I quietly gaze upon my wife from our bedroom door. She looks lovely
and fresh to start the day.
I've been awake for several hours already,
cleaning, and preparing breakfast. From where I stand, dressed in a French Maid's uniform, I can hear the
sound of our bedroom shower water running. Her overnight guest, my
brother, must be in there. Before he returns to our bedroom, I have to
disappear and go to serve their breakfast on the terrace. I worry
though. When my brother sees my wife, dressed as she is, he may make me
wait before I serve them. Oh what did I begin when I first confessed
to my wife that I liked to dress in women's clothes?
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