It took him about five minutes to collect himself and get to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and then sat down at the table across from...me. "What the hell is wrong with you Joyce? That ain't no way to be waking me up." Stop your bitching Ryan. I could have, and probably should have, done it with a cast iron frying pan."I tossed his underwear on the table in front of him and said, "Tell me all about the lipstick you stud you."He hemmed and hawed and tried to pretend he was too. In the car, Lauren had ditched the clown outfit for her own clothes and sneakers underneath. She grabbed his hand and ran for the elevator, and pressed the button for the 11th floor. The elevator didn’t move.“Shit—after hours,” Lauren said as she held her badge to the electronic sensor pad.The elevator started moving, and Lauren moved on her husband. She pinned him against the elevator wall and kissed him hard as she ground her hips into his. She felt his pole bumping against her—it wouldn’t be. He took her in his arms and I saw him starting to grind his hard erection into my sensual wife’s belly button.Then he slid one of the straps of her shoulder and bared her left breast. He leaned over her and took the erect nipple into his mouth. Anita closed he reyes and moaned.The other strap soon followed and her sexy red dress slid from her fantastic body to the floor. She stood now wearing just a tiny thong and her high heels.She bent over John and started undoing his pants, which joined her. As we walked further up the street,we passed by the transsexual prostitutes who were even more incrediblyaltered into even more extreme feminine caricatures than their femaleborn counterparts with their impossibly massive implants, bright makeupand way high teased hair.Being a long time open and out crossdresser, my wife, Jill, was verymuch aware of my unfulfilled crossdressing fantasy to spend a few nightsactually working as a female prostitute. And, as we walked by atranssexual working girl.