One evening I received a phone call from someone who found my ad on Backpage.com. He was in town for a soccer tournament with his high school daughter. Was I free? As I often joked when men used this term, I replied that I was available if not free.
He stayed for two hours that night, deciding he wanted to have a second helping of my young tight tranny ass.
As we laid in bed, allowing him a few minutes to build it up again, we talked about his trip to Spokane. He was their with his daughter. He had made the trip before with his older daughter, who was now attending school at EWU just a few miles outside of Spokane. His wife was home, unable to make the trip due to professional responsibilities.
He could have been at the hotel spending time with his daughter. He could have been in Cheney visiting his older daughter. He could have been in his room talking to his wife on the phone. But he was at my place fucking my ass.
He could have found other girls on Backpage, girls that are genetically girls. But he had called me. He could have taken his money and gone out to a bar, using it to buy some woman drinks and hoping for a piece of ass. But he was with me.
While it was not always the case for me, as I have become more proficient at what I do, and as I am asking more money, when a man fucks my ass, he is doing so because I am the one girl who is important to him at that time. I am his 'only girl in the world."
Now I am not saying that I am any different than any other teenage girl. I had my share of boyfriends over the years. Some of them even felt like they were real. They never were.
They were never 'in love.' The boys I dated usually were just . . . Well, horny. Pretty much the same reason boys date most girls in high school.
While they were never in love, I often found myself 'in love.' And when it turned out that I was living a different kind of fantasy than the one that had become my life, I would feel the hurt of being so naive.
There came a time when I knew that all the boys ever really wanted from me was a piece of ass or a blowjob so I stopped playing the boyfriend-girlfriend game. I had always been easier, but I came to accept easy as my life. As I started giving it away like it was nothing special, I found sex less satisfying. I started to be more particular. To pick and choose who got his dick in my ass.
It was not long on this path before I came to the conclusioin that money was as good as standard as any. Pay me, get some ass. Don't and don't get ass. It was not a deal breaker. If a guy was cute and I was a horny, it was not like I needed to take money before I would spread my cheeks for a boy.
I was not as quick to learn all the lessons of being a good whore as I would like to think. While it was easy enough to sell myself when I was out looking to make some extra cash, once it became my livelihood, my sole source of income, I often felt that I was selling myself too cheaply.
While I did not learn the lesson until after I had been whoring for about three years, I came to understand that I am not really selling sex -- I am selling the total package.
A whore wearing a tube top and a pair of short shorts and working a corner in a low end neighborhood is never going to make the money that a well-dressed call girl will make working an high end hotel that caters to business men. On the corner, I would be lucky to make $100. At the hotel, if I am dressed the part, I can ask for five times as much easily.
On those nights that I look truly stunning I might start with an asking rate of $1000. Where I am going with this is that as my desirably goes up, so does my asking rate. Men see value in the smallest details. I loved learning what men wanted to see, what they were willing to pay for and then making it happen. Often this was as simple as putting my arms in the air as I danced. Men seemed to love that. Mostly I suspect because it so closely mirrors a woman having an orgasm with her arms a flailing.
When I was still too young to be whoring, and yet whoring, I would often be approached by men looking for sex. If they wanted a blowjob and nothing more, certain secrets I kept. If they wanted more, I had to be more forthcoming. Someitmes however whether I was just sucking dick or about to take it up the ass, they would change their mind when I asked for my money. They would become almost defensive and suggest that they did not 'pay for it.'
Now I subscribe to the theory that men always 'pay for it,' but that is beside the point here. Some men were willing to pay for it and some were not. It did not take me long to determine that when a man pays for it he wants so much more from me. And I liked that. I liked that a lot.
The men who choosee to fuck me alwasy know that I am a tranny. They still want to fuck me. Not so much because I am a tranny or because they want to fuck me. But rather because they know they will be able to fuck me on their terms. And that is what they want.
In the song below, it states that "I will fuck you betta.' In my case that is a bit misleading. It is less about me be a better fuck for them and more about them fucking me as they choose, on terms their wives at home would find unacceptable.
I would be the first to admit that my life as it began with Jon just a few weeks before my thirteen birthday is not the life I would want any girl to have. I was too young. They would be too young.
At the same time, I do not see it as a lost of of the ever-so-prized innocence that most parents want for their children.
I am not saying my parents did not want me to enjoy the joys of childhood fully before I began to explore the joys of being a woman. I am simply saying that any innocence they have have desired for me was a false hope. I was never to know that innocence.
As a fairly successful beauty contestant, I often made a few dollars modeling for local dress stores. About two months after I gave Jon that first blowjob, I did one those modeling gigs. I could tell -- as I had come to learn even in just a few weeks -- that the photographer thought I was pretty.
Now he was old enough to be my grandfather and he made no effort in the slightest to act on his desire, but his desire gave me an extra glow that made those photos some of my best.
It would be virtually impossible for me to fully convey how important dressing up became for me. Without the clothes, I was just a boy. With the clothes, I was just a girl. With the right clothes, the right look, I was a teenage cockscuker. Later I would become a teenage whore. And later I would become simply a whore. Men did not want me for the clothes I wore. But the clothes I wore gave them the 'freedom' to take me as they wanted me.
Once I started sucking dick, dressing up ceased to be about the clothes. It became about the sex. Dressing up became part of my sexual experience. As I became more adept at dressing in the right clothes and picking up the right men, dressing up became my foreplay. When I was done and ready, I could look in the mirror and almost taste cock in my reflection.
There are really only two malls in Spokane and one of those is actually in Spokane Valley. Spokane is fortunate to have a fairly vibrant downtown and most of the videos that have been built in Spokane have fallen into bizarro world versions of malls.
Just about every time I go to Northtown Mall very near to where I live I see someone I know. So more often or not my 'Summer of 13' I would take the bus out to the Spokane Valley Mall. By riding the crosstown bus I can be there in about an hour or so.
While that may seem like a long trip, particularly when you put it together with a return trip, I found it really paid off for me to be in a mall where no one knew me. Or, more importantly, Glen. (I should mention that I often did not have to take the bus home. If he had a car, I had a good chance of getting a ride back to my neighborhood.) I knew what I wanted. I wanted cock.I knew what I become. I had become a sissy cocksucker. If it meant spending two hours on the bus, it was the price I paid if I wanted to suck dick.
I would ride the bus out the mall. Spend usually no more than an hour or so at the mall before I would be picked up and taken more often than not to either his car or his home where he would bet blown. Did these men (or boys) know I was only thirteen. I would tell them I was eighteen if I felt it might be important to them (the older men). They would smile as if they knew I was probably closer to fifteen or sixteen.
Did they know I was a tranny? Maybe the more relevant question is "Did they care when they learned I was a tranny?" Most of them would learn because most of them would want to fuck also. If I felt they might want to fuck, I would let them no up front that I was a tranny. It kept me from getting laid for a couple of years. It rarely kept me from sucking dick.
I am not certain that it is appropriate on these pages to go into so much detail about my Mom and her sexual history. I do so for a few reasons.
I am not sharing (essentially) anything that my dad did not know or suspect or come to know.
I would develop a moral companss when it came to sex that was very similar to hers.
I learned a great deal about being a woman from watching my Mom and t his included her flirtations that more often than not seem to lead to sex.
Sex became the nirvana I sought in no small part to the sound of my Mother's screams and moans on those occasions I heard her getting fucked.
My mom is hot. (Who's to deny she isn't?) I quickly picked up on what men found attractive in women by observing they responded to my Mom. It was my inspiration to always look my best.
Watching Mom I learned how easy it was for a woman to get what she wanted if what she wanted was cock.
While these are all reasons I chose to talk about my Mom, they are not the main reason I am doing so. I truly and sincerely believe that the reasons I know so much about my my Mom's sex life is because Mom wanted me to know everything about it. She wanted me to know how great it was to be a woman.
I do not want you to get the impression that Mom was trying to teach me about sex. While that may have been the subtext, I think she was actually letting me know how great sex could be. That it was not something to be afraid of.
Or maybe it was just that Mom knew I was destined to be a whore. And in her own way she was teaching me that being a whore is not as bad as some may suspect it to be.
One morning Mom and I were in Seattle and she had gotten us seperate room, which she often did if the rates were low. When I came to her room the next morning, I saw several bills fanned out on the table in her room. When I asked about it, she said she had gone to the store the previous evening after I went to bed. She had won it playing a scratch card.
I looked at the money for a long moment and then I said, "Men will pay a lot of money to have sex with you, wont' they Mom?"
She looked at me for a long moment herself and then she said, "Yes, they do. But mostly they are just paying for the sex." She paused for a few moments and then said, "It is something any girl can do to make a few dollars extra cash if she needs it. Any girl." Mom never referred to me as a boy. She always referred to me as a girl. I knew when she said 'any girl' exactly who she meant.
For several long moments after Paul rolled off of me, the only sound in the room was that of each of us gasping to catch our breath. It had only been about fifteen minutes or so of sex, but for each of us it was our first time. When Paul finally did speak, he said, "That was so fucking good." (Did I moan in agreement?) "We can never do that again?" What had we done?
"Right," I replied. "Never again." It was not until he had me sit up and look him right in the eyes that I began to sense that he was serious. (He could not be serious. It had been so good. That was not what I wanted. That would not have been my choice. That was not me. ) "Let's make a vow, a promise to each other we will never break."
I had already agreed with him. He seemed so determined to follow through on this vow. I did not want the vow, but I was swept up in the moment. With minutes of losing my virginity, I was making a pledge to once again protect my innocence. I had just learned so much about myself. I wanted to learn more. (Of course, I was only ten. What I would come to learn of myself would be lessons learned much later in life. What did I learn about myself in later years?)
I do not truly know if Paul was more bothered by fucking me as his little sister or fucking a guy. Was incest or being a faggot his fear? Or did he simply see it as wrong? I was not concerned about incest. It seemed less wrong to me as I could not get pregnant. As to being with a boy, if it had not been Paul it would have been some other boy. All I knew at the time is that I had enjoyed getting fucked. Yes, it had been painful at time, but painful it a way that made me feel so complete. I not only enjoyed getting fucked. I really realy enjoyed getting fucked.
For whatever reason or reasons Paul felt what we had down was wrong. Was it wrong? I cannot argue with that moral judgement. However I had a different moral compass since I had started hearing Mom with other men when Dad was a way at work. As best as I could tell,, when it came to sex, therre really were no rules that could not be broken. While many would suggest that Paul had been to blame as my older brother, was he really at fault? Or was he simply a fourteen year old boy with a hard dick in his shorts? And I was not without blame. While still quite naive about sex and how it applied to me, I had been a temptress around Paul in recent months.
I was not happy having found sex and then having it taken from me. It was not like I could just walk up to any boy at the age of ten and asked to be fucked. It would be four years before I would get fucked fucked again. And as before it would be my brother to do so. But not my older brother Paul. It would be my younger brother Joey.
A couple weeks after we fucked Paul asked if he could talke to me. He had been to my YouTube Channel. He did not like some of the videos I had posted recently. Of and by themselves, they were all quite innocent. But they had a different meaning to a fourteen year old guilt-ridden boy. I thought he was a bit to concerned about my videos, but I had wanted him to see them. And I had wanted him to know they were for him. So missision accomplished. That is just who I am.
Mom and I had come to Boise for a pageant. I was competing for Miss Preteen Potato and not real certain I wanted to be Miss Potato anything. After the first day of competing, Mom and I ate a late dinner at a restaurant next to our motel. Over dinner, she started a conversation with a guy at the next table who we had seen earlier. He had the room next to ours and we had meet him when we were both checking in. His name was Jordan something.
I did not pay much attention to their conversation. I did however gather that the man felt Mom looked a lot like his boss. Mom asked if that was a compliment. To which he replied, "To look like her, most definitely. To actually be her, . . . Well she can be a real B-I-T-C-H at times." Mom laughed and replied. "Well, in that way, we women are all alike. When we choose to be, we can all be a real B-I-T-C-H. But sometimes that is a good thing."
As Mom was paying for the check, she pulled two twenties out of her wallet and looking down at me said, "Remind in the morning we have to visit the ATM before we have breakfast." Mom always paid cash on our trips.
The three of us walked back to the room together. Mom and Jordan allowed me to run ahead to the room and were still talking when that arrived at our room. Mom said good night to Jordan and Mom and I spent the next couple hours watching a movie. I did not make it through the whole movie and can recall Mom putting me to bed.
Around two in the morning, I was awaken abrupting. Mom was not in her bed and the bathroom light was out. I was worried -- for about three seconds. Then I heard the sound that had awaken me. It came from the next room. I had heard Mom before so I knew right away it was her, her and Jordan. I could hear almost everything and I found I could not get to sleep,
At one point I started counting and within about two minutes or so I heard Mom say the word 'cock' twelve times.
I did not really know anything at all about sex. But I knew I had a 'cock' and that I did not have a vagina, I came to know that a vagina was more commonly called a 'pussy.' I knew that when Mom was with a man that he was putting his cock deep into her pussy.
Mom always sounded as though she loved it so much amd it made me very disappointed that I did not have a 'pussy' for the boys. In just a bit over a year I would learn that I did not have to have a pussy, but as I laid in bed listening to Jordan and Mom, about every time Mom said 'pussy' or 'fuck' or 'cock' (and she said them all a lot) I so wanted to have a pussy of my own.
The next day was the second and final day of competition. As we were heading to the restaurant, I reminded Mom that she had to go to an ATM first. She replied, "I decided to dip into my secret stash this morning to save us some time." She often used her 'secret stash' on these out of town trip so I was not surprised when she asked the cashier when she paid "Can you break an hundred?" When she went for the bill, it was quite fresh and she had to peal about four of them off and put them back in her wallet.
As a concession to my Dad I did not compete under the name Martin and used Michelle or Micah Sommers as my competition name. I say the song "I'm the Greatest Star." Judging my
what I heard from Jordan the night before, Mom should have been the one on stage singing "I'm the Greatest Star."
I had a great time with Joey one night and for the next two months he would be the only boy to fuck me. It ended for him and I day when he sent me an email. It was a link to video he felt I would enjoy. Inadverently he sent me a link to his playlist that contained the video rather than the video originally posted. As such I found myself on a page of his that had several videos that were quite eye-opening for me.
Joey is a closet crossdresser. I found several videos of him on this channel that had him dressed in my clothes. Now in most of them I do not see his face, but he is after all my brother. I recognized many of the mannerism and the door to his bedroom and . . . Well, it was him. Or her.
Now I am not one to judge him. But it bothered me that he had been wearing my clothes -- including most likely my panties and lingerie -- without telling me. More importatntly, when I added all the pieced together, it occurred to me that maybe Joey was fucking me for the wrong reasons. (This of course suggests that there can be a right reason to fuck your sister/'brother.')
I simply felt I could not be with a man who wanted to be more like me than more like a man. As I said, I am not judging him. I am just making a decision regarding my own life. Now I will be the first to admit that I had been increasingly desirous to venturing out into the real world and seeing if I could get some dick other than my brother's. So maybe it was all just an excuse to shut it off with Joey so I could get dick elsewhere.
Anyway before I went to much further into my story, which will often include my sexual escapades with Joey, I felt I should give you a heads up on what was going on behind the scenes. This is particularly relevant as I could see from upload dates that Joey had been wearing my clothes for some months before we first fucked.
This brings up an interesting question that had not occurred to me. The night Joey and I first fucked it was at my suggestion. I wonder. Might Joey had follow me to my room because he wanted to dress up with me and embarassed to admit that was the reason had decided to let it believed he was there to fuck me. I wonder.
Joey and I were home alone. At the time I was fourteen and he is a year younger than me. Our dad was on a business trip and as was normal our mom had gone out for the night.
Ryan and Paul were at a high school football game and were planning on attending the mixer afterwards. If I had had my preference I would have been out looking for dick to scuk, but it had fallen on me to look after Joey for the night.
I am not entirely certain he could not have taken care of himself at thirteen, but I liked hanging out with Joey and I did not have to suck dick every Friday night.
As my younger brother, Joey had always been around Yvonne the most. While my older brothers would largely see me as their crossdressing little brother, Joey saw me as his big sister.
I had had a life long love of dancing and in the spirit cutting loose and having a great time, if it was to be spent at home, I did a dance number for my brother.
As I danced for Joey, it was not the first time I felt him looking at me not unlike boys often did before they approached me about sucking their dick. If you have read many of my posts, you know that I lost my virginity to my older brother Paul when I was ten. You may also know that the day after I sucked my first dick that I gave him a blowjob. With the exception of these two infractions I had left my brothers largely alone.
Shortly after my performance I was in my room looking through my clothes trying to decide what I wanted to wear out to the mall the next day, when I felt Joey step into my room. Normally this would not have been at all interesting. As I said, we were the best of friends as brother and sister and he often came to my room to talk. Something however about the look in his eyes earlier, intensified now, had be guessing that he was not primarily interested in conversation. I did him the courtesy of saying what had to be said first. I could tell you how we traveled from this remark to what ensued, but why bother. He fucked me and that was all that really mattered.
One of the challenges of being a whore to the men who golfed with your dad and that often said hello to your Mom at the grocery store is that they so often feel like I am not there as whore.
Mr Tate had known me when for years as Glen, the son to one of his weekend golf buddy. He would often tell me stories of how when him and Dad were out golfing they would talk about me.
I even heard some stories from Mr Tate that left me feeling good. Even though Dad was not happy with my life, his love for me whether it be as Glen or as Yvonne often came out in the stories Mr Tate told. (I never called Mr Tate Steve. It was always either Mr Tate or Daddy.)
Mr Tate wanted to be my daddy and he would take me out to dinner and then when we got back 'home' I would go to my room.
Lots of men like me to call them "Daddy' as they are fucking me, but it was different with Mr Tate. My room had been Lucy's room before she went off to college. And Mr Tate would call me Lucy throughout dinner and throughout the night as we fuck.
One night he sent me up to 'my' room to change for dinner which was our normal routine. He liked me to wear Lucy''s clothes. He had set out the outfit I was to wear. The panties were thongs and they broke as I was putting them on. Going to tthe dresser to get another pair of panties, I found a very sexy corset in the drawer that had not been there. It then occurred to me that maybe the panties were meant to break. I put on the corset and then I waited in bed.
When Mr Tate came looking for me, I mean when my 'Daddy' came looking for me, he found me waiting on my bed.
"Daddy," I began when he entered the room. "Your little girl is really really horny and not the least bit horny. It has been so long since my Daddy showed me how much he loves his little Lucy. Lucy wants some Daddy dick right now. Lucy doesn't want to go some silly restaurant. Lucy wants to stay right here and get fucked right now."
He reached for his buckle and started to undo his trounser. I was saving that corset for later, but I see you found it so maybe now is later."
As was so often the case, even after I had seen it several times, I gasped as he pulled out his dick. Mr Tate did have a really big cock, a really reallly big cock.
For being a bit creative that night he gave me an extra two bills.
I did not start whoring and then went out in search of a clientele. I already had a list of men who I knew would be quite willing to pay my ass. I knew this because some of them had already paid me. Those who had paid for my ass once seemed the ones most eager to have my ass again.
James who lived almost directly across the street from out home had already paid me twice to suck his dick. When I suggested to him that for just a few more dollars he could fuck me he had reservations about doing so.
I do not know if it was fucking that had him reluctant or that I had stopped over to suck his dick, which usually got me a $50, Only as a gift afterwards This time I was asking for four times as much and I wanted it up front -- for services rendered.
His wife was in an assisted care center and James was still a man with needs. I knew when I offered him my young body that his Christian values would come into play. (He was a lay minister at his church.)
But I also knew most importatnly that he wanted my ass. All he neededd was a little prodding and he was reaching for his wallet. So many men try to pretend that they have control over their urges, but with only the rarest of exceptions did I ever offer myself to one of the men in our neighborhood and get a defintive NO.
I met Aaron at the church Mom and I attended two or three times a month. Every year the church hold a Spring Dance for the young peope. And by young I mean those of us that are too young to go out on dates.
The church did not allow boys and girls to attend the dance as a couple. like on a date, but us girls got around that. If we wanted to have a date for the dance, if a boy asked us to their date for the dance, we simply made sure that we wore matching colors.
While we were not allowed to attend as a dating couple, anyone and everyone who wanted to take their picutre taken could do so. So while this was not really a date, I am sure it is easy to see that Aaron and I were on a date.
Besides being what I regard as my very first date, this date also has another aspect that defined it as somewhat special. Three months later, my brother would fuck me. So this was the only date I ever went on as a virgin. I often wonder how this date might have gone if it had been four months later, after I had lost my virginity. At the time Aaron was thirteen, just a year younger than Paul. One of the reasons that he is holding his hand where he is is because he had gotten a boner as we sat there waiting for the photographer to take our picture.
Quite understandably I have been the subject of a great deal of name calling over the years. While they usually are thrown at me as insults, they usually are quite accurate.
Call me a cumwhore. Who am I to say I do not love cum? Call me a faggot.. I take it up the ass from other men and while I may not approve of the term, it does pretty much tell it as it is. Other names -- sissy, slut, whore, cocksucker, cum swallower, bitch, etc.
My point is that all of these are not to a greater or lessor extent a fairly accurate list of my greatest pleasures. What I do for fun.
When I sit down at my makeup vanity to do my makeup, it is an incredible turnon to know that the girl I am becoming is going to get laid. She will be sucking dick soon enough and as the evening progress she will be biting a pillow and taking a hard dick deep up her tight little ass.
The times when I am most willing to concede that maybe (just maybe) I am not really a girl are in those moments I find myself doing my makeup and dressing so I can get fucked.
Those are the moments when I am most aware just how important it is for me to be fucked to truly be the woman I aspire to be. I work hardest on doing my makeup when I know I am going to be fucked as looking my best and taking deep cock are the one-two punch that takes me as close as I will ever be to being all the woman I want to be.
I would be lying, or maybe to be fairer misleading, my readers if I did not admit that on a very essential level I need men to fuck me to truly feel whole as a woman. I need their power and their control (as the video below so perfectly unveils).
This is not something that came with age or when I became a whore. Each and every time I made the decision to please a man, when it was my brother when I was ten, Jon when I was twelve, Joey when I was fourteen. I knew saying 'No' to what a man (or boy) wanted made me somehow less of a girl, less of a woman.
And I am not talking only about sex so it goes back further. It goes back to the times boys wanted to kiss me and I would let them kiss me. When boys wanted to see my panties, I would show them my panties.
I truly believe that there is a reason girls wear dresses and skirts that can easily be lifted. Feminine clothing is designed to make it easier for men to fuck us.
While I cannot say that I knew the logic behind my desires, but a part of me believes that the reason I enjoyed dressing as a girl is because it made me weaker, more vulnerable, more submissive.
As each of us grow up we see the world as it is and we attach our own meaning to that world. While I would never suggest that as a young boy of four or five I wanted to dress as a girl so I could have sex with boys. Social relationships been men and women is largely dictated by sex and as I grew older the social relationship I craved was that of the feminine, submissive, obedient woman over that of being a man.
I am not entirely convinced that the right half of the wedding couple wore the wedding dress on the day Joey and Sandra got married.
There are often secrets regarding family members that you wish were left unshared. While it may come off as hypocritical or some other less attractive assessment but it always bothered me that Joey was a crossdresser. Even after his divorce when I and JoBeth became closer, I still was a bit disappointed in him. Maybe if he had not remained a closet crossdresser, maybe if most of his friends did not know him only as Joseph, if more of his friends and family knew JoBeth, I might have been better with it.
Because we were family, because we were close, because we often found ourselves sitting in bars waiting to be picked up, JoBeth often choose to share with me. While I agreed with JoBeth that she made a lovely bride in Sandra's wedding dress, it was a story she could have kept to herself as she was wearing the gown because Sandra wanted to see her in the dress.
Did I have to know that my brother was cuckolded by his wife? Did I have to know that it began as early as their wedding day, when she 'persuaded' Joseph into letting her have one more cock before they got? Did I have to know that my brother was sitting in the limo as a complete stranger fucked his bride-to-be?
Joey never deviated from the story so while I thought at the time it had seem a bit concocted it as the years passed it became increasingly unlikely to me that he had not been telling the truth. Here's what happened.
One day I get an email from Joey for a youtube video he thought I would enjoy. As it turned out I did, but as I was checking out the video I noticed some videos that appeared to be of me modeling outfits. Where had these come from. When I watched the video, it became apparent that they were not videos of me, but rather of Joey in my clothes.
Apparently he had intended to send me a link to the orginal posting and had instead sent me a link to his playlist that included the video. There were five videos and part of me does not know whether I resented him wearing my clothes or that he looked almost (almost) better in them than I did. I did not have to even try from that point to discover that he had a Facebook page for JoBeth and that two of his friends from school were among his short list of friends.
That year he entered the Womanless Pageant at our school, telling his friends he did so as a joke. Not all of his friends I suspect because obvious at least two of his freinds knew about JoBeth. By the time "JoBeth' was a junior in high school, I am pretty sure she was giving it up rather regularly to one of 'her' friends. He would stay out late and when he got home he almost always headed straight for the bathroom where he took a late night shower. My guess is that he was washing off the last of 'her' makeup and the smell of sex on his body.
In the video below, it opens up with a shot of me in an outfit than you see Joey modeling that outfit. He must have come to my room when I was not at home. He shows off his ass in the video which is one of the reasons that I am fairly certain his interest in crossdressing when beyond just wearing my clothes.
One evening I received a phone call from someone who found my ad on Backpage.com. He was in town for a soccer tournament with his high school daughter. Was I free? As I often joked when men used this term, I replied that I was available if not free.
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