"It feels like your pussy is wanking me off," I cried.
"My pussy is wanking you off and sucking you off and fucking you all at the same time. Isn't she a naughty, clever little pussy," she explained, her voice quavering and breaking in the ecstacy of the fuck.
I grasped the cheeks of her bottom, wet as they were with freely running sweat, and rolled her over on the bed so that she was below and I was on top. She spread her legs wide apart, and I felt her lovely soft hands grab my bum forcefully and pull me even closer, so that my hard cock sank even deeper into the warm, wet tunnel of her insatiable, dick-sucking tummy-mouth. Meanwhile, her other mouth's tongue was licking the trickling sweat from the side of my neck.
"I love the smell and taste of sex-sweat," she whispered in my ear. "So sweet and sour."
"I hope you like the feeling of fuck-juice flooding your pussy," I cried, carried away in the moment, "because it is about to happen."
"Juice me, David. Juice me," she yelled, as I spurted again and again deep within her.
Then we collapsed together in an exhausted, sweaty heap.
"If we keep fucking like this, we'll be dead within the week," Vanessa gasped.
"I know," I agreed, "but what a way to go."
When I had gathered my breath I picked up the scissors and carefully and gently cut the rest of Vanessa's sweat-soaked leotard off of her body.
"I hope you weren't too attatched to that," I commented.
"I've got plenty of clothes," Vanessa explained. "But you won't let me wear them. You want a constant feast of bum, and boobs and pussy hair all day long. I would think you would get bored."
"Not when it's your bum, and your boobs, and your pussy hair," I assured her, casually combing the later with my fingers.
"But clothes can be fun," she insisted. "The feeling of silk on my clitty and titties. Don't you like the feeling of silk on your cock?" she asked, gently tickling my limp prick with a fold of silk sheet.
"It does feel kind of nice," I admitted.
"I've got an idea," she said, and skipped off the bed and disappeared into an adjoining room.
When she returned she was holding a pair of pink silk french knickers, with a lacy trimming.
"You're going to put them on?" I asked.
"I'm going to put them on you," she replied, slipping my feet through the leg-holes before I knew what was happening.
"Hey, wait a minute..." I began to protest, but, when Vanessa got an idea into her head there was no sense in trying to stop her. I felt the gentle carress of silk as she pulled the panties up my legs.
"Lift up your arse," she ordered, and reluctantly I obeyed. I felt the soft fabric engulf my limp but still sensitive prick and slide over my butt cheeks.
"What do you know, they fit," she cried triumphantly.
"Well, I'm not wearing them," I yelled, pulling them off as quickly as I could. "I'm no pansy," I protested, my old Ernest Hemingway persona reasserting itself in full force.
"Spoil sport," Vanessa responded. "I only wanted you to see what they felt like. The look was not so good, that I admit. Anyway, don't they say that a guy just wants to get into a girl's pants."
"I prefer the girls that don't wear any," I put in, slapping Vanessa's bare bottom playfully.
"There you go again. Nudity. Nudity. Nudity," she cried in mock protest.. "If God had meant us to be nude all the time, we would have been born...Oh, all right forget that argument."
"Why all this talk of clothes?" I wanted to know. "Don't you like me looking at your boobs and bottom and pussy?"
"God, I love you looking at me," Vanessa explained. "I love the fact that you can't stop staring at my pussy, even now. I love the fact that the sight of my bare bottom makes your cock really stiff. I love the thought that if I didn't fuck you, the sight of my naked body would make it absolutely impossible for you not to play with your dick in front of me."
"Well, that's reassuring," I replied.
"But clothes can be fun, too," she said. "You should see my cleavage in a tied-up bodice. And wouldn't my bottom and pussy tantalize you even more if you got occassional glimpses of them from beneath a short white tennis skirt. And what about bathers, the wet material stretched taut over stiff nipples. The look of tight, blue jeans stretched over a gorgeous butt. What about a bedmate wearing little-girly flannel pajamas, with a loose elastic that just won't keep them up. Of course that's the most fun. The fact that clothes can be removed. Now, David, can you really tell me that you don't like the thought of pulling a girl's skirt up to look at her legs and her panties. Pulling her panties down, with her putting up just the right amount of token protest. Ripping her shirt open and burying your face in her bra-less boobs. And what about pulling down the zipper on a girl's jeans, knowing just how close your hand is to the hairy pink-lipped pussy hidden inside her panties."
"Don't tease me any more," I cried, my cock once more stiff as a poker. "Put some clothes on! Put some clothes on!"
"Ah," said Vanessa seductively, "but which ones?"
She led me into the adjoining room which turned out to be one huge wardrobe. Here it was that I would be introduced to the unending erotic adventure of women's clothes.
No I didn't become a transvestite. Though there are times when I feel so close to Vanessa, and the boundary between what is me and what is her seems so blurred, that I am tempted by her insistence that I climb into her clothes and "find out what it's like to be a girly, like me." But at times like this Ernest gets the upper hand and I resist the temptation.
The pleasure I discovered in Vanessa's wardrobe was that of dressing and undressing Vanessa.
Now I suppose that playing with dolls is a girly thing to do as well, but when the doll is made of flesh and blood, and you get to fondle her nipples as you scoop her breasts into a bra, or run your hand gently over the smooth silk panties into which you have only recently squeezed her naked bottom, it tends to stir up in you feelings that are most definitely masculine.
At first Vanessa wanted to have a shower to wash off the sweat of sex, before trying on any clothes.