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A Tranny for the Wife.

I owned and operated a cab in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia, for many years. As I drove around Brisbane picking people up, I met many older and elderly Australians. A common refrain was, "Don't get old, driver. It's no fun!"

Well, I can tell you that observation is astoundingly accurate. I was in my mid-thirties to mid-forties in those days, and life was still my oyster. Those who spoke that line were over sixty.

These days, I am the one older than sixty, and nothing works as it used to. My thick, 7-inch cock, that used to stare at my chin when I shaved, now looks down in despair at my feet. My dodgy back, because of a kick I received playing rugby when I was seventeen, now freezes and prevents me from turning to look out the back window while reverse parking. Thank goodness for reversing cameras. Although, you know, being old and all, I can reverse using only the mirrors, so maybe not thank goodness for.

My knees hurt, my ankles ache, and arthritis and gout are constant companions. Worst is that my once upstanding dick doesn't work well anymore. Viagra—another thing to thank goodness for!

My wife, Vicky, has aged much better than I. In her mid-sixties, her body is still banging and her breasts still firm Double-Ds, although they droop more than they did in her forties. Her ass remains round and firm, and her waist narrow. Her legs are still shapely and muscular. My wife's hair colour may be from a bottle now, but it's still the lustrous auburn-red of her youth. Her green eyes still sparkle with mirth, and her teeth remain white and even.

Older women are often compared to a fine wine, which improves with age. That observation holds true for my wife. I might be biased, but I think she's aged better than any of our friends, including me.

Our sex life remains varied although we no longer play with others as we did in our thirties-fifties. We used to attend fetish events together, but now, other than catching the occasional drag show at The Sportsman Hotel in Spring Hill, we don't go anymore. We've stopped attending wife-swap parties because my wife finds the fat guts and bendy dicks of the men who attend unappealing. She states that the rare occasions that someone young enough to have a rock-hard dick chooses her key is not enough to make up for the many times she gets a beer gut and Mr Wobbly.

Feminine-looking cross-dressers and trans-women have fascinated me since my cab-driving days. Often, especially if they were on their way home, I shared intimacy with these delightful people. Guys, trust me, if you want a decent, enthusiastic blowjob followed by anal, you cannot go past a CD or tranny! I have many transgirl friends whom I see regularly, but because we've stopped playing, I haven't had sex with any of them for several years.

A story from my taxi-driving days. It was a wet and chilly night in the middle of August in Brisbane. In those days, the Brisbane Lions were named the Brisbane Bears and had moved to the 'Gabba Cricket Ground the previous year. The Queensland Reds played at Ballymore Stadium in Herston and were called the Ballymore Reds. The Brisbane Broncos played at QEII Stadium in Nathan.

On the night I'm describing, all three teams had home games, and the need for cabs was high. I dropped a fare outside The Royal Brisbane Hospital. Because of the snarled traffic around that area, they decided to walk home. The Reds had just finished their game. Ballymore Stadium is near the hospital, and getting into it when the game lets out is nigh impossible, so I U-turned and drove to The Valley.

The first person on the rank was a Pacific Islander boy in his mid-twenties. All he wore was skin-tight black-leather trousers and high-heels. He had piercings along his ears and in his lobes. More adorned both eyebrows, his nose, tongue, and lips. Even more pierced the man's nipples.

I thought, 'Dear Lord, what have we got here?' But he walked around the

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