Hello all you weary readers out there. I can appreciate those blood shot eyes I see, as I try sizing you all up, wondering what might be thought of me, once I expose my real true self.
This story may shock you.. It may rock you.. And if it makes you spew off a nice creamy one, well that's just an added bonus for you.
I am putting this out there only to prove true love does happen and no one is immune.
*****
I live in Houston but right now I am standing outside my white 2011 mustang, hood up, trying to identify my trouble. Normally I would have used Interstate 10 to get me back home but while heading towards Houston they announced a major wreck just west of Beaumont, so I snaked thru the back roads and towns, determined to get home and back to being my average self before my work week starts tomorrow morning. (Monday)
My name is Gary Allen Brandon but Brandi is what you will know me as. Three of my closest girl friends and myself had just spent a wonderful weekend together In Lake Charles La.
We drank and had many thrills at the casinos. Complimenting each other on our looks, outfits, etc.. Even daring each other to go a little further with baring more thigh or cleavage. I feel so much more myself when there are three or four of us together. It's like we really are women. Sexy Women! We get asked by men to dance but mostly refuse politely, continuing to dance amongst ourselves. It is very hard turning down the really sexier men sometimes. (Sexy men!... EWwwwww. I did not just think that, surely.) I love, have always loved seeing sexy women. Not men. It's really hard to explain.
I am thirty one years of age and most people would agree that I don't look a day over 31.
I am five foot five and stay around one twenty five. My hair is wavy and just a shade or two darker than strawberry blonde thanks to my wig. I have green eyes and freckles. My measurements are 36 27 37 and my expensive boobs make me 36D.
I have been known to grab a boob or ass cheek of one of my girl friends and vise-versa, even some lite kissing now and again but nothing beyond that for me. I have been celibate for seven years and actually i didn't have all that much sex before that. I do masturbate my little boy penis pretty much daily, sometimes 3 times a day.
Sunday morning, back in my hotel room, having just woken from a good 7 hour sleep, I reminisce about our fun times. How hot we all looked, the smells we gave off to one another, etc.. I get an over-whelming urge as I am looking at my man clothes sitting beside my girly garments. I pull my D boobs off, then my nightie and wig, and head to my restroom for a shower and inspection of my body. My whole body is quivering from the unforgivable idea that races in my head. Once I have touched up my legs with my razor, I finish my shower and get to the sink and use a different razor to shave my face and chest area. Once totally done, I stare into those green eyes. Who is this person? You know you aren't really Brandi. You had your great time with Pam, Wendy and Karla but its over. You will be ruining it now, if you do what I think you are planning.
I give a go to hell look into the mirror... I start applying lotion to my legs and such. Minutes later, applying new make-up to my horrified self.. "Shut up!" I say, as my body starts seeing it my way. My hips swaying as I leave the mirror and sashay to my wardrobe. It doesn't take long to find my sexy mid-thigh length, burgundy dress. It Plunges in front, showing lots of cleavage. I do have some natural cleavage and as long as I place my life-like boobies in my dress properly, any man or woman can enjoy mine without seeing the silicone puppies. All seven of my wigs are the same color as this one I just put back on. Some are shorter and or a different style.
Checking out of my room was probably very interesting to anyone who was seeing. For me, it was humiliating. This same, older Pakistani women who checked me in as a man Friday evening was trying to understand why I was dressed as a girl. She even called out a man or her husband to look me over, while speaking in Indian. Once I showed my license yet again. They gave me my cash deposit back.
Once behind the wheel and on my way down 10 west, I started feeling more normal. More excepting of this stunt. I had good tunes playing, even went thru the drive-thru at Wendy's and got a little food.
Not long after passing the state line into Texas I heard of the wreck ahead. I thought of going on to Beaumont and using old highway 90 to get me back home but I realized that will be the route so many others will use for the same reason. Then I remembered I could use that farm road that would take me around to Mauriceville and then towards Vidor and such. I make it to Silsbee and decide to take FM92 north. Not more than twenty miles further down that road, my car starts surging and acting like my fuel filter needs changing or my fuel pump is on its last leg.
Now I get a flashing warning: Service transmission soon. That scares me plenty so I start slowing down, looking for a wide driveway or anything to stop at. After feeling a major thump or a clank, my ride is acting normal again, so I speed up to forty and start climbing a hill as the road bends hard and up.
But it wasn't meant to be. Suddenly I was only coasting forwards, no help what so ever from my drive train, I put it in neutral and barely keep creeping up the hill. now stranded at the very top.
First thing I do is almost start crying... I will be seen, dressed like this by some old greasy, tow truck driving, racist mechanic... White, no doubt. I pull the lever and hop out to try to will the car back to normal. Yes I know what everything is under this hood.
My black heels jack me up to a height of five foot nine now and as I bend over the fender, My silky dress slips two inches higher up my silky thighs. I try to ignore the 18 wheelers traveling by, honking and the "Hot fucking slut" comment some dude slurred out at me, but kept on going. I have been tapping my cell frantically, ever since I hopped out, needing to search for a rescue.
I noticed earlier, the storm clouds building and even the radio had mentioned some major thunder storms were due in this area by five P M and it is already ten till now.
I tell myself to hop in the back really fast and change into my jeans, tennies and t-shirt but then I remember the make-up and perfectly polished toe and finger nails I cannot hide so easily. Just when my phone turns a page and acts like I'm getting some progress, it fails yet again.
Then I hear tires crumpling and a quiet engine coast in behind me. "Hey lady... Need some help?"
I barely peek around my hood to look at him before I hide once more, behind it.
"That storm up there is circling back around, it's going to get bad. Right here." He warns me.
I squeak out, "My cell won't work... I have to get a tow, it's not fixable from here."