Being a dedicated epicurean of
food and drink, I get squeakily
excited whenever I find myself
in France. Even a trip to the
local market is an occasion,
where one is expected to taste
before buying and producers
delight in telling you of their
food’s provenance. Often,
because of this, there may be a
bit of a queue as one waits to be served, however, no
one seems to be in a rush. Sadly, we don’t take such
pride in our food and drink here in England.
And whilst I’m not suggesting the French are slothful,
you won’t find them going out of their way to work
any more than needs be, thus leaving themselves
more time to eat and drink…slowly. But be not
deceived, these people ‘are’ busy, they’re busy
pursuing the pleasures of the present, living in the
here and now: a philosophy I could comfortably live
with. Viva la difference.
H, called at 10pm to ask if I could join him and his
girlfriend for an hour of fun in Orpington, it would’ve
been close to midnight by the time I’d made it to
them, so we decided perhaps another night?
He did phone again, much earlier 3 days later,
sans girlfriend. In his mid-fifties, dressed in a smart
white shirt and pressed trousers, he showed me
into the kitchen, where he’d already poured me
an exceedingly large glass of wine, placed next to
flickering candles; I gratefully passed, as I was driving.
H, had met a Transsexual once before, but it’d
been a bit of a disaster (as was my first time with a
Transsexual escort), the fact that she was unable to
speak English didn’t help matters either.
We chatted without hesitation for half an hour, until I
suggested we retire to his bedroom, sensing he may
have felt a little too shy to initiate the proceedings
further. I started with unbuttoning his crisp, freshly
pressed shirt, before offering to take off my clothes if
he removed the rest of his, ‘Yes please, socks too.’
I moved onto the bed, wearing just my knickers and
stockings, took out my cock and slowly worked on it
till it grew hard. ‘Perhaps you can suck on this while I
sit here,’ H took a large glug of wine before obliging.
With my cock nicely stiff, I told him to lie back with
his head propped upon the pillow, me gripping the
headboard as I fucked his willing mouth.
Between thrusts, H asks, ‘Frances, ehhh...do you think I
could fuck you,’ ‘Of course you can, but I’ll return the
favour first,’ I worked my way down to suck on his
dick. Reaching over to the bedside table, I picked up
a condom and lube; whilst straddling him, I unpeeled
the condom over his cock from behind my back and
slowly lowered myself down on him. H, held onto my
bouncing breasts, as my arse drew itself snugly up and
down the length of his cock.
Eyes screwed up, he let out a faint squeal followed by
a low groan, as I felt a strong spurt of spunk, followed
by several successive throbs deep within me.
‘Ermmm...shall I top up your glass,’ ‘If you don’t mind
please Frances, I can’t get up right now.’ After a little
rest, we dressed and H saw me to the door; we
agreed we must do it again and not before too long.
A Week In the Life...
a fly on the wall account of
a ‘London Transsexual Escort’
Read further adventures
of ‘Frances’ at
www.Fransexual.Blogspot.com
Frances
Petite busty English blonde
Pre-Op Transsexual, with
a touch of class and style.
London/City/Docklands
07989
287 451
www.Fransexual.com
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