All the Feels

#THE MEETUP

He wasn't what I was expecting. But then, I'm sure I wasn't what he was expecting either. It's not that he was unattractive. At that point, I would have been attracted to a man twice his circumference in a cutoff D&D shirt and jean shorts. I think I was just... I guess I was expecting him to be more... um... female?

The thing is, the way she (he, I guess) wrote his stories, with so much heart and goddamn empathy, I'd never known a man to write like that before. Men can be pretty quick off the line. They write a smidge about how Jane ran into Frank, and then it's straight to the fucking. There's a place for that, for sure, but those stories are not for me. Those stories are over before I finish with my nipples.

Sky cared about his characters, about their well-being and their happiness, even though they were broken, even though they were dirty fucking animals. It's what drew me to his work. I tried to do the same things in my own stories, but he was able to capture things in a way that I couldn't. It's probably because Sky wrote his desires, and I tended to write the desires of others. The thing is, people know when you're faking.

So when he was sitting at the corner table in his purple checkered shirt, with a layer of stubble across his jaw and lips made for kissing, I about turned around and walked out. It was the shirt he had described in his email, and I should have fucking known it would be a man's shirt. What woman wears purple checkered anything? I'll probably get fact-checked on that one, but whatever, I'm writing this story, and it's my pity party.

The trouble was, he saw me and smiled before I could process what was happening, so my body went into autopilot. One foot moved in front of the next, and my mouth smiled, and I even said hello, all before I realized I should have left. Then I started to sweat.

Sky stood and pulled out my chair for me. I'm not really into that kind of thing. Generally I find patriarchal bullshit irritating, but in this case, I figured he was doing it because he didn't know what else to do. People are like that, aren't they? Defaulting to manners and etiquette so they can get their bearings. And even as I said thank you, I knew he was processing what he was seeing, and I knew he was probably thinking twice about all the things we'd written to each other.

My mouth was dry. I needed water. Oh look, two waters on the table.

How was his trip in? What time did he have to be at the conference tomorrow? Every mundane, weightless question that I didn't have to think about poured from my mouth while my brain studied him.

This person... this man... had made me feel such excitement. I waited - WAITED - for every story submission, and later for every email to come through. And the words he wrote were always so encouraging, and worse, they were always exactly what I wanted to hear. The encouragement was nice, but honestly, his views on culture and society and sexuality entwined completely with my own, like fingers laced together. We both felt that it was the job of artists and content-makers to change culture, to open minds and hearts. That it was an author's duty to model good behavior, even on the page, rather than slot into outmoded thinking for the sake of authenticity or a dangerous fantasy. That it was important to represent everyone, especially those who were underrepresented, even in stories about fucking.

And that was just where the crush started. I would read those words, read those stories in all their raw, kinky, unapologetic glory, and I imagined what it would be like if Sky and I were the characters. If we were doing those things on the page. It didn't matter if the characters were male or female, either. When it came down to it, we were both less concerned with the parts that fucked, or so we'd confided in our emails to each other. Sex happens in the mind. Sex happens with a partner you can share feelings with, who can create the ideas that make you yearn and ache with desire, that make you wet and make you cum. How many times had our voracious sexual appetites pushed our communication into the realm of cognitive sexual foreplay? How many of this person's emails had I read while edging, imagining those clever hands all over me?

But he'd clock me for sure, probably had already. I'd been on the hormone treatments for nearly two years, and I'd been growing my hair out for three, going through laser treatments just as long. I already had my face feminized and my voice changed and my breasts enhanced, and I finally had hips and the smooth skin I've always wanted. I even had implants to round out my ass. But there were complications with the last phase... the bit I've been aching for since I hit puberty. My surgeon, the one I'd chosen after months and months of interviews and careful research, had to take maternity leave.

Look, I knew going in it might be a problem because she disclosed that she was pregnant on our first meeting. In fact, if I hadn't been so persistent, beylikdüzü escort she wouldn't have agreed to see me at all. I don't know what I was thinking - she pretty much told me this was going to be a problem, but I just kept thinking I'd waited this long. Why not wait to have the right person in my corner?

What I definitely didn't expect was for her to extend her leave indefinitely. There were complications during the birth of her son, and she went radio-silent. The other doctors in her practice group offered to refer me, but I just wasn't comfortable with that. You don't roll the dice on the person that's going to make your vagina. I wish her the best daily, and I know I'm going to have to bite the bullet soon, because the chances that she's coming back are getting slimmer and slimmer, but can I just be a little selfish for a minute and curse my luck?

I hope her son is doing okay.

So I'm waiting. Even as I write this, nearly 36 years old and only now able to afford the procedures, I'm still waiting. In the meantime, I've starting to make an incredible connection with this new person. And I feel like I'm going out of my mind with the need to fuck someone beside myself. And then I find out this person is going to be in town. How could we NOT meet?

The drive was fine. He listened to some audio books about cosmology. The conference should be neat. Was the weather always this nice here in the fall? But my thoughts raced. He thinks I'm gross. He's disappointed that I'm so tall, that my shoulders are so broad, that I'm overweight, that my tits aren't bigger. He was expecting someone with wider hips. He knows I have a cock.

Jesus Christ. I have to tell him I have a cock.

"What's wrong, Gabriella?"

The tears in my eyes were just there. I don't know when it happened. One moment I was listening to his deep voice, and the next... everything was blurry. "I'm just, uh..." I sniffled, dabbing at my mascara with a napkin. Leaning in, I said, "I think I need some air. I've had a weird day."

Sky's expression was all concern, and he jumped out of his chair. "Of course! Yeah, let's go for a walk or something."

The night air did help. We walked slowly, quietly. My blouse caught in the breeze and pulled the fabric against my poochy middle - they don't tell you that hormone changes fuck with your appetite. Sky was walking beside me, and I was fairly confident my breasts were blocking the worst of it. I was unendingly grateful that Sky wasn't trying to carry on a conversation. We just walked until the gravel gave way to planks, until we reached the end of the pier.

"Texas lakes are mostly manmade," I said. My voice sounded strange in my ears, but at least my voice wasn't in danger of warbling on this topic. "They are here in the north anyway."

"They're beautiful no matter how they were made," said Sky.

And I turned to look into his blue eyes. God, why did his eyes have to be so blue. "I thought you were a woman," I blurted out.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked. "I'd understand if you were."

"Just surprised," I said. "I feel like a woman would be... more forgiving."

"Of what?" he asked.

"Of me. Of this thing I am."

"What the fuck are you even talking about?" he said, one side of his mouth turning up into an annoyingly cute smirk. My stomach lurched for a dozen reasons.

"I know we said we were going to... you know..."

"Fuck."

"Yes, that."

He openly grinned now. "Because we both masturbate four times a day and write porn to get off."

I felt my brows knit together, and I pressed pause on my anxiety for just a few seconds. Frankly, I was grateful for the break. "Let's talk about that for a minute," I said. "How is it that you aren't knee deep in pussy?"

He laughed out loud. It was a funny, falsetto laugh that I never would have expected from such a large man. Fuck if I didn't find that charming as hell.

"Because of what?" he said. "My amazing dad bod? My inbound man boobs? The bald spot I've been working on for the last decade?"

Leaning around to get a better look, I pursed my lips before saying, "Your thinning at best. I'm talking about your face, Mr. Hottie McNostrils. Do you flare those things on purpose, or did they just come that way? And how about your arms? Do you regularly curl truck tires?"

"You may recall," he said, "that I'm very selective about my sexual partners. I've had sex with exactly five women, and I married them two of them. Divorced them both, too, but that's what happens when your career keeps you away from your family. Now I've got a workaholic's job, three kids to not fail as an absentee father, and about an hour every night to write a few paragraphs and send you an email, and the rest of my free time is all jerking off. It's not the best way to find partners."

While I heard what he was saying, my mind was hung up on the 'women' he'd had sex with. With respect to my adana escort anxiety, we'll assume none of them had a cock. "Still," I said. "This would have been easier if you were a woman. I have things I really need to tell you. Things I couldn't say in an email."

"That's fair," he said. Then he leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. "The thing is, in the spirit of our historically open and brutally honest correspondence, I have to tell you that I think you're really pretty. And I've been thinking about kissing you since you walked through the door back there. And I've been chasing that thought with the notion of kissing your back door." He smiled. "See what I did there?"

Sky and I have always had a very nasty vocabulary with each other. It was one of the joys of writing erotica in an anonymous forum. Though open sexuality required a different kind of respect for boundaries, and those boundaries were as real as any others, we found ourselves well-matched in that regard. And as his words in that moment evoked every ounce of arousal he no doubt hoped it would, I could feel pressure in my groin. The very idea that Sky's very fuckable mouth would be that close to my business was... a huge problem. And not just because he didn't know what I had down there.

My penis is small. It's always been small. Small penis, tiny balls, almost no testosterone to speak of and double male levels of estrogen, all before the treatments started. My body dysmorphia has been emotionally exhausting ever since I started to grow pubic hair. The problem with a small dick is that it doesn't tuck between my legs very easily, and while most T-girls can get away with shoving their cocks back into their panties, mine won't stay put. When I get hard, which admittedly is not often since the hormones have reached nominal levels, my dick pushes outward for the entire world to see. And thank God that's a side-effect, because I'm aroused by a stiff breeze.

But no matter my norm, I was starting to get hard now.

As I tried to banish his words from my mind, he continued. "But if this isn't the right time for us, you won't hear another word from me. No matter how badly I want to smell your pussy on my breath tomorrow morning, I think you're worth waiting for, Gabriella."

That did it. My cock wilted easily at the threat of eating me out. Oh God. This was going sooooo soooo poorly. Except that part where he said I was pretty. I didn't hate that. But if I was going to do it, I had to do it fast. Rip off the bandage and deal with the pain. So I steeled myself.

"I'm pre-op, Sky," I said.

He just looked at me.

"I've been in transition for almost two years now. Most things are finally where they should have been all along. My face, my voice. But there's just that one or three pesky little things between my legs that I can't seem to get rid of just yet."

I expected to be sweating profusely at this point. To be crying or puking or something. But I was just calm. Like I was casually sipping a cup of tea, that kind of calm.

"So...," he said, "you're a woman, though."

"I've always been a woman," I said. "I just drew the chromosomal short straw."

"That's awesome," he said. "Because I'm straight."

It took me a minute for things to start sinking in. But when they did, my heart began pounding in my chest, and my hands began to shake, and that calm I had just been feeling switching into full-on, triple espresso tremors.

I asked, "Then you're... cool with that?"

When Sky kissed me, I'd like to say that it blew my mind. That my toes curled as I melted into him, and that he carried me away into a world of lips and tongues and heavy breathing. But truthfully, it was better. Because for the first time, possibly in my entire life, I didn't feel like an imposter.

I felt like a woman.

Things happened quickly after that. He'd rented a car, so we hurried off the pier and headed for the parking lot. I even abandon my heels so that I could walk faster, a fashion choice which in hind sight made me want to kick myself. Heels have always helped my walk look less man-ish, but they also make me tall as fuck.

We weren't even out of the parking lot before my hand went for his zipper. He was hard as hell, and there was no way I was waiting. "Is your hotel close?" I asked, breathing heavily, weaving through the layers of clothing to release his beast.

"Yes," he said. "Yes." Of course, I didn't know what he was saying yes to. Not that I cared.

Sky reached down and helped navigate his cock into the open air, and I felt a bead of pre-cum rise up from inside me and leak into my panties. "Fuck," I said. I'd never seen a real cock larger than six inches. Technically, I'd never touched a real cock other than my own, but I was pretty sure they all operated the same way.

I didn't even need to spit into my hand. Sky's cock was already leaking plenty of clear fluid. My manicured, lotioned fingers slipped easily over afyon escort his mushroom top, gliding on a layer of man juice. I made a ring with my index finger and thumb, and I began to smear the pre-cum all over his throbbing rod. And it really throbbed. I watched it twitch as my fingers slid up and down his delicate underside, and my own pretty little digit twitched beneath my skirt.

"Take your panties off," he said, his voice throaty with arousal as I stroked his manhood.

Biting my lip, I paused. Breathe, Gabriella. I re-appropriated both of my hands for maneuverability and scooted out of my white lacy panties, pressed them down my thighs and long legs and moved my feet to step clear. A pool of viscous slime was already soaking the fabric, which was now leaking onto my dress and his seats, no doubt.

"Show me," he said hungrily. "Show me that huge clit."

A surge of excitement rushed through me. I'd thought of my tiny penis as a clit for years now, and with the hormones finally balanced, it might as well have been. My orgasms were significantly different, whole body affairs that felt undeniably right. With a flutter in my chest, I lifted my dress and held it up so that Sky could see my pale sex. Waxed only the day before but for a blonde patch just above my pubis, I ran my fingertips over the soft skin, hoping that he would reach out and touch me there. I couldn't talk, could barely breathe as I watched for his reaction.

"Wow," he said. "You're so fucking... delicate down there."

"But you don't have to be delicate, if you don't want to be," I breathed, my breasts heaving as I swiped a bit of fluid from my tip and once more reached for his cock. "Especially when you're fucking me."

"I'm going to fuck you so fucking hard," he said, moaning as lowered my hand around his spear.

"God yes. Please, please drive faster."

And his arm crossed the gear shirt, his fingers caressing my most sensitive spot to make my clitty cock throb and ooze another measure of sticky-sweet fluid into his palm. He moved the fluid over my sex and stroked me as I was stroking him. But his large hand enveloped all of me, the sound not unlike plunging fingers into a sopping wet pussy, pushing me rapidly up to a high plateau as he rolled and stroked. My hips lifted and swirled, and I let out a soft moan.

"Tell me how much you like that we're masturbating each other," I said.

"I love it. I fucking love stroking your cock while you play with my clit."

I couldn't take it. I couldn't wait. I slipped out of his hand and twisted my body to angle my mouth over his cock. He pressed some kind of button on the door, and a hum sounded as his seat floated back, making room for my head and shoulders to reach his lap.

I'd gone down on plenty of pussy. I love pussy, too. The smell, the silky folds all layers to play with and suck on and lick.

But Sky's musk was different than a woman's, less fragrant but sharply intense. The smell came up from his balls and pubic hair as I dropped my open mouth over his meat. His cock filled my mouth in a way that a pussy never had, and there was no sharpness to his flavor. Just that salty-sweet goodness that made me produce more of my own.

Sky's hand rested on the back of my head, playing with my loose blonde curls as I bobbed along his rod, flicking my tongue and trying to keep a river of saliva out of his lap. I'd had two blow jobs total in my life, not willing to let many women see my small cock. But I had definitely never given a blow job before. Because I had never been with a man before period, and I was suddenly beset by apprehension that I was doing this all wrong.

"Baby," he hissed. "Baby slow down or I'm gonna' cum."

I sucked the strings of saliva and pre-cum off his cock as I lifted my head. "Are you sure? I want you to cum," I said, cupping his balls. "I want to taste all that musky, yummy cum in my mouth."

"And you're going to drink it all down for me, aren't you, you little cum slut?" he said with a grin. "But I'm very getting close... to wrecking this car."

Licking the rest of his juice from my bottom lip, his scent lingering around my mouth, I beamed at him and dropped into my seat, pulling my skirt down to hide my arousal. "You'd better not be lying to me, Mister," I said sweetly, dropping my butt back into my seat. And then in a moment of bravery, "Because I can be a very bad girl when I don't get what I want."

Cock fully vertical out of his pants, it gave a little twitch as his jaw lowered, just a bit. And I know I must have sounded ridiculous, but the way he was staring at me made me giggle. His head swung back to the road. "I just want you to know," he said, "this naughty brat thing you're doing is really working for me."

The rest of the ride was filled with stolen glances and giddy laughter, and his cock wilted to half mast, but he didn't put it away until we parked.

He held my hand, and we practically ran to his hotel room door. "Open it!" I squealed.

He grinned, flipping the card over and over. "I'm trying!"

"Open it open it!" I said, and whispering in his ear, "I want you to taste me."

"I'm fucking trying, already!" he said through his laugh, and then the door chirped.