I would put on the black silk panties and matching bra then would walk in front of the bathroom mirror. I would image me as a woman, with breasts, mak...up and a wig.Sometimes I would picture myself in a dress and heels pretending to be a woman. I found that dressing was an outlet for stress. I felt relaxed from the tension of school reduced. I never wanted to be a woman. A woman did not have a penis, and I liked my penis. I could make my penis have an orgasm, which was the most enjoyable. I was. Her climax wasn't inevitable, but she was getting hotter and hotter. She pressed her clit and drew her legs together. He felt so big. Every thought was banished; there was nothing but the friction of his cock against her most sensitive places. She drew in on herself, lost in the wave of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her.It was finally too much. As Stan sped up her entire middle clenched around him in a giant squeeze of pleasure. Wave followed wave, leaving her spent and gasping. She. In the shark-infested waters of the dating market, a balding middle-aged professor is dead meat.But the poetry, ah, those magic syllables, that hypnotic rhythm.Some crazy impulse made him walk into a dance club. The Snakepit was a maelstrom of drifting blue cigarette smoke, mirrors, flashing multicolored lights, and loud heavy metal music that made meaningful conversation superfluous. He sat down at a battered wooden table two vacant chairs distant from a woman. She was a young dishwater. I tried to ignore her but she knew when I was fake sleeping. Then I felt a damp towel get thrown on my face. I sat up and looked at her. I couldn’t see very well in the dimly lit room but I could tell she was just standing there with her hands on her hips and it didn’t seem like she was wearing anything. I just sat there in a sleeping haze and disbelief for a minute.“I need to ask you something important,” she whispered finally breaking the silence.“What do you need?”“I need to know who you.