Fuller stares at her speechless."I know you despise me."For a minute, Fuller stops breathing. He is dressed in a business suit standing at a busy down...town street corner across from a park. He looks down at the panhandler. She is dressed in old blue jeans and a man's faded, plaid, wool shirt.She's thin with long brown hair. Her hair is parted in the middle. Her face has a pale, innocent, almost angelic look.In other circumstances, she could be a young college student, an artist, or the daughter. She did seem to be having a hard time sitting still in her chair. Ben even asked what her problem was and to stop fidgeting. It was decided that she would go home first then someone would come over later to bring her back, so she could pack a suitcase.The rest of their visit went well. Betty's dress seemed to have dried. The dried cum I left on her chest must have itched as I spotted her a couple of times scratching her boob area. The dripping cum from her pussy had dried up long before. If you. My motherwas having none of my attempts at a vague acknowledgment. She insistedthat I describe it to her with lots of details.I hung my head in shame. That was so embarrassing and mortifying tohave to admit it to her. But I had no choice. "I dress up in yourclothes," I confessed."Excellent, I have more questions but before you answer, remember I knowthe truth. When did you 1st start dressing in my clothes and how manydays a week do you dress in them?" my mother encouraged."I started. I jus' want her gone, cherry an' all." Can't stand the competition, huh?" I asked with a grin, and she reared up like a bobcat and snarled at me. I slapped her firm rump, and we got back to it.The girl's name was Kit, not Kitten or Kitty, I was told, just Kit, no matter what she claimed. She was about five feet high and all curves and bulges, busting out of her clothes and not too careful about keeping corset strings tied or bubbies covered. She had a pug nose and grey-green eyes. She smiled at.