Funny Pretty Porn Videos

It's starts with a wild Indian girl.

Through my veil of tears, I saw an alcove in the rocky mountainside. The convertible slowed.

This is where I get off, I told myself, hoping I wouldn't be beaten or killed before I was left alongside the road, high in the dark mountains above the twinkling lights of civilization, such as it was, represented by my hometown, in the distant valley below.

When the car had come to a complete stop in the recessed space in which Brad had parked, he turned to me. Although it was dark, not dusk, now, I could still see his handsome features fairly distinctly, thanks to the light of the full moon that hovered above us. His face was impassive, like a mask. His voice was unemotional and matter of fact. "Recite the poem again," he asked--or ordered; it could have been a request or a command--"the one you call 'The Gift.'"


"I want to hear it."

Wasn't it enough to leave me stranded on the side of a fucking mountain, my dignity in tatters? I wanted to scream at him. Isn't it sufficient to reject and abandon me, after knowing how I feel--or felt--about you? Instead, my voice atremble with fear and sorrow and the wish, still fervent in my heart, that things could have turned out differently between Brad and me, I recited the poem again:

Men sensitive enough to see will know The holiness of breasts, for the haloes Of their pink areolas clearly show The glory upon them which God bestows, But 'tis a blind fool who mistakes the breasts For the fullness of feminine beauty, Fav'ring them, while excluding all the rest, Though her other charms may be more lovely, Especially when she's transsexual, And the dainty ornaments of penis And testicles, completing her, make full The bounty of her beauty and the bliss She has in store for those men who want more Than either sex, by itself, can explore.

"I'm neither 'a blind fool' nor an insensitive jerk," Brad told me. "I believe in God, and I believe he made you, just the way you are, as he has made me, just the way I am."

Surprised by his declaration, I nearly choked. "You mean you're attracted to me, despite my being a transsexual?"


My lips trembled, and the tears flowed again, warming and wetting my cheeks. A great grief welled within me, and I wanted to die.

"Not 'despite' them," Brad corrected me. "Because of them."

I turned to him, joy upon my face, and hugged him, the best I could, across the console that separated our bucket seats.

"I've waited all my life for someone like you," he told me, and I kissed his cheek. "No," he corrected himself, "not someone like you--you yourself."

I was crying again, but, this time, my tears were tears of joy, not of misery, and I did nothing to repress the sobs of joy. Sister Susie, I said to myself, this time, you are wrong!

Brad frowned. "You're crying! What's wrong?"

"They're tears of joy, Brad, not sorrow or pain. I want you, here and now. I want you as I've never wanted anyone else before. I want you to take me, to ravish me, to own me."

Brad smiled, and his teeth, white and even in the moonlight, were dazzling--or maybe it was his smile that dazzled me and the look of love in his warm, soft eyes. "Me, too," he assured me, "but it's kind of cramped in here."

His convertible was a sports model, and Brad was about the size of a professional wrestler, so I had to agree with him--the car was, for him, at least, rather confined. "Why don't we step outside," I suggested.

"I have a blanket in the trunk," he said. "I'll get it."

While he was retrieving the bedspread, I doffed my clothes.

Top Categories