Spring Fever: A Different Kind of Love Story

SPRING FEVER is special.


Dotschy's in love with a cross dresser. No, not in love. It's just spring fever. Really it is...

After a rough break up, Dotschy doesn't want to think about love everlasting. When spring comes around and she can't stop smiling at Connor the sweet and sensitive semi-closet trans-curious sometimes-cross-dresser, she convinces herself it's just infatuation. That doesn't stop her from wanting him though. It doesn't stop her from getting him either.


Connor, dressed as a woman, stood before me in a light pink sweater with
pearly plastic buttons down the front. It was the type of sweater a
mommy picks out for her little girl. That’s the spirit in which Connor
dressed himself. Sure, he had plenty of life experience as a man, but
he was a novice female. His skirt was a more mature tweedy grey shot
with pink, slit in the back and just covering his knees. Did he shave
his legs? I couldn’t tell, what with the pantyhose. His shoes matched
his sweater. His nails matched his sweater. Connor pulled off the look
beautifully. He looked almost elegant in his black Kiss of the Spider
Woman wig. His boobs were generous, but he had a natural paunch to
match. Despite his height, he didn’t look curiously tall. He looked
perfect, actually. His glasses were the same pair he wore as a man.
They suited him both ways.

Soft. That was Connor dressed as a
woman. He was soft. Soft pinks, soft body, soft curves. I ran my
hand across his cheek. That was soft too. No trace of stubble. Before
I arrived at his house, I’d wondered if I would be as attracted to
Connor dressed as a woman as I was to Connor dressed as a man. “You
look beautiful.” I kissed his smooth cheek, lingering close. Those
sparkling blue eyes were Connor. The clothes were different, but the
person was the same. I would easily have made out with him, and not
just to see if passers-by would throw stuff at us.

“You look
fabulous, dear,” he said. His voice lilted, neither high nor low.

“Fabulous?” I chuckled. “Honey, you’re a woman, you’re not gay! Try
‘lovely’ or ‘gorgeous.’”

He leaned in close. Into my ear, he
whispered, “Dotschy, you’re gorgeous.”

* * *

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