She was kneeling, sitting back on her feet, knees apart, and I was looking up the alley formed by her inner thighs… right at the bulging, semi-sheer...pouch of her little g-string. It wasn’t jarring; I knew she was a he, so I’d sort of known what to expect. I’d thought maybe I’d feel repulsed, however, and I didn’t.Instead, I was surprised to realize that I was intrigued and mildly curious, maybe even a little bit aroused. The fact that this was the only visible hint of Tina’s masculinity was a. The worst bit wasn't admitting to myself I was turned on by it, though. The worst bit was as my hand had slipped inside my panties for the umpteenth time that week, I imagined myself in those positions. What was happening to me? I knew I wasn’t compulsive enough to trot off to some private room with someone I’d just met, but at the same, I yearned for more. My mind would never be truly at rest until I knew how the woman in those panty-saturating images felt. When Saturday came, I didn’t put up. More

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