thegrandchef
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Mar 17, 2002
- Posts
- 115
Sandra stood before the full-length mirror, taking the opportunity of some spare time to fool around. Amusing herself with trying to attain the feeling of a man, in her female body, she reached down to grab her crotch. Extending her middle finger she teased her anus forward and held her pelvis thrust forward, imagining that her clit were loose and wobbly. She laughed at her nerd-like appearance, and thought of all the old men who wore their pants too high. “They must never get erections anymore,” she thought, “those dress-pants are too thin to conceal even the slightest of growths.”
Going a step further she made her hand into a gun, and stuck her thumb inside herself, making a phallus of the “gun’s” barrel. But an erotic shudder moved through her, as she pressed against the inside of her sensitive pubic bone. Pausing, she made some silly shooting noises while thrusting forward her “gun” with each shot, “pew! pew!” before all-too-slowly withdrawing her moistened thumb.
Turning about-face, she stuck her head between her legs and made a face at herself in the mirror, upside-down. “Not sexy,” she thought, and smiled an odd smile. Parting her rotund cheeks, anatomically examining herself, her face grew more and more red. She stood up and wavered slightly in the dizziness that immediately followed.
//
Hank stood before a polished glass door at the nudist colony, no one was around. He tucked his junk behind himself and made for himself a “mangina.” Pushing his butt out to accentuate the recess of his crotch, his chest was thus curved forward. Pursing his lips and winking at himself, he laughed and let his slightly engorged package swing back to the front. Finding this amusing, he did a little walk back and forth, wagging his hips the way most women do when they walked. “Hahaha,” he chuckled and shook his hips back and forth, waving his wang at his reflection. He flexed his biceps, shot off a toothy smile and headed towards the bar while scratching his ass.
//
“You’re a goof,” Hank said to Sandra.
“Yup,” she replied. “You too.”
“Yup.”
///
The tawdry tart procured her primy placket for the drunken sailor on his shore-leave. In turn, he procured his penis. “At attention like a soldier,” he resented her using the expression, but not much, as he would soon he would be “swimming” in her seas, so he didn’t correct her coarse composition. “May I dip my quill in your ink,” he slurred the rum-powered words together while flashing her a half-debonair half-drunk stare. She giggled and yielded to his advances, their farce of a courtship lasting no more than one round of drinks before they proceeded to the sailor’s bunk.
///
Okay Lit'ers, any major fault-lines you noticed, which blew the "cover" of the fiction (stopped you from taking the tidibt seriously)? Any other comments?
Going a step further she made her hand into a gun, and stuck her thumb inside herself, making a phallus of the “gun’s” barrel. But an erotic shudder moved through her, as she pressed against the inside of her sensitive pubic bone. Pausing, she made some silly shooting noises while thrusting forward her “gun” with each shot, “pew! pew!” before all-too-slowly withdrawing her moistened thumb.
Turning about-face, she stuck her head between her legs and made a face at herself in the mirror, upside-down. “Not sexy,” she thought, and smiled an odd smile. Parting her rotund cheeks, anatomically examining herself, her face grew more and more red. She stood up and wavered slightly in the dizziness that immediately followed.
//
Hank stood before a polished glass door at the nudist colony, no one was around. He tucked his junk behind himself and made for himself a “mangina.” Pushing his butt out to accentuate the recess of his crotch, his chest was thus curved forward. Pursing his lips and winking at himself, he laughed and let his slightly engorged package swing back to the front. Finding this amusing, he did a little walk back and forth, wagging his hips the way most women do when they walked. “Hahaha,” he chuckled and shook his hips back and forth, waving his wang at his reflection. He flexed his biceps, shot off a toothy smile and headed towards the bar while scratching his ass.
//
“You’re a goof,” Hank said to Sandra.
“Yup,” she replied. “You too.”
“Yup.”
///
The tawdry tart procured her primy placket for the drunken sailor on his shore-leave. In turn, he procured his penis. “At attention like a soldier,” he resented her using the expression, but not much, as he would soon he would be “swimming” in her seas, so he didn’t correct her coarse composition. “May I dip my quill in your ink,” he slurred the rum-powered words together while flashing her a half-debonair half-drunk stare. She giggled and yielded to his advances, their farce of a courtship lasting no more than one round of drinks before they proceeded to the sailor’s bunk.
///
Okay Lit'ers, any major fault-lines you noticed, which blew the "cover" of the fiction (stopped you from taking the tidibt seriously)? Any other comments?
