Instead of telling him that she answered.Instead of telling him that she answered. "You never know Joe. Let's start with a handkerchief." She got a lacy hankie from the dresser and handed it to him. "Come on Joe, let's go, before breakfast is over." "Uh, Monica isn't there something else?" "Why yes there is Joe. How silly of me to forget it." She reached in the pocket of her uniform and pulled out a tag. It read: HELLO, MY NAME IS JOSEPH WATSON. Monica attached it to the neckline of his blouse, right between his breasts. This, coupled with the conspicuous display of his breasts and male organs, was to much for Joe. He started to weep. "I meant, don't I get a wig to wear?" "Why would you want to wear a wig Joe?" "So I don't look so foolish." "Well, I'm afraid Dr. van Damme wants you to appear as you are, but I can assure you that you will have hair soon enough. Now come on!" The embarrassed man tried to follow her, but he could hardly walk. By trial and error he figured out how to move; taking short mincing steps with his legs pressed together, and moving mostly below the knees. This delicate stride made his hips sway, even more than they normally did, and his ass swing in a wide arc. The sensations of wearing tight revealing feminine clothes weren't the only things turning Joe on. The sounds he made as he walked did also; his high heels clicked out a staccato beat which echoed down the passageway, his nylon sheathed legs rubbed together with a dainty sound, his skirt made delicious undertones as his stockings slithered against the lining, and the swish, produced by the friction between the lining and taffeta, as his hips gyrated in their confining embrace. |