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Trust
Date: 7/17/2015, Categories: BDSM, Shemales, Author: klammer, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster
tell them myself, in my college years. In grad school, though, one had broken up with me, using that for an excuse, and my armor had gotten a lot thicker. She had claimed that I would eventually become a transsexual, and I suppose I had been in reaction against that ever since, refusing to admit that, at some deep level, I *did* want to be a girl. It was a hard thing to figure out, anyway, since I knew, quite clearly, that I also *liked* being a boy, that I loved sex, and that I was a pretty good lover. I was using an old technique to avoid cross-dressing, one I'd pioneered in college. It depended on the fact that I smoked. Basically, it was aversion therapy. I waited until I felt the familiar signals -- sweaty palms, dry mouth, empty stomach, racing heart, and a fixation on pink, soft, and lacy. Then I went and got the one pair of panties I had left in the house, and put them on. And put out a cigarette. On my arm. Or sometimes my leg. The pain was... extreme. In college, a friend's girlfriend had learned what I was doing (I told her, proud of myself for having figured out how to stop), and she had had a fit. She was angry with me for hurting myself, not for dressing up. This was the same woman who had been angry with me, when I told her that I liked wearing women's clothes, because I stole them. On the other hand, the one time that she had taken me shopping, she had made me pay at the register, refusing to take my money and do it for me, so I knew that she didn't *really* ...