But I am sure we can work kit out”This would be the beginning of his exploitation of me.I agreed to meet him again. I was already prepared in my head to let him fuck me once more. I had managed to get through the last time, in reflection, the cock-sucking wasn’t so bad. It was the anal that hurt. If that was the price of buying him off, then I could do it one more time. But I would pick the place, I told myself. But in the end he didn’t want to meet in any hotel, either of my choosing or his. We met in a café. He told me he would keep the video a secret, protect the truth of my transvestism, and all he wanted in return was to be involved in my crossdressing. To see more pictures as I made them, to be allowed to by gifts of clothes for me and make requests. And to occasionally be allowed to show his appreciation physically.Though I was sceptical about letting him further into my life and I already knew what he meant by his last request, I agreed to go along with it.I felt I didn’t. As I awoke fully, I remembered where I was and why I was being blasted awake in the middle of the day. At the head of the bed was a digital radio with an alarm and volume function, which I half-punched, half-slapped at, partially in desperation. It fell blissfully silent, and once my ears stopped ringing, I could hear the breakers a few dozen yards away.As I sat there, clearing my head and untangling my junk, I realized that I was surprisingly out of breath. Reflexively, I reached up to scratch my face – and it took me a second to realize I had stubble.While I confused myself over my Master PC self-exam settings, I knew damn well I’d adjusted my hair growth; I hadn’t shaved or needed a haircut for three months. Yet I needed one now, on my wedding day.A shave? Better yet, I needed an adjustment. Flipping open my laptop, which was in Sleep mode, it felt a little warmer than usual. Nothing extreme, so I chalked it up to the tropical heat. The rest was almost routine – click, click, move.
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