‘Sure.’ She poured a DiSaronno amaretto for him and a Frangelico for herself, then took his hand, leading him into the den where a fire was burnin... in the fireplace. She sat back on the leather couch, propping a pillow up behind her and spreading her legs, patting the space between. He settled against her, his entire body relaxing at the touch of her hand sliding over his shoulders and chest. ‘This is what I need.’ He reached up and caught her hand, pressing his lips into her palm. She cupped. She loved the human body and told him several times that he was beautiful and many men would be attracted to him. It was a novel idea. At five feet four he exuded very little machismo. Indeed, his soft, smooth hairless skin and plump round buttocks were more feminine than masculine. Now that he knew he had a small penis his male self-image had contracted further. Francine had asked him if he had ever tried on women's clothes. He hotly denied it but, in fact, he had. From the age of ten he had. More

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