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Plimsolllover
Bronze Member
Chapter 7 (Part 3)
Chapter 7 (Part 3)
“Are you OK?” I asked my neighbour in a spirit of sisterly concern.
“You haven’t got a spare towel have you?” came a young woman’s voice with a slight estuary twang.
I looked around the cubicle to ascertain that there wasn’t any towel in it at all let alone a spare one. “Sorry?” I asked her in the hope of clarification.
“My sodding period’s started a day early and would you believe it just had to happen on the one day when I forgot to check my bag for spare towels. Have you got a spare one or can you get one for me from the dispenser?”
“I think I’ve got a spare in my bag,” I said, relieved to now know what she was talking about. I searched my bag and took the opportunity for some genuine female bonding. “I’ve been caught like that a couple of times. It’s so embarrassing isn’t it?”
“Oh you’re too right there,” she said. “It’s really nice of you to do this.”
“Us girls have got to stick together haven’t we? Otherwise life would be even harder for us than it is.”
“Too right,” she agreed and we both laughed.
Emma’s preparations came up trumps again as I found two sanitary towels in their wrappers. “Is a normal ultra with wings OK for you?” I asked her.
“You’re a lifesaver, thanks ever so much,” she said thankfully. “I’m not leaving you short am I?”
“No it’s fine, really,” I assured her. “Mine’s not due for a couple of weeks. I’ve just got ovulation pains to cope with at the moment. Is yours heavy or light?”
“Mine’s really heavy on the first day but it’s all over by the third so I guess I can be thankful for that,” she replied.
“You’re the opposite of me. Mine’s light but it lasts a week. I often wish I could get it over with quickly like yours.”
I bent down to pass the towel to her under the partitioning and I caught sight of a pair of very attractive dark skinned ankles and a pair of equally attractive long and slim feet in a pair of clean white Keds plimsolls. I couldn’t believe my luck. I always longed to talk to pretty girls about their plimsolls whenever I saw them and now I had a chance to do so without any risk of appearing perverted.
“Your feet look lovely in your plimsolls, they look so pretty on you,” I complimented her.
“Oh thank you,” she replied with pleasure in her voice and rewarded me by turning her feet over and back and then stretching her feet forward while pointing her toes. “I feel really sexy and girly when I wear them. My boyfriend’s crazy for me when I’ve got them on. I certainly have some fun then, I can tell you.”
The Underpants of Doom rendered an erection impossible but I still had an excited feeling all the same as I imagined her naked with her plimsolls gleaming white against the dark skin of her legs wrapped around her boyfriend’s torso while they engaged in very passionate and very athletic sex. I wondered if it was anything like what Emma felt when she was getting turned on. “Make a video and email me the link,” I half-joked.
“I might just do that,” she called to me happily as she left her cubicle. “See you; and thanks again,” she added as I heard her leave.
I thought about Bill while I struggled painfully out of and back into the Underpants of Doom in order to pee (sitting down, of course). He might well be attracted to me but, I reasoned, many encounters never get beyond the stage of initial attraction and, since tonight was the only night we would ever spend in each other’s company – at least with me in my present guise – the important thing was to enjoy to the full what could be had and not waste time regretting what could not be had and was not meant to be.
When I emerged from the Ladies’ I recognised my recent neighbour by her plimsolls as she stood with some friends at the other side of the bar and waved to her. She was medium height with Italian or Greek appearance and very pretty, like a Mediterranean Julia Roberts, with long dark hair in a loose wavy perm tumbling to her shoulders and back. She was simply but attractively dressed in a pink low cut close fitting long sleeved top with a mid length floral patterned skirt nicely emphasising her knees and her white plimsolls. When she saw my ballerina costume she put her hands to her face in surprise and mouthed ‘Oh my God’ with a huge grin on her face as I returned to my seat and resumed my conversation with Bill, feeling much happier and with my confidence restored.
We shared several more rounds and continued talking until I, assuming the role of the sensible one out of Emma and myself, declared it was time we were getting home as we were due to catch an early flight to Paris. As we left the bar we blew kisses to our Australian barman friend and we emerged into the cool night air with Emma clinging unsteadily to Wes – the pair of them still laughing and joking together – while I, better able to hold my drink, held hands with Bill as I walked in a floating kind of way by his side. Wes broke of from his yarn spinning to make ‘why don’t you lovely ladies come back to our apartment for a night cap’ type noises but Emma and I remained resolute.
“But we’ll escort you back to your place,” Emma giggled, “London’s a dangerous place at this time of night. They still haven’t caught Jack the Ripper yet.”
“That’s very decent of you ladies,” Bill smiled. “We’re still strangers in town and liable to get ourselves lost.
We managed to navigate ourselves on a meandering course to the smart block of flats containing the company let where Bill and Wes were staying. Just before we got there we came to a small side alley which acted as an access road for service vehicles. Still giggling at Wes’s non-stop flow of now somewhat confused witty repartee, Emma steered him into the alley and pushed him against the wall at a spot where we couldn’t be seen from the main road. Taking my cue from her whilst wondering what she was up to, I did the same to Bill.
“Hey, are you girls about to pull a Thelma and Louise stunt on us?” Wes laughed.
“We will if you don’t behave yourselves,” giggled Emma. Turning to me with a wicked glint in her eye she said, “OK Charlotte, let’s get down on our knees and get their pants down. We’re going to give them a souvenir of Little Old England they won’t forget in a hurry, at least if they still remember it when they’re sober.”
When after being slightly slow on the uptake I realised she was talking us about performing oral sex on them my stomach lurched for a second before my alcohol bolstered spirit of adventure kicked in. ‘What the hell, why not?’ I thought. ‘If I can’t suck my own I might as well suck someone else’s to see what it’s like and I am supposed to be a girl, after all.’
I knelt down in front of Bill, fumbled with his trouser belt and fly for a few seconds and then pulled down his jeans and boxers. He was semi-erect in his alcohol hazed excitement but with his inebriated state his length seemed to be struggling to emerge from the dark thicket of his pubic hair. For a moment I had scruples about it feeling unpleasant to the touch, but to my relief, his clean cut image and personal habits extended to his private areas and as I began to stroke him he felt clean and smooth and dry. I grasped him firmly and held him to my mouth, then the absurdity of the situation hit me and I had to struggle not to laugh; here was I, a straight guy dressed as a girly ballerina, about to perform oral sex on another straight guy who thought I was a girl. Then for a moment I scrupled as to whether a quick blow job in a back alley was really his style but when I asked him in a whisper if he felt OK about it his somewhat abstracted reply put my mind at rest.
“Hey, don’t you mind about it,” he drawled. “I’m married to the job so I’m happy to take whatever I’m offered.”
I closed my eyes, carefully guided him into my open mouth and gingerly closed my lips just behind the fleshy flange around the base of his helmet. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it felt just like sucking on Emma’s breast: soft and warm and slightly yielding to the press of my lips around it. I looked up at Bill. He was looking upward with his eyes closed, muttering under his breath while he steadied himself against the wall with his open palms pressed flat against the brickwork. ‘Please whatever you do, keep you eyes closed,’ I entreated him in my mind. Having a quick exploratory suck on another man’s manhood was one thing but there was no way I was ever going to let another man come in my mouth, or any other part of me for that matter.
I tested out my quickly worked out (on the fly, as it were) plan by giving the still exposed part of his length some vigorous stroking as I took him back out of my mouth and then cupped my other hand closely around his head that was just starting to dribble. I was relieved to see his attitude unchanged. I repeated the stroking and cupping treatment a couple more times and then on the third stroke, with a long groaning gasp, he came into my hand. I had to surreptitiously twist my hand around him to contain his load as his sticky warm milk began to flow out between my fingers. I gathered up what I could with my other hand and rubbed it into his length.
Thankfully, he kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds as he enjoyed his aftermath. “Oh you are so good”, he smiled.
“How do I compare with all the other girls?” I asked him cheekily as I began to clean my hands with a wet wipe from a packet that Emma’s wonderfully foresighted handbag packing had provided for me, knowing full well what his answer would be. I was right.
“Baby, you’re the best,” he sighed.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I teased as I finished wiping his helmet.
He opened his eyes at last just in time to see me finish wiping around my mouth with a clean wet wipe. “You taste very nice,” I twinkled at him as I pulled up his trousers and fixed him back in. I stood up to him again and curled my arms around his neck.
“It’s too bad you’re going away tomorrow. We could have had some great times together,” he smiled, with genuine regret in his eyes.
“Ships passing in the night,” I smiled back sympathetically. “But we had a great time tonight. Thank you for that. And thank you for what you said to me about beauty being on the inside. I’ll always remember you for that.”
I was amazed at how much I was able to absorb myself into my female persona as I lifted up the heels of my black plimsolls in order to be able to plant my lips squarely on to his and began to kiss him passionately, although as I felt through my black leggings his suddenly renewed erection pressing against my groin I was glad of the impregnable and unyielding barrier of the Underpants of Doom between us; otherwise my own mounting excitement, as his hands stroked my pony tail, descended my spine and smoothed down over my silly frilly little tutu skirt before rising up again beneath my skirt to rest on my bottom, would have given me away.
After several minutes of passionate interaction Emma and I both reluctantly disengaged from our partners and we all walked a little sadly together to the entrance of their block. We kissed and made our goodbyes and they waved to us from the foyer until the lift took them away and we never saw them again.
Emma and I had a long walk home arm in arm and plenty of time to talk. She began to recover her sensibility in the cool evening air as we huddled close together in our thin coverings of black leotards and leggings for warmth. As we walked we flexed our toes inside our black plimsolls against the cold being drawn up from the pavement through the rubber soles of ours plimsolls and our thin day-glo ankle socks into our feet. We preferred to continue sharing our close feminine companionship in this way rather than opt for the comfort of a taxi.
“I’m so sorry I got you into that,” she giggled. “I really don’t know what came over me. The wine must have flowed a little too freely.”
“It’s OK,” I smiled. “I quite enjoyed it actually. They were nice guys and they deserved a bit of fun for treating us like ladies; though they probably don’t think of us as ladies so much now.” We both laughed. “You seemed to get on with Wes OK, although from what I could see you seemed to be on the same level most of the time,” I observed.
“You’re right there,” she agreed with feeling. “He was fun to be with but that was all, really. He never really let his guard drop and he didn’t share much about himself at all. He was really frustrating. He had a nice dick though,” she giggled again.
“I’m glad you copied my trick with the hand,” I said to her. “I would have felt really cut up if you’d actually let him come in your mouth.” I squeezed her hand to emphasize the point.
“I know you would,” she smiled affectionately to me, “and I’m flattered that you would. In fact that means a lot to me. And there’s no way I would have let him come in my mouth. The only taste of man I want from now on is yours, especially when it’s wrapped up like this.” She stroked my false breasts through the tight stretch of my leotard. I so wished they were real at that moment
We stopped walking and I, forgetting for a moment who I was meant to be, drew her into my arms and began to kiss her. We kissed for a long moment in the deserted residential road until a passing motorcyclist, seeing two girls dressed as ballerinas in black leotards, tights and plimsolls kissing passionately in a tight embrace, beeped his horn as he sped by. Suddenly recollecting ourselves, we continued walking as we laughed in our embarrassment. Then I had a sudden thought.
“What would we do if we did happen to meet them again when we told them we would be going around the world for six months? I’d be alright but they’d recognise you straight away.”
“That’s easy,” she grinned, “I’ll tell them I met you on the way to the airport and that you went away without me!”
As we came into the welcoming warmth of her flat she hugged me and asked, “So how do you like being one of the girls?”
“I like it a lot, you definitely haven’t seen the last of Charlotte,” I enthused, returning to my normal voice. “I love dressing up to feel girly and sexy and I love going out in girly sexy clothes. But more than that I like how people open up to me more and give me much more attention as a woman, even if some of the attention is the sort I wouldn’t necessarily choose. I really liked having the freedom to observe a person and relate to them more closely on more levels. I learned a lot more about Bill relating to him as a woman than I ever would have done trying to relate to him as a man. Even so,” I grimaced, “it will be a relief in one way at least to get back to being a man. These bloody underpants are starting to kill me.”
“Will you stay as a girl for just a little longer?” she smiled as I noticed her advancing on me.
“What are you doing?” I smiled broadly as she proceeded to push me back down onto the sofa and get on top of me.
“I want to check again to see if kissing a girl is more exciting than kissing a boy,” she beamed.
My temperature begin to rise and my tightly restricted manhood begin to protest again even more vociferously as her lips fused on to mine and I felt her breasts pressing into mine through the thin lycra membrane of my leotard and I heard the mingling rustle of our tutu skirts as her groin rubbed against mine through the equally thin stretches of our leggings, and her black plimsolls began to rub against my legs through the sheer black nylon that moulded them.
She wore black slip-on plimsolls in bed that night. I was not wearing underpants.
(End of Chapter 7)
Chapter 7 (Part 3)
“Are you OK?” I asked my neighbour in a spirit of sisterly concern.
“You haven’t got a spare towel have you?” came a young woman’s voice with a slight estuary twang.
I looked around the cubicle to ascertain that there wasn’t any towel in it at all let alone a spare one. “Sorry?” I asked her in the hope of clarification.
“My sodding period’s started a day early and would you believe it just had to happen on the one day when I forgot to check my bag for spare towels. Have you got a spare one or can you get one for me from the dispenser?”
“I think I’ve got a spare in my bag,” I said, relieved to now know what she was talking about. I searched my bag and took the opportunity for some genuine female bonding. “I’ve been caught like that a couple of times. It’s so embarrassing isn’t it?”
“Oh you’re too right there,” she said. “It’s really nice of you to do this.”
“Us girls have got to stick together haven’t we? Otherwise life would be even harder for us than it is.”
“Too right,” she agreed and we both laughed.
Emma’s preparations came up trumps again as I found two sanitary towels in their wrappers. “Is a normal ultra with wings OK for you?” I asked her.
“You’re a lifesaver, thanks ever so much,” she said thankfully. “I’m not leaving you short am I?”
“No it’s fine, really,” I assured her. “Mine’s not due for a couple of weeks. I’ve just got ovulation pains to cope with at the moment. Is yours heavy or light?”
“Mine’s really heavy on the first day but it’s all over by the third so I guess I can be thankful for that,” she replied.
“You’re the opposite of me. Mine’s light but it lasts a week. I often wish I could get it over with quickly like yours.”
I bent down to pass the towel to her under the partitioning and I caught sight of a pair of very attractive dark skinned ankles and a pair of equally attractive long and slim feet in a pair of clean white Keds plimsolls. I couldn’t believe my luck. I always longed to talk to pretty girls about their plimsolls whenever I saw them and now I had a chance to do so without any risk of appearing perverted.
“Your feet look lovely in your plimsolls, they look so pretty on you,” I complimented her.
“Oh thank you,” she replied with pleasure in her voice and rewarded me by turning her feet over and back and then stretching her feet forward while pointing her toes. “I feel really sexy and girly when I wear them. My boyfriend’s crazy for me when I’ve got them on. I certainly have some fun then, I can tell you.”
The Underpants of Doom rendered an erection impossible but I still had an excited feeling all the same as I imagined her naked with her plimsolls gleaming white against the dark skin of her legs wrapped around her boyfriend’s torso while they engaged in very passionate and very athletic sex. I wondered if it was anything like what Emma felt when she was getting turned on. “Make a video and email me the link,” I half-joked.
“I might just do that,” she called to me happily as she left her cubicle. “See you; and thanks again,” she added as I heard her leave.
I thought about Bill while I struggled painfully out of and back into the Underpants of Doom in order to pee (sitting down, of course). He might well be attracted to me but, I reasoned, many encounters never get beyond the stage of initial attraction and, since tonight was the only night we would ever spend in each other’s company – at least with me in my present guise – the important thing was to enjoy to the full what could be had and not waste time regretting what could not be had and was not meant to be.
When I emerged from the Ladies’ I recognised my recent neighbour by her plimsolls as she stood with some friends at the other side of the bar and waved to her. She was medium height with Italian or Greek appearance and very pretty, like a Mediterranean Julia Roberts, with long dark hair in a loose wavy perm tumbling to her shoulders and back. She was simply but attractively dressed in a pink low cut close fitting long sleeved top with a mid length floral patterned skirt nicely emphasising her knees and her white plimsolls. When she saw my ballerina costume she put her hands to her face in surprise and mouthed ‘Oh my God’ with a huge grin on her face as I returned to my seat and resumed my conversation with Bill, feeling much happier and with my confidence restored.
We shared several more rounds and continued talking until I, assuming the role of the sensible one out of Emma and myself, declared it was time we were getting home as we were due to catch an early flight to Paris. As we left the bar we blew kisses to our Australian barman friend and we emerged into the cool night air with Emma clinging unsteadily to Wes – the pair of them still laughing and joking together – while I, better able to hold my drink, held hands with Bill as I walked in a floating kind of way by his side. Wes broke of from his yarn spinning to make ‘why don’t you lovely ladies come back to our apartment for a night cap’ type noises but Emma and I remained resolute.
“But we’ll escort you back to your place,” Emma giggled, “London’s a dangerous place at this time of night. They still haven’t caught Jack the Ripper yet.”
“That’s very decent of you ladies,” Bill smiled. “We’re still strangers in town and liable to get ourselves lost.
We managed to navigate ourselves on a meandering course to the smart block of flats containing the company let where Bill and Wes were staying. Just before we got there we came to a small side alley which acted as an access road for service vehicles. Still giggling at Wes’s non-stop flow of now somewhat confused witty repartee, Emma steered him into the alley and pushed him against the wall at a spot where we couldn’t be seen from the main road. Taking my cue from her whilst wondering what she was up to, I did the same to Bill.
“Hey, are you girls about to pull a Thelma and Louise stunt on us?” Wes laughed.
“We will if you don’t behave yourselves,” giggled Emma. Turning to me with a wicked glint in her eye she said, “OK Charlotte, let’s get down on our knees and get their pants down. We’re going to give them a souvenir of Little Old England they won’t forget in a hurry, at least if they still remember it when they’re sober.”
When after being slightly slow on the uptake I realised she was talking us about performing oral sex on them my stomach lurched for a second before my alcohol bolstered spirit of adventure kicked in. ‘What the hell, why not?’ I thought. ‘If I can’t suck my own I might as well suck someone else’s to see what it’s like and I am supposed to be a girl, after all.’
I knelt down in front of Bill, fumbled with his trouser belt and fly for a few seconds and then pulled down his jeans and boxers. He was semi-erect in his alcohol hazed excitement but with his inebriated state his length seemed to be struggling to emerge from the dark thicket of his pubic hair. For a moment I had scruples about it feeling unpleasant to the touch, but to my relief, his clean cut image and personal habits extended to his private areas and as I began to stroke him he felt clean and smooth and dry. I grasped him firmly and held him to my mouth, then the absurdity of the situation hit me and I had to struggle not to laugh; here was I, a straight guy dressed as a girly ballerina, about to perform oral sex on another straight guy who thought I was a girl. Then for a moment I scrupled as to whether a quick blow job in a back alley was really his style but when I asked him in a whisper if he felt OK about it his somewhat abstracted reply put my mind at rest.
“Hey, don’t you mind about it,” he drawled. “I’m married to the job so I’m happy to take whatever I’m offered.”
I closed my eyes, carefully guided him into my open mouth and gingerly closed my lips just behind the fleshy flange around the base of his helmet. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it felt just like sucking on Emma’s breast: soft and warm and slightly yielding to the press of my lips around it. I looked up at Bill. He was looking upward with his eyes closed, muttering under his breath while he steadied himself against the wall with his open palms pressed flat against the brickwork. ‘Please whatever you do, keep you eyes closed,’ I entreated him in my mind. Having a quick exploratory suck on another man’s manhood was one thing but there was no way I was ever going to let another man come in my mouth, or any other part of me for that matter.
I tested out my quickly worked out (on the fly, as it were) plan by giving the still exposed part of his length some vigorous stroking as I took him back out of my mouth and then cupped my other hand closely around his head that was just starting to dribble. I was relieved to see his attitude unchanged. I repeated the stroking and cupping treatment a couple more times and then on the third stroke, with a long groaning gasp, he came into my hand. I had to surreptitiously twist my hand around him to contain his load as his sticky warm milk began to flow out between my fingers. I gathered up what I could with my other hand and rubbed it into his length.
Thankfully, he kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds as he enjoyed his aftermath. “Oh you are so good”, he smiled.
“How do I compare with all the other girls?” I asked him cheekily as I began to clean my hands with a wet wipe from a packet that Emma’s wonderfully foresighted handbag packing had provided for me, knowing full well what his answer would be. I was right.
“Baby, you’re the best,” he sighed.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I teased as I finished wiping his helmet.
He opened his eyes at last just in time to see me finish wiping around my mouth with a clean wet wipe. “You taste very nice,” I twinkled at him as I pulled up his trousers and fixed him back in. I stood up to him again and curled my arms around his neck.
“It’s too bad you’re going away tomorrow. We could have had some great times together,” he smiled, with genuine regret in his eyes.
“Ships passing in the night,” I smiled back sympathetically. “But we had a great time tonight. Thank you for that. And thank you for what you said to me about beauty being on the inside. I’ll always remember you for that.”
I was amazed at how much I was able to absorb myself into my female persona as I lifted up the heels of my black plimsolls in order to be able to plant my lips squarely on to his and began to kiss him passionately, although as I felt through my black leggings his suddenly renewed erection pressing against my groin I was glad of the impregnable and unyielding barrier of the Underpants of Doom between us; otherwise my own mounting excitement, as his hands stroked my pony tail, descended my spine and smoothed down over my silly frilly little tutu skirt before rising up again beneath my skirt to rest on my bottom, would have given me away.
After several minutes of passionate interaction Emma and I both reluctantly disengaged from our partners and we all walked a little sadly together to the entrance of their block. We kissed and made our goodbyes and they waved to us from the foyer until the lift took them away and we never saw them again.
Emma and I had a long walk home arm in arm and plenty of time to talk. She began to recover her sensibility in the cool evening air as we huddled close together in our thin coverings of black leotards and leggings for warmth. As we walked we flexed our toes inside our black plimsolls against the cold being drawn up from the pavement through the rubber soles of ours plimsolls and our thin day-glo ankle socks into our feet. We preferred to continue sharing our close feminine companionship in this way rather than opt for the comfort of a taxi.
“I’m so sorry I got you into that,” she giggled. “I really don’t know what came over me. The wine must have flowed a little too freely.”
“It’s OK,” I smiled. “I quite enjoyed it actually. They were nice guys and they deserved a bit of fun for treating us like ladies; though they probably don’t think of us as ladies so much now.” We both laughed. “You seemed to get on with Wes OK, although from what I could see you seemed to be on the same level most of the time,” I observed.
“You’re right there,” she agreed with feeling. “He was fun to be with but that was all, really. He never really let his guard drop and he didn’t share much about himself at all. He was really frustrating. He had a nice dick though,” she giggled again.
“I’m glad you copied my trick with the hand,” I said to her. “I would have felt really cut up if you’d actually let him come in your mouth.” I squeezed her hand to emphasize the point.
“I know you would,” she smiled affectionately to me, “and I’m flattered that you would. In fact that means a lot to me. And there’s no way I would have let him come in my mouth. The only taste of man I want from now on is yours, especially when it’s wrapped up like this.” She stroked my false breasts through the tight stretch of my leotard. I so wished they were real at that moment
We stopped walking and I, forgetting for a moment who I was meant to be, drew her into my arms and began to kiss her. We kissed for a long moment in the deserted residential road until a passing motorcyclist, seeing two girls dressed as ballerinas in black leotards, tights and plimsolls kissing passionately in a tight embrace, beeped his horn as he sped by. Suddenly recollecting ourselves, we continued walking as we laughed in our embarrassment. Then I had a sudden thought.
“What would we do if we did happen to meet them again when we told them we would be going around the world for six months? I’d be alright but they’d recognise you straight away.”
“That’s easy,” she grinned, “I’ll tell them I met you on the way to the airport and that you went away without me!”
As we came into the welcoming warmth of her flat she hugged me and asked, “So how do you like being one of the girls?”
“I like it a lot, you definitely haven’t seen the last of Charlotte,” I enthused, returning to my normal voice. “I love dressing up to feel girly and sexy and I love going out in girly sexy clothes. But more than that I like how people open up to me more and give me much more attention as a woman, even if some of the attention is the sort I wouldn’t necessarily choose. I really liked having the freedom to observe a person and relate to them more closely on more levels. I learned a lot more about Bill relating to him as a woman than I ever would have done trying to relate to him as a man. Even so,” I grimaced, “it will be a relief in one way at least to get back to being a man. These bloody underpants are starting to kill me.”
“Will you stay as a girl for just a little longer?” she smiled as I noticed her advancing on me.
“What are you doing?” I smiled broadly as she proceeded to push me back down onto the sofa and get on top of me.
“I want to check again to see if kissing a girl is more exciting than kissing a boy,” she beamed.
My temperature begin to rise and my tightly restricted manhood begin to protest again even more vociferously as her lips fused on to mine and I felt her breasts pressing into mine through the thin lycra membrane of my leotard and I heard the mingling rustle of our tutu skirts as her groin rubbed against mine through the equally thin stretches of our leggings, and her black plimsolls began to rub against my legs through the sheer black nylon that moulded them.
She wore black slip-on plimsolls in bed that night. I was not wearing underpants.
(End of Chapter 7)