She ran behind the dog, her feet slapping the pavement. Her shirt flapped in the air above her deliciously bare ass. When she got to the other side, she turned around not bothering to pull her shirt together. The streetlight above her bathed her perfect breasts in yellow light, casting shadows across her belly and over her soft pussy. She looked beautiful standing on the sidewalk exposed to the hot night air with the dog leash in her hand. Then she shrugged her shoulders and the shirt fell to the sidewalk. She was naked.She didn’t even bother to look back as she walked naked up the street. I thought about picking up her shirt, but then I remembered what she had said about the thrill of knowing that she would not be able to cover up if someone came along. So I stepped over it and followed her bouncing ass cheeks up the street. She looked completely carefree as she strolled naked on a public street. Not once did she look back.I caught up with her and I could see her breathing was very. It was apage from a story. She read it through. She could feel that she mighthave written it; the style was so like hers. She looked at the printfrowning. It was not a font she used. It was a different font. Shegasped! It was not her story. It belonged to Karen. She had toldSummersby that she was an author herself and had co-written some of theJoanna Collier books. She should have listened to her instincts and gotrid of David or Karen.But what was this all about? It wasn't the first time Karen had wornwomen's clothes that was obvious. The way she had put on the tightsshould have given away the lie. And why was David standing behind thedoor with a cup of coffee in his hand anyway? Why all the charade?Belinda must have known about his transvestism. A light came on in herbrain. Belinda had accepted the hormones from David willingly. She wasdesperate to become the gender that she thought she should be; she musthave been delighted at their effect. The same drugs must have been givento.
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