“Look,” I said, “Seattle’s grapevine is notorious the country over for its speed and viciousness. I got word about you within two minutes of walking into this bar.”
He nodded, his eyes clouded. “Yeah, well, despite rumours to the contrary, I’m not the butchest dyke youll ever meet, Kate. I’ve spent a lot of time and money to be something – someone – else.
The silence between us was growing, and I didn’t want it to. But it was clear that this was not the place to continue.
“Larry,” I finally said. “I didn’t think you were a butch dyke. I still don’t. And I would really like to see you. Would you be interested in having dinner with me tomorrow night?” He was surprised, but pleased. I gave him my address and phone number, he gave me his. By the time we parted, the clouds had left his eyes, and he was smiling again. And my level of horniness was back on the rise. Our date was at 7. Less than 20 hours away. Already I couldn’t wait. I nearly rushed over to a group of friends to announce, “I’ve got a hot date with Larry tomorrow.” But suddenly, I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want them to treat my date with Larry like it was just another trek into Kate’s adventures with the odd and unusual. My date with Larry wasn’t just another unconventional experience, another feather in my proverbial cap. Was it?
Yeah, well, maybe it was. After all, I was the one who giggled with the drag queens and flirted the most outrageously with the butchest diesel dykes in the city. Those gender edges always attracted me. But this was more complicated. After all, Larry was a man in a dyke bar. There just isn’t a place in our world for people like him. On the other hand, no amount of drugs or surgery could change the fact that he had been part of the dyke culture for several years before making this decision. I wonder how it felt, to make a decision that would always keep you on the fringe of an already fringe community. I wonder if he ever talked about it with anyone.
I lay awake that night thinking about Larry. Whether the skin on his face was rougher than mine. Whether his nipples were responsive to a light touch, or to a quick, sharp twist. Whether he clenched his toes when he came. And especially, whether he liked his cock sucked. I wondered if he had a cock. Or if he used anything in its place. I fell asleep dreaming of those freshly masculine hands caressing my body, that low voice murmuring in my ear. Spreading my legs. Larry fucking me slow.
The next day he came to my place right at 7, and I was waiting for him. I wanted to be as femme as I could be against his masculinity, so I wore a light summer rayon dress with a floral pattern, sheer stockings and a lace garter belt that matched my bra and panties. Larry was handsome in his creased slacks, crisp white cotton shirt, bright tie. We went out for Mexican, drinking margaritas and eating spicy food. I waited until we were near the end of the meal before I told him about my dreams the night before.
He smiled, but there was something else with it.
“You flatter me,” he answered, his dark eyes bright and smiling at me. I smiled back, but pressed on in my usual, subtle-as-a-tractor way.
“This isn’t about flattery, Larry. This is about attraction. I’m attracted to you. I noticed you as soon as I walked into the bar last night. OK, OK,” I said, laughing as he grinned. “It wasn’t hard to notice the only man in the place. But what I mean is, I saw you and I thought you were hot! Who knows why? Because I’m attracted to ‘female’ energy in men and ‘male’ energy in women? Or is it simply because you have a cute ass?” By this time Larry was laughing with me. I grabbed his hand (oh! getting fisted by a man! My cunt clenched so hard I almost lost my train of thought), took a deep breath, and continued.
“Larry, you are so fine, I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know all the reasons why, either, but I do know you’re the first man thats interested me in years. The more important question for the moment is whether you want me. He stared at me, a good long time. I refused to drop my eyes, challenging him back. When he smiled, I knew I had him. I was floating on air all the way back to my apartment.
I waited until we were inside before I kissed him. I had a feeling that his moustache would make my knees weak, and it did. I nibbled at it, testing the sensation against my tongue and lips, hoping Larry would taste my hunger for him. I let him undress me, wanting to feel his hands on my body, and I unbuttoned his shirt. He hesitated as I touched his collarbone, then sank back on the bed with me. I traced the scars that followed the line of his muscles on his chest, memories of his old life. When I asked, he told me the feeling in his nipples was duller, and then he rolled my nipples in his fingers lightly. I moaned as they grew under his touch. Larry licked and sucked them into hardness, my back arching as I clawed at his hair, pulling his face into my breasts. I begged him to fuck me and he answered, “Not yet,” his mouth working its way down my belly. I shivered when his tongue opened me, flicking against my clit, then howled as he nibbled and worried the sweet inner flesh. His delicate fingers pushed gently into my cunt, then curved, rubbing the back of my clit. I felt the wave carry me into an orgasm, his mouth staying on me, fingers buried deep inside as I bucked and jerked. I discovered my fingers tangled in his hair when I finally stopped shaking.
Larry pulled himself up next to me, caressing my belly, my breasts, my collarbone, and I let my body respond wholly to his touch. I felt my arousal grow again, and I rested my hand against his crotch, feeling his bulge through the fabric of his slacks. I rolled against him, unbuckled his belt. His hand stopped me.
“I want to suck you,” I said. He shook his head.
“It’s not – they haven’t perfected the surgery for a good penis, yet,” he said.
“I don’t care,” I answered. “I only care whether you’ll get off if I suck your cock. Will you? Can you get off like that?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. I sat up, surprised.
“Hasn’t anyone ever sucked your cock before?” I asked.
“No. Not since the change.”
“I’m willing to try if you are,” I said, grinning at him. He hesitated, giving me time to open his fly and breathe lightly on the bush of hair I discovered hidden beneath. He moaned, and sighed. To me, it sounded like, “All right, I give up.”
So I pressed ahead, letting my fingers do the talking. There was a dildo, half-soft, resting in the bush of hair. Carefully I rested my hand over it. I wrapped my fingers around it through his pants, and squeezed gently, bearing down at the same time so he could feel the pressure against his crotch. His eyes closed and he let out a long sigh. I continued to rock my fist against his package until I could see all the muscles in his neck and shoulders relax. Then I made my next move.
I kissed his neck, gently, brushing my lips against his skin. “Larry, I’ll suck this, I’ve sucked plenty of dyke dicks, but I’d really like to taste you, if you’ll let me,” I whispered, letting my breath tickle his ear. There was a slight tightening in his shoulders, but Larry didn’t open his eyes. I kept my hand rocking against his groin as I increased the intensity of my kisses. He moaned a little, and I took his earlobe into my mouth, tugging on it gently with my teeth. That seemed to do it. Larry groaned and arched up against the bed, tugging his slacks off, and removing his packing dick. His eyes were still closed. Was he scared?
Of course he was, I admonished myself. If no one has sucked this man’s cock before, he’s probably nervous as hell. And while I wasn’t exactly subtle about what I wanted – did I really know what I was getting into?
Without rushing too much, I started to move down his body, leaving a trail of hot kisses from Larry’s neck across his chest (with some time focused on his nipples to get an idea of what he liked there), and down his stomach to his thick bush of hair.