A voicethat confirmed it was a mad idea. A voice that reminded Art that he hadnever desired to wear womens clothes or make up before. A voice thattold him even with the clothes he could never truly experience the wayJessica feels, and that even if he could, how would this experience helphim? This voice was the logic and reason in Art's head, but he was farbeyond logic and reason. Somewhere in the swirling mix of hate andbitterness and ambition this idea was going to happen. This wassomething he wanted to do. This was something he had to do.Art threw his coat and school bag into a pile at the end of his bed. Hepulled at his shirt and ripped it off over his head revealing hischubby, but not fat torso. He pulled off his trousers and underwaer,allowing his short but thick cock to flop freely. He didn't leavehimself time to think. Turning around he purposefully marched to thedoor of his mum's bedroom. Steeling himself for a second he breathed insharply. This felt like something big to. Scarborough’s busy time was the summer months.He then wrote down the car’s registration number and the parking location, in a note-pad he kept in a pocket for essential data. As he explained to Jessica, “In a conurbation, it is too easy to forget where you parked, unless it is always the same place!”They walked slowly back to the hotel, and Jessica took Reg’s hand as they went. She wanted to show she was with him, and happy to be so. Reg, on the other hand, wondered to himself if people might assume he was her son.They settled into the hotel. The proprietors had acceded to the request for a single room next to the double room, and Sidra found her bed to be quite comfortable to lie on. She did comment that she had hoped to be in the same room as her mother, so that she could see what they got up to in bed, but finished the comment with a laugh, showing that she was joking.Reg looked up the data he had for the farm where he was to prospect, and phoned before dinner. His call was well.
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