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First came the panties. 'Boy these felt nice,' I thought,but did not say anything. I just put up a fight. Then camethe tights - these made my legs itch. When I told Mom, shesaid I would get used to it, all girls do. Being called agirl made me fell kind of funny. I told Mom, and she saidthat 'till she says so she will call me and treat me likea girl.Next came the petticoat, and then the dress. When that wasall buttoned up she put tied a ribbon in a big bow in myhair, and then put the Mary-Jane shoes on me, and closedthe straps on the top. I felt like a sissy girl standingthere while mom fussed with my dress and told me what apretty little girl I was. Then she sent me downstairs toshow Daddy his new daughter. As I walked into the frontroom and stood in front of Dad he looked at me, smiled,and told me how pretty I was. I protested, saying I was aboy and boys are handsome, only girls are pretty.He said, "You sure don't look like a boy, so I guess you'rea girl and a pretty one at that."God. After eating our lunch, we laid ourselves on the blanket with a bedroll for a pillow and held each other just staring up into the skies of Montana ; you fell asleep in my arms. I let my eyes wander over the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever held in my arms, my eyes are naturally attracted to your luscious curves of your breasts and I noticed that more then a few buttons of your cotton shirt have come undone, enough so that I could see the cleavage of your breasts. My fingers begin there journey towards them and softly like a butterfly, I caress the skin, that wonderful soft skin of your breasts and I can tell your excited as I see your nipples begin to harden. With my tantalizing your breasts, I was getting excited also, my cock hardens in my pants and I noticed that your hand reaches out and grasps it and then squeezes it. I begin to unbutton your shirt more until I can spread your shirt open and expose your naked breasts. I.
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It is like a heart where we put all of our treasures, all of our memories—all of our secrets. ‘Oh, I would, I would!’ I told her matching her sneer with equal devastation, and shaking the matchbook in my hand. ‘I would see this whole house burned down to the ground before I left any of it to you!’ I could see a kind of recognition in her eyes then. It was a distant kind of recognition, perhaps toying with the idea of an insignificant memory, perhaps it was a recognition of the room we both stood in, or perhaps it was the passing recognition of my body that she once knew better than me, now naked and slick with gasoline, glistening in the room’s soft light. Perhaps she was inebriated—she told me she had been attending a gala, or a social, or some kind of well-to-do, ‘Save the Something’ event that night. Whatever she recognized in that moment, it changed her. ‘John … ‘ she whispered. ‘This is not how we should be discussing this. Please. Put the matches down.’ ‘You tell me,.

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