She slipped by an Oldsmobile–’84 or ’85, she wasn’t sure which–and admired the curve of its bumpers in the same way some women might look at...a nice tight ass on a construction worker. She loved cars. It was just that simple. Then she spotted it. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a flash of red in a nearby vacant lot, spotlighted by an old streetlight as it sputtered and died. She blinked, unable to believe that she’d actually seen what she thought she’d seen, and ran over to the lot. But last night I'dbeen cropped into a regulation coiffure. Hair cuts for me were alwaysbuzz types - clippers, no scissors - but this slippery, gleaming wighasn't been cut for years and years.The skirt hangs almost forgotten from my fingers. I should hang it up,but I have just noticed something more fundamentally worrying than long,red hair. Tits.My blouse, which had been so slack around the chest, is now well filledin just the way its designer had intended. The filling is round,generous, but. I met my husband in a night club, he seemed to be extraordinary and witty chap, though I wasn’t in love with him, but there was some attraction, I’d say. A lot of factors influenced me that time: my relatives, age, and public opinion, in short no sooner had I thought of that as we got married. I liked it a lot in the beginning, calling my husband “my honey and darling”, bragging about him before my girlfriends and everything was OK.However, by degrees, it bored me more and more; at first I. From then on, Frances was a regular visitor.Mum approved that he was getting a bath in our house, but eventually,of course, she was going to see him unclothed, and probe until shefound out why his skinny body had a softness and curve and why hisgenitals were so atrophied. That night I heard her talking to Dad."That kid's taking his mother's Pill to turn himself into a girl," shesaid."Why does his mother need the Pill?" asked Dad. "Her husband buggeredoff, didn't he?" She's on the game. Get's.
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