He was just being a nice guy. The war within her mind about Bobby had faded, somewhat, as she worked next to him. It was hard for her to believe that he did all those things. The man she had seen was just a decent kind of guy. He never said anything unkind about anyone else, and he hadn’t made a single pass at her. Yet, she caught him looking at her, now and then, with appreciation in his eyes. She recognized that, without vanity. It was just there ... not pushy or lewd ... just his eyes complimenting her.The phone finally stopped ringing.“We’re so close to being done,” she said, ready to argue about leaving.“You know you have to go,” he said.“I know,” she admitted, sadly.The phone started ringing again.“Okay, I’ll go pack,” she said.She left the room and Bobby picked up the phone.“Hello?” he said, as if he hadn’t talked to the woman only moments before.“I want my daughter on the phone right now!” said the woman.“She’s packing,” said Bobby.“Go get her,” said her mother.“Ma’am,” he. I grabbed a few pairs and sniffed and dangled them on my head and shoulders. ‘Ooh tights, tights, I love tights!’ I then stepped around the room in my heels, swaying and swinging the tights around, caressing my nylon face with them and wrapping them around my shoulders. Len looked at me with a deep, cock-straining disgust. The self-satisfied beam stretched my stained, stocking mask. ‘Ooh, ooh, I’m a tighty, tighty sissy, a tighty, tighty sissy!’ I pranced and posed and minced around, until I paused before Pat and placed my hands on his shoulders.‘You know what I really want, Pat? You really know. I want to hear you say it, for sweet, little me,’ I pouted. ‘Shag me,’ he said quietly.‘Huh?’‘Shag me. Shag me in my tights! Bugger me!’ he cried. ‘Now that’s what I like to hear dear,’ I said, as I pulled my sweater off and slid my lycra shorts down, revealing my body in a red leotard. I rescued a few pairs of screwed up tights I’d been writhing around in, off the floor and stretched them.
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