How would she ever find her way through the airport? To her uncle’s house? Suddenly, to her right, she saw her name. BETSY QUINN was printed in brig...t red paint on a sign. It was held upright by a gentleman in a dark suit. When she stopped in front of him, he smiled and asked if she was Betsy. She nodded, amazed. ‘I am James Douglas. Your uncle sent me to pick you up and drive you to the house. Let me have your claim tickets.’ Betsy gave him all the paperwork she was clutching tightly in her. You feel repulsed by what you have just done; by how you look. You see yourself as a sissy; a faggot! You run from the bar through the street still crowded with vanilla partygoers. You are overcome with self-consciousness; your face and your clothes still visibly coverd in a mans cum; you, an obvious man in womens clothing; your own cum starting to dribble from your crotch down you stockinged legs. You run as fast as you can in your heels to your car and drive homes quickly as you can. . More

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