of course, all the pantyboys, tops and bottoms,
become bottoms for the neighborhood 'admirers.'"
Admirers?
"Admirers are men who don't cross dress and love to make hot, spunky
love to those who do."
My cock twitched.
I hadn't considered such an option for me.
My cock seemed to be considering it.
Decision made. By my cock at least.
Samantha noticed.
"I see that you like the idea. Do you know Eamon Flynn over on Maple
Street?"
I did know him.
He was in his mid-40s, tall, full head of hair, handsome, toned and
fit, and married with two or three kids.
Oh my.
Was Samantha saying that Eamon Flynn wanted to FUCK me?
"Eamon Flynn wants to fuck you," Samantha confirmed.
My cock spurted.
It was so embarrassing.
And so irretrievably gay.
I couldn't wait until Samantha hooked us up.
And I was terrified that Samantha would try to hook us up.
"Please don't say anything to Eamon about what just happened, Samantha.
I'm not sure that I want to do sex things with Eamon. Or any man. Not
yet,"
"I would say that your clitty has already made up her mind on the
subject, Honey. But I'll definitely wait until you give me the word.
Two things, Sweetie. We pantyboys in this neighborhood call admirers
'Mister.' So don't call him Eamon. Call him Mr. Flynn. And I can
tell you, Mr. Flynn is a great sissy fucker."
Samantha was such a little tramp. Wiggling that beautiful ass of hers
all over the neighborhood.
Was I jealous?
Yes!
I was jealous that Samantha wasn't spending all her fuck time with me.
But I was even more jealous that Samantha seemed to be getting a far
greater variety of great sissy sex than I was.
Maybe it was time to close that gap.
Chapter Five - The Stalker and the Stalked
I guess you could say that I stalked Mr. Flynn over the next week.
I must have driven past his house 50 times. Even when I took the kids
somewhere.
On Saturday, with my wife and kids in the car, I saw Mr. Flynn mowing
his lawn! With his shirt off!!
How Martha didn't notice my sexual excitement at that sight is beyond
me,
On- Monday, after I the boys were off to school and I was off to
Samantha's to get dressed and get fucked, I drove past Mr. Flynn's
house again,
He was outside!
Looking at my car.
Pointing at me!
Flagging me down!
I couldn't stop. But I did.
And rolled the window down.
"I'll be at your house tomorrow morning at 10, Heather," he said. "And
I like pink."
[Gasp!}
Oh no!!!!
I was doomed!
A MAN was going to have his disgusting way with me! Shoving his filthy
penis into me - both my mouth and my bumhole. He would shoot his
filthy, disgusting sperm wherever he wanted onto or into my body and I
would be POWERLESS to stop him!
Oh no!!!
What would I wear?
I didn't have any lingerie of my own. It was all stuff I borrowed from
Samantha.
After all, a girl has to look her best when she's being sexually
degraded by a filthy, disgusting animal.
Oh no!!
I was cumming in my khakis.
Life is fun for a pantyboy, but it's not always easy.
Samantha knew exactly what to do, of course. She shoved my khakis and
boxers into the laundry as I tearfully related my predicament.
Then we girlied up and fucked, of course.
Then again.
Then Samantha proposed a shower. Which was usually the last, fun
activity of Fuck Day. And it was only 11:30 a.m.
We dried off and got into stockings, garters, heels, bras and panties.
Which was strange, because we were pantyboys who rarely wore panties.
(what was the point?)
Then the big surprise.
Samantha produced dresses!
Outside dresses!!
We were going outside!!!
I was terrified.
But as always, Samantha knew best.
It was amazingly thrilling to clack along in our big heels, bums
swaying, breezes flowing up our short skirts.
The flip side of thrilling is scary.
What if someone recognized us and I was outed as a stockings-wearing,
cocksucking, take-it-up-the-kiester pantyboy?
That wasn't as big a worry as it had once been. In some ways, it would
have been a relief.
But no one outed us. In fact, we got a number of ego-affirming,
lustful stares from a dozen or so men.
We enjoyed a girlie salad lunch in a public restaurant, then drove to
Timmy's Girlish Secret, the world's greatest sissy supply store.
And a little slice of heaven.
The clothes and accessories were amazing. Made for pantyboy
dimensions, not females. And expensive.
I couldn't buy that stuff. Martha watched the finances and she would
notice if I spent $800 on lingerie.
Samantha to the rescue again.
"I sold my company before I retired at age 38, Honey. I could buy this
store and the whole chain. I only live in our neighborhood because it's
the best place on earth for what I like. And you, my sweet, are my
favorite fuck and my best friend. So get what you need. Even better,
get what you want"
I cried tears of love and gratitude and hugged Samantha. Then she took
me into one of the convenient "relief rooms," bent me over, pulled down
my panties and fucked me gloriously until we both screamed and creamed.
And then back to work.
I picked out a stunning beginner's wardrobe of stockings, heels,
panties, bras, basques, camisoles, corsets and nighties. Plus the odd
outside dress or three.
Which excited us so much that we returned to the relief room for a nice
second round.
I was walking funny and sperm was running down the inside of both
thighs as we walked to the car with our purchases.
It was a great day.
I selected a few things to take home that day and left the rest with
Samantha.
Got home all manned up, 15 minutes before giving the kids milk and
cookies.
The next morning, I was nervously wrecked.
I only had 90 minutes from when the boys left to when Mr. Flynn would
arrive to ravage me.
I showered and shaved all over. Did my cosmetics moderately slutty.
Then rolled up my pink, seamed, fully-fashioned, reinforced-heel-and-
toe stockings; and hooked them to my new corset.
I had found an amazing pink corset that was covered in delicate lace.
It had a push-up pad, delicate picot- trim edges, hook and eye back
closure, adjustable straps and removable garters.
Panties or no panties?
No panties.
Bra or no bra?
No bra.
I wanted my good parts exposed for Mr. Flynn's loving attentions.
Wig or no wig.
Definitely a wig.
Blonde, of course.
Long, pillow-friendly hair.
Oh. It was 9:45 a.m.!
I slipped on my pink, strappy, mule sandals with 4.5-inch pencil heels
and tottered around the house pretending to dust with a feather duster.
I wasn't sure why. But I thought it was a nice touch.
At 10 a.m., the front door opened. The Beast didn't even knock!
And there he was.
Wearing normal clothes. Not the puffy shirt look in those romance
novels. Not naked from the waist up. Khakis and a polo.
Nice.
He wolf-whistled when he saw me.
Very nice.
"You followed my instructions about the pink, Heather. Where are your
panties?"
"I had some housework to do, Mr. Flynn and panties can be so
restrictive," I replied shyly. "I did try to look pretty for you."
"You look amazing, Heather. I hope you and I can get to know each
other very well today. And in the future, of course."
I said in my best little-girl voice, "Me too, Mr. Flynn."
Mr. Flynn moved toward me and said, "Could I please have a little
kiss."
I liked where this was going. Mostly. But a girl needs to ask for
what she wants.
"I was hoping you would bend me over the dining room table and fuck me
first before we kissed, Mr. Flynn. I've never been with a man before,
but I've dreamt about it. Dreamt about you in particular. And don't
worry, I have a buttplug in my pussy with lots of Spermbutt Anal
Lubricant on it. Take it out and put yourself in and we'll be fine.
Really fine."
Mr. Flynn gave me the most lupine grin I had ever seen.
Then he did exactly as I asked. And a bit more roughly than I had
pictured.
Which I liked.
The buttplug preparation was my idea. Not bad, eh?
The whole "Slave Girl and the Emperor" feel of it was a real libido-
booster for us both. Not that I needed much of a boost. I spunked ten
seconds after his cock first nipped my prostate.
He lasted five minutes longer.
Then he got that little kiss he had requested. And a zillion bigger
ones. With tongue. And, when we got to my bed, my fingers in his
bumhole as we kissed.
Which stiffened him quite stiffly and we went again.
That time I was on my back with pillows under my hips. Knees up.
Kissing ferociously as we fucked.
It was delicious.
And messy.
I wondered vaguely if I would be able to get the cum smell out of the
room by the time my wife got home in three days.
Then I decided that I didn't care.
The best part of my life was not with her.
Mr. Flynn and I were going to be better fuck partners than Martha and I
had ever been.
Chapter Six - Party Girl
Was I the last person on Earth who didn't know what a pantyboy spunk
party was?
It seemed that they were all the rage since an issue of Panty Boy
magazine introduced the concept a couple of years earlier.
It's simple, really.
Four or more pantyboys.
Four or more admirers.
A house with four or more bedrooms.
A place for the pantyboys to dress, shower, freshen their makeup,
shower and recharge.
A food and drink room.
Eight or more strong libidos.
At the appointed hour, the pantyboys arrive to girly up.
Ninety minutes later, the men arrive.
The men ooh and aah over pantyboy beauty, strip naked, choose a
partner, choose a fuck area and fuck.
After each mutual orgasm, the men stay put, the pantyboys move and
choose a new partner. Repeat for 8 to12 hours.
A prominent place in life's scrapbook.
Naturally, our neighborhood had an outstanding party.
First Tuesday of each month.
At a big house that my rich lover Samantha owned just outside the
neighborhood.
I was invited.
My kids went for sleepovers at friends' houses.
I was shaking with fear and excitement when I arrived at five p.m. that
Tuesday.
Samantha was there, as were Jennifer, Mandy, Robin, Laurie, Susan and
Linda,
Eight very randy men, armed with a tub of Viagra and a vat of Spermbutt
Anal Lubricant, arrived at 6:30.
There was mingling. Giggling. A little slap and tickle. And off I
went with Mr. Roberts, whom I had known from first grade. He was now
my lord and fuckmaster.
He was much friendlier at the party than he had been when I hit him on
the head with a dodgeball when we were ten.
Oh, Mr. Roberts!
It was awesome, meaningless, adulterous, homosexual sex.
The very best kind.
The kind that makes it worth getting up in the morning. And doing
one's work things.
And I had seven more men ready and willing for fornication with me that
evening.
If only all neighborhoods were like mine.
Maybe yours is like mine.
You should do a bit of research and find out.
Please tell me what you think at [email protected]
Cayleigh
- 17.10.2022
- 15
- 0
Neighborhood Gossip Gets Hers
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