Model Citizen

by Gingerfred Man

 

Chapter One – A Normal Life

My life is pretty much like anyone else’s, I guess. I wake up. If my wife is willing, I give her a good shagging. I get dressed for work. I play with the kids, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, play with the kids, eat dinner with the family, watch a little TV, go to bed and, if my wife is willing, give her another good shagging.

I guess it’s the part at work where I’m a bit different.

I’m a model. But not the kind you may think.

My name is Ryan Clancy. I’m 28 years old and have the sweetest 26-year-old wife, Megan. We’ve been married for five years and have two children, Jack, who’s three, and Kayla, who just had her first birthday.

Megan didn’t know about my work when we got married. Neither did I, actually. But for the most part, she’s OK with it. I have noticed that she’s a bit possessive about me when I put my suit and tie on, grab my briefcase and leave the house on Monday through Friday mornings. And I’ve noticed that I always get more sex during the week. She tries to make me cum at least twice, sometimes three times before I leave for work, I guess so I won’t get "distracted" away from her.

That would never happen. I love her and my family deeply and Ryan Clancy would never cheat on her. With anyone in any way.

Of course, that doesn’t take Alexandra into account.

See, Alexandra is who I am at work. I’m sure you’ve seen my pictures. I’m the most famous and prettiest (so everyone tells me) tgirl model in the world.

I get hundreds of emails every day from men who want to serve my cock with their mouths. They describe how they would like to lick my bottomhole until I squeal and cum. And they all tell me they want to fuck me.

It’s very exciting. Although what really gets me hot is serving men, not the other way around. I love to suck a man’s big, thick cock and make him cum all over my heart-breakingly pretty face.

I could never just "do it" with someone I didn’t know. Alexandra is no tramp!

But Alexandra is no virgin either. Let me tell you about her.

 

Chapter Two – Discovery

I was seventeen when Alexandra was born. The odd part was that the Ryan side of me was already a world-class cocksman with a couple of dozen girlfriends.

Having the girlfriends started when I was fifteen. And if I weren’t faithful to Megan, Ryan would still be getting all the pussy he could handle.

It’s not bragging. It’s the way it is.

Why have women been after me for the past 13 years?

Was I a football hero? A multiple felon? Or the kind of troubled loser that girls want to mother and "change?"

No, no and no.

I was and am a little guy – about five foot six. About the same height as Megan, and she towers over me when she wears high heels. Which she does most of the time, thank goodness.

I have what people tell me is a very cute face. Girls think so. And when I fem up and become Alexandra, men REALLY think so.

I’m not hairy; in fact, I only have a soft down on my body. And I don’t have much of a beard.

But I do have three redeeming features. I have one of the world’s only true, thick, veined, dark, eight-inch cocks. Which on my small, slim body looks enormous. I have the ability to produce an erection at just about any time, even after six or seven cums! And I believe I produce more cum than 99.9% of the men in the world.

No one knows any of this until they experience it, however, so I wasn’t popular until one day when I was 15, and my friend George Miller’s mother walked into the bathroom as I was finishing taking a pee.

George wasn’t home when I came over his house that day and I had to go winkie-tinkers bad. I guess Mrs. Miller forgot I was in the bathroom and she gasped in surprise and embarrassment at her gaffe. But she didn’t back out of the bathroom. She smiled as she looked at what had to be the biggest cock she had ever seen. I blushed in shame, but couldn’t prevent my monster from erecting as the first non-relative female viewed its magnificence. I was scared and trembling as Mrs. Miller stepped forward and took it into her soft, warm hand.

"That’s amazing, Ryan," she said. "I’ve never seen anything that beautiful in my life."

All the air left the room as she continued to praise my prick and stroke it with great skill and affection.

"You must have lots of girlfriends. Do you?" she said, as I neared the first grand crisis of my life.

"No, Mrs. Miller. Uh, Mrs. Miller, maybe this isn’t a good idea. Something funny is happening. I’m scared."

"Hasn’t anyone ever done this for you before, Sweetheart? I’m sorry they haven’t, but I’ll do it any time you want. Don’t worry about those feelings. Just let them happen."

And they did. My first cum. Big, thick ropes of a teenager’s lifetime of stored-up sticky cream. Leaping in every direction as a startled Mrs. Miller watched in awe.

It was wonderful. I loved cumming. It felt as if my insides were exploding with pleasure. And of course, at that moment, I loved Mrs. Miller. Even though Mr. Miller scared me.

Mrs. Miller saw my fears and my joy and set about calming me down.

She had sent George on an errand and, by her reckoning, he wouldn’t be home for about 30 minutes. She decided to make every second count.

Locking the bathroom door, she pushed down the toilet seat and lid and sat on it. I was standing in front of her with my pants and underpants at my ankles. I was trembling with fear and wonder at what had just happened. My cock had merely drooped a half inch, but was quickly recovering that and more. Drools of thin pre-cum were dripping from my peehole.

Mrs. Miller spoke reassuringly. "It’s all right, Ryan. You have an incredible gift and it would be a sin not to use it. Come over here closer to me."

Perceiving that the potential reward would exceed the potential danger, I stood within inches of the sweet lady.

She held my cock in her right hand and stroked it lovingly. "Now this will have to be our little secret, right Ryan?"

I agreed eagerly. I could never tell anyone that my best friend’s Mom had stroked me off. The shame!

"What you just had, Sweetheart, was an orgasm. Didn’t your Mama or Daddy tell you about such things?"

I shook my head. They hadn’t.

"Such a shame. Well, men and women make each other feel good, then the man puts this lovely thing in a little sheath we women have between their legs. They rub it in and out of the sheath, and the man makes a big mess, just as you just did. But when he does it in the woman’s sheath or ‘pussy’ that’s how a baby is made."

I stared at her. I had heard stuff like that from other boys, but I hadn’t really thought about it very much.

She continued. "It feels really good because to keep making people, we have to keep doing it. Otherwise the human race would die out."

That made sense. She was stroking me so nicely that I was afraid that that spurty thing would happen again. And afraid that it wouldn’t.

"But there are also lots of other fun things men and women or men and men or women and women can do together without making babies. Like this."

And she took the big, pink head of my huge cock into her mouth and began to lick and suck it. Ohhhhhhhhhh. That was way better than what she had done with her hand. So warm and wet and……. I was getting those tingles like the last time. I warned Mrs. Miller. I said, "Oh, Mrs. Miller! It’s happening again!"

But she kept sucking me and, miraculously, she used her mouth to catch every drop of what felt like a deluge of cum. I was shaking and whimpering with sexual agony as I drowned her mouth with sticky cream.

But all she did was smile at me with her eyes and keep licking and sucking it. My cock drooped very slightly, then erected again. She was taking my big rammer out of her mouth now and then and licking it up and down the shaft. Then she began to lick my balls!!

Oh. That was too much. I was going to do it again. I warned her, but she didn’t listen. Why didn’t she listen? That hot stuff was going to go all over her face. I couldn’t stop it. Unnnhhhh.

The wonderful lady smiled happily as I frosted her face with a third, humongous portion of boyish cream.

"Incredible," she was gasping as she licked and sucked me to a fourth cockstand.

"You couldn’t possibly do it again," she said, but my cock and balls disagreed. She was so sweet and pretty and such an excellent cocksucker that I was erect in less than a minute, then in great, pre-orgasmic distress about two minutes later.

I held her head this time and whimpered a little as she brought me to a fourth, messy conclusion.

I had no idea what I had done or how remarkable it was. But from Mrs. Miller’s reactions, I began to suspect that I had powers far beyond those of mortal men.

After my fourth cum, Mrs. Miller realized that George would be coming home soon. I knew that if we had been alone, she would have found out what my limits were. If they existed. Mrs. Miller was clearly committed to the scientific method.

But she pulled my pants up, gave my still-stiff cock a kiss and a pat, and tucked me away. She wiped the cummy evidence off her face, then gave me one hell of a kiss, tongue and all, that in some ways was sexier than the one stroking and three blowjobs.

"You’re a remarkable young man, Ryan. If you’re discreet, I’ll make us both very happy. Can you keep this all a secret?"

I swore on everything!

She kissed me again and sent me off to watch TV until George returned ten minutes later.

I was trembling with fear and excitement, but I was smart enough, even then, to realize how lucky I was if I would only keep it all between me and Mrs. Miller.

I was able to act normally with George when he returned and that gave me confidence. I didn’t enjoy deceiving my best friend, but I sure wanted to do things with his mother.

I think Mrs. Miller was greatly impressed with my discretion. I sensed that she wanted my big cock very badly, but she restrained herself until a week later. She told me on a Tuesday that she would be sending George’s 16-year-old sister Natalie, who had her driver’s license, on an errand that would take about four hours. And that she would insist that George accompany her.

The prospect of four hours alone with Mrs. Miller had me stiff and throbbing. Which at 15 was my normal condition.

I arrived at 10 a.m., exactly on time, and Mrs. Miller smiled and welcomed me in. When she closed the door, she kissed me deeply and rubbed my crotch. My goodness, she was hot for me!

She held my hand and led me to her bedroom. She was wearing a skirt with stockings and big heels. The skirt, slip and blouse came off and she was standing across from me in white bra, white garter belt, white bikini panties, tan stockings, and blue, high-heeled pumps.

She smiled and said, "If you like what you see, let me see what you’ve got."

I liked what I saw. I stripped to the buff. I was very nervous, but my cock was at attention.

Mrs. Milller looked at me and licked her lips. As if I were a meal or something.

She unhooked her bra and I saw my first bare boobies. They were beautiful! I’ve seen dozens of titties since then and Mrs. Miller’s were still the top of the line.

I was shaking as she got on her bed and removed her panties. Her pussy was hairy and had very complex, very wet lips. It looked scrumptious.

The sweet lady drew me on top of her and embraced my naked body. We kissed and she rubbed my cock to the first of many cums that wonderful day.

I wanted to make her cum and told her so. But I didn’t know what to do.

She was highly excited and showed me how her clitoris was showing its pretty, little, red head. She rubbed it with her fingers and asked me if I would kiss and lick it a little.

I did so with great enthusiasm. The smell was fantastic. It was musty and musky and soapy and pure sex. Apparently I was a prodigy in clit-licking as well. Poor Mrs. Miller began to scream as if she had been shot. Horrified, I stopped to inquire about her health. At which time, she pointed out that my health would suffer if I didn’t "Keep doing exactly that!!!!!!"

I did. Mrs. Miller must have had a dozen orgasms. Then, almost from the grave, she begged me to stop.

My mouth was gooey with pussy juice, but she drew me on top of her and kissed me as if I had just given her a winning lottery ticket.

Then, her pussy sopping and my prick ready for combat, my dear instructoress held my cock and inserted it where it was born to go.

My senses went on full alert. Instinct took over. I had never had my cock in a sweet sheath, but apparently it felt right at home there. I began to pump up and down, in and out. My balls were sending alert signals. I kissed Mrs. Miller and licked her sweet tongue. She rubbed my bottom with her hands. And I orgasmed. Gushing. Shuddering. Thanking any spirits who were listening.

The beautiful woman joined me. She appeared to have one monster cum, followed by four or five aftershocks. She was at a level of pleasure she had never experienced. And so was I.

I fucked her twice more without withdrawing. She had another four or five debilitating orgasms, then begged for a rest.

We spent a good fifteen minutes or so, on our backs, chests heaving with deep breaths. Then Mrs. Miller looked at the clock and realized that we only had about two hours left. So she took my cock into her mouth to see if I was exhaustible. After sucking up two big loads of my goo, she decided that science didn’t apply to me and climbed on top of me for two very energetic fucks, during which I sucked her boobies as she ground her hips and made herself cum and cum to her own exhaustion.

We finished up that day by doing something I would not have thought possible. Mrs. Miller said she was going to put my cock into her bottom, but first I would have to tongue and lick out her "dirty hole." That sounded wonderful to me. I just loved licking her back there. Another reason that women love me, as if they needed a reason beyond my cock, is that I love to eat a pooper.

But I digress. Amazingly, my sweet lady’s pootie was elastic enough to accept my telephone pole and we each came twice more during that perfect end to a perfect day of lovemaking.

We finished up with some sweet kissing and Mrs. Miller’s professions of undying love. I knew at that moment, that having women, lots of them, would never be a problem to me.

We cleaned up as well as we could. The smell would probably be there when archeologists unearth the Miller house several thousand years from now. But we "masked" with deodorants.

When Natalie and George returned, I was fresh and normal-looking. Mrs. Miller looked as if she had been run over by a truck.

George was oblivious, but something told me that Natalie knew.

Something was right.

A week later, I came over to see George, but Natalie was alone in the house.

<Gulp>

"Mom and George are out getting shoes for school," she said. "They’ll be back in about an hour."

<Gulp> "OK," I said. "I’ll come back."

"Not so fast, Ryan. I’m not going to ask you if anything is happening with you and you-know-whom, because I don’t want to know. What I desperately need to know though is why."

<Gasp> I didn’t even have a good lie ready. "Natalie, I…."

Natalie got up, walked over to me and pulled down my zipper. Moving rapidly, she pulled out my cock.

Then it was Natalie’s turn to gasp. "I thought so! It’s the eighth wonder of the world!" she said.

That was flattering. I was about to thank her, when I noted that she was on her knees, in the classic cocksuckers’ position, moistening up my big boy with her tongue and lips.

Natalie was every bit the cocksucker that her mother was.

And she was a gossip.

Within a week, every female in our town knew what I was packing in my underpants.

So I became and stayed very popular with the ladies. But I always had time for Mrs. Miller. Until I was married, of course. Ryan has taken and will take that "forsaking all others" vow very seriously.

Of course, Alexandra didn’t agree to anything of the sort.

 

Chapter Three – Alexandra is Born.

Between the ages of 15 and 17, I had more opportunities to observe unguarded female behavior than most men experience in a lifetime.

And I liked what I saw.

Women could be strong and firm and dominant. But what they really wanted was to be possessed by a man.

I didn’t know how to do that. I had the sex part down pat, but I was young and small and lacked the self-confidence that would allow me to give women everything they wanted. They didn’t complain, but something wasn’t there.

I began to observe relationships where men and women loved each other. They were equals in many ways, but the men wanted to own the woman and the woman wanted the man to possess her sexually and spiritually. She surrendered only to the man or men of her choice, though, which meant that even though the man was dominant after surrender, the woman still controlled things.

It’s hard to explain. It’s not really about dominance. It’s kind of an agreement femmes make with their men. It’s like a sweet surrender.

Strangely enough, when I was 17, I not only recognized a woman’s need to submit to a man, I felt it.

I became jealous of women and their control of whether they would grant sex to a man by submitting to his will. I felt it would be wonderful to be the one who decided to give myself completely or not.

And I was jealous of women’s beauty. I was a boy, and, although I was young, hung and full of cum, I wore drab things and couldn’t adorn myself. I didn’t turn heads and stiffen cocks when I walked down a street.

I felt this dull ache that I couldn’t describe, which is pretty darn ungrateful, I know, for a guy who was getting laid by one or two women each day and cumming seven or eight times into soft, lovely, hands, mouths, titties, bottoms or pussies.

Nothing would have changed, I guess, if I hadn’t met Mr. Willard.

Mr. Willard was my senior-year English teacher. A terrific, inspiring professor who opened my mind up to all sorts of wonderful ideas. And my bottomhole to his wonderful cock.

By the time I was 17 and a half and midway through senior year in high school, I was used to being seduced by every lame trick in the book. Ladies would ask me to shovel their driveways, then ask me to walk upstairs with them because they had left their purses in the bedroom. I would be invited over to meet their sons, who were sent off on mysterious errands just prior to my arrival. It always ended the same. With me on top of the lady giving her a triple ration of cock. I could never insult a lady by turning her down when she had me fair and square. But I made myself scarce around some of them, I must admit.

That’s why I felt so stupid about never seeing it coming with Mr. Willard.

He and I had become pretty tight, I guess. I was a very good student and it was clear to Mr. Willard, I guess, that I idolized him.

We had a lot of laughs and I even met him for coffee a few times after school to talk literature.

He never mentioned sex, although everyone in school could see that I was getting more ass than a toilet seat.

It sounds corny, but I think he saw my soul. And he knew what to do about it.

One day when we were having coffee, Mr. Willard told me that he was an amateur photographer and even had a studio in his house.

"You would make a great model, Ryan," he said. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

I blushed. I had heard a lot of pretty embarrassing flattery from women who wanted an afternoon of endless orgasms, but from Mr. Willard, it had to be sincere, right?

One thing led to another and I agreed to meet Mr. Willard at his house on Saturday morning for a photo session.

Red flags should have been waving and fireworks going off, but my ego was responding to the furious rubs.

I arrived at 9:30, wearing jeans and a tshirt, as arranged, since he would have clothing for me there.

Mr. Willard greeted me at his door. For a crazy second, I got the feeling that he was going to kiss me, but that was silly, I thought.

"This is working out perfectly, Ryan," Mr. Willard said. "I have a commission from a Japanese men’s clothing company. They want some shots of a slim, shorter, good-looking, Western young man wearing their new line. That could be you."

Wow! I thought. What a great coincidence. I truly was dopey, now that I think about it.

Mr. Willard took me to his studio in his basement. It looked very professional to me, with lots of equipment, but, strangely, no mirrors.

Mr. Willard had me sit, then he sat across from me and said, "I’ll have to put a few dabs of make-up on you or you’ll look washed out in the pictures. Male models wear make-up all the time."

They did? I didn’t know that, but I was prepared to believe that Marilyn Monroe died a virgin at that point.

It took a while for Mr. Willard to put all that stuff on me and he spent a lot of time on my eyes and lips. He said that Japanese audiences liked their models to look a certain way. It was so exciting that I was already a model and that Japanese people would be admiring me. My willie was embarrassingly stiff with excitement.

When Mr. Willard finished with my face, he asked me to strip so he could fit my outfit on me.

I was pretty embarrassed with my boner and all. Mr. Willard saw that and said, "Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just us guys."

He was right, of course. It was so exciting to begin my modeling career. I stripped to the buff and thought I heard Mr. Willard gasp, but maybe it was just my imagination. He was trembling a little as he had me stand naked as he "checked camera angles."

Erect was my normal condition and standing there naked in front of a man I admired was making me extra erect. And throbbing.

"Is it always stiff like that, Ryan?" my mentor asked.

I blushed. "Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. Will it mess up the pictures?"

<Gulp> "No, that’s fine, Ryan."

Mr. Willard’s own pants seemed to be bulging. He must have really enjoyed photography.

Then he reached into a bag and extracted a pair of silky, pink, very brief underpants. "This is the kind of underwear Japanese men wear," he said. "Strange, huh? Try them on."

Would they fit? I didn’t think I could get my stiff Johnson into them and I was right. But the material was wildly exciting. They looked like women’s panties. I gasped. The idea of trying on some of my female sex partners’ panties had entered my imagination more than once. I slid them on and over my thickening, throbbing cock. Oh, the way the material caressed my huge, dark bag of balls. The way the material rubbed the tender parts of my cock. Ohhhhh. I was afraid I would make gooies and that would have been humiliating in front of my teacher.

Mr. Willard noted my distress and appeared to be in a bit of his own. But he reached into the bag again and produced a silky, pink, shortie kimono. Those men sure did dress strangely in Japan.

I was embarrassed to be standing in front of my academic mentor in skimpy, silky, pink, Japanese men’s underwear. I welcomed the kimono. As I slipped it over my smooth, almost hairless body, I sneaked peeks at Mr. Willard. He was a very good-looking man. Tanned and fit, with a sweet smile and piercing blue eyes. I noticed all that in a way I hadn’t done before. He was giving me a lot of orders, getting me ready for the session, posing me and all and <blush> I liked that too. I always kind of resented it when women who wanted sex from me bossed me around. All Mr. Willard wanted was to take my picture, but I liked his masterful methods.

The kimono felt wonderful. It rubbed my body in a soft caress. Its smooth material even rubbed against my nipples. Ohhhhh. THAT was putting me near a place I didn’t want to go. If I began to spurt my goo in front of Mr. Willard……I would be on the next plane to the Galapagos Islands rather than face that shame.

But the whole situation was very exciting. For some strange reason, I was wildly excited being half naked in front of my teacher. I wondered how I looked to him. Why were there no mirrors there?

I must have looked OK, because, unless my young eyes were lying to me, Mr. Willard’s cock was testing the tensile strength of his pants.

That was unexpected! The whole situation was getting out of control. Thank goodness that Mr. Willard began taking pictures and giving me a lot of directions. That took my mind off things a bit. Maybe I could get through it without spermy embarrassment.

I was very relieved when Mr. Willard said he had enough shots. But then things took a whole new direction.

"I’m sorry," Mr. Willard said. "There aren’t any mirrors in this room, Ryan. There’s one in the bedroom upstairs. Let me show you how good you look. Follow me."

Mr. Willard was smiling, but I knew I had to do what he said. He was in charge and I liked it. I followed him into his very masculine bedroom.

Why did the sight of his king-sized bed thrill me so? I was getting strange tingles I had never felt before. But they were very enjoyable.

I found the mirror and what I saw astonished me. Staring back at me in wonder was a very pretty, though short-haired and stiff-cocked girl. Mr. Willard had made my face up as if I were a girl and the results were startling. I was vaguely aware of him standing behind me and moving around a bit as I began to tremble at the sight of me as a pretty girl. It was a dream come true. A vague dream that had only begun to speak to me in recent months, but a dream that addressed my deepest, secret longings. I even began to pose a little in the mirror, opening the kimono to get a better look at my deeply distressed cock straining what I now realized were panties. Ohhhhh.

Then I remembered where I was. And who was with me. The question, "Now what?" flashed through my mind, but was quickly answered. I felt Mr. Willard’s hot breath on my neck and his big, throbbing cock rubbing along the small of my back. He was naked!

Mr. Willard reached around my right hip and tenderly held my cock. "You’re so, beautiful, Sweetheart. The perfect angel. <Stroke> The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. <Caress>"

Oh my! That praise had a grip on my heart. And it was true. I was delicious. Something I could never have imagined. He began to kiss my neck as he stroked my poor cockhead. I closed my eyes and whimpered like a girl begging for her man to dominate her. To take her to heaven again and again. Mr. Willard was ready to be my tour guide.

His cock felt so good back there. He was so much taller than I that he couldn’t rub it along my pink bottom as we were standing, but I was hoping that would come later. I was astonished at how comfortably I had fallen into my girlish role. That side of me must have been very strong and just below my epidermis.

Those hot kisses on my neck! I was squealing softly with hot lust. His skilled fingers rubbing my sticky goo around my cockhead! My man dominating me. Making me into a girl for his pleasure. I was afraid of it all. And more aroused than I had ever been making love to dozens of girls and women.

"You can cum now, my angel," my teacher and lover said. "Cum for me."

Ohhhhhhhhh! I came and came and came again. Thick, hot ropes of whitish-yellow, sticky balljuice. Accompanied by a disemboweling orgasm that had me whimpering in the agony we all seek, but rarely achieve. I opened my eyes and witnessed its force in the mirror. I was shuddering in complete surrender to whatever was on my masculine, forceful lover’s agenda. Never had I felt one-tenth this overheated when I was fucking the ladies.

Hungrily, I turned toward my lover, rubbing my still-spurting cock against his hairy thighs as I plunged my head against his manly chest and encircled him with my needy arms. I lifted my head and pouted my red, lipsticked lips for a kiss from my supreme master.

Mr. Willard accepted my invitation, almost burning my lips with the hot intensity of our first kiss. His tongue met mine. He lifted me up slightly so I could rub my cockhead against his stiff beast. I was hard again instantly. The heat! Those kisses. Ohhhhhhh. I came again, harder than the first time. Crying out in hot torment. Drenching his cock and balls with my sweet juices.

My lover continued to hold and kiss me until my orgasm passed. Then he broke the kiss and sat on the end of his bed. "Look at the mess, you made, Honey. Are you going to clean it?"

He wanted me to lick his cock clean! How had I ever gotten that lucky? I was crying with love and joy as I flung my naked, trembling body to my knees before my sweet master’s cock. I looked at it for the first time. It was a monster! Equal in size to mine, but much darker, heavily veined and with something I had never seen before – a thick foreskin. I touched it gently with my right hand, then drew back from its heat. I ran a fingertip along the blue, central vein, then smiled when he moaned with pleasure.

Then I began a work of true love. Carefully and slowly, I began to lap up the cummy mess I had made all over Mr. Willard’s privates. I began on his hard, hairy tummy, then circled in toward my greatest prize – his cockhead and manly balls.

I had never tasted cum before and I was happy to finally do so. Licking a man’s privates, I decided that day, was something I wanted to do often.

When I arrived at his cockhead, I contemplated the foreskin with wonder. Instinct told me to draw the skin back and I did, exposing the pink head and drawing a throaty moan from my man.

A lot of his own pre-goo had gotten under the skin and if I were to be thorough, I should polish the knob thoroughly. The only problem was that the more I licked, the more goo he produced. Finally, my problem was solved. My lover grunted manfully and squirmed slightly. Sensing the imminent, I capped his prick with my mouth and locked loving eyes with his. He smiled in sweet pain and began to spurt a half-gallon of the tastiest juice on earth – fresh man, straight from the faucet. It was wonderful! And it almost made me cum again myself.

Glob after glob entered my throat and I swallowed sissily. He was enjoying it so much. More than I ever did when I was fucking those nice ladies.

My teacher was a skilled and giving lover. He drew me to his lap and kissed me deeply. Oh, I was hard as quantum physics and gasping for more. He stopped kissing me. <Boo!> Then he kissed my right nipple. <Unnnhhhh> He licked and teased the brown, puffy little piece of flesh with hot kisses as he took tender manual possession of my stiff sissypole once again. His hand was so hot as it rubbed me up and down. He was so masterful. It felt so good and my little titty was so sensitive. So that was what it felt like to those ladies. That was why they would wiggle and cum, just from me pleasuring their titties. I knew that I couldn’t take that much longer and then I was suddenly, shatteringly right. I screamed and spurted my sticky cream all over. My balls pulled up and I almost fell off my lapseat from pleasure. I threw my arms around my man’s neck and kissed him hard and deep, fucking his mouth with my tongue and whimpering like the sissy I had become.

I was having a good day.

When I reached down and felt Mr. Willard’s big, fresh, new stiffie, I was sure it would get better.

My cock was leaking and I was gasping for air, when my man laid me on my back on his bed. He got on his knees on the floor, placed a pillow under my hips and proceeded to tongue my bottomhole.

Tongue it.

With his tongue.

I didn’t know pleasure like that existed. I thought our bodies incapable of what a man’s hot, active, slurping tongue in one’s bottom produced in me that day.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I blew another huge load. Just from that. And that I was a quivering, cum-soaked wreck at that point. But I wanted more. MORE!!!!

Mr. Willard smiled at me, then moved me to the center of the bed. He hovered over me for a moment, then mounted me. My body was trapped under his and he was going to fuck me. Oh, Glory, I came again just from the idea.

I had cum five times in about 30 minutes and even my resources were beginning to flag. But I was in erotic nirvana.

A big, sexually frantic man was fitting his key to my wet, ready slot. I whimpered and begged him to fuck me. I was going on instinct at the time, but now I know that men love that. I was helpless! Fuck me, Daddy, please, I thought, even though he wasn’t my daddy.

Unnnhhhh. I felt the first cock of my life in my warm, dirty place. I screamed with joy and sexual frenzy. It was phenomenal. I was full. I was a sexual host. I was consuming my man. I was cumming again in thick spurts.

Someone should have really called Guinness, but we were way too busy.

I looked at my lover. His face was a mask of concentration. I realized that sex is work for men. Rewarding work. But work. For us "girls" it’s all pleasure. Hot, boiling pleasure.

The sheets were soaked with my cum. I was making little grunting sounds that seemed to urge my lover on. He was close. I grabbed his balls and cuddled them. That brought him closer. I wet my middle finger and tickled his bottomhole. He yelled something primeval, pushed hard and deluged me with his hot, spermy load.

We shook and moaned through his cum, and mine – his second, my seventh.

Sex with girls was only a pleasant, occasional diversion for me after that. I wanted cock.

 

Chapter Four – Alexandra bests Ryan

All I thought about for a long time after that was Mr. Willard’s cock and balls. Over me. Near me. On me. In me.

Almost overnight I became a full-blown, cock-hungry, faggotized sissy. And I loved it.

Mr. Willard [I know, why did I call him that after we were still fucking] and I had a white-hot affair.

At first, we hid everything, because I was three months from my eighteenth birthday. Then we hid things for three more months because it wouldn’t do for Mr. Willard to be known for fucking one of his students.

But that didn’t stop us from fucking. Every spare minute that I could be away from home I was in Mr. Willard’s manly arms, in his bed, attending to his pleasure and mine. He was a fantastic lover. And an excellent photographer. He taught me all about cosmetics and feminine beauty. He bought me all sorts of femmy lingerie, dresses, heels, skirts, and blouses. And photographed me in them.

And I wore them very well. Mr. Willard was continually erect when he saw me. And when I saw the pictures of me he began to gather, I knew why. I was a runty boy (except for my big monster), but a ravishing girl.

Even I got hard looking at my pictures.

Many times, during our matching free periods in school, I would meet Mr. Willard in his classroom. He would lock the door and we would consume each other. I would be in my boy’s clothes, of course, but I wore panties every day. I felt a little gay "doing it" while dressed as a boy, but it didn’t slow Mr. Willard one bit. He would be plowing my bottom as if I had just stepped off the pages of the Playboy lingerie specials.

Was he gay?

I don’t think so. But what did it matter?

My parents had pretty much known for some time that I was active sexually. They didn’t know, of course, that I was fucking Mom’s friends. And their daughters. And the town’s lady cop. And the head librarian. But they especially didn’t know that I was putting on stockings and garters and stiletto heels and taking it up the pooper from my male English teacher.

They were kind of "don’t ask, don’t tell" with me. I did well in school. I didn’t cause trouble or do alcohol or drugs. I wasn’t home much. All that seemed to be fine with them, since I had made parenting so easy for them.

I do think that they were surprised when the day after high school graduation I told them that I was going to dress as a woman full time and move in with Mr. Willard.

Yep. They blinked at that one all right.

Yep.

They didn’t handle it well. Or, looking back at it, maybe I didn’t handle it well. I was their only child and they wanted me to be happy. But they also wanted grandchildren. It’s not just a whim from people. It’s a biological urge. And Mr. Willard and I weren’t going to be churning out Vera, Chuck and Dave for them to sit on their knee and spoil with ice cream cones right before supper.

And, although I had the grades and the ability, I blew college off.

My parents and I fell out because of it and for six months or so, I didn’t see them. That hurt me terribly and it wounded them as well.

But I was in love.

Mr. Willard, who by then I was calling Frank, was a Disneyland of sexual delights. He fucked me daily in every possible orifice. My body tingled, my senses overloaded and my balls emptied several times a day.

And not just with Frank.

He was at school all day and I couldn’t watch reruns of Matlock for eight hours straight. So I began to venture out en femme.

As good fortune would have it, I ran into Mrs. Miller at the library one day. I was sitting in an easy chair with my sexy, stockinged, high-heeled legs exposed by my tiny miniskirt. As I drew the drooling attention of the male patrons, I heard a welcome, familiar voice.

"Ryan?" Mrs. Miller said, "Is that you?"

I was very happy to see my first sex instructor.

Through my tears of joy as I hugged her, I managed to say, "It’s Alexandra now, Mrs. Miller."

"Whatever," the sexy lady said. "Want to stop by my house for tea and cookies?"

I accompanied her home. We never actually got to the tea and cookies. I did fuck her for four sweet hours, however. It was more fun making love to Mrs. Miller wearing lipstick and lingerie than it had been as a guy. We did a lot more kissing and I ate her pussy for a good half hour. She seemed to like that a lot. I did manage to empty my balls into her pussy three lovely times as well. And once each into her bottom and mouth.

At dinner that night, I didn’t tell Frank about my tea and cookies with Mrs. Miller. But I think he tasted her pussy when he lovingly sucked my cock to a post-dinner, squealing eruption.

We never agreed to be exclusive. I was a little tart, looking up my old ladyfriends and finding them more eager than ever to share afternoon delight with a nicely cocked girl. But I couldn’t bring myself to submit to the lust of any of the legion of men who watched me wiggle around town.

Fucking women didn’t seem to be cheating on Frank.

Frank didn’t observe the same standard.

Six months into my "life partnership" with Frank, I found out two disappointing things.

First, Frank had been selling the pictures he had taken of me for a lot of money. None of which he shared with me.

Second, he had been fucking Chatsworth Osborne, Jr., a fifteen-year-old sophomore student of Frank’s, whom Frank dressed in frillies and called Thalia.

"Thalia’s youth excites me," Frank said. "It’s not you, it’s me."

Dumped!

Dumped? Me?

I was astonished. Then angry. I tried to claw the SOB’s eyes out. Then I threw things at him until he ran out of the house.

 

Chapter Five – The Prodigal Sissy

After a two-hour cry, I packed my things, swallowed my pride and drove Frank’s car to Mom and Dad’s house. Then I pissed all over the interior and threw the keys down the sewer.

In a spectacular display of unconditional love, Mom and Dad pulled a sobbing me into the house, held me and rejoiced at my return. They didn’t criticize or gloat. They helped me look only forward, not back. I was the prodigal sissy come to life. I owe them big for killing the fatted calf instead of rejecting me.

For the next few days, I dressed androgynously, without make-up, and moped about the house.

Then I got the call from Nick Nickerson.

Nick was the publisher of a brand-new magazine called "Panty Boy." He actually thought that a lot of straight men would spend $10.95 once a quarter or so for color, glossy pictures of 18+ sissies posing, masturbating to orgasm, and being fucked. He had finally gotten some venture capital and was ready for the first issue. He had seen my pictures and wanted me to be the cover girl for the first issue.

I was skeptical. Mom and Dad, surprisingly, were enthusiastic. "It’ll give you a purpose again, Honey," Dad said.

They were beautiful. And weren’t pushing me toward living as one gender or another.

Of course you know what happened. So much has been written about it. My "pictorial" in "Panty Boy" launched the publishing phenomenon of the 21^st Century. And brought men’s intense lust for sissies into the mainstream.

As part of the pictorial, I did my first hardcore pictures. Mr. Nickerson took charge of the male role in that pictorial and he fucked me ten times over a three-day period to get the 20 pictures that made publishing history.

I’m sure you remember the most famous one, where I’m in bed, almost naked, on my stomach. My seamed-black-stockinged legs are scissored apart. Both fear and lust are visible in my beautiful, shadowed, mascaraed and lined eyes as I look back over my right shoulder at Nick Nickerson. My cock is limp, pointing toward my toes and visible through my thighs. It’s drooling cum and a prior orgasm of mine has obviously drenched the sheets. Nick’s huge, cum-dripping cockhead is poised at the entrance of my tight, tiny hole.

And the second-most-famous picture, the full-length one, where my face is drenched with Nick’s cum. Nick soul kisses me and frigs my big cock to a geyser of an orgasm that drenches my garter belt and hose, dribbling down my legs to my high-heel-sandaled, painted toes. A lot of men have written me to say that they’ve cum over a hundred times looking at that picture. A man named "Al" man wrote me that his first thought every morning and last every night is of Al licking my cum off my toes as I squeal and cum for Al yet again.

Of course there were two nights during the three days of the photoshoot and I spent those in Nick’s bed. He was a lifelong lover of sissies and knew how to make each of my several-thousand nerve endings orgasm simultaneously, then one-by-one in slow succession.

Nick knew that a sissy wants to be treated like a sweet, submissive girl. Precious. Loved.

And when our time together was all over, he gave me some intriguing advice.

"You can do it all, Sweetie. You can have the wife and kids and be a successful tgirl model. My magazine will make tgirls part of the mainstream. Men will admit to themselves what they’ve always known in their hearts. That they adore sissies. I can help you."

What to do?

 

Chapter Six – Uncomplicated complications

I was 19 and living at home. I definitely adored being a girl, but it seemed so difficult at the time. Mom and Dad were tolerant, but so sweet and wonderful that I thought about doing something to please them, rather than what my gut was telling me. So I gave up Alexandra, or tried to, and went back to being Ryan.

Starting over was best done in a place where everyone didn’t know my secret identity. So I enrolled at the state university three states to the west. I was Mr. Straight Arrow, acting manly and dating girls, something I was still very good at.

The old thrill wasn’t there, but I still enjoyed the intimacy of physical contact with women. And seeing them in their lingerie. And wishing I was wearing it and being fucked by a man, instead of being the man doing the fucking.

The orgasms were pretty good too.

I must confess that when I moved out of the dorm into my own apartment junior year, I began to dress again. Like half the guys on campus, I would sometimes go to the Campus Store and buy "Panty Boy" magazine. I would go back to the apartment, do my face, shave my legs and get into Alexandra’s lingerie. Then I would open the magazine and look at all the pretty sissies. The pictorial where Nick Nickerson was fucking some poor sissyboy senseless usually made me cry. I wanted Nick to be fucking ME! I would picture how he or another gorgeous man would worship my body. Kissing, licking sucking and penetrating me to orgasm after joyful orgasm. That always made me blow my gooies into my soft hand. I would always finish by licking my hand clean, pretending that I was eating my lover’s cum. Alas, it was only mine.

I emailed Nick when I was a senior and he was overjoyed to hear from me. He was also dismayed that I had given up the public Alexandra and, of course, so was I. But living as Alexandra permanently just seemed too complicated to me. And living as both Ryan and Alexandra seemed impossible.

Nick began to forward to me the fan email he was had been receiving for me over the last three-plus years at the magazine. He said that he had rerun our pictorial on the magazine’s third anniversary and that it had stirred millions of testicles around the world. When he sent me fifty lust-filled, enthusiastic missives from overwrought, excessively randy men, I was shocked. So many men wanted to possess me. To love me and bring me to multiple, screaming orgasm. When he sent me fifty more the next day, I read them in stunned surprise and whacked myself repeatedly. When he sent me fifty fan emails a day for each of the next hundred days, I began to wonder if I had made a mistake.

I wasn’t totally anonymous. Once a week or so, I would be in a bus or a store and notice that a man or men I had never met would be studying my face. They would always be struggling with recognition, but their minds wouldn’t let them believe that the man they were looking at had once been Alexandra.

Then I met Megan Connelly. Megan was beautiful, sweet and loving. The kind of woman a man can grow old with. Because of Megan, I thought I would have the strength to go on as a man. She adored me and I loved her too. I couldn’t give her the manliness I would have expected from one of my imaginary lovers, but she seemed fine with me as I was. And she liked my huge, tireless cock too.

You already know that Megan and I were married. Two months after our graduation from college, with both families in blissful attendance.

I stopped reading Nick’s emails, but he kept sending them.

I got a job as an accountant for a company in our state capital. Megan was given a whip and a chair and started teaching sixth graders. During our second year of marriage, Megan became pregnant and then Jack was born. We were happy. We are happy. I could never give her and the kids up, believe me. Even though Alexandra was sort of a problem.

I suppressed Alexandra, but couldn’t do away with her.

My job was dull, but I was making good money - $45,000. Things were a little tight with Megan being a stay-at-home Mom, but we were making it.

Then things changed.

 

Chapter Seven – A New Job

When Jack was two, Kayla was born. She’s a delightful, sweet child and Megan and I are doubly blessed. Like most young families with children, though, we were broke. I thought about getting a part-time job, but that would have been too much time away from my family.

Then I got a call from Cunningham, Fonzarelli & Malph, the huge accounting firm across town. Would I come for a job interview the following Tuesday? The position was something particularly suited to my talents and would involve a significant pay increase.

Wow!

When I told Megan, she was very excited. I tried to calm her down, just in case I didn’t get the job, but I was excited too.

Then I found out that my interview was to be with no less than Warren Webber, the firm’s all-star, whiz-kid CEO. Mr. Webber, despite the affliction of an awful childhood nickname involving kitchen utensils, managed to transform a 1950s-style accounting firm into a world-class accounting power. The man was a legend and he was only 45!

Why would he want to interview me?

I bought a new suit – tight on our budget – and took the day off from work. Megan and I fucked extra nicely the morning of my interview and I went off to pursue my future.

I was treated extremely well by Mr. Webber’s secretary – almost as if Webber had given her specific instructions to do so. Then, at precisely the appointed moment, Webber left his office and greeted me.

He smiled broadly as he shook my hand and held it a little longer than necessary. He seemed extraordinarily affable to me – a lowly, 27-year-old accounting gnome. He took me into his office, closed the door and offered me a seat on his couch. I sat. Webber sat across from me in an easy chair.

We chatted about the weather. He asked me about my family. All very nice.

Then we got down to the gist of the interview.

"I’ve been looking for you for three years," Mr. Webber said. "I hired detectives. I’m so happy to be here with you."

Oh, no, I thought. This isn’t about accounting.

I began to tremble.

"Please don’t be afraid…..Alexandra," Webber said.

That didn’t help either. I wasn’t Alexandra anymore. Plus, the Alexandra he saw in those magazines – that was eight years ago. I had aged. Hadn’t I?

Webber looked concerned that he was scaring me. "Please, Mr. Clancy. Listen to me. I know who you are, but I would never expose you. Never. I know you’ve moved on. But I haven’t."

Huh. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"I’m in love with Alexandra. Obsessed, actually. But all I ask is that you listen to me for a few minutes."

I squirmed in my seat, but said, "OK." I was curious too. And flattered.

"I have a proposition for you. You keep your normal life. All of it. But you go to work for me, as Alexandra. At $500,000 per year. Guaranteed for ten years. Plus bonuses."

He had my attention. "What would you expect for that?" I asked.

"I want to be with you. Spend time with you. Make love to you, if you’ll allow it. But it’s also a business proposition. You’ll model and we’ll do films. We’ll make a lot more than what I’m paying you and you’ll get 10% of the profits as a bonus."

Wow.

"But I’m 27 and I haven’t been outside as woman in eight years."

Webber looked at me with an adoration that I found extremely exciting. He was a powerful, handsome man. And he adored me.

"You’ve gotten much more beautiful as the years have passed. In my private bathroom, I have some cosmetics and lingerie. Why don’t you prove to yourself and me that you’re still the most beautiful, alluring, feminine person on earth?"

Oh. My cock was hot, hard and throbbing. I cleared my throat and said, in a girlish voice that I hadn’t used in a long time, "OK. I’ll try. Mr. Webber."

Webber’s eyes ignited with joy. He led me to his huge, spacious bathroom, then gave me my privacy.

Webber had provided everything I would need to become someone I ached to be, but had denied myself for so long.

I took my time, showering, shaving, powdering and perfuming. It was fun to have smooth legs again. But what would Megan say when I came home shaved all over and smelling of perfume.

And maybe smelling of another man’s cum. A delicious little shiver passed through my body at that thought.

I made up my face a little sluttier than I once did (I was older, after all), then donned a long, blonde wig, feeling my IQ drop precipitously.

I dared a good, long look in the mirror. I was indeed still hot. Maybe hotter than when I was 19. I felt a joy that I had been missing for some years.

My cock was stiff and red and throbbing as I tucked it into a pair of lacy pink panties. I rolled my black, seamed stockings on and hooked them to my wispy garter belt. I slid a tiny, black nightie on, trembling as I felt its cool silk caress me. Then I stepped into my six-inch-stiletto sandal mules and glanced at myself in the full-length mirror.

Ohhhh. My body surrendered to the intense, stimulation. I convulsed and spurted my hot cum, drenching my panties as I cried out, screaming in joyous, feminine release.

The door flew open and an anxious-looking Webber appeared. "Are you all right?"

When he saw my panties dripping with cum, he realized what had happened and was very embarrassed for breaking in on me. When he took a further instant to drink in the feminine masterpiece that was once again Alexandra, he wobbled and his throat tightened.

He was so sweet and handsome. And he wanted me so badly that he had gone to extremes to have me. That will stir a girl’s passions.

The moment was frozen, but, oddly, I took charge. I stepped forward and submissively, with head bowed and panties sopping with cum, I stood inches from Webber. In my heels, I was almost as tall as he. Our lips were inches apart and suddenly touching each other’s soft, warmth.

Oh. My cock was as hard as it had been before my cum. As we kissed, Webber was shucking his clothes. He was trembling too. I was his dream and now I was in his arms.

He got all his clothes off without breaking our kiss. Not bad! My cock was peeking out of my sopping panties and suddenly I felt his cockhead rubbing against mine.

Still kissing Webber and sucking his sweet tongue, I reached down to feel his cock. It was very large – equal to my own and perhaps a bit thicker, with a large, cum-gorged bag of balls. Mmmmm. I tickled his balls and rubbed our peeholes together as we continued to kiss and embrace. The rogue was caressing my bottom and found my hole with the middle finger of his right hand. He grunted with lust as he entered me with one finger, then two and that did it for your good friend Alexandra. I began to spurt my sissyish cream in very large, thick, hot globs all over my man’s cock, balls, tummy, and thighs, crying out in astonishment at the intensity of my feelings.

My eruption triggered the first of Webber’s several, delightful ejaculations that wonderful day. For the first time in eight years, I was soaked in cum other than my own.

I began to sob uncontrollably. Webber was distraught. He sat in an easy chair and held me in his naked lap to comfort me. He kept asking me what was the matter and finally I told him.

"I missed being Alexandra so much. You’ve made me so happy!" I sobbed.

Well, those are words that will stiffen any man’s cock and Webber was no exception. He held me in his manly arms, kissing and comforting me as I stroked his cock. Then he pushed my nightie aside and began to kiss, lick and suck my right nipple. Then my left. Oh, a man’s adoration again after all the years of banishment. I came again, naturally, and messily.

Webber carried me to the office’s huge couch and laid me on it. He covered me with his body and rubbed his cock against mine. His kisses were suffocating me. I was possessed by a male animal in full heat. And I never wanted it to end.

His fingers were in my bottom. Loosening me. Preparing me for what I had been denied for all those dismal years. Surrender to the sexual urgency of a man’s lust. An airborne infantry company couldn’t have deterred Webber from sticking his cock into me and rutting to his gooey orgasm. He was a man possessed by his need for me. I was the center of his existence.

And I loved every second of it.

Webber held his cock at the gate to heaven. I whimpered with need and passion. He pushed and I screamed, wondering idly if his office was soundproof. If not, his secretary was going to get a big surprise.

I was filled with the lovely man’s cock. Carried off on a sampan of lust. Sailing a turbulent, bucking sea as we pitched and rolled through cummy waves. The man fucked me with a purpose. I was pleased that I could make him cum as hard as he did, then I was impressed when he regenerated his woodie without withdrawing and fucked me hard for 45 additional, glorious minutes. My red, sore clitty erupted on three separate occasions and we were both drenched with cum when he stiffened, jerked and filled me with his ball juice for the second time.

I was such a little cumhound that, after half an hour or so of cuddling and kissing, I got on my knees and gave Webber a proper blowjob. His cum was plentiful and delicious and he was so darned sweet and grateful, a condition, by the way, that seems to be permanent with Webber regarding me.

"You’ve made all my dreams come true today, Alexandra," Webber said. "I love you completely."

Webber was divorced with no kids, but there was the matter of my wife and children. I had to mention it.

Webber looked sad, but he said, "Having you a little is far superior to having any other woman all the time."

He called me a woman!

I kissed him and darned if he didn’t suck my girlish cocklet! Did an excellent job at it too and made me cum like a freight train. Maybe I really didn’t have a limit when it came to cumming. I was eager to find out.

We discussed terms of our business arrangement. I was to "work" for him 40 hours a week, usually 8 to 5, Monday through Friday. I was also to spend one weekend with him each quarter, then take a "business trip" with him once each year for seven days.

It sounded perfect, but I wasn’t certain that Megan would agree. Webber seemed certain that she would. "Women want financial security above all else," he said. "And you’ll still have an entirely normal life with her when you’re not working."

Maybe. I hoped he was right.

At around 3 p.m., we decided to clean up. I was afraid that when he saw me naked and without make-up in the shower that he would be turned off. He was so turned off that he pressed the front of me against the shower glass and fucked me until I almost fainted.

Dressed yet again as Ryan, I kissed him goodbye and promised to report for work the next day at nine. Then I ran to save my sore bottom, since he had sprung another chubby.

Oh my. Megan. When I got home, she was in turn incredulous that I had been in a job interview for eight hours, elated that I got the job, stunned by what I would be making for salary, angry that I had never told her about my crossdressing past, shocked at what I had to do to earn my new salary, furious at herself for even thinking about allowing me to do that, practical about what such income could do for us, then accepting of everything. Just as Webber said she would be. A wise man.

 

Chapter Eight – My life now

A year later, Megan has pretty much accepted what I do. She wishes I could make the same amount of money doing something else, but knows I can’t. So she accepts it.

Women are always more practical than men.

The kids just know that "Daddy goes to the office." They don’t know that my adoring boss fucks me every day. Several times.

I also do photo shoots and naughty videos that legions of my admirers have opened second mortgages to buy. Warren Webber is jealous when I make love to the "actors" in my photo shoots and videos, but I tell him it’s strictly professional and work, not fun. I’m lying. It’s fantastic to put on the best lingerie and make-up and have big-cocked studs fuck you so that men around the world can watch and produce rivers of cum.

I still enjoy my time with Warren best. He's a fantastic lover and totally devoted to me. My wife chafed at the week Warren and I spent in Aruba last winter, but she shouldn’t have been jealous of the location. We may as well have been at a Motel 6 in Davenport, Iowa. We fucked the whole week and hardly left the room.

The weekends Warren and I spend together are incredible too. I love my wife and kids, but I adore being Alexandra.

What would you do at this point if you were me?

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Gingerfred Man. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.