Looking into the mirror, I stared at the chicken as the chicken stared back because I was that chicken. I knew then that nothing I would ever do for the rest of my life would be as monumentally bat shit bonkers as the thing I was about to do right now.
I turned and faced my boyfriend who was sat naked on the end of the bed pumping his fist up and down his stiff cock with a drooling maniacal look on his face as he stared at me.
"Seriously?" I blurted out.
***
Secret fantasies. Hidden dreams. Latent desires.
Everyone has something to hide. Something about them they don't want others to know about. Something deep inside. Something sexual. That certain something that goes beyond normal conventions and pushes the boundaries of the imagination to new heights of desire and lust.
For most men, it's basic stuff like lingerie. For some, it can be tit, ass or leg obsessions. For others, it's a nurse, secretary, nun, aunt or even mother kink with dominant or submissive traits to add to the mix.
For Bruce, it was poultry.
***
My boyfriend held up the suit. "I'd really like you to put this on."
I stared at it for a moment. "It's a chicken," I said slowly.
He nodded. "Uh-huh."
We were in his bedsit and the rain was swooshing against the window outside as we stood there at the bottom of his single bed about to have, what I had presumed, a nice couple of hours together doing things that normal girlfriends and boyfriends do.
And now there was this.
"You want me to wear a chicken suit while we have sex?"
Bruce looked like an eager puppy. "Yup."
