The visions fast forwarded and Isaw myself standing in my parents' room in front of their mirror. I musthave been 9 or 10. I was wearing a bra stuffed with my dad's socksunderneath my mom's two piece silk pajamas with a silk house coat. Itfelt so so good and smooth and sexy against my skin. I felt the weightof my mother's pack of cigarettes and lighter as they hung in the pocketof the house coat. I pulled it out and watched myself holding it in themirror.I remember feeling so much anticipation and fear and shame as my youngfingers pulled a slim white cigarette from the pack and held it cocked bymy cheek in a feminine salute. What was I doing? What was I thinking?Standing there in my mother's night clothes, masquerading as a woman andpretending to smoke like one. What right did I have to be more than Iwas? And why did it feel like more? What was wrong with being a boy andgrowing up to be a man like my father?I thought about my father and wondered what it really meant to be. ."Honey, will you drive Tia to school? I'm late for my appointment!" shrieked Rona, my mother, already on her way to the garage, adding kindling to the tempest in my flesh. It was only 5:30 in the morning when I heard her called my dad. I had a restless sleep, rolling anxious in bed, aroused and dreamy, half-naked in a sheer chemise. My hands kept sliding between the inner smoothness of my thighs, my fingers inserted deep in my pussy hoping to calm the wet excitement oozing so hot and sticky inside.My breasts shook proud, engorged with the heat of my lust this early in the morning as I rubbed myself vigorously. My nipples popped out, indecent and puffy while my fingers traced and squeezed the pointed succulence of my tits—ooh, so silky and warm!—yearning for a lover's greedy mouth. Cradling the roundness of both, I crushed the velvety softness hard against my arms, gasping at the tingling pleasures at the hardened tips.I stood up, feverish, catching my breath. I inhaled deep. I can't.
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