Something I would have a hard time explaining.I did my Saturday normal routine. Cooked us breakfast, smiled and snuggled with Tony as we watched some TV, and then cleaned the house. Normal stuff, vacuuming, dusting, and so on, but it was interesting how things all had erotic connotations. Pushing and pulling the vacuum cleaner across the carpet was like Ron’s black cock gliding in and out of me. Dusting the furniture was like my small hand daintily sliding along his thick, smooth, veiny shaft, stroking it sexily. Hell, even watering the plants was his semen spilling into my vagina. All day long I was wet and wanting. And I was confused.I love Tony. With all my heart. He’s my husband. So what’s wrong with me? What is it that makes me want to have made, passionate, fully-reproductive sex with another man? A black man? Was it me? Was it Tony? Was it Ron? Was it Ron’s bedroom? What about the kinkiness of fulfilling my satin fetish? What about the supposed stigma of interracial sex? Why. I was nervous as hell, I'll admit, but I had looked long and hard at the image I saw in the mirror in the salon and I couldn't see me at all. All I saw looking back at me from that mirror was a fairly attractive young woman (I was 23 at the time). I had already made reservations at a huge party that was being held in Wiesbaden, the closest large city to the base at which I was stationed, and had also made arrangements to meet several of my buddies at the party. We had a table reserved and I had shown them the outfit I would be wearing so they knew that I'd be dressed as a female. What they didn't know was that I was making this all out attack and I knew I was going to surprise them with how good I looked.The party was being held at a large hall not far from the salon I had chosen. So, after finishing up there and accepting the compliments of the staff, I walked the two blocks to the party, enjoying the feelings of being outside and dressed completely as a woman. I loved the sound my.
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