Dear John:
This is the last e-mail you will receive from me before we meet. You had read my previous story, "Visit to an adult store," in which I had my first gay experience with a much older and stronger man and was forced to wear a sexy, off-the-shoulder, bare-midriff harem outfit while he ravished me.
Over the last several months, you and I have gotten so close through all our e-mailing back and forth. I love the fact that you are considerably older than my 22 years and bigger than my 5-7, 147-pound frame. You describe yourself as masculine and aggressive. That turns me on, as does you writing that you have a beard and moustache.
I've confided in you that with my tiny waist, curvy torso, feminine facial features and long, straight blond hair that I have been crossdressing almost exclusively for the last five months.
I have been taking female hormones, and have begun to develop soft, small breasts.
But your most-recent e-mail has led me to believe that I may have unintentionally given you the wrong impression about myself. You described what you wanted to do to me, and you seemed almost arrogant.
I'm not a notch on anyone's belt. I'm not an easy conquest. (I just stopped typing this, stood up and looked at myself in my off-the-shoulder nightgown in my full-length mirror. With my hair hanging straight down over one eye like Veronica Lake and my slim figure, I don't think any man could resist me right now. I am soft, yet firm and curvy. I am a knockout.)
I am also a lady.
If you want me, you're going to have to earn me, darling.
First, we would arrange for you to meet me one late afternoon at my apartment. You've never told me your real name, preferring to call yourself John Smith. That's fine with me. The mystery is intriguing. You would, of course, be very excited at the prospect of making love to me. Knowing how thoughtful you are, I am not surprised when I see that you have brought me flowers. But when you knock and I open the door, you are surprised to see that I am not wearing a sexy dress or penoir.
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