I suddenly realized that I had nothing to sleep in, other than my briefs; thank goodness I was not wearing the fishnet pants. I had on a pair of royal... blue pants, which cover me well. I went upstairs had a wash and returned back to the lounge, Kelly was still there arranging the blankets. I asked if she was Ok and she said she was and was going to put the kettle on for a cup of coffee. "Was there anything I wanted?" "Was that a truth or dare?" "Fuck you" she said, "Yes. So whilst you indulge yourself in girlie ecstasy and effeminacy, there is this common discomforting interface with the real world as you repeatedly peek through the blinds, or from behind the curtains lest she arrive home earlier than expected. The guilt builds up and conflates with an intense shame.“Boys and men don’t dress up in stockings and women’s underwear and masturbate.” “Why does feeling all girlie and effeminate feel so good?”“I must be some kind of depraved pervert, a queer, a fag”.. I looked around and didn't see anyone so I peeled them off. My cock was semi hard and growing. We both were trying to soak up the sun and not get to distracted. We were both nude and laying very close to each other. I still couldn't believe I was able to do this with my Stepmother. I loved her and cherished any moment alone I could have with her. I was daydreaming about the future when I felt her hand on my cock. I lay still as she stroked it to full hardness. She was leaning over me and I. But on seeing his shirt collar unbottoned, and bosom whiter than a drift of snow, the pleasure of considering it could not bribe me to lengthen it, at the hazard of a health that began to be my life’s concern. Love, that made me timid, taught me to be tender too: with a trembling hand I took hold of one of his, and waking him as gently as possible, he started, and looking, at first a little wildly, said with a voice that sent its harmonious sound to my heart: “Pray, child, what-a-clock is it?”.