"Herbert," she said. "Why are you wearing my clothes?"With an uncharacteristically high heart the man replied in a scratchy, squeaky voice: "I am not ...erbert. I am Helen. And these are my clothes. Do you like them?"The man gracefully rose from the table. He loved sunny, shining mornings like this. His brawny, hairy arms bulged forth from a sleeveless, ankle-length floral print dress several sizes too small for his bulky frame. The man's feet, narrowly squeezed into silver-accented women's. "Do what you want to me – as hard as you want! Split me into halves if you need to! I ain't no snobby soccer mommy made of glass like your ex-wife."Darren gets somewhat embarrassed at that mention of his ex-better half as I take pride in my skills to tempt him more. And when he starts pounding into me in a slow and steady rhythmic course, he's sticking a great deal of himself into each long and deep thrust."Do you like that slut?" Darren asks, as our bodies slap together and the bed squeaks. More

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