The dance floor was packed, a seething mass of couples in close-clinches. She pulled me in closer by placing her hands on my hips; our bodies grazing against each other. I felt a crackle of sexual energy, she was my type and her close presence was certainly having the right effect. We moved in time to the music, her hands steering my body against hers. The delicate brush of her body against mine ignited my ardour. My loins were rising and she did not seem to care. Moving with the slow rhythm of the music, she pressed her body harder against me. “I have a confession to make.” “Oh.” “I’m married.” The ire of my arousal overtook any sense of morality; she pressed my hardened cock against her soft body. “I see. Your husband doesn’t mind you doing this?” She leant in and I felt a soft kiss on my neck. Instinctively, I tilted my head and she needed no further invitation to kiss my neck again. “No, he encourages me.” “So this is ok?” “Yes.” This time, her hand held my chin and sealed with. I couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but Igathered that they were telling her that things were exactly as she'dordered and her telling them that she hadn't ordered anything.She then seemed to repeat something like 'muscles wasted away.... they'reall cut off.... a full sex change?' and then she fainted.August 23Now I know that neither Sir nor Madam will read this diary again, I willround it off so that I can gloat it future years.I married my wife, Alison, some two years ago. Then my name was, andwill be again, Laurence Williams and I was heir to my parents' fortune,so on the insistence of the family trustees I had her sign a pre-nuptialagreement. Last year I realised that things were going wrong, littlethings gave me clues. For example, three times a week she was going toan all women exercise class but a very good friend of mine, FionaJacobson warned me that she actually only attended once a week.At this stage I should point out that Fi and I were childhood.
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