Cassandra and Francis

I was browsing through a bunch of paperbacks in the mystery department of Mulligan’s bookshop when I took my first notice of her. She was in the romance section, some shelves to my right. I never saw her enter the store. I must have been busy with the books.

She looked like a woman in her mid thirties. If I told you her cute face caught my eye first, it would have been a lie. Her face was in fact really pretty. But her body was much more than that, it was something to remember. The catchy, provocative clothes she had on made it clear she was well aware of her insanely appealing figure. The tight-fitting top she had on had trouble confining her massive rack, and that miniskirt barely covered the tight cheeks of her lovely butt.

A small wave of arousal passed through my loins when I noticed her sandals, toes open, high heels, toenails painted red. I had to bring all my self-restraining powers together to prevent myself from falling to her feet and licking these yummy toes.

The long brown hair she had was pulled back in a ponytail. Her style was all about a woman on a relaxed Saturday morning shopping round. Still, her dark eye makeup and lips, bright red, gave an impression it was more than books that she was looking for. This was exactly the female type that gave me the shivers and thrown me into uncontrollable panic.

My name is Francis Townsend. My mom gave me this name in honor of a war hero. It, however, did not prevent the bullies at Charles Gordon Elementary from harassing me. They had real fun mocking my female name. The fact that I was a short, thin guy with barely any effeminate features at all did not matter. As I was growing up I was always the target for never-ending playground jokes.

My older sisters, of which I had two, and their friends, always enjoyed dressing me up as a girl. I was always so humiliated when they finished their job and laughed about how totally convincing I looked.

Don’t get this wrong, I’m not trying to say I’m gay or transvestite. I am a heterosexual to the bone. I still have to admit I often fantasize about powerful, dominant women. I have a bit of foot fetish as well. But hell, everybody has his or her couple of kinks.

What I’m really trying to tell you is that I have never been the macho type, the soccer-playing hunk who attracts lovely girls. The girls like the one who was only steps away from me. Generally I try to avoid getting too close to such women. I feel scared shitless. But of course I do appreciate a cute face, a big sexy rack, and a well-shaped behind. Any guy who does not?

As soon as I noticed this super-hot goddess, I could not stop myself from taking secret peeps. I was really smooth at that. I pretended I was reading some preface while I furtively observed her with the corner of my eye. I was feeling like a naughty kid secretly staring at lingerie mannequins as he was walking through a big store, his mother grabbing him firmly by the hand. That was naughty, but I could not help it.

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15 thoughts on “Cassandra and Francis

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