My Wife's Best Girlfriend
by Princess Pervette
"I'll bet that butt of yours would look good in panties," my wife said one morning when we were getting dressed.
We had been swinging singles before we married, and if my workload had permitted, I suppose we would have been a swinging couple now, but I wasn't prepared for a remark like that. I gaped at her and said, "Huh?"
"I said, you'd look good in panties. You've got a really neat ass." She grinned. "That isn't what I married you for, but it's a nice fringe benefit."
I was nonplussed. "I didn't know you went for that...," I said.
"Well, my mother always said the first year of marriage was full of surprises. I guess this is one of them. I like to see my guys in panties."
"Well, I don't like to wear them."
"Oh? You've TRIED, then?" she said, archly.
"No. There are some things you don't have to try to know you don't like them. Wearing panties is one of them." Good grief!...were we really talking about this? "Er...you never said anything about this when we were dating."
"Well...no, I guess I didn't. But I sure thought about it. Let me get you a pair. They feel real neat, so soft and smooth. You'll like them, I promise you."
"Thanks, but no thanks. And...hey! It's late! I've got to run."
That was the way it began. On the train to work, I tried to read the paper, but I kept thinking of what Dolly had said. Panties? No way. I never went in for the super-macho bit, but I knew I was all man, through and through.
I brought work home with me that evening, as I had to nearly every night. We were setting up a Web page for a client, and they had just come up with a whole bunch of new things they wanted to include. This was going to be a busy evening.
"A computer widow again," Dolly said as I headed off to the computer after dinner. "You know the honeymoon's over when the husband spends more time with his computer than with his wife."
She had never made a remark like that before. She was joking, I could tell. I didn't have to explain; she knew as well as I did how important this job was and how much we had riding on it. But I also knew she didn't like it. I didn't like it, either, for that matter. But she didn't say any more, so I didn't, either.
My usual routine was to spend about an hour and a half on the computer, then take a break for a cigarette and a glass of sherry, and then go back to the computer for another hour before knocking off for the evening. When I took my break, Dolly was waiting for me.
"Do you think you can skip your final hour to-night?" she asked.
"Honey, I've broken the back of the problem, but I still have a little more to do. And I have to upload my code to the office for to-morrow morning. I can't skip that."
"Okay, I'll let you off, on one condition. I have something for you."
I asked what it was. In the intense concentration on my work, I had forgotten all about the morning's conversation, and Dolly hadn't brought it up again this evening. So my jaw must have dropped when she brandished a pair of pink panties at me.
"These. You can wear them while you're working at the computer. They're comfortable, they'll fit you, and after a while you won't even know you have them on."
I doubted that. I said, "No."
"Darling, we've got to talk." I knew that phrase. We have a good marriage --one of the best, I'd say--but even the best marriages have their con- frontations, however amiable, and whenever Dolly said, "Darling, we've got to talk," that was the signal that a confrontation was starting.
"Darling," she went on, "I know how important your work is to you--and to both of us, actually--and I never complain. But just once, I am going to complain. I give up our evenings together so you can go forward with your work. It's for both of us; I understand that. But just for once, I want you to do something for me. It's not a big thing, it isn't going to interfere with your work, and it will give me a little bit of pleasure. Please. For me. Let me see how you look in these."
I had had no notion that this was that important to her. So, with a sigh, I stripped down and put on the panties. First one leg through its lace- trimmed leg hole; then the other leg; then drawing them up to my waist.
This is an important point in my story, and I must try to remember just how it was. I uncomfortable--mentally uncomfortable, that is--wearing them. I felt like a fool, in fact. That was what I might call the top level. But one level beneath that, something inside me was thinking, Damn, these feel good! Dolly was right about that; the smooth, satiny fabric felt pleasant next to my skin. And I wouldn't have thought that my...well, my male hardware...would be so comfortable in them. They were soft and gave me more support than I would have expected. It suddenly occurred to me that she must have done this before, with boy friends she had had before she met me. She probably knew just what kind to buy.
But she was wrong when she said I wouldn't know I had them on. It was so late that is seemed pointless to put on my outer clothes again, and as I sat at the computer, I glanced down now and then to look at myself. And with the clarity of hindsight, I know that there was yet another feeling, buried and unacknowledged beneath those other two levels: they were sexy! The soft fabric rubbed me when I shifted in my chair, and I began to get an erection.
That last hour at the computer was pretty much of a loss. I had trouble concentrating on my work, because my body kept reminding me that it was in panties, and my erection wouldn't go away. Finally I gave up, logged on to the system at work, and uploaded my code.
I left my office and went looking for Dolly. She wasn't in the living room. I finally found her in the bedroom. She was lying on the bed, naked and inviting. I went over to the bed and, before I could grab her, she grabbed me and kissed me, hot and passionate. Her free hand groped my panties and fondled my dick. Dolly enjoys giving head (another fringe benefit of our marriage!), and as she lay back on the bed she pulled me to her, pulled my cock free of the panties, and gave me the hottest blow job I had ever had.
Smiling and licking her lips, she said, "There. You did something for me; now I've done something for you. For both of us, actually." She grinned. But I wondered whether some of the excitement of the experience arose from the fact that I had had those panties on.
The next evening, Dolly gave me a pair of white panties to wear. The front was solid, of some smooth, shiny fabric, but the sides, part that went around the waist, were all of lace. I think it's significant that, without a word, with no objections or hesitation at all, I stripped down again and put them on.
From that evening on, I wore panties for her at home. I started by changing during my work break; then Dolly suggested that I change right after dinner, and within a week or so, I was changing into them as soon as I came home from work. And I would spend the rest of the evening wearing nothing but the panties.
I would come in the door, hug Dolly and kiss her, and then go straight to the bedroom and change. And one evening, it suddenly struck me that I was actually looking forward to this moment.
I realized that I had come to LIKE them.
After about a month, Dolly proceeded to what I now know was the next stage. I was just starting to get dressed one morning, when she said,
"Why don't you wear your panties to work?"
MY panties! I have to admit that the idea appealed to me. My regular briefs were coarse compared to my panties, and they were a boring white, while the collection Dolly was amassing for me were all kinds of colors and textures: white, pink, blue, red, even a couple of pairs with little floral designs on them. There was just no comparison. But I immediately had second thoughts.
"Honey, I can't do that. Suppose someone saw me?"
"Where?"
"Er...well, I don't know...."
"Look, darling, I know how men pee. You pull your thing out, and that's all that's visible. They don't know what you pulled it out from. And I'll bet any man who happens to be next to you will be carefully looking everywhere but at you."
That was unanswerable. With a strange mixture of feelings, both wanting to wear them and at the same time not wanting to, I put on the panties and finished dressing. Putting them on--these were pink, with an edging of lace around the leg holes--got me hard, but by the time breakfast was over, my erection had mercifully subsided.
But all during the day I could feel that they were there. Ordinary briefs stay put; they don't rub your genitals every time you get up or sit down or shift in your chair. The panties did, not much, but just enough to remind me of what I was wearing. It was as if they were saying to me, "We are here, we are here." At lunch time, I couldn't stand it any more. I went into the john, went into a booth, and jerked off.
When I got home, Dolly asked me how my day had been. She always asked me that, but there was a look in her eye. I blushed. It was as if she had said, straight out, "What was it like to wear panties all day at work?"
I mumbled something about its having been okay, and Dolly dragged me into the bedroom....
I wore panties all through the Summer and into the beginning of Fall, and I had come to love wearing them. About this time, all my Jockey shorts quietly disappeared from my dresser drawer. Dolly got some short slips to replace my undershirts, and the undershirts disappeared, too.
Then one Sunday morning in October Dolly presented me with a pair of pantyhose.
"You're going to need more protection against the cold, Darling," she said. "These will give you an extra layer of warmth under your trousers."
I felt as dubious about these as I had about the panties--and maybe more so. Panties were one thing; they were great as long as I didn't think too closely about what I was wearing and about what Society would think of me; but pantyhose were another matter. I looked at them, and the first thing I saw was a light colored patch located in the crotch. For some reason this said "woman!" to me. I couldn't see wearing something like that. But by this time I knew it was hopeless to resist, and Dolly showed me how to put them on without snagging them and making them run....
...and I loved them from the moment I put them on. They were...I don't know how to describe it. Snug about the legs, but not too snug. Exquis- itely comfortable. Smoothing the contours, showing off the natural grace of the human leg. I had never thought of my legs as good looking, and actually I don't know whether they are, but the pantyhose made them look gorgeous.
"They're black, Darling," Dolly explained, "so you won't need to wear socks over them. The part that shows below your trousers will look just like men's dress socks."
"Er...do I wear panties under these?"
"Some girls do, some don't. Suit yourself."
I had put them on before putting on any panties, so I decided to go without.
"There's only one thing, Darling," Dolly said to me. "You need a shave."
"A...shave?"
"Well, look at your legs. All those hairs! Hairy legs look great on a man, but not under pantyhose."
"You mean, you want me to SHAVE MY LEGS?"
"Well, you don't want them to look icky, do you? Of course you've got to shave your legs. And don't tell me about the guys at work. If they're looking at your bare legs, there's something going on that I don't want to know about."
"Don't be ridiculous!"
So that morning I started shaving my legs. I took the pantyhose back off, went back into the bathroom, and lathered up. When I came out, I put the pantyhose on again, and...WOW!! If you've never felt how nylon feels on your legs when you've just shaved them, I can't tell you. All I can say is that it was as if they were closer and more snug about my legs than when I first tried them on.
"Another thing, Darling. It's getting too cold for you to sleep raw. I think you should start wearing a nightie." She held up a filmy blue nightgown.
I think it was about this time that I started getting into all this. Up to this time, I had been wearing the things she gave me to please her. But I thought about how that nightie would feel next to my bare skin, and I thought of cuddling up to Dolly with it on, and I quietly decided that, from now on, I would wear anything she wanted me to.
When Christmas came around, I thought I would arrange a surprise for Dolly. I knew she was working up to dressing me completely, and I was getting impatient. Moreover, although I didn't admit it to myself at the time, the leadership in these crossdressing adventures had begun to pass from her hands into mine. So one afternoon, while she was out shopping, I rummaged in her closet for a skirt that would fit me, and I found a blouse that was not too tight. I put them on, sat down at her dresser, and started applying makeup. I couldn't find any shoes that would fit me, so I just went barefoot.
When Dolly came home, she took one look at me and burst out laughing.
"Ooooh, I'm sorry, Darling," she said when she saw the look on my face. "It isn't as if I don't appreciate it; in fact, I'm delighted that you thought to do this. I didn't think you'd be ready for this for another month or two. But you don't know how to wear clothes, that's all. You put them on as if they were men's clothes. But you have to take more care with girls' clothes. And you don't know the first thing about putting on makeup. You look like a high school girl who's wearing lipstick for the first time."
She started by making little adjustments in the clothes. Adjusting the hang of the skirt, turning up the collar on the blouse so it would frame my face...things like that. Then she sat me down at the vanity and scrubbed off all my makeup with cold cream.
"You should really have a close shave before you put on makeup, Darling. We'll do that next time." Then she applied foundation, blush, eye shadow, mascara, and, finally, lipstick. "Putting on too much lipstick is the most elementary mistake. See how little I'm putting on. That's all you need.
"There. Now you look presentable. Look at yourself."
I looked. I won't say that a pretty girl looked back at me in the mirror, but what I saw wasn't the usual mug that looked back at me when I was shaving. I definitely did not look like a man.
"You're lucky, you know," she said. "Most men have long faces, with too much chin. You look at the average man in drag and his face gives him away. Of course, hands do, too, but if the face isn't right, you never look at the hands. My boyfriends that I used to go with were like that. Your face is shorter and rounder, and you have nice features. Now all you need is to grow your hair a little longer."
Did I say that I wore my hair long? When we were boys, we had all worn Beatles haircuts, and when the hippies came along, I was a sort of half- assed hippie and wore my hair down to my shoulders. When I started work, I cut it back, but I never wore it really short again. It seemed too square, and I thought the long hair looked good. Now it looked as if it was going to go back to shoulder length again.
But...gosh! I liked wearing these things. They were so light, not heavy the way men's clothes are. And there would be so many different kinds of things to wear, such a rich and varied new territory to explore and make my own: skirts and blouses, house dresses, gowns.... The skirt and blouse weren't as comfortable as I would have expected or liked, but Dolly said that if she bought things to fit me, they would feel much more comfortable than my boy clothes.
"Just don't ask me to wear THESE to work!"
"Don't worry. I like to feminize my men, but I know where to draw the line. You won't have to wear dresses except when you want to. But you do want to, don't you? You're enjoying this; I can tell."
I said yes. My wife had turned me into a tranvestite.
It's natural to ask whether I had ever shown any tendencies of this sort before. Well, of course I tried on girls' clothes when I was a kid. I think lots of kids do. The boy next door liked to put on his sister's things, and sometimes when we played together, we got dressed up. But it had never been a big thing for me. Since starting to wear dresses, I've read about other crossdressers, and I've read about these guys who started wearing panties when they were 5 years old. It had never been that way for me. And I never thought that our childish games would carry over into my adult life. Kenny and I masturbated together, too, and occasionally we took turns masturbating each other; but I hadn't grown up gay. Why should I have expected to grow up a crossdresser?
But there must have been something there. And Dolly must have sensed it somehow. She enjoyed dressing her boyfriends, and when we started dating, some sixth sense must have told her that she would succeed with me and that I would like it. And I certainly did. Once I had gotten past my initial reluctance, I began to take the lead. Surprising her in her skirt and blouse was only the beginning. It was I who prodded her into getting me a pair of breast forms, so I wouldn't have to resort to padding my bras. I had her get me heels to wear, too; and I spent a few weeks learning how to walk in them. I liked the way they made my hips move and my skirts sway.
I was nervous about shopping for women's clothes, and I never did. Dolly took my measurements and got things for me. Occasionally we would shop together, pretending to pick things out for her. She taught me a lot about taste in clothing this way, and, interestingly, this rubbed off on my choice of boy clothes, too. I was never a stylish dresser, but I became a more tasteful dresser in a quiet, understated way. I received a couple of compliments from girls at the office, and I would smile to myself and think, "If you only knew how I learned...!"
Sex at home was better than ever. Dolly summed it up one night: "What a treat to have a husband, a girl friend, and a Lesbian lover, all in one person!" Sometimes when I was working at the computer, she would walk quietly into the office, and run her hands gently over my dress, or reach forward and fondle my breasts, and give me a little kiss on my neck. "I've got a nice, kinky husband," she said to me one evening, "and she has a nice, kinky wife."
The New Year marked the beginning of really serious crossdressing for me. I would get home after a hard day at the office, strip down, and put on drag to relax, the way other men would put on leisure clothes. I was so much more comfortable in a dress. We discovered a magazine devoted to crossdressers, and Dolly would pick up each new copy as it came out and bring it home; then we would devour it together, admiring the girls and looking for ideas.
Dressing at home led to a few funny emergencies. People would call unex- pectedly, and I would have to make a mad dash for the john. The first time this happened, it was only a neighbor woman asking to borrow something, but it taught us a lesson. I began to keep a change of clothing in the john. And sure enough, a couple of times colleagues from the office dropped in, and a quick change of clothing, together with hasty scrubbing-off of makeup, did the trick.
When Spring rolled around, I decided that pantyhose would be too warm during the Summer, so I got Dolly to show me how to wear a garter belt and nylons. But she bought me miniskirts and "skorts" for Summer wear, and I still wore my pantyhose with those.
When Hallowe'en came, we were invited to a costume party, and I took it for granted that I would go as a girl. But Dolly went me one better this time: she decided to go as a toreador, but she proposed that I should dress as a ballerina.
I got white nylon/lycra tights from a local dancewear store, and I sent to Lee's Mardi Gras, the famous New York TV store, for a gaff--a fixture that would pull my penis back out of sight, so the shape inside the leotard would look like a girl's. Dolly shopped around for a leotard and tutu for me, but she couldn't find them in the right size. She finally ended up getting patterns and sewing them for me herself. The leotard was pink satin with long sleeves and little flowers on the shoulders and at the ends of the sleeves. Making the tutu was a huge job. Tutus are expensive, and now we know why: they're made of layer upon layer of stiff, filmy stuff Dolly called tarlatan.
She decided not to invest in toe shoes, so she just got me a pair of plain pink ballet shoes. They were funny looking things, very flimsy, with no heels. She said the shoes would encourage me to point my feet when I walked in them. She sewed pink satin ribbons onto them that kept them from slipping off my feet. I would wrap the ribbons around the bottoms of my calves and then tie them with a tiny knot. She tried to teach me to do pirouettes, so I could really dance like a ballerina, but they were too hard for me and I kept losing my balance. So finally she taught me a turn that I could make on both feet, pivoting on tiptoe with my arms curved over my head.
It was always a lengthy process when I dressed up for her, but that evening set a new record. Dolly was generally very sparing with makeup, but for the ball she laid it on thick, so it looked like theatrical makeup. She also gathered my hair in a bun in back, with a little thing like a tiara around it. "There's my girl!" she cried. "You're a real `bunhead' now!" That evening I acquired my drag name: Mimi.
I didn't dare sit down in my tutu for fear of messing it up. So Dolly made it detachable, and the evening of the party I drove us there wearing just the leotard and tights under my coat.
I created a sensation when we walked in, clad in this skin-tight outfit in pink and white. There was a chorus of whistles, from both the men and the girls. But they were appreciative whistles, not derisory. And when I calmly got out the tutu and fastened it about my waist, I was the belle of the ball. She led when we danced together, since she was the man, and when she could, she would release me for a moment and I would do my turn. That was a show stopper. I didn't win the prize, however. They gave it to some character who had come as a drill press. A drill press!...I ask you!
"You were fabulous, Girl!" she said when we got home that evening. My drag name was Mimi, but Dolly usually called me "girl"; I liked that. "Next year, you're going to wear a catsuit." But the costume had been hot and confining, and I was happy to take it off, scrub off the heavy makeup, and get into a loose-fitting frock and just a touch of lipstick before we went to bed.
The next weekend, Dolly invited another swinging couple we knew over for the evening. "This is going to be your debut as a girl, honey," she said. I was a little nervous, but Dolly had known how to choose her guests. And her excuse for dressing me up was going to be to show Herb and Barbara how I had looked in my ballerina costume.
I was already dressed when they arrived. Herb walked in the door, took one look at me, and let out a whistle. "You are one hot number, baby," he said. "I could go for you myself." I was sure he could; I knew that Herb swung both ways.
Dolly had me model the outfit, and I strutted around and did my turn for them, and they all whistled at me and told me what a sexy girl I was.
Later in the evening, when we had all had a good deal to drink, Barbara said, "I think Mimi, as our hostess, should so something special for us." That sounded like sex to me, but I asked what she meant.
"Oh, I'd like our little Lesbian here to give me a lityle fun." Barbara's generally pretty ladylike and reserved, so I knew she was tipsy. But she has a great body, and I've certainly lusted after it often enough. And Dolly chimed in, "Why not, girl? I'd like to watch you two girls together. We all would."
It was Herb's call; I looked at him.
"First me; then Barb."
That was a facer. I didn't know about that. I had never had sex with another man. But they all started clapping their hands and saying things like "You go, girl!"
So I figured, what the hell, I've been a girl in just about every other way; and I knelt down before Herb. But then Dolly said, "Wait, Darling. We've got to get this on tape!" She wanted a videotape of me sucking Herb off! She ran and got, not only the videotape recorder, but the tripod. While she was doing this, Herb stripped down to his briefs. Dolly set up the tripod and arranged the lights very professionally and then gave us our instructions:
"Okay, don't anybody talk while I'm taping. The only sounds I want to hear are the noises the two of them make--moaning and groaning--and slurping sounds, I hope. Mimi, go back to the hall door and walk toward Herb. When I give you the signal, you'll be in my field of view; do your little ballet turn then. Then take care of him. Oh...and when he comes, don't swallow it right away. I want to get a shot of your rosy lips with his cum on them. If this turns out, we'll keep one copy for ourselves and give a copy to Barb and Herb."
Then she said, "Okay, girl. Let's see you give some head!" I made my entrance, did my turn, knelt down before Herb again, and reached for the waistband of his briefs. He pushed them away.
"Use your mouth, baby," he said. "I want to see your lipstick on my Jockeys."
I managed to get one side of the waistband, first between my lips and then between my teeth, and pulled it down part way. Then I did the same with the other side. Working from side to side, I got them down to his knees, and then they fell to his feet and he stepped out of them. The did have my lipstick on them--quite a bit of it, in fact. His penis, half-hard, was pointing right at my mouth. I took the end of it into my mouth.
I had never had a cock in my mouth. I was surprised to feel how smooth the head was. He began to get completely hard. I saw the shaft sticking out of my mouth and his pubic hair just inches from my face. As he got harder, I took more of him into my mouth. His shaft was like a bar of steel, covered by soft, delicate skin. I was getting into this, and I was acutely conscious of Barb and Dolly, standing by and watching me. My own erection was beginning to strain against the confinement of my gaff.
I tasted a drop of pre-cum on his cock. As I took more of him into my mouth, I noticed the musky scent of his masculinity. I put my hands on his lean male flanks and drew him toward me. I pulled back from his cock and began to kiss and lick it up and down its length. Then I turned my head and got under his cock so I could kiss his balls. I put my lips around his sack and gently drew one of his balls into my mouth. Herb moaned, "Yeah, girl, suck those balls." I used my tongue and my lips to pop the testicle gently in and out of my mouth; then I went to work on the other one.
Herb pushed my head away and pushed his cock at me. He rubbed it all over my face--around my nose, my forehead, my cheeks, even into my eyes. Then he pushed it into my mouth again. I took the head into my mouth and began rubbing my tongue over the bottom of it, where it meets that lovely gathering of flesh just behind the head.
"Oh, yeah, girl," Herb breathed. "That's the way. Suck on that cock, you little cocksucker." As I did so, he went on: "You really like to suck on that cock, don't you? You're my little slutty cocksucking girl."
He went on talking like this as I sucked on him. I put my hands on his butt to draw him closer to me. I went as far down on him as I could, until I felt the head of his penis butting against my throat. I started going up and down, and my tongue never kept still, licking the bottom of his cock as my lips went to and fro on it.
Suddenly Herb fell silent. He started pushing his hips at me in the same rhythm that I was moving my head, then faster and faster. Then he pushed his hips way forward, gave a groan, and said, "Oh, Christ...oh, shit...I'm coming!" I felt contractions along the bottom of his cock, and suddenly his come shot into my mouth. "Take that load, doll baby!" Remembering what Dolly had said about not swallowing, I drew my head back so he wouldn't come down my throat. As I did so, he pushed forward and put his hands on the back of my head. We had a little tug-of-war as I tried to keep the head of his cock on my tongue while he tried to push it down my throat. But as his spurts tapered off, I was able to get most of his cum into my mouth.
Finally he relaxed. I slowly, very slowly drew back from him and released his cock. A white strand of come stretched from the end of his cock into my mouth. Then I sat back on my haunches and pushed my tongue forward so his cum would be visible between my lips. The contrast between the white semen and my rosy lips must have been striking. (It was, too, when we watched the videotape the next day.)
The girls broke their silence to congratulate me, clapping their hands. Then Barbara said, "Don't swallow that stuff, Girl. Not yet. It's Artificial Insemination time!"
Herb stepped aside. We had been just in front of the sofa during our sex, and now Barbara sat down on the sofa and lifted her skirt. She had already taken off her panties, and, as she raised her legs, I could see her pussy lips, wet and swollen.
I got back on my knees in front of her. She put her heels on my shoulders, then, as I kissed her pussy, she wrapped them around them. I felt as if I were being simultaneously embraced and possessed.
"Okay, you little lezzie ballerina, try your lips and tongue on that!" she said. I started lapping up her rich, delicious juices and she began to sigh. She did nothing but sigh, over and over again, as I ate her out. I had no idea whether the "artifical insemination" Barbara joked about would actually take place, but I relished the mixture of flavors from Herb's semen and Barbara's secretions on my tongue. I buried my face in her crotch and made myself at home there, licking and sucking on her and covering my face with her juices.
To judge by her sighing, Barbara must have had easily three climaxes and maybe four before she released me. She turned to Dolly. "Your turn next," she said.
"Thanks, no; I can enjoy him...er, her...any time I want to. And I love Herb dearly, but I don't want to be the mother of his kids." We all laughed. + Yes, we laughed; but nine months later, almost to the day, Barb and Herb had a baby daughter. And it may have been just coincidence, but they asked me to be her godfather (although Barb kept calling me the godmother).
The four of us had a few more sex sessions together, but with the birth of the child they tapered off. But Herb has gotten into the habit of popping in every week or so for a blow job from "his favorite girlfriend." And believe me, his favorite girlfriend is only too happy to oblige him these days. And sometimes it's more than just a blow job; my asshole has been ...oops, wait; there's the doorbell, and Dolly's not home....
...It's Herb, by god, and he's horny. And he's brought me a present!... a TEDDY to wear while doing him! Bright red, with clouds of lace, and black fishnet stockings! See ya later, guys; this girl has a customer!!
Princess Pervette October, 1996
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