Bold - A Story - Part One

This is a work of fiction based on fantasies and past experiences. 

Fortes fortuna adiuvat. Fortune favors the bold.

I had desperately desired her for years, but the timing was never right. I held back my true feelings and played the part of a friend.

I caught myself mentally making sexual innuendos out of everything she said.

She would never know that.

We hung out occasionally; not nearly as much as I would have liked. Every time I saw her, I periodically glanced and quickly turned away. It was tough not to notice her low cut tops (and her large, round breasts), her hour glass figure, her carefree posture, and - of course - her well-shaped ass every time she turned around.

Her eyes were big, bright, and unmistakably green. They complemented her naturally tan complexion nicely. The intensity of those eyes had the capacity to literally take my breath away.

I hid my attraction. This was difficult to do when she made me feel like my heart was in my throat half the time.

She made me feel like I was a teenager again: awkward, shy, and undoubtedly full of lascivious thoughts.

I found myself sneaking chances to stare at her tits. My mind wandered to a place where my face and hands were on them. I took turns sucking on each nipple; grazing them with my teeth; kissing her breasts while I pulled and pinched those hard, pronounced nipples with my hands.

My breath would change, but I would stay quiet... as I thought about sliding my cock between those beautiful breasts.

I wondered if she would let me cum on them.

I tried to stop my face from flushing when I went to these places.

One day, I failed completely. She caught me and asked if I was okay. I told her I was fine. I got embarrassed and made a point of changing the subject.

She had to know I liked her. It was obvious. I was very attentive to her; always there to listen and advise. I remembered every special day in her life. I bought her random gifts. I gave her plenty of well-deserved compliments. She knew I thought she was beautiful.

Sometimes, I swore I saw a glimmer of mischief in her eyes when she looked at me. I told myself I was probably being delusional. If she wanted me, she surely would have indicated that by now, right?

She never ceased to be the object of my most intense desires. I had to find out if the feelings were mutual.

I bought us tickets to go to a music festival to see one of her favorite performers. I excitedly told her about this and informed her of the date. "Unless you have a major crisis, you're coming with me," I said, smiling.

Spontaneity rarely came naturally to me. Honestly, neither did bold assertion, but I had years of faking it with the best of them.

The festival was five hours away. We talked, laughed, and listened to music on the drive.

The way she smiled at me, poked me, and made fun of me caused me to hope she was flirting.

She had this adorably innocent giggle, but I knew she was not so innocent.

I couldn't wait to get to the hotel. I had a surprise planned. The anticipation was keeping my heart rate high.

We finally arrived. I checked us into the room. I offered to carry her bags. She thanked me.

When all the bags were inside, I closed the door and said, "Hey... there's something I want to tell you. I've been holding it back awhile because I didn't know how to properly say it. I really want to tell you now."

She asked me what I wanted to say.

I looked in her eyes for a second. She was standing. So was I.

I wasted no time. There were no words for these sentiments. I pinned her wrists above her head, slammed her into the wall, and kissed her ferociously.

We kissed for several minutes. The kissing weaved between deep, long, slow and soft to passionate - full of teeth, tongue, and shallow breath.

When I let go of her wrists to trace my hands down her body, she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly; like she was so ruled by her passion that she didn't want to let me leave her grasp.

"Holy shit, this is happening," I kept thinking. "She does want me. Fuck. She really wants me."

I wanted to reach up her dress and into her panties. I wanted to see how wet she was for me. I didn't have to wonder if she was wet - I already knew she was.

The anticipation of planning this move already had me dripping down my legs. I wondered if she was going to be surprised by that.

I'd waited years for this moment. I wasn't going to ruin it by "doing her" too quickly. No. Hell the fuck no. I was going to make her wait.

I'd already waited forever. What was a few more minutes (or maybe hours) going to cost me?

I moved my hand up her leg and over the material of her dress. I gently traced my fingers around her covered inner thighs.

Her dress was low cut and showcased her breasts and collar bones. I moved my head down to start kissing those collar bones.

Suddenly, she bit my neck. I moaned. She bit my neck again, harder this time. I moaned again - loudly - and bit her neck in response. I nibbled on her shoulders. She began to unbutton my shirt.

I hiked up her dress and put my leg between her legs.

I sighed in pleasure at what I saw: she wasn't wearing any panties.

What I felt was even nicer: she was as soaked as I was. I felt the warm, moist heat of her body penetrate through my jeans.

Receiving concrete acknowledgement of her desire made me grow harder than I knew to be possible. I ground myself up and down her leg while she ground herself on mine.

She moved her hand toward my crotch and smiled when she saw the bulge.

I was packing.

She grabbed my cock. I gasped, groaned, and tilted my head back.

I removed my leg from between her legs, stepped back a foot, and whispered, "Spread your legs a little and wrap your arms around me."

She followed my instructions. I picked her up. I thrusted my body into her and against the wall. I did this two more times before turning around and placing her on the bed.

I carefully eased my body weight on top of her. I pinned her hands above her head again and continued to kiss her with force and excitement. I felt her hands trying to break free from my grip. I let them roam and playfully whispered in her ear, "I might not let your hands go next time." I growled softly. My voice was low and husky; soaked with exhilaration and arousal.

She grabbed my hair and firmly pulled on it before undoing the last three buttons of my shirt. I thought about stopping her and saying, "No. I decide when my shirt comes off," but was too absorbed in lust to play power games.

I was throbbing violently between my legs; so hard it hurt. The aching sensation traveled from the top of my crotch to my tip and back. Back and forth. Over and over again.

All the thoughts I had about making her wait temporarily disappeared. I hiked her dress all the way up. Her pussy and ass were exposed. She was glistening with wetness. I firmly pressed my body between her legs; my cock on top of her pussy, waiting to get inside.

I grabbed her face and kissed her. I put my hand behind her head, grabbed her hair, and kissed her more. I felt her hands undoing my belt. I let her.

She unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. She wrapped her arms around me, reached a hand into my boxer briefs, and grabbed my ass.

I grabbed her ass harder in reply.

I continued to grind into her. Our bodies were already sweaty. My temperature rose just as much as my cock.

My stream of thoughts was surprisingly simple: "I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her. God, I want to fuck her. Holy shit, I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her."

I pulled away. I inched myself towards the foot of the bed before kissing between her hip bones, down her mound, over her incredibly soaked lips, down her thighs, and back up. I very lightly moved my tongue over her slit and purposely bypassed her clit as I licked her mound. She gasped and moaned.

I licked her clit just once, pulled her dress back over her legs, zipped and buttoned my jeans, re-did my belt, and stood at the foot of the bed.

She looked confused and surprised. She protested a little.

"Let's go out to dinner now," I said. "Believe me, I have every intention of eating you later."

To be continued...

Panties and Webcams

After I met Jeannette for the first time, I gave her a teddy bear and spritzed it with Obsession (the cologne I wore most frequently) so she would be reminded of me when I was gone.

In return, she mailed me her panties after wearing them for a day. She didn't tell me she was going to do that, either. She told me she sent something to me, but I'd have to wait for the surprise.

When I opened the package, I dropped my jaw. I was a little bit shocked... and extremely turned on. I sniffed them repeatedly, thinking of the time I spent with my face between her legs.

I felt myself getting hard the moment I saw the panties. By the time I sniffed them, I was squirming.

I went into my room, closed the door, and locked it. I draped her panties over my face, closed my eyes, and stuck my hand between my legs.

My boxer briefs were already wet. I swirled my finger around the wetness and began to stroke myself with it. I breathed deeply, inhaling her scent. I picked up my phone with my free hand and texted her, saying:

"Wanna know what I'm doing?"

"What?" She asked.

"First, I'd like to thank you for the package. Second... I am going to jerk myself off repeatedly to the scent of your dirty panties. You filthy girl. I fucking love it."

"No! Stop! Right now!"

"Wait... what? What's up?"

"Do it on your webcam. I wanna watch."

It was not long at all before I came. I was still turned on. She told me to get myself off two more times - the first one because I was still horny as fuck and the second one for "good luck."

I got to hear her cum a few times, too, but was frustrated that I couldn't see her. This inspired me to buy her a webcam.

When we both had webcams, our cam chats were rarely innocent. Even if they did not start out sexual, they eventually became (or just came?) that way. She usually either wore a bra and matching thong set on webcam for me or absolutely nothing. Sometimes, it was bra + thong + heels; another time, it was bra + thong + heels + hat. Other times, fishnets were added to the equation. Either way, she dressed in ways she knew were aesthetically and carnally pleasing to me.

She later confessed to me that during half those times, she didn't feel sexual upon starting the conversation and simply wanted to get me worked up... although when I got worked up, she got worked up with me.

In another webcam conversation, she said, "I wanna see you play with your cock. If you can fuck me with it and cum with it, you can jerk yourself off with it, too, right?"

"Yes," I answered. I'd done it so many times.

It wasn't the first time I'd jerked my cock off on a webcam. I did it when I was nineteen for a varied audience of young women who had no idea I was not biologically male.

It turned me on immensely that she wanted to see that. I've said before that feeling tangibly masculine has the potential of making me ungodly horny.

I told her I'd be right back. I practically tore off my jeans and boxer briefs, grabbed my harness and slipped my cock through. I tightened it around my hips, grabbed my cock, and felt my breath change as the wave of pleasure ran through my body. I put my boxer briefs and jeans back on, though the jeans stayed unbuttoned.

I sat back at my little desk, angling the webcam at the bulge between my legs. I stroked the head.

It was my cock head. And it wanted to be free.

I whipped my cock out from my boxer briefs and told Jeannette, "You would be in so much trouble if you were here right now."

She bit her lip and asked, "Would I?" in a tone that clearly mocked innocence.

"Don't play that," I said. I thrusted and made a noise resembling a growl of arousal.

I slowly moved my hand up and down the shaft. I rubbed the head a little bit and worked my way back down. Jeannette moaned as she watched me.

Jeannette's thumb was on her clit. She had two fingers inside her pussy.

She pulled her fingers out to show me how wet she was. This made me rub my cock ferociously. "God damn, girl."

She got her vibrator and put it over her clit as she continued to finger fuck herself.

"Fuck that pussy as hard as you can for me," I said, knowing she was doing it already.

"Hang on," she told me. "Don't stop playing with your cock."

She got up, walked away, and returned with a large, purple dildo.

"Don't worry, your cock feels better," she said sexily as she shoved the dildo's head inside. "Oh my God," she told me. "That slid in so easily."

I moaned at the thought. I jerked harder.

My body was tensing up. I was shaking.

I slowed down.

I watched Jeannette carefully and precisely fuck herself with that big purple dildo. I watched her face make the most irreplaceable expressions of pleasure. I saw her go deeper and deeper until the dildo was all the way in.

I rubbed my cock slowly and softly. Watching her take that large object on the webcam made me want to burst.

I told her that.

She put the vibrator back on her clit while moving the dildo in and out of herself.

I had been riding the verge of orgasm for what felt like eternity but was most likely just a few minutes.

We got quiet, both of us too preoccupied with pleasuring ourselves and purely watching the other to say anything.

She told me she was going to cum soon but wanted to watch me cum first.

I knew it would take no significant effort on my part to make that happen. I tensed my muscles up and began to jerk my cock in soft, even strokes. I could have sworn I felt it happening from a place deep within my balls. I felt it making its way through the shaft and out the tip through several chaotic, intense waves. I moaned far more loudly than I intended to; I feared one of my roommates hearing, but I was too lost in the moment to care.

She came within seconds after I did.

It was late at night. We were both exhausted.

"Good night, sweetheart. I love you," I said.

"I love you, too."

And we both turned off our webcams to fall into the X Rated version of Lily White's Party.

An Anecdote About Antidote (AKA: A Bad Date)

The last date I went on was rather awkward.

It was when I was still doing the bar remodeling. I have since stopped that and started pursuing my own ventures. So far, I've not done too badly.

There was a convenience store near my work location. I went there frequently. There was a very pretty girl who I constantly saw working there. We talked often. She always saw me in my dirty construction clothes. I was a little bit ashamed of that, as I am quite clean, well-dressed, and presentable when I'm not doing jobs.

One day, she told me I was "a little hottie." I was surprised. I asked her, "You really think so?" She said yes and commented on my muscles.

I told her, "We should go out for lunch or coffee or something, then."

She smiled widely at my forward manner.

We agreed to meet up at a coffee shop called Antidote. I go there all the time and will probably blog about this place in greater detail at some point.

I looked my (casual) dapper best: plaid button-up with the cuffs rolled up over the sleeves of my black suit jacket, dark blue ripped jeans, leather belt, oxford dress shoes, and my usual neat-but-chaotic hair.

When she saw me, she dropped her jaw.

I smiled at her, approached her, and gave her a hug.

"Wow," she said, staring me down in awe.

I chuckled and said, "I hear I clean up well."

"You do," she replied. "It's like you're a completely different person."

"Thanks... I think?"

"Sure."

We ordered coffee and pastries. I told her to order first. I paid for us both. We ate outside. I got the door for her. This all will be relevant in just a moment; I promise I'm not boasting about things I'd do for pretty much any girl, whether we were dating or not.

I pulled out her chair. She laughed and said, "You're too much."

I smiled. I debated asking, "Too much what?" but I didn't.

We sat down and talked. She asked me a bunch of questions about my work. I started telling her details. She got bored of them quickly and started asking me about my hobbies and interests: writing, music, movies, cars, books, comics, conventions, burn events, video games, and anything that will mentally challenge or engage me in some way.

Every time I asked her something about herself, she gave me a one word answer. These one word answers were always followed by questions about me.

She told me I had this "whole other side" that she "never expected." I said, "Humans are multi-faceted. The old cliche of, 'you can't judge a book by its cover' exists for a reason."

She shrugged.

I could tell she was somehow put off by me. It was obvious that I was not what she expected me to be.

If she didn't tell me what was up, I was going to ask. Lucky for me, she spat it out.

"Look," she said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but... you are way too clean, nice, polite, and old fashioned for me. I know some girls like that, but it's just not me. It makes me uncomfortable. I was attracted to... like... your rugged appeal. I thought what you did for a living was really cool. I liked the attitude you had when you were not trying to impress me."

I was shocked... and hurt. I knew exactly why I was hurt. I felt like she attacked and dismissed a part of me. I do aim to be a clean (in the hygienic way - heh heh), nice, polite, old fashioned sort of gentlemanly fellow. I've had plenty of girls be surprised by my chivalry, but it has usually been a good kind of surprised. Being (what I would consider) a gentleman is a part of my personality and identity.

Yes, I know I make plenty of not-so-gentlemanly statements on this blog and sometimes speak rather crudely about my sexcapades, but I am very courteous and respectful to the women who cross my path.

Before arriving at Antidote, I thought, "Cool, I'm going to get to show her who I really am and what I'm really about. She's going to be happy to see I'm probably a lot hotter than she thought because I clean up well and she's seen me at my worst. I'm sure she is thinking the same for herself. I hope we have things to talk about together. I hope she's not boring. I'll ask her lots of questions and get her to talk about herself."

Clearly, my hopes were shattered.

I'm not being emo here.

I wasn't butthurt, but my pride was ruined. I was not so happy that she thought my genuine actions were just "trying to impress" her and "too much."

I told her, "Hey, that's fine. I knew something was up and if you didn't say something, I planned on asking. Honestly, of course I wanted to impress you. I asked you to come here, didn't I? But I didn't do anything I did just to impress you - that's just how I am."

She started backpedaling and saying she didn't mean that I was "being fake." She said I was "just different" and that she was intimidated by me and that she couldn't make me happy.

I sat and listened while thinking, "Whoa there. We're on a coffee date. We barely know each other. This is not a relationship and you don't need to give me the break-up talk."

I let her go on for awhile about how I was not the kind of person she would normally date. Unfortunately, I am not good at tuning people out.

I didn't want to leave and be rude, but wondered how much more of her drivel I could take.

Eventually, she told me she had to go. I was relieved.

When she left, I told the barista dude, "Wow. That was one of the more awkward dates I've had."

He laughed.

I never went back to that girl's store again.

Division Should be for Math and Sports Teams

I've read plenty of things online about the supposed divide between "butch women" and "trans men."

Reading such things irks me a little bit because:

1) Why can't we all just get along?

And

2) I'm somewhere between the two.

Just a thought.

Gender Contemplation, Part Infinity

Here's the back story on MC: http://inabsenceofgender.blogspot.com/2011/12/mc.html

I am happy to say we have kept in touch.

We discussed the notion that those who are masculine-of-center and female-bodied don't have many role models and came to the conclusion that plenty of genderqueer folks of both biological sexes have felt pressure to transition.

I admit to mentally revisiting the idea every now and then. Every time I do, I am reminded that it would not make me any happier. For me, transition would be dumping all this time and money into a product I'd never be happy with - if I even obtained it in the first place.

In a superficial way, life would be easier as an individual who is perceived to be within the gender binary. I have had to solicit for work lately (repair work and remodeling - don't get any ideas ;-) ) and in this process have asked myself, "Wouldn't life be so much easier if you were just a dude?"

Sometimes, it is tiring to get gawked at just for existing. The other day, I was approaching the public restrooms. Three kids and their mother all waited to see which one I'd go into. It annoyed me more than it humored me. I have enough stories like that to write a book.

I went to a party last weekend. Something awesome happened: I got asked which pronoun I preferred! Before I could answer, someone else said, "Probably he." The way the question was asked was most excellent: "I don't know what your biological sex is and I don't care... but what pronoun do you prefer?"

I said, "If it feels natural for you, he. Otherwise, whatever makes you most comfortable. Hell, some omit the pronoun thing entirely and say the pronoun for me is just 'Alex.'"

I had some in-depth conversations about my gender identity with the people at the party. I told them about my history (of always wanting to be male, of contemplating transition, of embracing myself as I am) and explained that while I felt disconnected from being "female," I wasn't entirely "male," either. I have some innately female characteristics like perception, empathy, and gentility. I wouldn't fully identify with the gender binary as a male if I did transition simply because I'm not a fan of patriarchal brainwashing or male posturing.

That, and I am a fan of tight clothes. Rocker tight - not femme tight - of course. ;-)

Joking aside, I'm too much of an outspoken queer to fade into the background. I would feel inauthentic at this point to live as "a straight man." I'm aware that I could still identify as queer while being a trans man and be active in queer communities, but part of what I found so appealing about transition in the first place was the ability to blend in and no longer be seen as any kind of "freak."

I mentioned several times that I planned on being a stealth trans man. I hoped my feelings of gender dysphoria and history of being what other people thought to be "a dyke" would suddenly get erased. The strict gender binary of my upbringing had been so deeply etched into my beliefs that I was more than happy to do whatever it took to be seen and accepted as male.

Moving to DC at nineteen was one of the best decisions I'd ever made. Although I am no longer a Washingtonian, I marvel at the way that move has shaped me.

I've been told over the years that people have never met anyone like me. While this may be for many reasons, I believe a big chunk of it is my gender presentation and my energy.

My internal gender fluctuates. I weave from feeling very genderless to very male. On my very male days, I occasionally contemplate transition... and then I realize such gender variance is a part of me and won't go away regardless of who I make myself out to be.

Therefore, hi. I'm Alex, gender revolutionary.

Pussy

I heard one guy call another guy "a fuckin' pussy" the other day. I thought about the word "pussy" in that context and came to a realization.

Calling someone a pussy should never be an insult against one's masculinity. It is ironic that balls are supposed to be the pinnacle of manhood when testicles are so fragile. If you grab a dude by the balls, you have his life. He may be willing to surrender almost anything to get his balls back. If you grab a chick by the pussy, you have nothing but laughter and slaps. You have to make a purposeful effort to grab a pussy, anyway, while the balls are exposed and vulnerable for anyone to take.

A pussy is resilient. It bleeds for almost a week every month without damage. It is designed to pop out things the size of melons and retain its shape when that is over. It is able to take large objects in a single bound without breaking. Do testicles do this? I don't think so. Balls are the fragile epitome of weakness when you look at things anatomically. Therefore, I have concluded that if you are a coward, wimp, etc, you're a testicle, not a pussy.

Systems

Life is a series of systems. If you’re lucky or born into it, you find yourself in a position where the system works for you. If you’re not, you must find a way to extract yourself from those systems; to break them. Tell them what they want to hear to the letter, while standing in contempt of all that they stand for. Outside those systems, you see them for the blatant fraud that they are, and the weight that you once held is gone.