As I worked in long, deep strokes guilt began to bloom inside me. Sandra was sixteen years my junior. I knew very little about her and yet had fucke... her silly. True, I had been hurt by seeing Molly with the dancer but that was no excuse. Sandra was young and had a crush on me and I had used her to make myself feel better. Fuck. This was quite a mess I had gotten myself into. The pain in my body eased as my hands worked their magic. I lay there ruminating when my stomach growled.Not. Ha!" Anyway, is it hormones making me feel like I need to still put-out for guys? Is this just the same friendly consideration that makes gay guys give one another a reach-around while they're fucking each others ass? Is what I'm feeling a gay thing? Am I a gay, transgendered, transspecies, girl? Does that even scan? It's even stranger than a sweet transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania. Maybe I'm like Frankenstein's monster – one of those examples of things 'science should leave alone'?. More

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