Sanity intruded on my thoughts. What was I thinking? She was a drag queen, wasn’t she? A drag queen was a guy. She was a guy, my little Barbara, the blonde cutie I’d rescued by first breaking her g-string and touching her emerging penis.
So, it was a very bad idea to go and see if I could find her, see if I could get her to kiss me again and see if it still seemed the same as it was when I’d kissed the lovely bride in my arms. I recalled her wonderful, girlie fragrance and the soft curves of her girlish body pressed against me.
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