Partners in crime

End of session.
He gets dressed but, unlike the customers who show up with women's lingerie and leave, hiding it in their bags, he hands over his. Coordinating bustier, thong and garter belt, black seamed stockings... I'm touched by his efforts, which reveal his attention to himself, to his feminine side and to our date. He's obviously dressed up to come and see me.
As he pulls on his stockings, taking care not to spin them, I think about how you can be born a man, have a big red beard, a belly, muscles, calloused hands, the delicacy of a young girl, and how having all these features together makes you devilishly touching.
From my vantage point, I launch:
- Your thong isn't on right. It will get in the way under your jeans.
- Oh, thank you, ma'am.
He has a very feminine little gesture, pulling up one side of the lace in a pelvic undulation.

Before leaving, he appears before me again. Blue jeans and black T-shirt, belt too tight, socks pulled over his stockings, thin glasses, bag on his back, ready to catch his train. His cheeks are the same as when he first arrived, his face more relaxed underneath the air of not really touching it, the same aura of a geeky computer engineer to whom you'd leave the car, the car keys and the parking space.
- How do I look?" he asks, smiling in a parody of standing to attention.
- Above suspicion, but I know your evil thoughts.
He laughs.

At the door, he smiles at me again, with malice and gratitude. His eyes curl behind his glasses. Only he knows that under my midnight-blue dress, draped so chicly with its gold brooch, my bra is drenched in sweat, my stockings in champagne, my panties in wetness and my thighs in the lubricant I used to fuck the shit out of him.
I'm above suspicion too.
We greet each other like two criminals delighted with their good deed.

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Madame Lule, may not be used, in whole or in part, without my permission.