By the time I had reached the carand stood fuming, without the key, just about every male head had stoppedto look at me. The worst of it was that my newly angled hips tilted mystance to make me look like a tart touting for business. Finally, Wendy and Harriet arrived. It was obvious that they had walkeddeliberately slowly and enjoyed my unwitting display. The smirked as weloaded the luggage."D'you want to drive?" asked Wendy.I snatched the keys off her and flung myself into the driver's seat onlyto find I had to re-adjust the seat until my nose was virtually stuck inthe wheel. I looked exactly like what I had become. The typically girlygirl with her tits pressed up so tight to the wheel as to make steeringdifficult. Harriet thoughtfully dug out a cushion from the back seat andoffered it to me. "Dammith," I cursed, " I can thee over the bonnet eathily enough, ithjuth a bitch reaching the pedalth." I fiddled irritable with the seat until I was finally comfortable and weset off through. "Hell no, Gwen; it's bloody frustrating for me as well as you. I want to fuck your brains out, but my prick just doesn't respond." We both looked at the shrivelled part of my anatomy under discussion.She derisively and disdainfully, and me dolefully.Gwen let out a sorrowful sigh. "You rang all my bells, and blew all my whistles, when we first met. What's happened?"I shrugged, baffled as she was, and a bloody sight more frustrated and angry than her. The truth was I had no idea what had brought on this malady.It wasn't as if I were seeing visions of other women, as I had when fucking Gemma Sloper in Praslin. Gwen stayed as Gwen, although her expression of delight and pleasure soon changed to frustration when Mister Floppy replaced a rampant John Thomas.Although flashbacks of the Argie, the Bosnian Serb, and the Shifta child soldiers, had returned they didn't bother me anymore. In fact, Carlos the Argie, Stefan the Serb, and the Shiftateens, as I thought of them, were now as familiar.
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