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Please no more. Please. My tears rained down uncontrolled, soaking the heavily scented pillow that had so recently become my best friend.I dreamed. Very confusing, unsettling dreams. My wife? My children! My wife’s hate filled but stunningly beautiful face, swirled into being inches from my own, cutting me to the heart."I need a bloody man, not a child!" she shouted, adding for good measure “you fucking SISSY! I wish I had never found out!”We argued a lot because of the pictures that magazine had printed. Pictures of me dressed in pretty lingerie pleasuring another crossdresser. My face was masked, but it was me. She had known instantly, her temper and hurt equally raised to inhuman levels and fired in my direction as each opportunity presented itself.We argued. Well she argued; I just took the abuse hoping it would stop. It was only later, after talking to anyone who would care to listen, that I concluded that she'd been deliberately goading me to react as she thought a male should.. He opens the door, smiles and says I'm even more beautiful in person. He takes my arm gently and pulls me into the room, closes the door and presses me up against it. Looking into my eyes he brushes the hair away from my face with one hand and kisses me so softly but passionately. Tasting him, smelling him and feeling him for the first time makes my body explode inside and all I can think about is how desperately I want him inside my body right fucking now! I try to calm myself a little so I can enjoy every touch. I pull away and walk further into the room. He goes to the desk where he has some liqueur he brought and poor me a drink. I sit on the bed and he brings me the drink and has one himself. I ask if he minds if I smoke and he says He'll No, it turns him on when women smoke. I pull a cig out and he lights it for me, touching my hand and looking so passionately into my eyes. He says he's been waiting to meet me for so long. I agree with him and kiss him using a lot of.
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And it wasn’t one of the land yacht Harleys either that had places for everything. On his, there was no place to put a fucking cup of coffee. That made him remember the time that he’d stopped three days after getting that fat pig in the garage. He’d gone to the same grocery store that he went to every day to bring home one day’s groceries for him and Maggie. There were no kids, so they liked to eat fresh and it was on his way home. That was when it hit him. Almost twenty thousand dollars and unless he was about to spend a whack more, … There wasn’t even a place to put a pack of gum. He bought saddlebags for when he needed them and almost always carried a tank bag after that anyway. He though that now he just preferred to putter the back roads and you don’t need 750 pounds of overweight chrome to do that — not if you were gonna buy a store coffee. He drove to the store and forgot about it for a few hours, just a lonely man who missed his wife. ——————————— Natalia knew. She saw it in.

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