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 I had been cross-dressing for about a year when I met Monika.  Getting out
in public had been a painfully slow process, starting with a nerve-wracking
trip to an all night convenience store at 4:40am one Sunday.  Things picked
up from there until I was willing to go pretty much anywhere after dark
provided I could keep moving -- restaurants, bars, and movie theaters were
still beyond me.  I'd met a few women, most of them quite a few years older
than me, after posting some pictures of myself to the internet.

   I began shaving.  Everywhere.  Women seemed to like it, and I began
getting blown much more frequently, whining and yelping like a frightened
11-year-old, begging for it to stop to have my partner look up at me and
ask, "Does that hurt?" The best response to this, I discovered, was "Just a
little." That drove women wild.  They almost invariably let me cum in their
mouth, when they let me cum at all.  Sometimes, instead, I'd be milked for
upwards of twenty minutes, for three days on end, before I finally pleaded
for "my mommy's pussy" while in her mouth.  Then she'd take my dick back to
the one place it belonged.

   I seldom let a woman fuck me.  The problem with most of them was, once
they had my ten inch dildo strapped to them, they were so enthralled by
having a cock, they just wanted to play around with it, rubbing it on the
small of my back, fucking the carpet, anything but putting it in my
clinging, needy shitter that had been contracting in pulses on nothing for
hours leading up to an almost invariably exasperatingly slow lead-in to a
painful entry then unenthusiastic fuck.  Why women don't understand that,
"Deeper" means to pull out farther before pushing home rather than filling
me then gyrating their hips, I'll never know.

   Monika was different.  She tuned me to E-flat, a plaintive keen.  Bent
over in the shower, nursing at her breasts, begging not to cum in her
mouth. I'd been spoiled before with women, tending to find giving lovers.
Until meeting Monika, I didn't understand how selfish the other older women
had been when taking me.  One evening, after screeching and spilling cum
from between her fiddling fingers, grasping the edge of the kitchen table
while our dinner guest smoked a cigarette and sipped her brandy, she asked
me out.

   We hadn't been out, strange to say.  We had met at the post office when
she snuck behind me and swatted my ass while I stood in line for a package
I'd missed.  When the clerk handed me my large plastic envelope, I asked if
she'd like to watch me try it on.  Nearly dark outside in the early winter,
just as the post office was closing, I slid my panties off from beneath my
skirt in the car and climbed over the parking brake onto her lap,
straddling it with a leg on each side and kissing her fervently as I ground
my dick into her stomach.  "My clitty's all swollen, lover," I said,
arching backward and letting her bury her head into my chest in a deep hug.
"Fuck, Mommy, you want me.  Don't you?" I slid my hand between my legs and
hers to feel the damp fabric of her pants and rubbed her through the fabric
as she panted, whispering the filthiest words I could think into her ear. I
let her build for two or three minutes before giving her a hard squeeze to
make sure she'd cum.  Things just sort of evolved from there.

   She had me dress well, my best.  It was a hundred fifty dollar number
with tulle above the bust and over the arms.  The hemline fell less than
halfway down my thighs and, that night, to avoid appearing cheap, I
shortened my garter straps enough that only the flowery top of my black
fishnet stockings showed through until you saw me sit, when you could see
so far up my thigh that, whether you knew or not, you were staring at my
rear end, plump in a 16, but outlined beautifully in silhouette by the
tight fit around my lower back.

   "You could have any man you want tonight," she told me as I did my
makeup.  "For sex.  For whatever that's worth."

   I smiled, understanding the cue.  Monika had paid to have my hair done
for my birthday a month before.  More than shoulder length, we'd found a
stylist that worked it beautifully into a rounded coif, curly at the ends
that could be pulled back into a nondescript ponytail when I wasn't
dressed. That night, I felt beautiful with wind tugging at my hair through
my driver's side window, open a bit to let her cigarette smoke out.  My
crotch was warm and my stomach full or butterflies, stronger even than my
first trip home from that convenience store when I felt as I imagined most
women do when out in heels for the first time, only more potently.

   I took Monika's hand and she gave it a squeeze as our heels clipped
through the parking garage.  "They don't have a clue," Monika laughed as we
entered the crowd on the street.

   "You' better not get me drunk tonight, sweets," I murmured in my public
voice, soft and very high pitched in my head, but sounding deep for a
woman.

   "We'll see if you're worth it," she said with a grin, bumping playfully
into me.

   "I'm not that cheap," I said shrilly through a wide, clench-toothed
smile.

   Monika turned to wink at a man waiting at the crosswalk and muttered,
"Bitch," when he ran his eyes down my torso and back up to my smiling face.
I dropped the smile and shrugged with raised eyebrows as we darted across
the alley behind him.  "It's on the next block," she said.

   "Good." I was struggling to keep my nerves in check so that my pumps
didn't begin to slip on the sidewalk, something which invariably drew,
"Learn to walk in heels, bitch," from one woman or another.  The door to
the hotel spun on its own and we stepped into a chamber of it, Monika's
hand sliding down to my inner thigh.  God, I loved that she'd do that in
public where so many women were reluctant, even if I asked.  "Fuck, I want
me," I mewled as she withdrew her hand.

   "That's my girl."

   The hostess didn't blink as she when she walked us the "quiet booth in
the back" that Monika asked for, nor did the waitress for our first three
rounds.  I was having the time of my life, learning the basics of flirting
across the room as quickly as I could in the darkened bar.

   "Pick me one," Monika purred rabidly.

   I winked at the man I was staring at and turned my head.  "That one over
there," I said with a nod in the direction of an overweight, late
middle-aged man in a neat suit.

   "Fuck you," she said and stood.  I watched her walk to the bar and lean
over beside a man in his early forties with blond hair, slicked back in
spikes.  She reached out and touched his right hand and I saw the ring on
it.  Clenching my thighs together and blushing a bit, I smiled down at my
drink, pleased as punch, as my grandmother used to say.  Champagne punch.

   I began to wonder if I should use the ladies room if needed and whether
I would have the courage to when I saw Monkia's cigarettes on the table.  I
picked one out and lit it then traipsed effortlessly across the room in an
ass-shimmy towards Monika's right.  Leaning over the bar, I gazed hardly at
her eyes, softly with a smile and unconscious wink at him and suddenly my
ass fell out of me.  I simply do not know another way to phrase it.  I
hadn't known what odd, coquettish thing I'd been planning but I simply
said, "Join us," in a hush and tipped my head back to our table.

   We put Paul between us, as he introduced himself, and it wasn't until
halfway through our first drink that I saw the hard blink that let me know
he'd caught on.  I lowered my eyes, gently smiling, the ceiling fan grazing
my hair, reminding me I was desirable until he put his hand on my leg.  I
felt dizzy with the options buzzing through my head until I didn't see the
point of it or anything or any of them and slid under the table.  Paul
fiddled with his belt as I spread his thighs, waiting for him to begin to
unzip, which he did but needed both hands for.  I thrust them both firmly
away as soon as the zipper was halfway down and tugged at his waistband. 
Fucking my mouth onto his already hard cock, my body flushed.  I thought he
was going to cum in my mouth when the damned thing swelled in a long pulse
that, to my delight, didn't recede.  Oh, God, I sucked it.  Hard then soft,
then nibbling, then licking and kissing and spitting and sucking, doing
every wicked dirty thing a woman had ever done to me as best as I could
remember.  When it lay, half erect against his thigh, I wrapped my lips
around it and very gently began to nurse, cradling his mighty cock as
softly as I could in my tongue.  He grew harder and harder as I heard
Monika's voice above me, whispering words I instinctively blocked out. 
Paul began swatting the table and spurting again.  I reach in and squeezed
his balls and almost threw up.  Fuck.  "Swallow, swallow, swallow," was
repeating in my head and I did as I was told, obeying my need to be a
cocksucker.

   "That's all," Paul croaked.  "Please?"

   "Oh God," I breathed, hoarsely and climbed back up in the booth,
grabbing my drink in as restrained a rush as I could manage, the perfect
fucking whore.

   "Do your pants, Paul," Monika said when she saw the smile on my face.





   "Try to walk," I growled, kicking him in the calf before standing to let
him out.