.. do you write about your life... like... is it autobiographical?" I smirked. It's the question that always comes up, but I tried to be as courteous ...s possible. "Well, some of them are, some of them are not. I like to say I write about what I did, like to do or dream of doing and let my readers figure it out for themselves which is which. It's part of the appeal, I think, so I like to keep that a secret. However, some stories clearly are fiction, like the Zombie thing I had started. He did it every time, every night. It was just part of the game, to her. But he did give her privacy, when she wanted it.Dylan had lived with them maybe two months when Clipper approached Girl with his idea. He had no idea how she would take it, but mainly he wanted her to know that he was okay with the idea. Whether or not she’d follow through with it, that was up to her.One day Dylan was out hunting, and he drew her to the couch. He sat and she crawled on top of his lap, like she liked to do.. " I stood and put the ring on her finger and we were almost blinded as no less than five flashes went off taking our picture. Jean grabbed me and gave me one of the hottest barn-burner kisses I have ever had. I swear that kiss even curled my toes. It also affected another part of my anatomy that Jean was used to feeling pressed against her. Mom and Sandy dashed into the house and returned with an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne and a tray of crystal glass stemware. The champagne was. Her breasts were firm and large, but not the perfect globes I wanted from her. I willed her breasts to grow larger, easily reaching the size of basketballs before they stopped. Her caramel nipples grew to match, nearly the same size as Carol’s were. Her ass I left alone; its natural heart shape would look perfect enveloping my cock. I took my true form, my heavy cock swinging 20 inches from my body, and my cannon ball sized testicles nestled in a sack that nearly reached my knees. Her eyes.