Emily and Steve Part 3

Tuesday night, and I arrived home from the gym to find that Emily was already fully dressed and had taken the time to lay out our take-out Thai food onto plates and set the dining room table. Since I first realized that Mike from my work had a secret life as Emily, a beautiful blonde transvestite, Emily and I have been pretty seriously dating.

To make life easy for us, I gave Mike a key to my place. On most weekdays, I go to the gym right after work. Mike will ride his bike from work to my place, where he lets himself in and takes time to transform into the beautiful Emily. We then have some dinner, sometimes eating in and sometimes heading out, and then we usually fall into bed with each other. Some days Emily stays over, but mostly she heads back to her place so she can transform back into Mike and have access to his set of work clothes in the morning.

This Tuesday, we were planning on staying in. Emily was lighting the candles on the dining room table as I dropped my gym bag by the front door, and started moving towards her to kiss her. "How was the gym," she asked, turning to greet me.

I put my arms around her waist and pulled her close to me, planting a kiss on her beautiful red lips. After breaking the kiss, I responded to her question. "Good, not too busy today, so I didn't have to wait long for the machines. And I got a 30 minute run in on the treadmills."

Emily laid her head against my chest and was silent for a moment as we held our embrace. Finally she broke her silence and said, "You don't smell like you ran for thirty minutes."

"Well, I did shower afterwards."

Emily laughed. "That's why I don't think I could go to the gym. Obviously I couldn't go into the women's dressing room, and I think if I was showering in the men's dressing room, I couldn't help but want to be a total slut and just let all those Greek Adonis fuck me right in the shower."

I laughed, and kissed her again. I didn't bother to tell her that at the gym I went to, she was more likely to run into a bunch of pot-bellied, hairy middle-aged men in the shower then some sort of swim team locker room. Why kill the fantasy, I figured.