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I realize that I am seeing this situation from a woman’s perspective. I am now a “she” and my body is enjoying this incredible experience with a newfound perspective. I never again have to wonder what it feels like for my wife… or to be jealous of what women in general get to enjoy and experience with a man. I am now living it. With a sudden thrust of his cock, Rob brings me back to reality and the moment at hand. I look at his face. His eyes are closed. His brow is furrowed. His teeth are clenched and his face red and contorted in ecstasy. Perspiration rolls from his forehead, down his cheeks, off his chin, and onto my cock and balls. With my right hand, I reach for my crotch and begin to massage my cock, mixing his sweat with my pre-cum, trying to bring life to my flaccid cock. I move my left hand and rest it on his left side, now guiding and encouraging his movements. I can feel his hips thrusting forward, rocking, pumping his cock in and out of me. His hands hold my legs wide. I offered him a drink, and he said a beer sounded good. I never imbibed alcohol myself, except for the fermented extract which imposed sterility on my womb, but I did greatly enjoy the savor of it on the mouth and tongue of the men who drank it in my presence. It had an inflammatory effect on me when I kissed them. In that form, it was delicious. He sat on one of the couches with his beer, and I joined him, availing myself of the opportunity to enjoy his beer my way. ‘You don’t pull any punches, do you,’ he commented, coming up for air. I kissed him again, moving my hand over his thigh and right onto the growing mound under his jeans. I massaged it firmly, with just the slightest hint of restraint, then began to undo his jeans and pull them off. He stopped me. ‘Could you . . . dance a little?’ he asked. ‘Why yes,’ I lilted, and stood up. I put some music on the stereo, and began to undulate slowly, like a snake rising out of a basket. I kept my eyes on him, and watched as my writhing.
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