‘Breakfast, Miss Heather. Shall I put it on the dresser?’ ‘Please.’ As he passed, Heather took the delicate teacup from the tray and sipped th... steaming hot tea. He put the tray down. ‘Cook prepared your favo-rite, Miss Heather. Apple turnovers and oatmeal with cream.’ Heather laughed. ‘I do love oatmeal with cream –even more than one kind of cream, James.’ She gave him a seductive look. The fifty-year-old butler blushed slightly. ‘Why, what do you mean, Miss Heather?’ The nineteen-year-old. Except for the waitress. Yeah, okay, effing this and effing that. But not actually rude you know. They were teasing them really. The ladies settled, the waitress brought a little tray of cakes. One or two of the sensible ladies left. They could see there was something didn’t add up I guess. The waitress walked over to see if they wanted anything else.“Yeah” said Tell “You can suck me off with that sweet little mouth of yours” The temperature dropped in the cafe like an ice bucket. No-one spoke.. ” I whimpered My eyes were closed as I felt a cloth blind-fold tied around them. I opened my eyes, but dark. I felt hands over my body, as I stood, hands stroking my arms, my ankles, legs, thighs… I was quivering with such gentle strokes. Transfixed to the spot, hands by sides, I enjoyed them exploring me. Not a murmur came from them, just soft strokes across me, never knowing where the next hand would touch was so exciting. From the front I felt fingers un-buttoning my blouse all the way down,. “Amber…” I murmured, reaching out to touch her cheek, and felt the slight stubble of her masculine features. As I pulled her close for a hug, I understood her pain in being trapped in this body that did not reflect her soul.Amber and I became even closer after that. She began to dress more femininely – faltering at first through the stylistic choices and body language that most women have spent all their lives perfecting. Amber was a skilled artist and her paintings were full of voluptuous.