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She ranher fingers through my real hair and fluffed it out a bit. "In fact,I'm not sure I understand why you think you need the wig. Do you wearit everyday?" Pretty much," I said."Are you trying to grow out your hair?" Yes," I said."Well, even with the long hair, the wig doesn't frame your face verywell." She fiddled with my hair a little more. I stared at my paintedface and considered how well it went with my natural hair for perhapsthe first time. "I could always trim it in a style that would allow youto grow it out without needing the wig." Well, there's a bit more to it than that," I said."A bit more to what than that?" Bree asked."I kind of need the wig," I said. "It helps me to look feminine." But you look feminine without the wig," Bree said."I need all the help I can get," I said quietly."Oh, please," Bree sighed. "Why do you say that?" Um," I said, annoyed by the charade, "because I'm really a guy?" What?" Bree exclaimed. She jumped in front of the chair and. The care and feeding of Beth had become a full time job for him and Kelly. It took a bit of effort, but they were able to get her to work where she was very professional. While at the hospital, she distanced herself from her pain and avoided all emotional attachments. As a doctor, that was good. As a person, it was bad.The past month had been very busy for Ed. Working full time at the auction yard, taking care of Beth, and preparing for school had not left much time for Kelly. The problem was that when he was free for Kelly, she was busy with work or with Beth. He had fixed up the guest room for Beth and Kelly. They now slept there, while he was in his room. They hadn’t made love in weeks and both were feeling a very horny from the lack of sex.The one time they had tried to show any sexual affection for each other, Beth had come into the room screaming that they couldn’t do that. Her actions didn’t make sense until she had shouted, panic stricken, that it would lead to love and that.
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“Now go to the bed,” I said. She walked slowly to the center of the room. I turned off the lights, leaving the room dark except for the bright beam that shined down on the bed from the spotlight. I crossed the room and stood at the food of the bed. “Lay down,” I said. She did as she was told. She climbed on and moved to the center. She positioned herself on her back and crossed her arms over her stomach again. She clenched her legs together. She closed her eyes. Her voice was soft and sweet. “What next?” “Remove your bra,” I commanded. “Throw it here for me.” She uncrossed her arms. Her back arched and her concealed breasts were thrust up toward the ceiling as she reached back. When the clasp popped open, the tension on the garment released. She crossed her hands over her chest and took it off. She placed it next to her on the bed. “Throw it to me,” I said again. “I want it.” She rolled her head to the side in shame. “I want to be able to reach it,” she said, “in case I want it.

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