Fact Lost, Emotions Burst

 
We sat around a table square in shape and posture. It wasn't about exchange. It was about proof and facts. I screamed inside confined by walls unseen and demanded by power. It was too much. I silenced myself fearing voice would sway confidence.

They were looking for a victim. They were looking to shed blame onto someone else. My silence proved and opening. "Delay, delay, delay," they said.

I burst. I exploded. And with it screams of emotion spilled. Fact was lost.

I was furloughed the next day.

Labyrinthine Corridors Snaking

 

We went to the sex club looking like two trannies, but one of us was a bio-girl. She was my girlfriend, and we were looking for some casual open sex. It was time to try something new. 

We wandered the labyrinthine corridors snaking our way through dungeons with men bent over being fucked by strap-ons, MTFs making out in corners, and women cuffed to walls being spanked with riding whips. Each turn offered a different encounter. We kept walking. 

We stopped at a cushioned bench beckoning us to recline. She unsnapped her red and black bustier revealing her perfectly shaped c-cup breasts. He nipples teased calling for a flick and a lick. We began. A crowd grew. 

It was exhilarating and titillating making out in front of a handful of men. Pants unzipped and semi-hard cocks were pulled out. We wanted more, so she pointed to one of the men and batted her lashes. He read her signal correctly and approached pants still closed. She reached out and grabbed. he obliged letting her unbutton his jeans and stroke his growing hard on. 

The vodka swirled in my head. The fuzziness expanding matched my blond frizzy wig falling off my head. My fishnets caught on one of the silver sequins on her heels causing a ripple of holes up my leg. The ripple found its way between us as I reached out for his cock. She presented it to my lips, and he backed away, zipped up, and proceeded on. 

The crowd dwindled. They wanted only her. They wanted the illusion of possibility and exoticism. They couldn't hand the touch of a drag queen. The always present stubble was a too tactile reminder I had a dick.