To soothe his wounded spirits, Tammy wrote stories. Glorious, wonderful stories in which men were granted the female bodies they dreamed of. Stories i... which they could wear the frilly feminine clothing they desired without fear of ridicule, and act as girly as they wanted to. And then he posted them to the Internet.Which was where Tammy's second problem came in. For Tammy had a nemesis. Mr. Critic. Oh, wicked Mr. Critic!Every time Tammy posted a new story, sure enough Mr. Critic would. I could only hope. Maybe after I’m done all my reading tonight, as a reward, I would touch myself with that pen. Her pen. Ms. Wagner’s pen.Ha. Hahahaha.***The next time I went to our lunch meeting, my heart stopped. It stopped, then fell a dozen flights, then crashed into the pavement. I wasn’t the only one there. Johnny was there too. He was there before me, violating our space together, horning in on our one-on-one time, just like a stupid horny boy to do.“What’s… he…” I asked awkwardly. “Oh,. More

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