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I called myself'Charvi', which means 'Beautiful lady'.In England it was the silk stockings, garter belts, petticoats, shoesespecially the high-heeled ones, and the dresses some so flimsy andlight, you felt as if you were wearing nothing at all. I suppose youcould say I had the best of four worlds, England and India, being a man,and yet dressing as a woman of both cultures.What more can a person want?My mother knew about this, as when I was a lot younger, about fourteenyears old, she caught me all dressed up, maybe my mother was exceptional,because she took it all in her stride, she sat me down and I had toexplain to her what I was doing and why.I tried to explain how I felt about the feelings I got wearing girlscloths, how they made me feel more comfortable than anything did, and howI wished sometimes I could become a girl. I just blurted everything out,all of my feelings, everything.She just sat there cuddling me, and said to me, "Don't worry everythingwould work out for you in. I had a clear view with nothing in the way. I stayed until i got a look at sue’s tits and they weren’t as big as i thought they were. In fact they seemed smaller than i remember. She looked like she had lost a lot of weight.I couldn’t get jenny out of my head being in there with this guy so i ran back around the rear of the house to the lounge room window. I’d only been gone a minute or two. At first i thought jenny was gone and he was just sitting there alone. Then through the thin curtain i saw jenny’s head bobbing up and down in his lap. My heart raced as i watched jenny sucking his cock. I wasn’t cranky like i thought i’d be if ever i caught her playing up. In fact i was excited and loved it.In the past jenny and i had talked about swinging and me watching her being fucked by another guy, it was all pillow talk and at the time she played along with it because she knew it turned me on. I never thought it would be like this with me standing in the dark outside my home with my cock.
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I lay still while he pumps his hips and shoots more of the hot juice into my mouth. I don’t move as he quivers when he squeezes his prick and extracts the last drop of his essence. I wait motionless until he softens and shrinks and slips quietly from my mouth. I touch myself and remember my own ache. I need to ask him again. Part 2 Swallowing his load that is redolent of bleach and egg whites, I turn and slowly crawl back up the length of his body leaving a trail of wet kisses in my wake. My tongue darts at a nipple and I laugh when he twists away from the sensation, signaling that his nerves remain overloaded, frazzled by the electric charge that has just ripped through him. I lay where I started, with my pouty lips against his ear and rise up to give him a salty kiss. “Feel better?” I purr. “Did you like that?” “Yes” he replies, tucking his chin to his chest as he tries to block me from kissing his neck again. He is so ticklish and sensitive. “Stop it” he cries and with a.

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