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Butt Sex: 10 Anal Erotica Stories © 2017 by Giselle Renarde

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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

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First Edition 2017

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Butt Sex

Anal Erotica by Giselle Renarde

Table of Contents

  1. Blowing Smoke

  2. Everybody Knows

  3. Stranded with the Professor

  4. Two for One is Double the Fun

  5. The Other Other Woman

  6. Full to Bursting

  7. Call Me Mister

  8. Five Body Blade

  9. Social Users

  10. Wedding Heat: Hole in One

Blowing Smoke

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 drift.

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 anything?”

“At the bakery?” I asked, even though that was obviously what she meant.

She nodded.

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 door.

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 what?”

“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 the counter.

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. “What’s yours?”


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 baking, from running a business. It’s hard work.”

“I bet.”

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 ashes.

“What do you like?” she asked.


“In bed.”

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 that kink!”

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 doesn’t happen.

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.”


Stupid question!

“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 I.

“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.


“Why not?”

“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 you, too.”

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 body.

“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 dry.

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 pussy.”

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 doing?”

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 that.

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 with that?

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 ways.

“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 do.

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 like candy.

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 her hole.

She gasped.

“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 worst.

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 help.

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 our clits.

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. Fucking.

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 mouth.

She was face-down, flat, so I got on top of her, my front to her back.

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 a while.

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.”

“With me?”

“Of course.”

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 senses.”

“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.

Everybody Knows

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 knows?

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 true.

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 don’t know.

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 anyone.

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 tears.

“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 directions.

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 his.

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 my words.

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 with it.”

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 Asher’s place.

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 no?”

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 sure?”

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 about him.

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 much more.

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.

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