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What music are we dancing to?”“How about “Moon River?” I offered.“Oh Charles. If I were only twelve years old again.” She responded putting down her knitting.I started humming the song, while starting the song and dropping it back in my shirt pocket and we danced.I am almost as tall as her, but I am able to hold her and see her pretty face as we danced together.The song continued on. Mom leaned her head on my chest until it was over. When it ended, we bowed and curtsied to each other, and I said, “I can’t thank you enough for sending me to Cotillion, Mom. I have become more confident. I found something I really enjoy doing, and I may have found the girl I end up with. I love you.”“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks. It is the east and Antoinette is the sun!”She responded, “O Charles, Charles.Wherefore art thou, Charles?Deny thy father and refuse thy name.Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my loveAnd I will no longer be a Moynihan.”Laughing together for a moment I took. All the while trying to watch these seducing images, these samemessages kept penetrating my mind. "I am a sissy soon I'll forget all ofmy past life, I am only a sissy neither male nor female." I kept hearingand believing.I became quite aroused; I knew my peepee was fighting to stand ridgedunder the restrains of my diaper. Try as I did my restrained handscouldn't get near the source of bliss. At least I received a littlecomfort knowing I could touch my gorgeous sissy pyjama top. In doing sothe best I could and watching these lustful sissy images flashing beforemy eyes was becoming too much to bear. In a while my body tensed up allmy thoughts seemed consumed in only sissiness with me the mainparticipant. Closing my eyes as the pressure built below, suddenly as mybody jerked I felt the wetness enter my diaper I found myself cryingout, "I know I'm only a sissy!! I want to be a sissy like you." onseeing these two sissies kissing, touching each other in their beautifulsissy clothes.Lying.
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I wasted so much glass trying to add a forcefulness to the curves. It was one of my pet projects and won’t leave my sight until I’m dead. ‘You are really good,’ Amber said, ‘I can almost feel the wind and rain.’ I wanted to jump up and down, but remained humbly quiet. Very few people have seen my workshop. A couple of customers who live within a half-days drive and an old friend I go fishing with once a year. He understands me like no one else could. Though Frank doesn’t have the toned legs that Amber has, he knew my sordid past. ‘Is everything for sale?’ Amber asked. ‘I only sell commissioned work,’ I replied, ‘the stuff you see hanging around is just for me. Well, except for the panel with the four ducks.’ I pointed at a panel hanging near the door, ‘It was never picked up.’ It was an ugly thing when outside of the country kitchen it was meant for. Four cartoon ducks marching in gray galoshes. ‘Didn’t they like it?’ ‘It was for an old couple,’ I said, ‘the wife died before it.

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