"Hannah?" Jess asked."She knew we were coming over to see you, said she would be happy for me to mention it." That is how two weeks later, Jessica and I came to be sitting in our car outside the local railway station waiting for Hannah to arrive. The sleepless nights her impending visit had caused me were now a distant memory.How tall she looked in those heels. Over six foot, easily. That first glimpse of her beauty amid the weekend travellers stole my breath away — wouldn't give it back, either. Her red hair abundant and bright in the afternoon sunshine meant you could do nothing else but stare. Stunning as she was, she looked uncertain, fretfully even, scanning the passing faces in the hope of spotting us.If truth be told, I'd half expected her not to show. But there she was, five-eleven of elegantly proportioned femininity packaged in the cutest of short, flower-print, cotton summer dresses, her lavender overnight bag trailing behind. She looked a sensation, and I wondered where. If this wasn't real, what was?It certainly felt real to Guinevere, as it always did when she masturbated, something she did as often as she could and something for which, like all hermaphrodites in the world, she had a remarkable facility. The semen when it came spurting out, hot and creamy, had a viscous tangibility that surely could only be real.Except, as Guinevere reflected, an arc of semen spurting free and ascending into the air to fall silently onto the grass lawn ahead of her, this wasn't real at all. None of it was. Everything she knew, in the whole of the world, from the Republic of Excalibur to the Kingdom of Charm, from the great mountain of Everhard to the wide River Charon, from the city of Delight to her own small town of Emerald, none of it, not one atomic particle of it, not one scintilla, was real.But it felt real, Guinevere agonised, her huge penis flopping deflated between her thighs, a finger worrying a nipple which remained aroused even after her penis had given.
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