"The same way Amy Winehouse was?" I ask. "Or Heath Ledger? Or KurtCobain?" You'd never have killed yourself," mum scoffs. "You were never REALLYdepres...ed, not like me, and you certainly aren't transgendered either!All of- all of THIS is just an attempt to spite me, to make me feel badfor doing the right thing for you growing up, because you can't standthe fact that I know what's best for you!" If I'm not really transgendered," I ask, "then how come I have aWRITTEN diagnosis of gender identity. Id let him place my foot in his lap as he slipped on some spiked heels, and Id stroked his hardening cock with my toes. Id leaned over to lace up some boots, making it clear that my full tits were braless under my red dress. My nipples got so hard from his stare. I let his hand slide up my legs, past my knees, along my thighs. I just barely let him brush my bare pussy lips before I thanked him for his help and left him with a painfully hard cock. It was such a rush to get a man so hot. Thinking. We planned to leave early Saturday morning to make Minneapolis by 4:30. Now my wife of 14 years is telling me she has a “mandatory” cocktail party for employees only Saturday night.Let’s start at how Donna and I met. I, Carl Allen, was a junior in high school Geometry class. She was the new kid in school, and I was something of a math whiz. I fell in love with her accent. Donna was a Polish refugee from Gdansk, before the fall of the iron curtain. It was September of 1965. Donna, who was. Her head rested on my shoulder. I was so engrossed in her I didn't notice Katie's face peeking out at us from the front room - or Suzie's as she glared at us from her bedroom directly above Katie.Little did I realize what was waiting for me there as Peggy and I passed my house on the way to hers.The moment I was inside the door my sister Katie bounced up to me, her eyes gleaming. "How's little miss Peggy?" She asked teasingly, prancing around me, her breasts bouncing. "Are you playing kissy-poo.