So whether you find this story entertaining or something that satisfies your curiosity, here is a little piece of me from the archives of my life, mid...1990s. By definition I am 'straight' but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.**************************My good friend Becky was over this morning for a coffee. When she arrived I had just finished sorting laundry and was wearing one of Tom's dress shirts as a housecoat. Don't ask me why because I have a closet full of housecoats but always. The skirt didn't even start until way below her belly button. It looked like it just barely covered the top of her pussy hair. In ended just below her crotch. In fact, from the back, the bottom of the curve of her ass peeked out. From the front, the skirt didn't even cover her hip bones, so there was a small space on either side of her front between her body and the skirt."You know", I told her, "I would have thought that you'd realize that it's not a good idea to let Stacey see you dressed. I didn’t remember it in the morning. My resuscitation was immediate and startling. My eyes slammed open and I became immediately conscious. My physical condition was my first observation. My throat was as dry and raspy as sandpaper. Filmy crud choked up my tongue and lips leaving an unbearable taste in my mouth. No matter how still I lie the room spun vigorously around. With my head throbbing the late morning sun bored into my eyes. Some heartless bastard had drawn the curtains. Whoever it was,. "The Historian was not privy to the conversation as he had been approached by others seeking to trade for his lot; the Painter, keeping pace with his friend, rolled his eyes at the Archbishop's counsel and said, "Listen. There's no way in Hell I'm giving her up, so save your breath and pick whomever you want with your number three ball."The Archbishop felt a murderous intent rise within him. His face betrayed nothing but disappointment, but a cold rage had begun to simmer in his gut. Turning.