Butt Sex: 10 Anal Erotica Stories © 2017 by Giselle Renarde
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Anal Erotica by Giselle Renarde
Table of Contents
Two for One is
Double the Fun
Call Me Mister
Five Body Blade
Wedding Heat: Hole
I noticed her noticing me.
She worked in the vegan bakery downstairs, and you could tell just by
looking that her system was in need of a hearty injection of meat.
Not that I could help her, there.
She wasn’t butch, exactly. I don’t know what you’d call her.
She wasn’t big or heavy-set. In fact, she was slim—much slimmer
than me. And white—much whiter than me. She had tattoos up and
down her exposed arms, and piercings connecting her nose to her ear
by way of a chain. Plaid cut-off top, tight black jeans. Her black
hair was always tied back in this bandana type thing, which made her
look like a pin-up princess.
Most days she just stared as I walked by.
She’d be out smoking on a raised concrete planter bed near the
sidewalk. The smoke irritated my lungs, but I had to walk by her to
get to my door. See, my apartment was a second-storey walk-up above
a bakery—the vegan bakery she worked in. Once I’d opened the
door at street level, there was a narrow staircase that went straight
up to my place.
I liked living above a bakery. Who needs an alarm clock when you wake
up to fresh bread every morning? Not that I bought much there. The
prices were really inflated. I tried a pie once. It wasn’t bad, but
you could really taste the animal fats missing from that crust.
Anyway, that’s beside the point. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe If I
were the kind of girl who went for vegan pie, I’d also be the kind
of person who went for… well… a vegan’s pie. If you get my
One day she spoke to me.
She said, “Hey.”
It made me jump because she’d never talked to me before. My brain
didn’t process the “Hey” fast enough for my mouth to catch up.
I couldn’t produce words. I just sort of turned and smiled.
Actually, I hardly even a smiled. It was such a small smile she
probably didn’t even notice it.
She seemed kind of pissed, like she was expecting a return greeting
and I hadn’t granted her one.
When I was inside I considered going back outside to explain that I’d
smiled but maybe she hadn’t seen it.
But that was stupid. I’d look like an idiot.
The next time I saw her she didn’t say anything.
I took a turn.
I said hi that time, and she didn’t respond. She just glanced over
at me and blew smoke in my direction.
A few days after that she said, “You live right here, eh?”
I said, “Yeah.”
She said, “So why d’you never come in? Why d’you never buy
“At the bakery?” I asked, even though that was obviously what she
I said, “Oh, I’m not vegan.”
“You don’t have to be vegan to eat our food. Want to try
something? On the house?”
At first I said no, but she wouldn’t accept no for an answer and,
anyway, it was free. So I asked for a loaf of bread. I needed bread
anyway. It would save me a trip.
She handed me her cigarette and this pang of fear filled my veins. I
was so sure my mom would randomly walk by and be like, “Marissa!
You’re smoking? I knew this would happen if you moved to the city!”
When the tattoo-piercings girl emerged from the bakery, I handed back
her cigarette and she gave me a loaf of rustic brown bread in a paper
bag the same colour as my arm.
I asked what kind of bread it was and she said, “Spelt with pumpkin
seeds. That okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sounds great.”
Don’t ask me what spelt is, but I knew I liked pumpkin seeds.
Didn’t sound too bad.
I ate it slathered with butter. Not as the vegan bakers intended.
The next day when I came home she wasn’t sitting outside my door,
so I went into the shop to say thanks for the bread. She asked if she
could get me anything else and I didn’t want to be rude so I bought
a chocolate-coconut macaroon. That was really good, actually. Maybe
chocolate-coconut macaroons were naturally vegan. I don’t know. I
have no idea how they’re made.
After that I tried to avoid the tattoo-piercings girl as much as
possible because I felt like I should be shopping at her store more
often, but I really couldn’t afford it.
One day I came home to find a “For Lease” sign in the window and
a “Closed” sign on the door.
Then I felt really bad.
If I’d patronized their establishment maybe they wouldn’t have
gone under. Although it wasn’t unusual, in my neighbourhood, for
shops to pop up and close down again, all in a six-month span. Retail
rents were higher than most small businesses could afford.
I would never want to run my own business.
What surprised me was the sadness in my heart. I would never see the
tattoo-piercings girl again. I missed the smell of smoke outside my
door when I came home from work. I missed the smell of vegan baked
goods waking me up in the morning.
And then one day I arrived at my door to find a paper bag hanging
around my door handle and a slim vegan scrawling something on the
back of an envelope.
“Hi,” I said.
This time she’s the one who jumped. “Oh. Hi. I was just leaving
you a note.”
“What did it say?”
She nervously crumpled it up and shoved it in her bag. “Nothing.
Doesn’t matter. I brought you more macaroons.”
I looked to the bakery in confusion. “I thought… oh, I thought
you closed down.”
“We did. I made these at home.”
“Oh wow, that’s really nice of you. Thanks.”
She stood there kind of twitching like she really wanted a cigarette
but wouldn’t let herself have one. For a second, my stomach dropped
because what did she want? Did she want to come in? Why was she
here? And why bring me baked goods?
So I invited her in. I mean, what are you supposed to do?
I unlocked the front door and told her to go in first which was
stupid because then when we’d got all the way up the narrow
staircase I had to squish really close to her to unlock my apartment
She walked in slowly, looking all around like my place was some kind
of mythical fairyland.
“Sorry,” I said, picking up clothes off the floor.
“For the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“This is clean by my standards,” she said, but I kind of doubted
that a baker kept a messy house. “Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Be my guest.”
She was already in there when I remembered about the dildo drying on
My heart felt like it was exploding over and over again, and then it
stopped beating altogether. Just stopped. My blood ran cold. I’d
live the rest of my life as an ice sculpture stuck to my couch.
The toilet flushed and she came out of the bathroom holding my dildo
like a pink fairy wand. The weird thing was that she didn’t even
acknowledge it was there in her hand. She just sort of waved it
around as she told me what a rough time she’d been having since she
and Markus split.
“Who’s Markus?” I asked.
When she said, “My boyfriend,” I nearly choked on my tongue.
Then she also said, “We owned the bakery together. Lived together.
Did everything together. And then he tells me the spark is gone. Just
like that. Spark’s gone. I didn’t see it coming.”
“I’m sorry… sorry… what’s your name?”
“Chantal,” she said, smacking my pink dildo against her palm.
She held up the dildo. “What’s his?”
Fire ate my face. “I… uhhh… it doesn’t have a name. I never
even knew it was a he.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” she said, considering the fake dick.
“Could be anything, really.”
I didn’t want to talk about my dildo. I asked, “Is that why the
bakery closed? Because you and your boyfriend split up?”
She shook her head. “I think the bakery could have survived the
split, but Markus said the spark was gone from that too.”
“From baking, from running a business. It’s hard work.”
She stared at my dildo. I stared at the box of macaroons.
“Should I make some tea? Or… can I get you anything?”
“Nah.” She shrugged, tapped the dildo absently against her cheek
while she moved toward the front window. “Nice view. It’s like
the view we had from downstairs, just… elevated.”
She was standing beside my bed. My apartment was a lot of space, just
not a lot of walls. The whole front section was my bedroom and my
living room. I had company so rarely it never really mattered.
I said to her, “I’m surprised you have a boyfriend.”
“Had a boyfriend.”
“You just look…”
“Like a lesbian?”
She shrugged. “And you don’t. Can’t always judge a book by its
cover. Do you mind if I smoke?”
Yes I minded! I minded a lot. But I said, “Go right ahead.”
She handed me my dildo while she went into her bag, which she’d
tossed on the couch. She didn’t sit with me. She went over to my
bed and sat there and smoked her cigarette. There was a candle
nearby, and she took it off the dish and used the dish to catch her
“What do you like?” she asked.
My breath caught in my lungs. “Oh. I guess… I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. Because me, I’m really specific with what I like and
it’s something Markus never wanted to do. He didn’t let me do it
to him, he didn’t want to do it to me.”
I nodded, because I’d been there. Sort of. More like the one thing
I wanted most was the thing I could never ask anyone to try with me.
It was too weird.
As weird as Chantal.
“What’s your thing?” I asked.
And she told me. She just told me! “I love rimming. I love getting
rimmed. Markus always said he’d stick his dick in my ass, but no
way he’d lick it. I let him do his thing because, damn, do I love
ass-play… but it wasn’t what I wanted.”
I wanted to run to her and throw my arms around her and say, “Oh my
God, you too? I thought I was the only person on the planet with
Instead, I said, “Why are you telling me this?”
She shrugged. I thought she’d take offense, but didn’t seem to.
She just said, “You seemed like you’d understand.”
“I do,” I said, just trying to sound supportive.
“You like it too?”
“Never tried it,” I said, which was actually true.
“Want to give it a whirl?”
I nearly choked.
What are the chances some random chick would come to my house, bring
me chocolate-coconut macaroons, and offer to lick me ass? That just
Still, I heard my voice saying, “I don’t know. We don’t really
know each other. Wouldn’t it be weird?”
“Would it?” she asked, crushing her cigarette butt on the
makeshift ashtray. “Here, tell me where you keep the facecloths.”
“I’m gonna give your ass a good scrub.”
“Oh my good god.” I pointed to the linen closet with the big
pink dildo and she went to it, found a navy blue facecloth and wet it
in the bathroom sink. “For real? This is happening?”
“This is happening.”
She was still fully dressed when she came out of the bathroom. So was
“Take off your pants,” she said.
I took off my pants and underwear but I left my shirt on.
She grimaced. “Top too. And the bra. Better if you’re naked.”
“Can you get the blinds?” I asked.
“Who’s gonna see?”
I pointed to the condo buildings in the distance. “If anyone in
those towers has a telescope they’d be able to look in the window.”
Chantal rolled her eyes. “And the space station might be monitoring
I did the blinds myself, then unbuttoned my top and took off my black
bra. Chantal looked impressed. You can tell I’ve got big boobs
even when I’m fully dressed. There’s nowhere to hide them. But
the thing about big boobs is that sometimes they’re all wonky when
you get them naked. Sometimes big boobs look better when they’re
covered in clothes. But mine look pretty good naked, too. They’re
golden brown and full and round, with small dark nipples that point
more up than down.
“Nice,” Chantal said.
And I said, “Thanks.”
She pointed to the bed with the dildo. “Get on your knees. Point
your ass in my direction.”
With the blinds closed and no lights on it was pretty dark in my
apartment, so Chantal went around with her lighter, lighting every
candle she came across. Gave the place a romantic glow. She went
back to the bathroom and ran more water on the cloth, I guess to heat
it up again, and then returned to rub my ass, getting right in there
until I was squeaky clean.
“You ready for this?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” That was the truth.
She lit another cigarette and pulled my office chair over beside the
bed and sat facing my butt. I watched through my knees as she
inhaled, then exhaled, blowing smoke between my butt cheeks.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Dry off all that water.”
It was different than standing in front of a fan, though. A different
sort of dry. Hot air. Breath and smoke.
She inhaled again and blew more smoke at my ass, closer this time.
Then she came in so close I worried she’d burn me with her
cigarette. She took a drag, then pressed her lips in a waxy circle
around my clean asshole and breathed that cigarette smoke into my
“Oh my good god,” I moaned into my bedcovers.
“You like that, huh?”
I could feel her smoke inside my ass. It felt clean. Very clean. And
She did it again. I closed my eyes and just absorbed the experience,
the sensation. I wanted more of her weirdness, more of her kink.
Placing the dildo beneath me on the bed, she said, “You wet enough
to take this baby?”
“In my ass?” I shrieked.
She laughed and coughed, then spanked me with the dildo. “In your
I felt between my legs, bashfully, because it embarrassed me to touch
myself while another woman watched.
Chantal breathing smoke into my asshole had turned me on more than I
thought humanly possible. Pussy juice leaked out of me in liquid
stalactites. I swirled my natural lube to slick my labia, not that
they needed much help.
“Okay,” I said. “That should do it.”
She held the dildo beneath me, balancing it on the mattress as I
eased my body down on the fat pink cock. Its tip spread me wide. I
only took the uppermost section into my body, because I didn’t want
it to punch my insides.
“Is that the best you can do?” Chantal asked.
It wasn’t a matter of best or worst, but I didn’t say that to
her. I just said, “Maybe you can keep doing… what you were
Blowing smoke up my ass.
She laughed and set her cigarette aside and opened my cheeks with her
hands. It was harder to watch her between my legs with a dildo in
the way, but I was able to see her closing in on my clean, smoky ass…
I held my breath as her tongue met my hole.
She didn’t attack it like you’d expect. That first lick was more
of a tickle. A touch. A loop around my smoked pucker. I tried not to
think about what she was seeing back there. But she seemed to like
my full and fleshy ass. She gripped my brown cheeks hard as she
shoved her face between them and moaned.
Her lips touched my asshole. She kissed it loudly. Then her tongue
came out and she poked the tip inside my hole, whirling, digging in
there, opening me up.
As she worked my ass, I felt my pussy spreading wider. I felt my body
sliding down that dildo like a greased pole. It filled me up,
sparking a deep sense of lust in my body—lust like I’d never felt
before. I wanted to fuck that dick, and I did, taking Chantal’s
face with me as I moved on it, hard.
She retracted her tongue from inside my ass, but she didn’t go far.
Her hands still gripped my cheeks while her wet tongue slapped my
hole. She was like a painter back there, her sloppy brush slapping
me again and again. Then she growled and got in there like she was
trying to gobble my asshole up. She licked it, she sucked it. I felt
her teeth back there and I loved it. I wanted her to bite me more,
bite me harder.
As I slammed my body down on the dildo, Chantal moved away and
grabbed her bag. For a second I thought maybe she was done, maybe
she’d leave me all alone with my sex toy. But I was wrong about
She grabbed something from her bag and I asked her what it was and
she told me it was coconut oil. Okay. Now what did she plan to do
I kneeled on my bed, my pussy full of fake cock, while she pushed
down her black jeans and took off her nondescript panties. Her pubes
were black, just like her hair. She lifted off her top. No bra
underneath. Just these tiny breasts, mosquito bite nipples. She was
tall and long and slim and white. The opposite of me in a lot of
“You want to try?” she asked, nodding to her abandoned cigarette.
“Oh, I don’t smoke.”
“So don’t breathe it in,” she said. “Just suck the smoke into
your mouth and blow it right back out.”
The one time I tried smoking, I nearly hacked up a lung. Granted I
was fourteen at the time, but still, it hadn’t left the best
impression. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”
She got in front of me on the bed, arching her back like a cat so her
ass hovered just below my face. The position naturally spread her
open, not that she had very pronounced ass cheeks. They were
beautiful porcelain specimens, not muscular or fleshy, just there.
And between those cheeks was a clean line, a rosy little bud that
opened and closed like a kiss.
She passed me the coconut oil and said, “I’m clean, but in case
you’re worried about the taste… this’ll help.”
I could see her pink labia spread and glistening, but I wasn’t
particularly drawn down there. My own pussy clenched around the dildo
deep inside me, but Chantal had mentioned penetrative sex wasn’t
the main attraction for her. She much preferred what I was about to
The coconut oil filled my apartment with a tropical scent as I
drizzled it down the vegan baker’s ass crack. I watched the oil
trickle across her clean skin and pool in her hole, making it shine
I’d never done this before. Always wanted to, but now that I
actually had another woman’s ass in my face I couldn’t help but
feel nervous. What if it was nothing like what I’d imagined?
“What are you waiting for?” Chantal asked. “Dive right in!”
“Okay,” I said. “I will.”
But I didn’t. I just stared at her glistening hole in the
candlelight. When I got really adventurous, I touched it.
Chantal gasped and I felt her whole body tighten.
“You’re really sensitive,” I said.
“There, I am.”
I touched her hole again, not pressing my finger inside, just
sweeping it around in slow circles. She seemed to like that. Her face
was planted in my bedspread, but I could hear her moaning.
If just my finger felt good enough to make her moan, I was sure my
tongue could do better. I bowed to her ass and touched my tongue to
“Was that good?” I asked.
I did it again. I tasted the oil, the sweetness of it and the slick
texture. Through the oil, I felt her pucker react to the tip of my
tongue. I felt it clench, then spring back. I thought of calamari,
god knows why. I imagined sticking my tongue through a squeaky piece
of calamari as I pierced her hole.
Her pucker sucked my tongue like a tight little mouth. I didn’t
fight it. I just wiggled my tongue in circles until Chantal’s
asshole loosed up and I could slide it back out again. I thought of
the dildo between my legs. I imagined my tongue to be like that, a
mouth-penis that could be hard or soft, whatever I wanted. It was
mine. I controlled it.
I slapped my tongue across Chantal’s asshole the way they toss
fresh fish around at a market.
Slap, slap, tongue on hole.
The coconut oil flooded my mouth with saliva. I swallowed and went
back at the baker’s ass, holding her cheeks open, lapping her hole,
fucking it with my penis-tongue.
She reached for her clit and gurgled desperately while she strummed.
I plunged my face between her cheeks and did what I could, not
knowing whether this was the best rim job she’d ever had or the
If it was terrible, she wouldn’t be panting like that, would she?
She wouldn’t be calling out yes, yes, yes and going harder
at her clit.
As I licked her ass, I realized I’d mirrored her, in a way. My
hand had planted itself between my legs. I was bounding on the dildo
still filling my pussy. Bouncing and stroking, playing with myself
while I licked that girl’s hole obsessively.
I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t give up until I’d brought
myself to orgasm and she’d brought herself there too, maybe with my
If I didn’t have my face between her cheeks, would she be shouting
so loudly? I’d feel self-conscious if there was a retail tenant
downstairs, but of course there wasn’t. The vegan bakery was
closed. Nobody had taken up the lease yet. This big building and
just me inside. Just me eating Chantal’s ass while we both stroke
Sometime sparked in me, and I jumped. I slammed myself down on that
dildo and hammered my clit. She worked herself harder while I sucked
her coconut calamari asshole, drawing her pucker between my lips,
making her squeal.
She lost it and so did I.
I shook my head side to side, really getting in there, wrapping both
arms around her hips and hugging hard. Blowing. Licking. Sucking.
When Chantal collapsed flat on my bed, she brought me with her. My
tongue was planted inside her ass and I didn’t want to take it out.
I wanted my tongue to live there forever, with coconut oil and the
tight squeeze of her ass muscles.
But eventually I had to roll off and stick my tongue back in my
She was face-down, flat, so I got on top of her, my front to her
The dildo slowly, wetly, slipped out of my pussy and planted itself
between her thighs. I couldn’t stop panting. I worried I was too
heavy to be on top of her, but she didn’t complain.
I didn’t move until my toes got cold, and that didn’t happen for
The candles were still burning. I didn’t turn the lights on. I put
on socks but nothing else. I stood at the end of my bed and watched
Chantal roll over. Her boobs were so cute, so tiny.
“Would you do that again?” she asked.
I laughed and said, “A million times over.”
She smiled triumphantly.
“What were you writing?” I asked.
“When I came home. You were leaving me a note. What did it say?”
“Oh.” She seemed embarrassed, sitting up in bed, rolling her
eyes. “It was stupid. Just said you remind me of why I started
baking in the first place.”
I didn’t get it.
“To nourish souls. To pleasure mouths. To feed the senses.”
“Well, you certainly pleasured my mouth tonight. And fed my
“What about your soul?” she asked. “Has your soul been
nourished, would you say?”
Hard to answer a question like that. Does sex feed the soul? Food
does. Nothing processed, nothing chemical. Just natural ingredients
prepared with love. Was that what we had, me and Chantal?
All-natural vegan bakery sex?
“You know what would nourish us both?” I asked, planting myself
on the bed with my big naked boobs hovering close to her face.
She rolled into my lap and wrapped her lips around my nipple and
suckled. She didn’t need to say the words. Her action was her
answer, and that measured sucking sensation drew sparks of pleasure
from all across my body straight to her mouth. After the explosive
orgasms we’d shared, that’s how we nourished each other.
You know when you’ve just given some guy a blowjob and then you
have to take the subway right after and you feel like everybody
So, that’s where I’m at right now. Just sitting here on this
faux-fancy velvet red seat, smelling like cum, and feeling so
conspicuous I could hang myself. Sure I swallowed, but that’s
never good enough. The scent doesn’t go away. It sticks to your
hair, doesn’t it? And your skin. Sex is in my aura, gossiping with
other passengers, telling strangers secrets that aren’t really
I’m not a total slut. And I’m not a whore.
Shut up, aura! You wanna take this outside?
There’s a guy all in black standing by the doors. I know he’s
looking at me while I pretend to read that subway ad about Why
Can’t Street Kids Just Get A Life? I get the feeling he knows
it’s for show. I’m glancing his way, really subtle, catching
only outlines of his bulky body.
I imagine myself whipping my head around and shouting, “What are
you staring at, motherfucker?” but I second-guess myself. Maybe
he’s not looking at me. Maybe I’m wrong. Hey, it happens.
But I think I’m right this time. I’m pretty sure I’m right.
So I turn my head to meet his gaze, but he’s not looking at me.
He’s not. He’s just staring into oblivion, and suddenly I’m
the one staring at him… because I’m not sure anymore if he is a
him. I look at his chest, look for telltale boobs, but I’m
still not sure. He’s got a vest on. It’s hard to say. Smooth
cheeks, though. Too smooth. Butch dyke? Maybe. Or trans guy. I
And suddenly he’s looking at me, right at me, and he asks, “What
are you staring at?”
He doesn’t say “motherfucker.”
I replay his voice in my mind, trying to decode it, trying to feel
its resonance. I’m still staring, and I shake my head, stunned. I
look down at my backpack and cross my arms, feeling surly as hell.
He beat me at my own game. Shit.
Now I’m convinced he’s staring at me, but I won’t let myself
look. I wonder what he’s seeing, and my stomach starts tying
itself in knots. God, why do I always do this? I get so
self-conscious, thinking everybody knows—nothing to do with the
blowjob I just gave Mike, not anymore. It’s about me now, about
the essence of who I am. I get so sure people can see right through
my present and straight to my past.
Especially other trans people. They can see through me better than
Out of nowhere, I’m crying. What the fuck? I’m sobbing my
goddamn eyes out, and now this guy all in black is swooping in beside
me and throwing his arm around my shoulder and I’m falling against
his big chest, soaking his vest with my tears. My out-of-the-blue
“Sorry,” I say. My snot is on his shirt and he doesn’t seem to
care. “Damn hormones. This is what they do to me.”
He nods sympathetically, and then says, “I’ll find out soon
enough.” He’s trying not to smile too big.
And now he knows I know, and I know he knows, and there’s something
really soothing about being the same. The same, just in opposite
Oh crap, did I miss my stop?
I ask him, “What station are we at?”
He says, “We just passed Dundas.”
That’s when I realize I’m not going home—I’m going away
from home. I’m running away from home, at least for now.
Kind of a stupid thing to do as an adult, but I guess I didn’t get
my fill as a kid. I’m always on the run.
He asks where I’m going and I tell him I don’t know, and then I
want to know his name so I ask him.
“Asher,” he says.
I say, “Stephanie,” and it’s so nice knowing he won’t look at
me with that cock-eyed head-tilt, and he won’t ask what my old name
was, and he won’t question my identity. And I won’t question
There’s something really comforting about his big body. I feel
like he could punch my sadness in the gut and send it on its way. I
just want to be around him.
When he asks if he can buy me a coffee, I nod. I’m so happy I lose
They don’t stay lost for long. When we get to the coffee shop, I
tell him everything. We hide in the plush chairs at the back of the
café and I tell him about moving in with Mike and Yaro back when we
were all guys—a three musketeers sort of thing.
“They were so cool about it when I transitioned.” I’ve never
said these words before, not to anyone. “I mean, my family was
accepting, but Mike and Yaro were totally whatevs about it.
Like, ‘Oh, you’re switching to skim milk? Cool. You’re
becoming a woman? No probs.’ They just went with it, you know?”
Sheepishly, Asher says, “Not really. Nobody in my life just went
I want to keep talking, keep telling him about what happened, but I’m
trying to get better at listening to other people. It’s not my
forte. So I shut the hell up for a few minutes and let him talk
about how his family thinks he’s confused and his girlfriend of
seven years who broke up with him because, as a lesbian, she wouldn’t
be caught dead dating a dude.
There’s so much pain in his storm grey eyes. He’s huge, and
still he seems beaten down, like the world won’t stop trampling
him. I don’t really know what to say, or how to make him feel
better, so I lean in close and kiss him.
He pulls away, and I feel like an ass.
My heart is pounding in my ears, and I stare down at the swirls of
chocolate sauce on the fancy latte he bought me. I always move too
fast and scare guys off. I jump in with both feet, always—except
with Yaro and Mike. We were just friends for the longest time, just
buddies, even after I started my transition.
I guess it didn’t take long before they were glancing at me when
they thought I wasn’t looking. I guess I felt it long before
today, and ignored it. Sometimes you see what you want to see, and
make the rest disappear.
Asher hasn’t said a word since I kissed him, so I talk about what
happened. I tell him everything came to a head—well, okay, pun
intended—today when Mike had me in a choke hold…
“Oh my God!”
“No, not like that,” I say. “We were play-fighting, wrestling,
whatevs. We do it all the time. Anyway, so he had me like that and
I was kicking my legs, and of course my skirt just flipped up over my
waist. It was no biggie, I guess. I was tucked and all and it’s
not like they could see anything, but they both just stared. Then
Yaro said, like, ‘Those are some heavy-duty granny panties,’
which I guess is true, but they hold everything in place, you know?
They serve a purpose.”
I look around to make sure no one’s within earshot. “I don’t
know what happened after that. In an instant, everything changed.
Yaro basically pantsed me bare-assed and…”
Asher grabs my hand, and I take that move as consolation for
rejecting my kiss.
“I’m not saying I didn’t want it. It’s just… it was weird,
you know? They’re my friends and my roommates, and here I’ve got
Mike’s cock in my mouth and Yaro’s ramming me from behind.” I
lean in close and admit, “I’ve never had a threesome before. It
felt kind of… I don’t know.”
My lips are smiling, and I reach up to touch them. I close my eyes
for a moment and remember the taste of Mike’s salty-sweet precum on
my tongue, the brutal sensation of Yaro’s cock warming my ass. He
was holding on with both hands, holding my hips, a slow, careful
entry, and then faster when he was in all the way.
“It felt good,” I tell Asher, keeping my eyes closed because I’m
afraid he’ll either judge me.
And his voice is a little gruffer when he asks, “So why can’t you
go home, then?”
I look into his stormy eyes and I know I’ve hurt him somehow.
“It’s hard to explain. I just feel like it’s the end of an era
or whatever. I don’t want to be the tranny they fuck when they’re
bored or hard-up.”
“Tranny.” Asher shudders. “I hate that word.”
“Me too.” I watch him sip his black coffee. He doesn’t seem
to like it.
He says, “I have a spare room, now that Jenna’s moved out. You
can crash there if you want.”
That’s exactly what I want. That, and so much more.
But for now we’re just roommates—Asher makes that clear from the
start. I think he knows I want more, and it makes me wonder if Mike
and Yaro felt this way too. Maybe they were waiting for the right
time, just like I’m doing with Asher, hoping he comes around,
hoping he wants me back.
Every day on my lunch hour, I sneak to the apartment that’s no
longer my home and pick up a few things while Mike and Yaro are at
work. Soon, my bedroom is full and I’m paying half the rent on
The guys keep texting me, but I don’t answer. I feel a little
childish for leaving the way I did, but I think it was inevitable. I
also think it was fate.
Asher and I both work days and spend our evening in front of the TV.
He makes his own spaghetti sauce, and it’s the best I’ve ever
had. We talk about everything: about my giant clit and his tiny
dick. We have our own language. Being with him is like being with
myself, another self, another me. He’s got different experiences,
a different family. I meet them. They’re civil.
On my birthday, my mom and dad drive into the city and gush over my
new apartment. They love the area, love the décor. They love
Asher—they tell me that when he’s in the kitchen sticking candles
in the cake.
Quietly, my mom asks if I’ve ever imagined myself getting married.
She can see things other people can’t.
And usually this question would make my insides burble with rage, but
now I watch Asher in the kitchen and I know exactly what I want.
“But what if he doesn’t want me back?” I ask my mother, in a
whisper. “What if he never comes around?”
My father clears his throat because Asher’s bringing my cake into
the living room.
My mother presses her lips to my ear and says, “He’s in love with
you, honey. Can’t you tell from the look in his eyes?”
Our gazes lock and I see it. I really see it now, the depth of
emotion and fear of abandonment. Suddenly, I understand what’s
holding him back. I see the wall around him.
After happy birthday is sung and gifts are unwrapped, my parents hug
me and kiss me and set off for home. It’s just Asher now. As I
watch him clear the dishes and wrap up the leftover cake, it occurs
to me how much he cares.
“Do I get a birthday wish?” I ask. I’m trying to be cute, but
I feel so nervous I could throw up.
He seems tense, and I wish he would just relax and give in.
I laugh and say, “You’ve got icing on your thumb.”
He just says, “Oh,” as I grab his hand and bring it to my mouth.
I suck the sweetness from his skin and his breathing gets all shaky.
We’re as nervous as each other.
“Is this okay?” I ask, almost a plea, before taking his index
finger in my mouth. This one tastes different. Not so sweet. My
belly tumbles as I watch him, waiting for an answer.
Finally, he nods. “You’re the birthday girl. How could I say
He’s so nervous. I can taste it on his skin. I can feel it like a
vibration between the two of us, and I wish I knew what I could do to
put him at ease, but I don’t so I just keep sucking his fingers
until his breath grows shallow and his eyes burn dark. We’re
watching each other—a constant psychic, “Is this okay? Are you
And then he pulls his fingers from between my lips and he kisses me.
Now I’m the one who can’t breathe. I always imagined him kissing
me softly, but this isn’t soft. He cups the back of my head in one
big hand and crushes my mouth with his. I can’t catch my breath
because his tongue is battling mine, and even though I started this
it’s all so unexpected.
There’s a warmth in my belly that moves down my thighs as Asher
backs me into his sparse bedroom. He’s neat and tidy and he
doesn’t smell bad, and I love that about him. I love everything
It’s dark in here, and he lays me down on his bed. His body is
heavy on mine, and I can feel his packer pressing into my hip.
There’s something sad in knowing that I have a better chance of
getting hard than it does. But I don’t dwell on bodies. We’re
in our bodies, but we aren’t our bodies. We’re so
His breath is mine. I inhale through him, and he gives me life.
This is the kind of kiss I would die for. Asher is the kind of man
I’d give my life for, if ever it came to that. I love him so much
my heart feels like it’s going to break all my ribs and burst
through my chest.
“I haven’t used a strap-on since… before.” That’s what he
tells me, whispering every hot word into my ear. “But I want to
fuck you, Stephie. I need to.”
“Yes,” I say. I’m nodding wildly. I just feel so desperate
and I don’t want this chance to slip away. “Whatever you want,
however you want me. Please.”
He crawls off me, and his bigness lingers on my skin. He’s got so
much body. I already miss the sweet crush of it, and I’m panting,
desperate to find my own breath.
Lying flat on the bed, I watch him open a drawer and pull out a
harness, a dildo. He slides out of his pants and his shirttails hang
low enough to conceal his bare ass. He’s facing away from me,
slipping on the contraption.
“I’ve never been fucked like this before.” I mean with a
strap-on, but I’ve never slept with a trans guy, either, so this is
like a million firsts all rolled into one. I flip onto my belly and
push my underwear to the floor, kick it off. “I’ve never loved
anyone the way I love you.”
I hold my breath. I’ve said too much.
Asher laughs. He turns to face me, and all I can see is that dildo
sticking out between his shirttails. It looks so fucking real I
could eat it for breakfast. He grabs it by the base and plays with
it as he walks toward me. My flesh is all goosebumps when he thwacks
my ass with his cock. I’m so turned on I almost forget that he
hasn’t replied to my I love you.
I can’t wait any longer. I ask flat out, “Do you love me too?”
“Stephanie!” He laughs again, and shakes his head, runs his cock
the length of my thigh. “What a question. Of course I do.”
Now I’m laughing too, pressing my cheek to his comforter as he
drizzles lube down my ass crack. I laugh until I cry, because I’ve
never in my life been this happy.
He tells me to spread my cheeks and I reach back, holding them apart,
confident that the pink pucker of my ass will be his siren’s song.
He presses his thumb inside my hole, and I echo his moan back to him.
I haven’t been touched since the day we first met, and I’m
beyond ready to end my reign of celibacy.
His fingers play in my ass, stretching that tight ring like an
elastic band. He finds the place that makes me groan with pleasure,
and he pets it gently, urging me to ecstasy.
“You’ve done this before,” I tease.