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In fact, never at all as a rule. And a Roman Catholic one. Well! What would her Calvinist father have thought? But Amy hurried in and found herself alone. It was forbidding and to Amy not at all welcoming. All around were paintings and sculptures and carved cricifixes and row upon row of pews, but no sign of Lucinda. She had vanished altogether. Amy cursed herself. Clearly, Lucinda had seen Amy behind her and had taken the opportunity to slip into a church just to get away from her. Amy left the church, lit a cigarette and sat on a bench in the church grounds reflecting on the futility of her passion and making plans for the rest of the day. Perhaps she’d go to a bar. Pick up a couple of men. Have a good fuck somewhere. She noticed rather a few people around her, mostly men, dressed in very poor quality clothes. In fact, some of them were distinctly ragged. Couldn’t they afford anything better? But then she spotted a sign. ‘ Soup Kitchen ’ it read. What did that mean? Was it some. We grew closer as I grew more like her. My food choices atlunch slowly became more like hers. My clothes choices, just a littlebit closer, a bit more figure hugging, even though it was still maleclothes. And my face, it definitely was becoming more like hers. Ourhair, our eyes and our cute little nose matched almost perfectly eventhough my face was still just chiselled enough to know it was a mans. Mychest was just getting a little puffy. Not a woman chest yet, but therewas just a hint of what I would become.We still kept our distance though. The our bodies never touched duringour frequent hugs. We couldn't, neither of us could acknowledge theremote possibility of what might happen if we let our carnal desires runaway with us. And it was killing me, those hugs turned me on. I didn'twant to fuck her, but I could feel her heat when we hugged. I could feelhow close my hands were to the soft womanly curves. I could feel herboobs hanging just in front of me. And her pussy, it felt like it.
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