1. Trust


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

    rolls out of the oven, and started to set them down on the table. The wooden table. You know, the one with the finish on it. She snatched at the pan, burning her hand as she pushed it toward the sink, and then stopped, visibly gathering her temper. I dropped the pan and gulped. &#034I-I'll clean it up,&#034 I said, dejectedly. My leg hurt, and I'd just proven myself utterly incompetent, and the fact that my shoes slipped on the floor reminded me that I was dressed for Halloween. &#034No, you *won't!&#034* she replied, sharply. She opened her eyes and glared, then turned to yank the freezer door open and get some ice for her hand. &#034You'll go to the bedroom, sit down, and *wait!&#034* I flushed. &#034And then,&#034 she added, still biting her words off, &#034We'll go *out* to eat!&#034 I nodded, and stepped backward, trying to ignore the throbbing agony in my leg. I didn't think she was going to have much sympathy. I had to pass that damn mirror again, though. I managed not to stop. But there was one on the bedroom dresser, too, that I had kept my back turned to the whole time. I flopped into the desk chair, and then blushed. Stood up, smoothed the skirt underneath me, and sat down again. At least that way I didn't feel the fabric of the chair directly on my... my underwear. I couldn't help it, I turned to look at the mirror. I'd only had glances at myself, and they had been disturbing enough. I looked, then closed my eyes and looked away. Took a deep, steadying ...
    breath, and looked back. I had never been much of a fan of mirrors, dressing up at home. I'm nearly six feet tall, and skinny. 32-26-34 -- it sounds sexier than it is. I'd once tried padding a bra, but no matter how little I put in, it always looked like I had tennis balls taped to my chest. Or ping pong balls. No curves, all angles. Nice legs, the ladies said, but boys' legs, more muscular than pretty. Big hands and feet. I always looked completely ridiculous, which was one of the saving graces; I'd never been tempted to try to &#034pass as female.&#034 I still looked ridiculous -- mostly. The pink dress was a little girl's dress, or a costume; nobody six feet tall and angular should wear a dress like that. The shoes more or less matched the dress, except that they were boats. I wear a 10 1/2 in men's sizes. Hairy calves sticking out of lace stockings -- christ, almost the definition of 'camp.' I probably could have dealt with that. What was disturbing was the pretty face perched on top of this monstrosity. My face *could* pass, now that the mustache was gone. The hair was pulled back in a very authentically feminine touch, not at all overdone; that displayed my ears, which were sporting a pair of little gold butterflies. The makeup I was wearing was not the awkward stuff that I did for myself, or the somewhat dramatic effect that Nancy had put me in on that fateful Saturday. It was understated, too, and it basically turned my face from being unremarkably boyish into being... ...
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