1. Trust


    Date: 7/17/2015, Categories: BDSM, Shemales, Author: klammer, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    she regard that as an invitation? Better be safe. &#034M-m... Yours?&#034 I heard myself say, uncertainly. That *chuckle* again. It was unnerving. &#034Are you asking to come to my house, sissy? You haven't forgotten the rules, have you?&#034 Well, that settled the question of the invitation quite neatly, didn't it? I'd just invited myself. Okay, how do I get out of this? Ask her to my place instead? Oh, hell, she settled that already. Maybe she'd change her mind about the invitation. Or about bed, at least. Just go for it, idiot, advised the Romantic. Sexy, male voice, with a pickup line, so she knows you're still planning on changing the rules. &#034Hey, babe, I make a killer steak. Give me a place to cook, and I'll make you a meal fit for a Que...&#034 Ooh, *nice* turn of phrase, the Cynic applauded, sarcastically. And that quaver in your voice! So manly! &#034What a lovely offer!&#034 Nancy exclaimed. &#034I'd love it, sweetie. Why don't you come over around seven?&#034 I went home and paced, occasionally blinded by tears. Tears of rage, tears of fear, tears, perhaps, of weakness. They feel a little different, I guess, but they all taste the same. And when your emotions are roiling so badly that you can't tell what you're feeling, it's difficult to sort out what sort of tears you're crying. The rage was directed equally at myself, for being a spineless, weepy, pantywaisted wimp, and at Nancy for making *me* be one. The fear... that was easier. I was afraid of everything. ...
    Of being laughed at, especially. Of being humiliated. Of losing Nancy. Of turning into someone I wouldn't want to know. The weakness... well, I guess it's enough to say that I was pacing in my favorite pair of panties. I'd changed as soon as I got home. I still had that bag packed, with my stuff in it. But when I left the house, I left it there. I was having second thoughts (are they still second, the thousandth time they race around the inside of your head, sticking their tongues out and jeering?) all the way to Nancy's house. Parked. Blew my nose and wiped my eyes. I got out of the car. You know how, when you do something over and over, it becomes second nature, so that you don't even notice you've done it? It falls down into your pre-conscious. Like riding a bicycle, the famous example. Or putting on the turn signal in a car. On the way over, I'd been astonished several times to realize that I had done things legally. My preconscious was driving, the Comittee was running around in the belfry of my mind, screaming and wailing and scaring the bats. And you know how, when you've visited someone often enough, you stop even noticing the route between the car, or the bus stop, or whatever, and the door? This wasn't one of those times. The panic was infectious, apparently, and my preconscious came down with a bad case and took to its bed. Every step was an effort, every sight was brand new, searing, in living color. Good thing I wasn't chewing gum. I never would have made it to ...
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