Tingles Sixteen free porn video

TINGLES SIXTEEN By Katharine Sexkitten What a trip! Incredibly, the amount of work that I actually accomplished on my trip with the National team was voluminous. I was flabbergasted, to be frank. I'd spent so much time during each day either re-living the sexy fun I got up to the night before, or dreaming about what sexy fun I would get up to on the night coming up, I'm surprised I got anything work-related done! I'd managed to have the most amazing sexual and sensual good times with Peter, and Angie, and Brad, and Michelle, and a total stranger named Scott. All of them yummy in their own ways, and all of them helping me to grow and expand my consciousness. All of them, whether they know it or not, partly responsible for the on- going definition of Jessica, and how she is shaping her life. I take full responsibility for all my own actions, of course. But these people are key to my growth, and my future. Thursday was mostly a travel day. We all went to the office, but not very much got done before we all headed to the awaiting cabs. The only interesting thing that happened was at one point the C.O.O, Mr. Wolfe, came by where I was sitting and again thanked me for the work and the numbers. He mentioned that there were some new and exciting opportunities coming up for the company, and my input would now be needed more than ever. "Don't be surprised if you're coming here sometimes on your own, outside of the National team," he'd said. My horny little mind went berserk with anticipation of lots more time with Michelle and tranny nights at Celebrities, the gay club, and either more meetings with Scott or more meetings with other horny sexy men who loved gurls like me. Or both. I told him I'd look forward to it, of course. I was happy to do anything for the company. If he only knew. Then he wished me a good flight and shook my hand. And my tingles suddenly kicked into second gear. Lots of them, pushing my system into better working order. Then, instead of letting go of my hand, he held it. Then he looked at me. His eyes registered the flood of emotions he was going through. The initial professional camaraderie turned to an unexpected pleasure, startling him, which turned into him realizing that he was wanting more, which turned into him wondering what it was that was making him feel this way, which then changed into a much higher level of arousal, and curiosity, into what all these new feelings might hold for him, and whether it was possible that it was little old me making him respond that way, and then realizing that it was. All while holding my hand and looking into my eyes. "Do you play tennis, at all?" he asked, his voice suddenly quieter, mellifluous and rich and tinged with flirtation. "Actually, yes," I said, "I played on my high school team. I wasn't one of the stars, but I did a lot of doubles matches. "Wonderful. Just wonderful," he continued, his stare warm and delightful. "I really enjoy the game, and I am always looking for people to play with." Before I could say anything in the double entendre fashion about 'play' his look got serious, while still being flooded with what I assumed were his own form of tingles. "I have a tennis court at my property, actually. In the back yard. With a pool, and a hot tub, for cooling down afterwards. If you like, the next time you're in town, one night after work you are more than welcome to come over. I'm sure you must get tired of restaurant food all the time while you're travelling, right? A home cooked meal might be a welcome thing. We could play a set or two, and then enjoy a quiet dinner. How does that sound?" My tingles answered for me. "I'd love to!" His smile doubled. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. I'm looking forward to your next trip." "Me too." Then he held my hand for a few moments longer, and we looked at each other. It was marvelous. I was burbling with tingles, and my little cock was starting to gain size in my panties. "Well," he said, finally releasing me from his grip, "have a great flight, and I'll see you soon!" A short while later Angie cried as she hugged me at the airport, and we promised to stay in touch. And I knew it was a promise we would both keep. "See you next trip, Jessica the slut!" she whispered. "See you next trip, sexy lady!" I proudly whispered back. She kissed me on the cheek. "Promise to make me gush again on our next visit?" I smiled at her. Proudly. "Just try to stop me!" Peter smiled at me multiple times during the flight, genuine and heartfelt warmth practically oozing out of him. Brad smiled at me too. Lots. His smiles, however, were far more lustful. Friday was back to work, back to the office. And back to a pile of stuff to do. I'd been out of town for four days, and there was much to catch up on. The old me would have grumbled a little bit and then bore down and sweated through the pile. The new me, Jessica, smiled and hummed and practically sang songs out loud as I worked. I'd never been happier. I'd never been more content. I'd never been easier to get along with, and more than one person at the office noticed it and said something. "You're in a good mood," someone whose name I can't remember said after dropping off a pile of paperwork on my desk. The old me would have blurted out some slightly sarcastic comment, I suppose, grousing about the added workload. The new me was the happiest person on the planet. Of course, the panties and garter belt and stockings I was wearing under my office attire probably played a big part in my good mood. How can I not be happy? How can I not see the beauty of the sunrise, or the majesty of a blade of grass, or the sweet glorious symphony of the birds singing? How can I not look at all the other people I see during my day without admiring them, and wanting nothing but joy and elation to fill their souls? Certainly I was joyful and elated. Every second of every day. Since Jessica was born. I'd experienced more in those past short four days than a person could possibly ever ask for. And I wanted more. More dressing, more delicious clothes, more sexy lingerie, more makeup and shoes with huge heels. More love-making. More cock. And pussy too, I realized, remembering eating Angie out twice on the trip, both times making her gush all over my face. Wednesday night, after she got fucked and I got fucked and then I ate her out, at the last second I remembered what she was capable of and I ripped off my wig with only a moment or two to spare, before she did her impression of Mt. St. Helens with her vagina. After she was done spraying, but before she'd fully come down from her high, I'd grabbed my phone and taken a picture of her breasts. Those magnificent, rounded, pendulous breasts with their obscenely huge areolas and nipples so hard they could etch glass. The breasts I wanted. On me. On my chest. But despite my newfound love for breasts of those size and shape and for Angie as a person in particular, the fact of the matter is that on the trip, as well as every second of every day of my new life, cock ruled my world. I'd had a lot of them, recently. I wanted more! About halfway through the day on Friday Brad texted me to say that he'd completely forgotten that one of his kids had a thing that night and he and Carol were going to it and he couldn't make our usual Friday night date. I was sad, of course, but also slightly honored that our one Friday night event so far, which mind you was fan-fucking-tastic, had turned into a regular thing. Can you imagine? Brad wanted to spend every Friday night with me. Making love to me. Fucking me. Filling me with his passion and his cock and his cum. Last Friday I sucked him off, although more than half the load went on my face, and then he bent me over the arm of his sofa and took my pussy as his. He got me wet, eased his seven or so inches of meat into me in one slow steady push, and then let loose with his lust. He fucked me. There's no other word to describe it. It's the perfect word. He FUCKED me. Hard, pounding, penetrating sex. Teeth-rattling, and bone-numbing. My pencil skirt and cashmere sweater and other feminine clothes became secondary. Brad fucked me. Then later in the evening, he fucked me again. About an hour and a half later. Twice. Something I'd never managed as a male, making love to women. The second time was up against the kitchen island, from behind again, which is how he likes to fuck me. He absolutely adores holding onto my hips and slamming himself into my ass cheeks, as he's drilling my pussy. He loves it. Which is how his wife Carol had found us, when she got home. She'd been out playing with her own bisexual lover, a Jamaican woman named Hazel, who also worked for our company, and she'd played a huge part in setting up the date for me and Brad. She'd encouraged it. She'd embraced it. When she found us, she ended up hiking her own skirt up and fingering her already wet pussy to another cum, watching the man she married all those years ago, the father of her children, the love of her life, primitively pile-driving his cross-dressing bisexual co-worker, in full makeup and heels and wig and lingerie. Me. Peter came into my office at one point with some legitimate questions regarding a work project, which we discussed while I imagined him taking me there and then, making love to Jessica in my office. On my desk. On the floor. While one of us was in my chair. Or in the hallway, or the boardroom, or the lobby of the building. Or, for that matter, right in the middle of the busiest intersection of the city, during rush hour, so the whole world could see and understand just how life-affirming and cosmically righteous my new sexual role must be. And not just for me. They'd be gobsmacked with Peter's reaction to Jessica as well. After we'd crunched a few numbers, Peter respectfully checked to make sure nobody else could hear us and asked me if he could take me out tomorrow afternoon to do some clothes shopping. For the big party. The Darlings event. Naturally, his generosity was appreciated, and I told him so in no uncertain terms, but I assured him he didn't have to do that. I did have clothes to wear to the party. But he explained to me how he and Josie would both get new outfits for important Darling parties, as a celebration of sorts. Plus, Josie would get her hair and makeup done at the same time, and Peter had already taken the liberty of booking me in for that too, so I could get the same treatment, although since I'm still a wig-wearer that part of the service could be ignored. I assured him that my thoughts are very much towards growing my own hair out, and soon enough dispensing of wigs. Then I rationalized that having wigs would be fun anyway, at certain times, depending on how I felt at any given moment. He'd pick me up at four p.m. At my apartment. Then he smiled, which sent my tingles zooming, and reiterated that he'd pick Jessica up at four. Jessica. Walking right out the front door of my own apartment building, to his waiting car. In the late afternoon, a Saturday no less, when most people would not be working, at home, doing whatever people do on the weekend. Going for walks, washing their cars, doing their laundry. Or just talking with their neighbours, catching up on their lives. I'd been outside already, of course, to the nightclub with Michelle, and found that to be one of the biggest thrills of my life, but that was under the cover of darkness, at night. This would be during the middle of the day. Had I ever done that before? No. In broad daylight? No. In front of people who knew me, but who only knew of me in boy mode? No. This would be another first for Jessica, and it immediately sent me tingling even more. This will be life-changing. This will be the biggest a-ha moment of my life. This will be a serious, determined statement to the world, that I am Jessica, and that she is a feminine gurl, and that I intend to wrench every single second of joy from being her. This will be a defining moment in my life. Bringing Jessica to the world. This will be fun! A little later in the day Hazel came by, needing my signature on something. I of course complied, and after putting my pen down I looked at her. She was just standing in front of my desk, holding the document. Not saying anything. Finally, I had to break the silence. "Hazel," I said, "is there anything else you need?" She shook her head. No. Finally, she blushed. And that is an unusual thing to watch, seeing the pinkish red spread out on the cheeks of a black-skinned Jamaican woman. I was fascinated by it. "I know about you," she said, almost meekly. "You do?" I said, because I couldn't think of anything else to say, and because my brain thought that perhaps she was speaking about something different than what I was assuming. I held onto that faint glimmer of hope. "And I know you know about me." "About you?" "Uh huh. Looks like we both got our Friday night fun cancelled, didn't we?" And just like that the faint glimmer of hope collapsed. She was indeed speaking about what I had assumed. My momentary initial reaction was to pretend to not know what she was talking about. I mean, when one is in the closet, so to speak, isn't one supposed to deny and obfuscate and change the subject? Isn't that the standard response from people suddenly found out, in this judgemental society we live in? Those kind of thoughts went out the window about two seconds later, though. Arrogant or not, I decided that I was proud of being Jessica. Proud of being who I am. Proud of my accomplishments, both spiritual and sexual. It's the twenty-first century, for heaven's sake. Angie had said we both worked for a very progressive company. I remembered her words. Right then and there, I decided that I would never again deny or hide myself. To anyone, or at any time. Never. I am Jessica Kurva! I AM JESSICA SLUT! So I nodded. And smiled. Then I beamed. Hazel sat down in one of my guest chairs. "Tonight was going to be a special treat for us, you know? We were going to have a threesome, with this new woman that Carol met." I nodded. "The sauna girl." She nodded. "Brad told you?" I nodded. "He did." "Carol told me that you turn into a really sexy looking woman," she whispered, looking at me straight in the eyes. "She's very kind." "I don't know," she said, scanning me up and down, "I can sorta see it. I mean, looking at your shape, and the bone structure of your face, and everything, with the right makeup and clothes, you could probably be a knock out." I smiled. "Thank you, that's very nice of you to say." She paused. "You like it?" "Do I like getting dressed like a woman, you mean?" "Yeah," she said, "and do you like fooling around with, you know, men and their cocks and everything?" I laughed. "Oh that. Well, the answer is a big loud yes. To all of it." "So you're gay?" I shook my head. "I'm sexual, is all." She looked at me. "Just like you are, Hazel." She nodded. "I like men too. I like cocks, anyway, once in a blue moon." We just stared at each other for a few moments, but they weren't awkward at all. Quite the opposite. I was flush with tingles and I think she was too. "Can I see you, sometime?" "See me?" "You know," she continued, "all dressed up?" "You want to do that?" Hazel nodded. "Maybe we could double date or something?" I smiled. "You and Carol, me and Brad?" She nodded again, more energetically. "Well," I thought aloud, "I have no objections to that, but you'd have to ask the married couple, I suppose. And what about sauna girl? Would she be involved?" "There's lots of possibilities, isn't there?" she said. "Carol says she watched you two making love. Fucking." I nodded. "She says she's never seen anything sexier, except for..." Then she blushed more, stopped talking, and looked down into her own lap. "Except for what?" I asked. She whispered her answer, finally looking up at me sheepishly. "Except for the look on my face, when I'm, um, you know..." I answered for her. "Eating her pussy?" She blushed more, and nodded. "Which I hear you're very good at." That perked her up. "She told you?" I shook my head. "She told Brad, he told me." Hazel thought about her words for a second. "Carol says Brad says you are the best cocksucker he's ever had. Even better than her." Now it was my turn to blush. "Wow. Well, I don't know what to say about that." She laughed a little. "I guess we're both good with our tongues, huh?" "I guess so." Then there was silence for a bit. We just sat there, staring at each other. Both of us smiling. I noticed her nipples were a little engorged. Then I realized that mine were too. "Okay," she said, standing up and getting ready to leave, "I'll talk to you later." "I hope so, Hazel." Just before she walked out the door, she turned to me and obviously had a question. "What's your name?" "My name?" "Yeah," she said, "when you're all, you know, dressed up?" I answered right away. Confidently and without embarrassment. "Jessica. Jessica Kurva." Her forehead wrinkled, showing her confusion, since she obviously knew my real last name. "Kurva is a Hungarian word, actually." "Oh, okay." I smiled. "It literally translates to the English word slut." I emphasized the word slut, drawing it out as I said it. She took that in. Then she smiled again, and nodded. "See you later, Jessica." I spent Friday evening alone, at my condo. Completely dressed, of course! I made myself a lovely pasta dinner and opened a bottle of red wine I'd heard good things about, and after a long facetime with Cynthia catching up on our respective sexual escapades, I watched a romantic comedy movie from a few years back. About six or seven hundred times I stopped myself from traipsing down to Vladimir's apartment in my lingerie and slutty heels to see if he wanted to make love to his little Kurva. His slut. I was horny, there's no question, and a huge part of my soul wanted to be held in a man's arms while he makes love to me, feeling safe and secure and wanted and desired above all others as he fucks my ass and sends me to heaven on a comet of tingles. But I didn't want to lose the feelings I was having of just riding those horny waves either. It was infectious, and almost like edging myself. The anticipation of life itself was erotic! Naturally, just after the movie ended I was on my back, on my bed, my panties pulled to one side and my eight-inch black mambo dildo smoothly sliding in and out of my lubed-up pussy. It was amazing. I was floating on the updrafts of tingles, my mind completely released from the day-to- day minutia of life, stroking the great beast inside myself, and then back out, almost to the tip, and then back in again, varying the speed and intensity to suit the fireworks going off in my soul. Saturday morning I spent a little time cleaning all the cum off my lingerie, soaking them according to the directions from the bottle. Not that there were volumes of it, since I always licked up what I could, after making it. I can't begin to tell you the delicious elixir that cum is, and has become for me. Whether it's mine or someone else's, my newfound appreciation and devotion for the male love fluid was one of my most treasured new discoveries. I just love the taste of cum! I also spent a really long time thinking about my life. Where I had come to, and perhaps where I was going. There was no denying that I had changed, that I was no longer the nice but quiet divorced man of twenty- seven. Two weeks ago to the day, I had changed. And not just physically, or sexually. But spiritually, and mentally. Existentially. I was a new person. My entire attitude towards life was upbeat, my consideration of others was first and foremost in my mind at all times, I was taking time to appreciate beauty in art, and literature, and music. I was taking time to shop online for nicer things for myself, home- related. Sheets and pillows and fabrics and knick-knacks were suddenly sensibilities in my mind, aspects of life that before I would have attributed to women only. Maybe that's sexist, but, I reasoned, that stuffy attitude was behind me now. It wasn't just for women, the finer things in life. It was for me too. A special woman. The realization hit me fairly strongly at around noon. I wasn't that man anymore, nor did I ever want to be again. I wanted to be Jessica, and though all of the real-world issues that would ensue were daunting, I decided in my soul and my heart and brain that being Jessica was the only way for me to be happy, now and in the future. I cried for many minutes. For the most part they were tears of joy, realizing that I had gone through an epiphany, a transformation of my consciousness. Understanding that I was a special woman now. Accepting that there would be challenges, of course, but knowing more than anything that there was no turning back now. Of course there was, in reality, but I knew right down to my DNA that it wouldn't happen. I was destined to be Jessica Kurva. At two I began getting ready. At five minutes to four, Peter texted me that he was outside the front door of my complex. Showtime! Old Mrs. Campbell was my first contact with anyone from the building, other than Vladimir of course. She was in the hall and saw me coming out of my door, as I was turning to lock it. Then I began strutting towards the elevator, and as I looked down the hall at her I smiled and said "good morning!" She was about five foot nothing, and round, and wearing her usual outfit. A lilac-coloured worn caftan and fuzzy slippers, with no heels. Not even mules. Her hair was in curlers, as it usually was. She looked very confused. She'd seen me coming out, using my keys, throwing them into my big purse, now hanging on my shoulder. She knew the man who lived there because we'd chatted and said hello a few times over the years. But what she was looking at didn't match her memory correctly. I could see it on her face. Instead of seeing the boring old me, she saw Jessica. I was in my new winter coat, the gift from Michelle, because it was still chilly outside this time of year, but it was unbuttoned and swinging open with my movements and she could easily see most of me. The feminine me. My wig was auburn, a rich red, and fell down from my forehead almost completely covering one eye. In the mirror before I left my condo I thought it made me look a little like an old-time movie star. Veronica Lake, or perhaps a young Ann-Margret. Maybe Jessica Rabbit too. I'd gone with a sky-blue eye shadow, and a deep red blush on both cheeks, bringing them out. And since I was feeling playful and prideful and full of love for myself, I absolutely coated my lips with pink lipstick. I wasn't wearing my slut choker, so she could obviously see the bump in my throat as her eyes scanned down my body. Next, she saw the white cotton top I was wearing, and the obvious bra straps underneath, with some modest cleavage showing. Then the denim skirt, tight over my curves, and ending about mid-thigh. Just about the same spot as my tan thigh-high stockings started. Then her eyes moved all the way down to my three inch black pumps. All in all, I felt casual and sexy and slutty all at the same time. And of course, my ankle was adorned with my CD SLUT anklet. YUM! Then it all hit her. She'd thought I looked familiar, but not, and now she'd realized that it was in fact me, just dressed completely differently than she was used to. Completely differently than she'd thought possible, or conceivable. I decided to get rid of her confusion right away. "It's me, Mrs. Campbell," I said, my voice known to her, although I was probably a bit more breathy than she was used to, "I am Jessica now." She just nodded. She couldn't think of a word to say. Then the elevator dinged, and the doors opened. "Have a great day!" I said, meaning it. She just nodded again. In the main lobby, a couple of people I vaguely knew were getting their mail, and one young woman I'd never seen before was leashing her dog, getting ready to go for a walk. All three of them looked at me and instantly judged me, instantly. Based on the way I was dressed, of course. First looks, and all that. But there was no scene, no commotion, no ado. I nodded my hellos to them and walked through the lobby towards the front doors, my heels clacking like little bullets shooting off. Just before I pushed open the doors, I saw reflective movement in a side mirror, and turned to look. There stood Vladimir. My building manager. And he was staring at me, wide-eyed. He was either just heading to or just coming back from the sauna, because he was in his standard white terry-cloth robe and his red speedos, and that massively long cock was barely constrained. And seeing me, it was getting bigger by the second. I smiled at him, and he smiled at me, and then I heard him say a sentence. It was in Hungarian, so I memorized it as he was saying it, so I could find out later what it meant. Phonetically, it sounded like "Eddus Jezuz, oora furlut." It means "Sweet Jesus, Lord Above." Peter was standing on the sidewalk, by the passenger door of his car, waiting for me. I swayed my hips a lot, walking towards him. I wanted him to see me, in all my femininity. I wanted him to want me. I mean, I know he did, deep down. I could feel it in my soul. My tingles were ramping up again, simply by being in proximity to him. But I wanted him to see his sexy slutty feminine friend walking to him, walking for him, walking with him and only him in mind. I wanted to make his amazing cock get hard in his pants. Which, as I got really close, I noticed had worked. He had a rigid pole down there! Then he took me in his arms, and kissed me. And it wasn't a chaste kiss. Anyone watching would have instantly known that there was nothing unromantic about our kiss. His arms held me close, almost painfully close, and both of our mouths were open, tongues duelling, lips smacking, our heads moving back and forth and side to side with abandon. At one point he lifted my feet right off the ground and we twirled, him holding me up and me hanging onto his body, grinding myself against him, feeling the size and shape of his cock up against me, wanting it in my hands and my mouth and my pussy. Forever! I opened my eyes at one point of our kiss and saw that he'd spun us so I was now facing my own building. Looking up for some reason, in the big window on the second floor lobby, I could see old Mrs. Campbell staring at me, at us, her mouth open in shock, her left hand resting flat on her own bosom, the way women do. Her eyes were like saucers. I took one hand off Peter's neck and waved at her. She waved back, tentatively. Then she smiled down at me, starting with a grin and working into a full out and out laugh. I think she was happy for me! The drive took about half an hour. Peter explained that the woman I was going to meet was named Kara, and that she was a very successful businesswoman with several retail operations in the city. She was a Darling, he told me, but firmly in the hetero chapters. However, he continued, a lovelier, more open and accepting person I'd be hard-pressed to meet. He and Josie had known Kara for years. As he drove, he looked over at me when he could, and his right hand slid onto my left thigh, gently squeezing it. Tingles go boom! After a wonderful drive, we arrived at the shop. It was called Honey's. It was situated between a small art-house movie theater and a plumbing supply store. There were two mannequins in the front window, one in a rather conservative evening gown and one in some of the sexiest lingerie I've ever seen! YUM! Peter held my hand and we walked in. It wasn't a huge place, but everything was laid out so well that it seemed big. Small display cabinets were mixed with other mannequins here and there, and on the walls were hangars featuring everything from formal gowns to sexy slutty nurse costumes. I love this place! Kara herself was a sight to behold. I guessed her to be in her late forties, with a few lines around her deep-set dark eyes, accentuating her pale skin. Almost the same height as me, she had a massive mane of the thickest curliest dark black hair I've ever seen. It almost looked unmanageable, as if it might be alive. It fell behind her and in front of her, and all around her, but not so encompassing that I couldn't still see an enormous bosom. This woman was built! And I could make out the shape of what must be the most gorgeous bustier, or basque perhaps, underneath. Her blouse, a dark wine color, under a dark suit jacket, was straining with the size of her breasts. Her knee-length skirt was dark, as was her hose, and she wore sensible but still sexy two inch black heels. And she had an incredibly direct stare. It was like she was x-raying you, piercing through the outer layers and staring straight down into your soul. As Peter walked me from the front door towards the back of the store, still holding my hand, her smile lit up, and filled the room with warmth. Genuine, and massive. She came out from behind the counter and moved into Peter's embrace. And their hug was just as genuine. These were people who knew each other, and loved each other. Then they kissed, briefly. The twinkle in her eyes was riveting. They exchanged "how have you been?" and "it's been too long" and the like, and then he pulled me by the hand a little closer, and smiled at me. "Kara," he said, "this is my dear friend, Jessica. Jessica Kurva." She looked at me, appraising and loving me all at the same time, and then moved to hug me. Her massive breasts hit my little ones and I fairly melted into her. Her body was warm, and alive, and that positive energy just propelled my tingles along. Then she looked me in the eyes, and then kissed me. Lipstick on lipstick. We both liked to wear a lot of it. Then she let me go, and scanned me up and down again. "Peter," she almost whispered, "Jessica is lovely!" "Isn't she?" he answered. I was blushing, I'm sure. "And very special to me, Kara," he added. She nodded at him. "I can see that. I haven't seen this side of you since, well..." "Since Josie passed," he answered. They both gazed at each other briefly, both reliving a horrible time in both their lives. But then also, I sensed, appreciating the joy that she'd brought to their lives as well. Shared memories. "And this man is the most lovely man I've ever met," I said, without reservation. "I still can't believe he's doing this for me!" Kara laughed. "Peter? Are you kidding? This man is goofy for buying new clothes for his lady. He and Josie used to shop here a lot, which helped me out in the early days, to tell you the truth, when I struggled, so I'm eternally grateful to him. But it's been, what, a couple of years since his last visit? Far too long." He said, "amen to that." "He's such a good man, isn't he?" she asked, taking my free hand in hers and spinning me around, slowly, eyeing me. Sizing me up. Looking at what she has to work with, perhaps. "The best," was my answer. "Mmmm. Yes, you are an absolute doll, Jessica. This is going to be fun!" My smile must have been from ear to ear. I was surrounded by feminine sexy sensual clothing and apparel, dressed casually but out in daytime public for the very first time and loving it, and holding hands with the man who more and more was playing an integral role in my new life. My new sexual life. And my new romantic life as well. For a second, I considered the possibility that I was falling truly head over heels in love with this man. Then Kara smiled again. "Peter?" "Yes?" "It's time for you to go now." Which surprised me. I had assumed he'd want to see what I was buying. If for no other reason than to make sure I didn't spend too much of his money. I looked up at him. "You're not staying?" "No," he shook his head, "Kara forbids it. She's an artist, and she'll compose her masterpiece with you, and I'll be back to pick you up." Then he kissed her on the cheek. Then he gathered me up in his arms, lifting me off the ground again, and kissed me on the mouth. Lips open, his tongue gently playing with and traipsing around mine. For a good thirty seconds we made out. It was fantastic. Then he lowered me down, and gently patted my right bum cheek, and whispered, "have fun." Kara closed the door behind him, and then locked it. She spun the hanging sign from Open to Closed, and walked back to me. Taking my hand in hers, she guided me through a doorway covered in golden drapes to a hallway with changing rooms and an office and a beautifully-appointed full bathroom. Plus a little storeroom for her products not yet on the shelves. We went to her office, where she opened a bottle of white wine from the fridge and we toasted to a wonderful evening. And for the next thirty minutes we just chatted. She asked me about my history, both before and after discovering Jessica, and I was happy to talk about it. She laughed with me and smiled with me and topped up our glasses when necessary. I didn't give her every single detail, but I told her most of what had happened to me since Brad's party. "Wow," she said, an amazed look on her face, "that's a lot of shit in two weeks!" "I know!" I replied, "but it's all been so right, so natural, so perfect. Every second of every day is a new discovery, and a new plateau. I can't wait to find out where all this leads me!" She studied me for a few seconds. "If I ask you a serious question, will you give me a serious answer?" "Of course, yes," "Okay, good. When you were talking about that first night, that first encounter with Brad, your eyes lit up and your face lit up describing everything, and you described how you felt, about the kissing and wearing his wife's panties and then, and I'm using your words exactly here, how you felt about 'holding another man's cock' in your hands. Those are the specific words you used. I noticed it." "Go on." Taking another sip of wine, she gazed at me even harder. "Does that mean you think of yourself as a man? And I mean, right this second. Do you consider yourself to be a man, after all that you've been through and discovered about yourself?" And I thought, WOW! Her question penetrated my soul, because it was totally in line with all my pondering earlier in the day. Was I a man? I guess biologically, I was. But in every other sense of how this modern world defines a man, being a man, then no, I just simply and pragmatically couldn't see myself like that at all. Any more. "No," I said, straightforwardly. "I don't. You're right. It wasn't another man's cock. It was his cock. His big cock. His really big shiny cock. Honestly, I don't see myself as a male, anymore. I said to a couple of people in the last few days that I am a special woman, and that's where I'm at now. Kara, truth be told, I spent a whole lot of time earlier today examining my life, rationally assessing my true feelings, my true nature, and I ended up bawling my eyes out when I got to that moment, that microsecond, where all the fun I've been having, the sexual fun, became just one wonderful aspect of being a special woman. Yes, I have a penis, and I'm very comfortable with that. But otherwise, I just want to be like this all the time. I know it's going to be hard, telling my parents and my brother and sister, and all the other relatives. I know it. "But it's going to happen." "You're sure?" she asked. "This could still just be a part-time thing, a pleasant fetish that you could indulge in, once in a while, like billions of us do, our sexy fun away from prying eyes." "No, it can't," I said, shaking my head, "Jessica is too strong in me, too prominent, too in front. This is who I am, but more importantly, this is who I want to be. I just can't imagine a life without being this way, being as feminine as I can." I watched a tear roll down her cheek. She watched me do the same. "So," she asked quietly, "does that include the surgeries? Have you thought about any of that? The SRS?" "Which stands for?" "Sexual Reassignment Surgery. They'd remove your penis and testicles and give you a vagina, although I have no idea how realistic they are. Plus, obviously a boob job, get rid of your Adam's Apple, injections to hips and butts and lips and cheeks, there are a lot of surgical procedures you could go through." I shook my head. "There's still so much to think about, I know, and plan for." She agreed. "But, one thing I do know is this..." I grabbed my purse, and my phone, and called up the picture I'd taken of Angie's breasts. Turning my phone, I showed Kara the image. "These are the breasts I want." She examined the screen. "Wow," she said, "those are really nice. Is this your ex-wife?" "No, this is Angie. Those are hers. And they're perfect." She nodded, her eyes never leaving the screen. "They are nice, that's for sure. How old is she?" "Mid thirties, why?" "They don't sag down or to the sides, and she's obviously laying on her back on a bed. So you're right, they're very nice tits. And these are what you want on you?" I nodded up and down. Enthusiastically. She scanned my torso. "You would look fucking awesome with these." I giggled. "I know, right?" "You're already gorgeous, hon. With these you'd be a stunner. You could aim these at anybody and instantly have them in your power." I giggled again. "I know! My superpower. My tractor beam of passion!" She laughed. "But realistically," I said, "I really like my penis. Or my cock, or whatever we're going to call it. My clit, maybe?" "There are gurls like you who call it that, yes," she answered. "Okay," I said, "my clitty. I want to keep it. I want it in my life. It just brings me too much pleasure not to have it. And besides, no I don't have a vagina and no I don't want a surgically installed one, but I've had several different men in my pussy already, and I haven't heard a single complaint from any of them!" "Peter is in love with you," she said, matter-of-factly, changing the subject. "I know," I said, because I did indeed know it to be so, "and I am in love with him too. He's handsome and studly and gentle and masculine and caring and loving and sensitive and, well, I could just go on and on about him, and the ways he has touched my life, touched my soul." She studied my face. "I can see it too. You are in love with him. And I knew the first second you two walked in here that he was in love with you. It's been a few sad years for him, with Josie passing. It makes me really very happy to see him smiling again, like he is now. We sipped our wine and she gave me a brief bio of herself. She's a gentle dom in a female-led couple. Her husband is her sub, and the love of her life. They discovered his cuckold desires early on, and they'd been happy ever since. She loves to play at Darling events, and he loves to watch her be happy that way. And he likes to clean up her cum-filled vagina afterwards. She grinned big-time saying that. "Me too," I answered. That made her laugh. We talked for a while longer, just two gurls. It was heavenly. Then, at one point she checked her watch, finished off her glass, and rose out of her chair. "Well, Miss Jessica," she said, extending her hand to me, "let's get you ready for the night of your life!" The End.