Fireplace Memories
The music slowed and now she felt his lips against her ear. His breath exciting her as his tongue tickled her. They were now as one, their stomachs caressed, her pubic mound eagerly bumped against his, her breasts felt heavy and restrained as they pressed against his chest. They danced and danced until she felt that she would embarrass herself. But finally he steered her into a safe place. She whispered to him. ‘You are a good dancer.’ He kissed her tenderly and told her how beautiful she was, how desirable, how he loved her smell, her face, her body. She was swept up in his praise. He pressed her against a wall and caressed her bottom. ‘Do you love me.’ He asked. She was frightened to tell him how she felt. ‘Yes.’ ‘You must prove your love for me Stephanie.’ He said. ‘How can I prove it.’ She asked passionately. ‘You know Stephanie. Prove your love for me.’ She lifted his hand and placed it against her breast. ‘Do you like this?’ ‘Are they soft.?’ ‘Oh yes they are soft.’ ‘Prove. Dianna had filled the holes with tiny plastic training plugs to keep them open. With a little concealer, they weren't noticeable unless you were really up close and looking for them. My plucked eyebrows had to be replaced with prosthetics, attached with spirit gum. We had purchased both, plus the concealer, at the specialty theatrical makeup store. No matter how 'natural' they looked, it now felt unnatural to me to see the low, thick, shapeless male brows. The beautiful long nails, each attached with a drop of superglue, had been carefully pried off with an orange stick and put away in the vanity. The nails underneath were then lightly filed and buffed to some semblance of normalcy (Ugh! There's that word again).The Fourth Level of Hell would be making a conscious effort not to swish in front of my co-workers. I had to remember to move like a man? I had to concentrate on not making those small, graceful gestures with my hands as I talked, or reach up to play with my hair or earrings,.
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