My Indian Butthole

I always assumed it was a habit formed to defend against the disease and depression spread by living in a dingy and squalid environment.I looked for the owner.He would be here.He's always here when the joint is open – he doesn't trust his employees not to skim the till.It's what he would do.I spotted him standing next what looked like a teen-aged boy wearing a crisp uniform, dark pants and a white shirt festooned with patches and a badge.He was carrying an old, beat up shotgun slung with a rope.I wondered if the gun would fire without falling apart.I knew I wasn't going to give him any reason to find out.One consequence of abject poverty and little to no government assistance was a thriving security guard industry – which employed many young men who would otherwise be adding to the crime rate rather than deterring it.Don't get the wrong impression.There were still plenty of young men left for the nefarious side of things.I made my way through the crowd of revelers and past the sexy. A prim and proper man bent over and gathered up the clothing. He foldedit neatly and tucked it into a box. He then closed the box and turnedaround. He held the box out for the other person.The other person was a woman; dressed prim and proper as well. She was astraw blonde with good looking figure and had a Victorian era look abouther, but could still fashionably fit in with modern society. She tookthe box and it disappeared in her hands.The two of them then walked away from that spot.Simon felt a little foolish, but thrilled at the same time. He lookedover his reflection in the mirror and thought that the strange uniformlooked good on him, despite being the wrong gender. He turned once,twice...then froze.On the third turn he found himself facing a drastically differentreflection. His body instantly reduced in height, width and mass. Extrahair fell down his shoulders, a waist that was narrower and even...Simon felt his chest. There were small protrusions that shouldn't bethere. She.
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