As she waited for a response, Paul looked at her desperately, and said,"Ummm..." "Ummm, oh my god... I..." He clamped his mouth shut. What washe doing...!She giggled and grabbed his hand. "It's OK. I understand. We get gurlslike you, all the time."Paul looked into her eyes sheepishly. She didn't know it, but inside hishead was this voice trying to control him. The voice of Pansy Pumpscock.But that didn't make sense because it was his voice and she was PansyPumpscock. OMG, I need to be making men. I revelled in the thick lather of shampoo encasing my head, pasting down my long hair, sealing my ears, foamy, drooling, interior. I ran the bar of soap over my skinny body. I had virtually no hair anywhere above my hips and very little below.When I was sure no one could read my thoughts I'd admit to myself how inadequate this felt. I'd imagine myself inhabiting a 6 foot hairy muscular frame someday and kicking everyone's ass. The schoolyard accusations, "Pussy! Faggot!" echoed relentlessly. She was using her middle finger to work her clit and easily working three fingers in and out of her drenched cunt. I could tell by her moans she was close to cumming so I stood there quietly. After she came, all she said was yes and bye. This got me thinking. The next time she went to study in groups I borrowed a truck from a friend and grabbed a spotting scope from my hunting gear .I waited beside a gas station across from the school. I watched her group exit the building, break up and leave.. ‘Come on, the company owner wants to talk to all us crew guys before we start. He’s got all of us on this one job right now, so he wants to tell us not to fuck up,’ he continued. John Gofelt, the owner was a rotund bald white man of medium height. He had khaki pants and a green dress shirt that looked as if it could barely contain his girth. A large unlit cigar hung from his lips. He gave them a quasi-inspirational talk about attention to detail, and then took some questions. Predictably only.