My First BJ dressed En-Femme - Sex Stories

My First BJ dressed En-Femme

... in my tight jeans. I put on a pair of black boots that go slightly above my calves. I put on a thin tight black shirt that shows off my big breasts, as my nipples poke attentively through the thin fabric. I practice walking in the boots. I can feel the jiggle of my breasts and I like that feeling. I have another drink and do another check in the mirror. I like what I see. Before going out, I decide to sip on my drink outside my house and see if I can garnish any additional re-affirming male stares. It helps my ego, but more so confirms my femininity. The curiosity of can I arouse a man is building into a crescendo, and as it builds the more feminine I am becoming. A car goes by and I hear the confirming honk of a horn that reassure me how girly I look. The local Miata and Minnie Cooper club begin to race by me. Waves and honking horns and ogling male eyes envelope my body like a blanket. I feel sexy and womanly. The curiosity is rising. It is time for me to go out. I take a thin red sweater with me if it gets cold. I begin to drive to the strip mall. I walk along the sidewalk as the sound of my boots heals click in rhythm with my swaying hips. A few guys in a car drive by me and I see the driver mouth, “wow.” It causes me to gyrate my ass even more and my breast to bounce as the thin fabric of my shirt cannot contain them from jiggling like soft mounds of Jello. I feel ripe. After some window shopping and driving around, I parked outside a local bar in the far corner. It ...

... is about an hour before dusk. I stepped out of my car grabbed my cell and pretended that I was talking to someone. I hear a horn honk as the traffic goes by. I smiled. An older man pulled up to me and asked me direction. He is a short fat man, and he looked dirty and grimy. I brushed him off and told him I am not from around here. The curiosity is still building with in me. It is like the rush of lava boiling and surging upward towards the mouth of the volcano. As I pretend to be talking on my cell, another man about fifty five pulled up near me in a lifted blue Dodge 2500 Ram pick-up that has a Harley Davidson license plate up front. He waved. I studied him. He has thinning black hair with streaks of gray. He has a salt pepper mustache and beard. He is wearing a dark red t-shirt that is to tight for his arms. It does not hide the skull tattoo on his bicep. I put my cell in my purse. “You want to go in for a drink.” Gulp, I swallowed hard. What do I do? Where is your nerve? It was gone. “No but thank you.” What happened to your confidence? “Come on. One drink,” he smiles. “No thank you.” Why did I say no I thought? “Well it is good looking at you. It would be nice to be looking at you again.” “Thank you.” I knew why I said no. I would be confined, with no escape and there was bound to be other woman in there, and woman are much, much, much better and discovery something amiss. So it was not my nerve or my confidence I lost. I was that I simply realized the ‘what if’ of being ...