Mistress Psyche's Feminization Fantasies

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Rosie the Sissy – Part Five

By Beverly Taff

List of characters

Me Robert
Wendy My twin sister
Angela Our younger half sister by my mother’s second boyfriend
Doris My drippy mother who lets everybody walk all over her
Aunty Janet My mother’s pushy domineering sister.
Harriet Our friend from the next farm
Aunty Margaret Harriet’s Mother
Jessica Harriet’s older sister

            The next week was taken up with getting Harriet and Wendy settled in college.  Our new flat was a converted barn on the edge of the city close to the vetinary school farm.  We were also able to arrange stabling close by for our horses. This had the added advantage that any vetinary concerns could be dealt with by using them for training purposes by the students.  Because Toby was a very well behaved thoroughbred stallion, his presence was most welcome by the vetinary faculty.

Once Harriet, Wendy and the horses were settled, we arranged for my lessons to be e-mailed to the hospital and I prepared for elective surgery.  This time, Aunty Janet arranged for me to attend a private hospital and I thought it was simply to expedite my surgery.  If I had only known?  The orthopaedic surgeon proved to be efficient and thorough.  Her bedside manner was polite but dispassionate though she proved to be good at her job.   Doctor Cockless also attended to advise on any issues concerning my lifestyle. I was to learn later that things were not all that they should have been at this supposedly private hospital. 

I went under the same day that Wendy and Harriet attended the ‘Fresher’s Ball’.  We probably woke up at roughly the same time the following morning.  Me with throbbing pains in my thighs and groin, they with throbbing pains in their heads.  Strangely, I also suffered from unexpected pains in my mouth, particularly, my tongue.

Fortunately for me, there was little visible scarring.  They had operated as close as was safe to the necks of both femurs and I simply had to rest for a week before I could test my new legs. There was of course no scarring outside my mouth, but the swelling made talking impossible and I could only swallow liquids.  Every day Wendy and Harriet e-mailed me for news but until I was walking, there was little I could tell them. 

Finally the day came when I could get out of bed.  I sat on the edge for a few minutes then gingerly placed both feet on the ground.  There was intense ‘pins and needles’ for a few moments then I finally rose to my feet.  The surgeon studied my stance and nodded to Doctor Cockless as she checked my balance.

“How does it feel?”

“Juth about the thame.  There’th a bit of pain in my hipth but I’m OK.” I lisped self-consciously because of my still swollen tongue.

“Good.  Now take a few steps towards me.” Ordered the surgeon ignoring my lisp.

I stretched one foot and immediately sensed that my pelvis was tilting further to counteract the imbalance.  Cautiously I landed my front foot on the ground and started to raise my trailing leg.   Once again my pelvis tilted the other way and I felt my lumber region sway to compensate.

“Goth!  It’th my hipth! My hipth swing.”  I squeaked.

“Yes.  That’s to be expected.  We had to bend your femurs a little further than we thought and twist them a bit to get your feet straight.   It means your hip joints are now angled a little further than an ordinary woman’s.  Your hips will sway more than normal so I’m afraid you’re going to have a very sexy walk.  You’ll also notice you’re a little wider across the tummy which will give you a more rounded curvier front.”

I studied myself in the mirror and noticed a slightly wider span to my lower tummy.  Then I turned and studied my butt in the mirror.

“Doeth that look any bigger?”

“No, not much.  Your pelvis has only been slightly widened across the pubis where the bone repaired itself before we could treat it.  From the back, you’ve still got perfect ‘bubble butts.”

I sagged with relief and took a few more cautious steps.  Apart from the awful lisp, exaggerated swaying of my hips and the slight pain in my femurs.  I didn’t seem to have anything else to complain about.  The doctors smiled then the orthopaedic surgeon dropped her last little bombshells.

“We found it difficult to preserve your erective vascular tissue in the liquid nitrogen so we had to put it back in your body in case we could do something in the future.  The only easy place to install it and ensure it’s continued survival was your tongue.  Your tongue now has two pieces of vascular tissue installed along the side of the base.  That’s why you’ll find it a little difficult to talk.  Your tongue will be longer but less able to form tees and esses when you talk.

I frowned nervously as I tried to object but my new lisp made my voice sound like a little girl; a perfect sissy.

“Will I alwayth talk like thith?”

Doctor Cockless interceded.

“I’m afraid so darling but I shouldn’t worry.  It’s the only way we can preserve the remaining working vascular tissue.  The shredded finer parts are still OK in the nitrogen.”

I tried working my tongue inside my mouth and found it a little clumsy but at least it didn’t flop out.  I simply had to bend the tip back under itself and this is what caused the lisp.  If I left my tongue lie naturally, the tip hung out in a most unladylike manner, like a lewd panting dog.  Doctor Cockless continued.

“Once the swelling subsides, you’ll have a lot more control and it won’t feel so uncomfortable.”

The orthopaedic surgeon then interrupted again.

“We also had to cut a few inches off each femurs near your knees to get the bones to knit correctly at the correct angle.  You’ll be slightly knock-need but that’s to bring your shins to be parallel.  You’ll now be a little shorter than your friends.  Doctor Cockless assures me that it won’t be a problem.  Anyway, we girls like to feel petite don’t we?”

I was shocked by this revelation but tried not to show it.   I did not realise then, that it was totally unnecessary to shorten my femurs.  This had been Doctor Cockless’s idea as part of her own plans.  When I was told, I had accepted the decision without protest through sheer dint of ignorance.  What I also did not know was that Doctor Cockless had arranged with Aunty Janet to have my tongue modified as a substitute for my penis but more of that later.

I did not notice the secret little smile that the doctors and Aunty Janet exchanged as they completed this first consultation.  Finally they gave me an exercise program and left.  For the next two weeks, I had to wear special soft-soled orthopaedic trainers until the bones had completely healed.  I could not disguise my swaying gait and crimsoned whenever a man gave me a particularly appreciative stare.  The next phase was walking and then running in ordinary trainers and this really exposed my sexiness.   Running was a completely new experience and my hips wiggled alarmingly as they swayed and rocked to compensate for the new pelvic arrangements.  My pelvic crests swung out alarmingly and my knees seemed to exaggerate the new angles in my thighs.  In short, when I ran, I was all ‘arse and tit’.   In the orthopaedics gymnasium, many a wry giggle was suppressed when I trained on the running machines and my tits and arse bounced provocatively.  Never was there a more ‘girly, limp-wristed’ vision of loveliness.

 Finally I was given a pair of heels and asked to walk the length of the corridor.  

This proved to be the most ‘interesting’ test. 

Heels always cause a girl to feel good, but for me the sensations were now fantastic.  My hips were tilted forward causing my tits to stick out as I compensated my stance.  This made the crotch of my stretch jeans pull tight against my rosie.  The heels increased the wiggle in my hips and the ‘shock’ of the heel transmitted an extra tickle up my legs causing my rosie to twitch inside my soft, silky, frilly panties.  I found her responding alarmingly as my jeans drew tight in my crotch and she blossomed eagerly for relief.  Suddenly I was gasping for relief and I teetered into the bathroom to attend to my rosie’s needs.  Doctor Cockless followed me in.

“Are you OK?”  She asked.

“No.  It’th my, aah, - my ro, - my rothie!  She’th blothomed!”

‘Blossoming’ was now my new euphemism for orgasm and ejaculating.   Doctor Cockless frowned as a tiny sticky stain in the front of my jeans, betrayed my condition.  I lay gasping for several minutes as my feelings and emotions surged back and forth through my responsive body.

Doctor Cockless continued to tend my needs as the extended feminine nature of my orgasm prolonged my shuddering squirming responses.  Then I opened my eyes, and I was frightened to find several concerned nurses and ancillary staff bending over me.  Fortunately, Doctor Cockless managed to assuage their concerns.

‘Is she alright Doctor Cockless?’  The girls kept asking.

“Yes.  Yes,” assured Doctor Cockless.  She’s just been overcome by her ‘ahem’ emotions.  Her bodily needs you understand.

“Is she epileptic?”  Asked one nurse.

“Oh good gracious no!  I’m her doctor, she just responds more actively than most girls.  She’ll be all right in a few minutes.

The girls exchanged knowledgeable glances for they had been ‘hand-picked’ as nurses.  They smiled licentiously then nodded sympathetically as one of them voiced their puerile thoughts.

“Oh dear.  Will she always be this sensitive?”

“Sometimes, but not always,” replied Doctor Cockless as she supported me to an empty stall.

Once out of sight, she whispered her question.

“Have you recovered yet?”

“Eh.   No,” I gasped as I leant with my back against the door whilst still fingering my crotch and humping my jeans frustratedly against the empty air.  “I haven’t blothomed for over four weeks.  The vibrationth from my heels just seth my rothie off.”

“Well why haven’t you been relieving yourself?”  She whispered hoarsely.

“I wath thaving mythelf for Harriet.”

Doctor Cockless let out a soft chuckle as she admonished me in a whisper again.

“Why you silly little sissy.  You must know by now that sissies need to be ‘milked’ regularly.”

“Yeth.”  I groaned as the final waves of my prolonged feminine orgasm took me and I slid down the door to the floor.”

Doctor Cockless knelt down and studied me as my hips pumped urgently and my butt bounced along the floor. Her gaze fell upon my erect turgid nipples pressing through my lacy bra so she reached out and gently brushed them through the silk of my blouse.

She knew there was no way of stopping the orgasm, so all she could do was accelerate the process to get it over before anybody else decided to try and intervene.  As it was, the girls were whispering salaciously outside the door.  I could distinctly catch some of the questions but I was beyond caring.

‘D’you think she’s got nymphomania or something?  She seems out of control.  D’you think that doctor knows what she’s doing?  Perhaps she’s gone too far!  Had we better call someone else’?  Doctor Cockless ignored the muttering women and continued exciting my engorged nipples.

Her technique proved exactly right for I then let out a squeal of ecstasy and finally slumped in her arms.

The muttering women fell silent then some self-appointed busy body knocked on the door.

“Is she all right?”

“Yes.   She’s past the worst.  She’s recovering now.”

A stupid, satiated smile declared my satisfaction as I squeezed Doctor Cockless’s wrist.   She continued whispering her reassurance.

“There, there.”  She whispered.   “That’s better my little sissy.   Now don’t you ever go denying yourself satisfaction again.  You must be milked at least twice and more probably three times a day to avoid the build up of any unnecessary tensions.  You’re a sissy now, and sissies need special care.  Just remember that if Wendy or Harriet cannot be there to help you, there is a special sissy help line.”

She reached into her bag, tore a page from her diary then penned a number.

“Here, put this somewhere safe and there will always be a Samaritan to help you.  Don’t forget, your rosie makes you an extra special sissy. Once word gets around about you in the big city, you’ll be a very vulnerable little sissy.  There’s many a dominatrix who would love to take advantage of you, or worse, abuse you.  Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

By now I had recovered my wits and Doctor Cockless helped me to my feet.  There she cleaned me up until I was eventually fit to go out.  As the door opened, I smiled sheepishly at the ‘doughnut’ of concerned faces and declared that I was ‘OK now’. 

“Are you sure dear?”  Pressed the lead nosey parker.  “You seemed quite overwhelmed.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated as I thanked them for their concerns.

“OK ladies, panic over now.  I’m taking her back to the ward.”  Declared Doctor Cockless, thus re-establishing her medical credentials. 

The nurses and auxiliaries then backed off and watched me as I traipsed off down the corridor with Doctor Cockless. 

I had to admit, once I had ‘blossomed, it felt much nicer and sexier to be tripping about in heels and taking small wiggly steps. My hips swayed and my bottom bounced as the exciting click of my heels on the tiled corridor floor let everybody know that a lady was approaching. 

Of course now that my legs were a little shorter, I found the heels a Godsend to give me that essential extra little bit of height.  However, my steps were much shorter and the rapid click – click – clicking of my heels always betrayed my busy, bouncy progress.  My rapid stride soon became well known around the hospital.  Men’s eyes invariably followed my every step.  I stayed for one more week at the hospital then the doctors declared me fit. I was discharged on the Friday and it was then that I noticed another little problem caused by my new shape.  My wider hips made carrying suitcases more difficult.  They tended to bump against my hips and unbalance me as I swayed along on teetering heels.  

The overnight train journey to college revealed the problem, climbing aboard the train with all my luggage needed all of Aunty Janet’s and mum’s help as I found my seat.

Early on Saturday morning, I met Wendy and Harriet at the railway station and started college in earnest.  Both girls squealed with surprise when I struggled off the overnight train with mountains of luggage.  My new height meant I had to wear my own skirts and jeans, and my exaggerated wiggle swished the hem of my knee length skirt provocatively.  It was impossible for me to carry my entire bulky luggage.   I finally stood gasping on the platform out side the railway carriage doors and looked up gratefully to see Wendy and Harriett trotting towards me.

“Why Rosie!”  Squealed Harriet.   “You’re quite the prettiest little sissy!  You’re simply adorable!  Mmmmmm, - mmm!”  And with that she held me tight and kissed me desperately. 

I blushed a little as other passengers eyed us knowingly and I stared over Harriet’s shoulder beseechingly to my Sister Wendy.  Finally Harriet released me and I recovered my breath.

“Can you carry my suitcatheth pleathe?  They’re thort of difficult for me.”

The girls giggled at my lisp then both eyed my new shape and guessed the problem.  All the trolleys had been taken as I had taken so long struggling with my luggage getting off the train.  We would have to carry them.

Wendy just eyed me up and down then smiled slyly as she peeped down my cleavage.  My twin sister also found my reduced height attractive.  I felt a nervous little tingle run down my belly and lodge in my rosie as my knees sagged slightly.  I now found myself looking up into both sets of appreciative eyes where before I had once been slightly taller.  This really emphasised my new height, or rather, the lack of it.  Harriet simply continued giggling and hugging me protectively as she accustomed herself to what had become a new relationship.  I was now the sweet little thing who looked up to my friends.

This was further emphasised when we set off for our car with my luggage.  I found my heels clicking along at twice the pace as my hips wiggled and I desperately tried to keep up.  It seemed that half my effort in walking was spent pushing my hips sideways as I swayed and wiggled provocatively on my heels.

“Goth!  Thlow down you two.  I can’t keep up!”

Wendy and Harriet turned and stared stupidly for a moment before they realised.  Even though they were each carrying a suitcase and I only had my makeup case and my handbag, they were still making much better progress than I.  They hesitated and waited for me to get past them before they resumed walking slowly.  As I wiggled along in front of them, they watched my butt and exchanged smiles as Harriet mimicked Jack Lemon in ‘Some like it hot’.

“How does she move like that?”

“I dunno,” chuckled Wendy, mimicking Tony Curtis, “she’s kind’a built differently now.”

I turned angrily and glared at them then stalked off trying to keep as much dignity as I could whilst my wiggling butt invited every licentious stare in the station. 

Unfortunately, my angry hurried gait increased the provocative wiggle and this in turn attracted many more appreciative stares.  Eyes followed me all the way down the platform, across the station concourse and out to the car.  By the time I had reached the car and stood fuming, without the key, just about every male head had stopped to look at me.  The worst of it was that my newly angled hips tilted my stance to make me look like a tart touting for business.

Finally, Wendy and Harriet arrived.  It was obvious that they had walked deliberately slowly and enjoyed my unwitting display.  The smirked as we loaded the luggage.

“D’you want to drive?”  Asked Wendy.

I snatched the keys off her and flung myself into the driver’s seat only to find I had to re-adjust the seat until my nose was virtually stuck in the wheel.  I looked exactly like what I had become.  The typically girly girl with her tits pressed up so tight to the wheel as to make steering difficult.  Harriet thoughtfully dug out a cushion from the back seat and offered it to me.

“Dammith,” I cursed.  “ I can thee over the bonnet eathily enough, ith juth a bitch reaching the pedalth.”

I fiddled irritable with the seat until I was finally comfortable and we set off through the traffic.   Fortunately my driving skills were unaffected and we arrived at the flat in short order.  Once again, my luggage proved a nightmare and I was reduced to depending on Wendy and Harriet.  I resolved to get a trolley case ASAP as I gratefully flopped into an armchair and took the weight of my 3-inch heels.

“Shall we go clubbing to night?”  Suggested Wendy.

Harriet glanced questioningly to me as I slumped in the chair.  I rubbed my ankles thoughtfully then agreed.

“OK then, but I won’t be doing much danthing.  My hipth are thill recovering you know and I didn’t thleep much on the train.”

“Looks like your ankles are hurting darling, not your hips.”  Smiled Harriet.

“Yeah.  Well thath ath maybe, but I’ll alwayth need heelth now.”

I slipped my heels off and stood up to demonstrate.  Wendy squealed with delight as my eyes came level with her cleavage.  I pressed my nose into my twin’s breasts and sniffed her perfume. 

“Thee what I mean.  And, mmmm!  That’th nithe, what ith it?”

I didn’t hear her reply as my nose fell deeper into her cleavage.  She giggled then put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me into her breasts. 

“Hey!   That’s my job!”  Protested Harriet.

Taking the hint, we struggled upstairs with my luggage.  After unpacking, I flung myself across the bed and invited Harriet to attend me.   Her smile widened and she invited Wendy to join us.  My heart missed a beat for I had never enjoyed a threesome before.  It seemed that Wendy and Harriet had not wasted the opportunity to share a bed since they were in college.  Now I had arrived, things would be more exciting.

“Let’s see all your legs then.”  Begged Wendy as she and Harriet slipped off their jeans.

I wriggled out of my frock worked my tights down my legs as Harriet and Wendy studied my legs.

“We’ll not be wearing the same tights from now on.”  Observed Harriet.

“No, but everything elthe except trouthers and long thkirts will be mix and match.”   I replied.

“Is your rosie still OK?”

“Of courthe!  It’h never been better and I haven’t been milked today.”

“You’ll service us first,” ordered Wendy as she knelt on the bed and spread her thighs to press her clitty against my rosie.

The little nubbin at the centre of my blossom started to harden as the ‘petals’ unfurled and Wendy slowly lowered her hips.

“Mmmm.  Rosie’s still as pretty as ever.”  Declared Harriet as she gently fingered my twin and me.  Then we started to hump each other until Wendy found release.  She let out a throaty groan then rolled off to make room for Harriet.   I lay there with my heart thumping as Harriet took her pleasures and finally slumped the other side of me.

By now Wendy had recovered and she produced a little porcelain cup shaped device with a tiny aperture.

“What’h that?”  I asked nervously.

“It’s for collecting your pollen.”

“Pollen!”  I squeaked.

“Of course.  It looks more like a flower than a pee-pee now.  You can hardly call it semen can you?”

“It workth like themen,” I protested.

“Well that’s as may be, but collecting it is more like a bee visiting a flower.   It’s never going to penetrate anything is it?”

I fell silent for a moment and pouted peevishly.  My twin sister Wendy was right.  From now on, I was convinced that sex for me would be simply titillation and tantalisation.  My tongue had not yet healed properly and I did not yet sprout a ‘facial erection’.  This would come later.  For now, I was only available as a reservoir of seed when my rosie blossomed.  Indeed I was just like a flower, inviting visitors to take my seed whenever my rosie was in bloom.

 “How doeth that thing work?”

For an answer, Wendy gently fitted the balled ‘petal’s of my rosie into the neck of the pot then gently introduced a feather through the little aperture.  I immediately lurched with delight as the feather lightly tickled my stiff little nubbin and ‘dusted’ the sensitive petals of my rosie.   This quickly caused my rosie to ‘blossom’.

“Ooooh-oooh, that’h lovely!  Don’t thop, aaah-oooh.

My heart thumped a furious tattoo and my hips humped eagerly against the feather as Wendy experimented with her new invention.  Harriet watched fascinated as her fingers idly caressed my nipples until I exploded with delight.

Eventually, I subsided and Harriet inspected the contents of the little vase.

“Where did you get this?”  She asked Wendy.

“I had it made in the ceramics department this week.  See, it fit’s over her rosie and stops her pollen from spraying everywhere.”

Wendy turned to look at me and smiled.

“Well it certainly prevents the mess going everywhere.  Did it feel nice?”

I was still savouring my prolonged orgasm and simply nodded weakly.  My hair lay spread across the pillow and my tongue hung out like an overheated hound.  Harriet smiled.

“Doesn’t she look lovely?”

“Yes,” replied Wendy.

I never heard the last words for despite it only being ten o’clock in the morning; I had fallen asleep.  The sleepless overnight train journey had taken its toll.

“We’ll let her sleep until two o’clock then we’ll go shopping,” whispered Harriet to Wendy.

So saying, they left me sleeping and visited the horses to give them some exercise and clean out the stables.  When they returned, their showering woke me up.  I blinked sleepily and stumbled sleepily to the bathroom where I found them sharing a shower.

“Can I join you?”

“Of course!  Step right in.”  They chorused.   Gingerly, I squeezed beside them and we savoured our newfound troilism.  Then we prepared to go shopping.

It was unusually warm for a November and we all chose to wear miniskirts.  Wendy and Harriet chose tights but I of course had to wear stockings and suspenders.  Since the accident, sensations had been returning steadily to my rosie. By the beginning of November my rosie had started responding to the slightest touch and even the caress of silky panties or high gloss shiny tights could set her off.  The gentle caress of the softest, silkiest panties could reduce me to a wanton, gasping slut. 

If I wanted to dress in a skirt or frock, I now had to always wear my special panties with the tiny aperture in the front to allow my rosie to ‘escape’ and blossom when I got horny.  To hide the extravagant blossom growing from the front of my panties, my rosie had to be camouflaged with extra frillies.  This of course meant I was forever condemned to wear ultra frilly panties to disguise my exposed genitalia.   Invariably, the best disguise was red, white and blue frills to match the extravagant colours of my rosie.

Strangely though, my rosie only seemed to respond to the delicate caress of silky panties or glossy tights.  If I wore rough heavy jeans or jodhpurs and stout cotton knickers whilst out riding my horse Peaches, my rosie seemed to resent the rough friction. It would somehow, ‘retreat’ back through the little aperture in my panties then withdraw into my crotch like a tortoise into its shell.  There it would stay until the jeans or jodhpurs came off. 

However, if I rode whilst wearing a light frock and frilly panties, the silky sensations would send both my rosie and me into paroxysms of delight.

 I had discovered this during that first Sunday in college when we went out to exercise the horses.  It had become quite common knowledge that Harriet and Wendy often exercised their horses whilst wearing short skirts and many another rider got an exciting flash of their frilly panties. Once I had joined them, the exhibition acquired an extra dimension and it seemed that lots of lustful eyes gathered around the stable yards as we took our early morning rides.

On this particular Sunday I found myself getting more and more agitated as my rosie started to respond furiously to the sensations of peaches powerful shoulders throbbing in my crotch. Even before we had reached the local bridle-way, I was gasping for breath and turning bright red with exertions.  Eventually I gasped to my companions to stop as I dismounted and furiously attended to my burgeoning needs.

“What’s wrong Rosie?”  Asked a concerned Harriet as she held Peaches’ reigns.

“I!   It’h my, - my rothie! – I. - There’th thomething wrong!  I. - I have to thop a minute.”

So saying I flopped down on the grassy bank and squealed desperately as my needs overtook my modesty.  Quickly I was reduced to a gasping writhing wanton slut as my uncontrollable body humped urgently at the empty air.  Then I sprayed furiously and slumped lewdly with my legs apart as Wendy and Harriet exchanged worried looks.  

Then Wendy had to dismount and pretend my horse had thrown me as another group of riders appeared.

“Is she alright?”  Inquired one of the other girls.

“Oh yes.  Just a bit winded.   No bones broken.  Fortunately we were just trotting.”   Lied Wendy smoothly.

Several pairs of eyes stared covetously at my spread-eagled form so Wendy discreetly smoothed my upraised frock down my thighs as far as it would go, which wasn’t far.  Then they reluctantly resumed their ride as I begged to be left to walk Peaches back to the stables. 

“You go on.  I’ll go back and thort mythelf out.”

Reluctantly Wendy and Harriet trotted off to catch up with the other party as I picked my way delicately back to the yard. 

There I attended to Peaches and gave her an extra ration of oats before treating myself to a cool drink and discretely wiping the evidence of my excursion from the hem of my frock and inside of my thighs.  Wendy and Harriet returned an hour later and I helped them clean down Apples and Toby.  Finally we returned home and I changed outfits.  We discussed my problem and I had to run some tests with my outfits to discern what was best for my deteriorating condition.  It seemed that no matter what panties I wore, my rosie was responding more and more. 

It was only by accident the next Monday that I discovered that my rosie was immune to rough jeans and cotton knickers.  Desperation had forced me to pop down to the shops and try out every material.  It seemed that cotton was the only material that my rosie did not react to.  After that I always took care to wear jeans or jodhpurs and interlock cotton knickers when visiting the stables.  Otherwise I would have acquired a reputation for being the stable’s nymphomaniac.  This might not have been an altogether unpleasant reputation however, for most of the stable girls seemed to be ‘ladies of a certain persuasion’.  It must be something to do with girls and horses and riding.  Nevertheless, it simply would not do for my little secret to become spread abroad.  Naturally, after that first weekend, I always wore jeans or jodhpurs when at the stables to preserve my modesty. 

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