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"I don't want to be a woman." "I'm not gay." "I don't want asex change." "I can't say why I tried it on; I just did." "I'll neverdo it again."Jena was having none of it. "You're wearing women's clothing. That, bydefinition, makes you a cross-dresser." But what really ticked her offwas that I was wearing THAT dress, that I was wearing something ofSandy's. "You can't lie. Your huge erection belies any claim you mightmake to the contrary. You're wearing my best friend's clothing andyou're very excited to be doing so. Either that's because you like theclothing, or you're having some sick fantasy involving sex with someoneother than me. Which is it?"When she put it that way, I saw that I was stuck. I couldn't admit to aninfatuation with Sandy. That surely would be the end of us (and myrelationship with Sandy too). Besides, by this point, Sandy had largelyfaded away in my thoughts. I had become fixated on the dress and by thetime I started putting it on, I had largely. My hair was at least acceptable, a long and silky dark brown. My breasts were 34 B, not the biggest, but noticeable, and my bottom was pretty attractive, full and round, though I never dressed to complement it. My face wasn't exactly ugly, but not pretty, just homely. My eyes were too far apart, my nose too big, and my teeth uneven, practically snaggle-toothed. I had a decent little thatch of brown hair in the vee above my own slit, but, needless to say, I was pretty much the only one who'd ever seen it.Kira and I had shared the ecstasy of rubbing our bodies together last night, and especially our sensitive clits, and nipples, and our passionate kisses were, to me, like heaven on earth. I guess we'd fallen asleep shortly after we achieved orgasm, her petite naked body on top of mine, our cunt juices running together as we dozed off. And now here she was, the next morning, still with me.Kira stirred, and her head rose up, her face next to mine, her eyes slowly opening. "Ohh, Rachel, I.
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