"Look's homespun, very nice. She weave that cloth, too?" I tried."Put a cork in it," she blurted, trying to look mean."What was going on out there?" H... didn' want t'pay for it," she said, sniffing. "An' I sucked 'im good." What do you get?" Two, three shillings. depends. You ain't got it, has you?" Might be," I told her. "But I ain't buying." Why not?" You're too dirty, for one thing." I ain't not," she squealed, and I hushed her since the folks above were not supposed to know I was sleeping in. And even though I hated myself for it, her biting words resonated andvibrated my entire body as I felt my balls begin to tingle and tighten inembarrassing anticipation.Ever since that first accidental eruption into my mothers silky finery asan innocently curious prepubescent, the door to any kind of normal lifeas a man was firmly slammed shut as I sealed my fate with each subsequenttransvestite masturbatory session, forever linking my arousal with shameand degradation. Over time my dopamine. More

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