I'd been doing a lot of running at the nearby high school track to dealwith the stress, but all it did was make me to lose 15 pounds in threemonths.Fo... me, stress often led to cross-dressing. Well, maybe just plain oldhormonal surges were to blame. But stress made it harder to resist theurge when it hit."Urge" is probably too soft a word. When the compulsion to cross-dresshit, I called it being "in the grip." When I was in the grip, thoughts ofwhat I would wear as a girl, and how I would look. I barely get the door locked before I'm fumbling to get my belt buckle undone. My pants and boxer briefs go down in one swift motion, bunched up around my ankles. I sit down on the closed toilet seat and spread my thighs and legs as wide as I can considering my feet are basically tied up. I can see the wet spot in my underwear. God, I'm already so wet. My head tips back, mouth open wide, and there are low moans escaping my throat (I hope no one hears). My hand feverously works my cunt. Its. It was in our blood.She reached into the crystal bowl in the middle of the table, picked up a piece of plastic fruit to throw at me, but then stopped, and looked at me strangely, “Kike cradle? What the hell’s that? That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”“I just made it up.”“Sounds like something stupid you would make up.” She placed the plastic orange back in the bowl. “All right, come on. Sit down and let’s figure out what we’re gonna do with him.”There would be no fancy urn for Stan. He. “Ok I'll turn it down, but I'm not turning it off, so you can get up now.” Mom slowly used the near empty shelves beside her to pull herself to her feet, all the while you can still hear the faint buzzing of the vibrator still lodged inside her. When she finally stood all the way up she glared at Aunt Lisa with that “you coulda helped me” face and fixed her clothes, just as one of the stores workers had came around the corner. “Is everything ok over here? What happened?” “I tried to reach one.
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