I've been out many times in full femaleclothing but clothing that was unisex aside from subtle differences. Iwanted to go out fully dressed. Heels, hose, dress, wig... the full nineyards! I noticed that there was going to be a transgender party thefollowing week and I was off the next day. I was determined to attend eventhought thoughts of drugs, orgies, group sex and all sorts of debaucherycame to mind. You see I was a bit of a plain Jane when it came to parties.I never smoked, seldom drank and never touched drugs aside from the overthe counter stuff. My entire life was about control and any loss ofcontrol scared me to no end. As the day grew near, my mind filled withexcuses not to go. It might rain, it might be too cold, too hot, toowindy, too dry, too nice... you name the excuse and I thought of it!The night of the party proved to be perfect. The wife was going out withher friends and would not be back until late. Even though she accepted whoI was, I just did not feel like. I desperately wanted to believe that it had all been real, despite the voice inside telling me that the women had been faking and it was all a sham. Thirty years of telling myself I was ugly, stacked up against one incredible experience. Why should a single experience win out?Except it wasn't a single experience. Angie hadn't been involved in this at all and she'd found me attractive. I could rationalize that away, since she seemed to idealize men. But still...I missed Angie. Yesterday had been incredible, but it felt, well, temporary. Unsustainable. Even if I could afford it, I couldn't live in the brothel, having such orgies every day. It wouldn't be enough. Being with Angie had felt deeper, more sustaining. It was lovemaking, not sex for fun.Love. Funny word. I wondered if I really knew what it meant.My mind meandered back through the orgy and I remembered Sherri stroking my scars, and then Rochelle playing with them. I realized that Angie had never appeared to even notice my.
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