The Indian Romance

I can even hear the squishy sounds they make as they rub together as I'm walking ... Fuck, that's so hot, knowing that in less than a minute I'll be sitting on a toilet, pulling his beautiful rigid cock down my neck, pulling his cheeks apart hard. If we have to make it a VERY quick quickie, I just work two sloppy fingers up against his prostate and milk long intense blasts of cum deep into my esophagus. And when he cums, I cum. My body has become conditioned that way through thousands of orgasms with these guys; every time one of these guys squirts his hot cream into any one of my holes, I convulse in orgasm around that throbbing, gushing cock.Whoever it is, I know he's already pressed his speed dial to a phone tree that notifies all the other guys about where we are. That's all they need to hear, that I'm fucking somewhere, and whoever is in the neighbourhood will quickly drop everything and find us, knowing that when I'm fucking, I NEVER want to stop convulsing in orgasm around. Prom dresses, short dresses, silky underwear, workout clothes, shorts, slacks, jeans. They all gave him a thrill but something in the back of his mind kept asking, no demanding, "More. More!"The demand began to transform his fantasies. He found the idea of passing as a woman more exciting than simply dressing as a woman. He started a long series of fantasies about being mistaken as a woman, or being dared to dress as a woman, or being accepted at an all girls' school through an administrative error. He entered a charity cross-dressing beauty pageant and then found himself alone, an unsuspecting stranger offering to give him a ride home. A friend in a theater make-up class needed a model for his class project and begged Ronnie to help him. Always he ended his sessions the same way, a throbbing load into a wad of tissue. And then back to his normal self, completely unaffected by what had just transpired. No one knew, and he felt fine.Like the stakes in a marathon poker game the ante.
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