I am watching a man having sex with his partner. He looks familiar to me. I seem to have known him for years. He is muscular, and he's holding onto a she-male's thighs, tilting her upward to accept his thrusts. I am envious of her. She has her hands pressed against her small breasts, little gasps coming from her slightly parted lips. She is wearing a curly blonde wig, and she is so excited, the wig seems to be coming off her head. I can see dark hair underneath.

He seems to be pumping her effortlessly. She must be so lubricated for for him, I think. And so tight, too. And I am suddenly jealous, because I remember that I have douched myself this morning, and I am cleaned out completely, and if he were only mine, he could go all the way in and enjoy himself so completely. I almost feel, as I suddenly begin pacing back and forth, an arch swivel to my hips, that I have lubricated myself for him; that I am waiting for him to take me next. I think this because suddenly I am aware of a strange, wet feeling. It's as if, like a woman, I am so lubricated with desire, I have moistened my panties. I reach in back and it feels very slick. How I wish he was mine!

The she-male's pubic hair is very pretty, shaped into a valentine. She has on light blue thigh-hi stockings, which makes for such a pleasant sight. The more he does her, it seems that the smaller her penis becomes, until it is almost like a clit. She is so excited, I think, she has become a woman for him! Could I do that? I don't think so. How does this she-male do this?

I am happy for the man, since he is so aroused and thrusting harder and harder. But now I realize that this man is my lover. And he is with another. I am watching from a doorway, and the key in my hand is burning into my palm like a brand.

Doesn't he know that I am standing there?

The phone is ringing at the side of the bed, but the two of them pay no notice of it.

I seem to be following the phone cord, and now, magically small, I seem to be sliding along on the phone wire, as if on a giant flume, and when I emerge, I am home. The phone is my phone, and I am calling.I am in a dark room.

Where am I?

Now there is an eerie glow of orange in the room, like the reflection of fire. I see that I am hanging in a bondage pose, a frightening bondage pose like you would see in a magazine. I am frozen in this pose. I am caught by one ankle, hanging upside down. I am wearing a black stretch bra, taut over my small breasts. I am in black stockings and a vinyl garterbelt. My free leg scissors against the captive one.

I am looking at myself, as if it's a picture of myself in a magazine. My private parts dangle upside down. Anyone who views me, knows my disgrace. But the worst of it, is literally on my lips. My lover has written his name on my lips, his name scrawled in indelible black ink.

This picture of me, which now appears to be in a bondage magazine that I am reading in a hellish newsstand that is all black with magazines on the far walls and only faint orange light illuminating the covers, has a caption that tells the world, "His name is on her lips, but it is a lie."

I see him in bed with that she-male. They are just as they were when I first saw them. They are in bed, and they are in the throes of passion.

I begin to cry, and my face is soaking wet with tears. I think they are tears. I am hanging upside down. I may have urinated into my face, in my fear and fright and hysteria. I don't know. I think somebody else has done it to me, perhaps my lover. A voice, metallic, high, perhaps a she-male's, says "You did it to yourself."

Now I am sucking on a man. I don't know who it is. All the time I do it, I wonder if he will climax in my mouth or urinate. I keep thinking I should stop before it is too late, before he does one or the other. But I think, I like the one, but not the other. Now I try to think what I mean by that. Sometimes when you first begin it, and it tastes a bit like urine, it is exciting, is it not?

I see my head going up and down, and I watch myself.