He ran the flat of his hands softly up the sides of my body, burning me with slow, hard desire, and I felt his fingers moving to pull at my bra. I felt it gently snap away from me and he ran his hands over my back, forward towards my breasts, softly cupping them from the sides before maneuvering his hands underneath the straps, letting his fingertips slowly graze my skin as he ran it down my arms. As he pulled it completely off, he stepped back, taking in what he could of my body with the dim light. My eyes had adjusted more as well, and I could see his classic lower-lip-under-the-teeth smile, the look he had given me every time I saw him for months, years maybe, showing me in his gaze that this is what he thought of every time he looked at me, this is what he wanted every time he smelt me and touched me and spoke to me. Every time he thought of me, this is what he was thinking of, and it made me burn and pulse between my legs. I leaned back into the wall, my breasts round and soft. Perhaps through some sense of obligation, I felt that I should subjugatemyself to Jen and her life. I tried to defer myself to her, to let herdominate. But as she went about her life, awkwardly at best, I was there.Observing. No. Experiencing. Living. Feeling. Influencing more andmore, in spite of myself. In spite of my imagined obligation to honorher existence. I didn't fully grasp that it was still ME, a man, a former man,responsible for the direction of this life now. Physically I was Jen.Physically I was a woman. It was up to me to shape this life. Only gradually had I come to realize that. The first night after hostessing I'd come home and had a glass of merlotand some cigarettes as was often her pattern. At least I told myself itwas. It was late but not by the schedule of her life. Sometimes she'dgo out with others. Sometimes she even dated. I knew that. But I knewsometimes she just liked coming home and relaxing. I also knew that onsome nights she'd masturbate. On.
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