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From: remaps@aol.com (Remaps)
Subject: Story - The Hunt - Dave Wallace
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I

	I take very little, if any, pride in the fact that I’m what
men fondly refer to as a ‘stone fox’.  At this stage of my life,
I’ve had plenty of experience looking into the envious eyes of other
girls (as a high school cheer leader and Homecoming Queen) and women
(as a successful model and owner of a chic women’s clothing boutique)
and the lustful eyes of men (and some women) as they seem to delight
in the package that my parents dubbed, "Tawnee", some twenty-three
years ago in San Diego, California.

	This package, 5-feet tall, 95 lbs, shoulder-length, naturally
blonde hair, 35-22-34, perpetually tanned, blue-eyed, dimpled (both
sets of ‘cheeks’), sensuous, and forever adventurous, was due to
close the shop in five minutes and looking forward to an evening of
excitement.

	I guess that everybody finds their pleasure in different ways.
Who knows what molds our sexual eccentricities or appetites?  Perhaps
the shrinks but I’ve always been immune to any curiosity as to why I
am what I am.  Instead, I’ve tried to learn to accept myself for what
I am and to approach each day with an attitude of new possibilities.
New friends.  New experiences.

	Little did I realize, this day, what a new experience awaited
me.

	As I watched the wall clock above the front entrance of my
shop slowly tick away the few remaining minutes between my musings and
my release from the confinement of work, I looked forward to another
night of what I called, to myself, ‘The Hunt’.

	It went something like this.  Within thirty minutes, I would
be out of the store, into a taxi, across town to a Gay Bar, and
pursuing my prey.  My object?  A pre-operative transsexual male.

	As I said, I had learned to live with myself, who I was, and
what I liked.  I liked fellatio - excuse the fancy word - giving head
- sucking cock.  Call it what you will.  I loved the feeling of a
  penis in my mouth.  I could literally get off from the giving of
intense sexual pleasure to the lucky recipient of my experienced, very
much practiced, artistry.

	I loved everything about the act.  The gritty details, to
include the obvious and eventual culmination of my efforts in the form
of a forbidden ‘libation’ as a reward from my grateful ‘subject’.

	What I didn’t like, was the typically aggressive attitude of
the macho-type male who would attempt to thwart my goal and proceed
with his own agenda of coitus - or, whatever.  For this reason, I had
taken to picking up gay men in bars.  I found that they were, as a
rule, more than willing to acquiesce to my need for control of the
situation.  In a way, I guess that it was odd for me to find sex
between two males to be acceptable while at the same time finding
lesbianism almost repulsive, but that’s the way I’d always felt.

	I had learned that by posing as a pre-op transsexual male, I
could dupe my target into believing that he was receiving his treat
from another man - therefore a turn-on for his homosexual mind-set.
By selecting a pre-op for my subject, I was able to enjoy his breasts,
his smooth skin, and his (oft-times) attraction to another beautiful
pre-op (as far as he knew) to play with.  I was rather confused when I
tried to reconcile my aversion to lesbianism with my penchant for the
breasts and soft skin of this ‘special type of man’ but accepted the
contradiction and made the most of my unorthodox tastes.

	The final touch, if you haven’t guessed by now, was the
‘bonus’ kick that I got from revealing my gender after having
provided my particular specialty.  I got a perverse thrill out of my
little scam; the look on my ‘victim’s’ face as he realized that,
ugh, he had just acceded to sex with a, gag, woman.

II

	As I sipped on my vodka martini and looked over the rim of the
chilled glass, I saw him.  I could feel the familiar stirring in my
loins as I contemplated where we would be within the hour.  He was
gorgeous and I was again struck with a feeling that ‘this beauty
can’t be a man’ as I marveled at the feminine aura exuding from a
dimpled, pixie-face, surrounded by short-cropped, brunette hair
- curled in a fifties-style flip.

	He was immaculate; from his manicured and tastefully polished,
long fingernails, to the eyebrows, lashes, shadow, blush, lipstick,
jewelry, clothing - you name it - he had it together.

	Catching my gaze, he left his place at the other end of the
bar and walked towards me with a smile on his womanly face.  As many
times as I’d been in this situation, the ritual never failed to
arouse me.  The introductions, the small talk, the swapping of make-up
tips, all of the mundane trivialities that I’d learned were typical
to a conversation between two pre-op male transsexuals upon such a
meeting.

	Thankfully, though, it wasn’t more than ten minutes before
we’d completed this little drama and were riding away from the bar,
side-by-side, in the back seat of a taxi, on our way to my apartment
and a promised ‘glass of wine’.

	As we rode in silence through the darkened streets of the
city, I thought back over the meeting ritual that I’d just run
through.  His name was "Paula".   Although he hadn’t explained it, I
presumed that he had probably once been "Paul" and had altered his
name to conform to the transformation in his appearance.

	He’d been receiving hormone injections for over a year and
looked forward to surgery within another year.  He felt that after his
change was complete, he’d probably continue to be bisexual, since he
loved women and men - and, especially (at least for now) other
pre-op’s.

	While we’d chatted in the busy bar, he’d feasted his eyes on
my body as if he would prefer literally feasting on my body.  I hoped
that I’d be able to cool his ardor sufficiently to effectuate my
usual seduction and presumed that, as with others like him in the
past, I would have little or no problem.

III

	Like most of the ‘boys’ that I’d brought to my rather
lavishly appointed, expensive apartment, this evening’s catch was no
different in his reaction to my digs.  He did the usual gawk, as I
strode to the wet bar and fetched a bottle of Dom Perignon from the
fridge beneath.

	Crystal flutes in one hand and an ice bucket in the other, I
joined my companion on the kid leather sectional which was arrayed in
a half-moon shape perhaps ten feet from the fireplace with its stone
hearth.  Raising my glass in a toast, I smiled as I said, "To our
pleasure.".

	"I’ll gladly drink to that."  Paula exuded an air of lust as
he looked into my eyes over the rim of his glass and quickly emptied
it of its delicious contents.

	When I saw him placing his glass on the marble-topped coffee
table and turning in my direction, I was glad for his sense of urgency
as I was also anxious to get down to business.

	Paula’s lips were soft and his kiss hungry - his tongue
insisting upon entrance into my mouth as we embraced.  Impatient to
feel his newly formed breasts, I reached between us and began
unbuttoning the buttons of his blouse.

	Not content to wait for my fingers to do the job, he broke
free from my grasp and stood before me.  With a sexy look on his face
and an impish smile, his fingers quickly unbuttoned the blouse and
pulled it free of his flared mini-skirt.  Shrugging it from his
shoulders, he allowed the blouse to fall to the floor behind him.
Braless, his womanly breasts were a sight to behold.

	Cone-shaped and capped with tiny pink nipples in their
centers, they beckoned my lips and tongue with a siren’s song that I
knew I would be unable to resist.

	"I want to see your breasts, Tawnee.  Please take off your
blouse too."

	I rose from my sitting position on the sofa and stood facing
Paula as I quickly disrobed, dropping my blouse and lace, push-up bra
onto the floor beside me.  Having always enjoyed the sensation of my
breasts making contact with my dates’, I hastened to wrap my arms
around Paula’s shoulders and was instantly struck by the electricity
caused by my nipples’ frictioning against his.

	I could feel Paula squeezing the cheeks of my ass as we stood
before the fire kissing, our breasts pressed together, their nipples
rock-hard from excitement.

	As I felt Paula’s fingers stray from my butt and suddenly
slide beneath the waistband of my skirt, I reached to deter his
attempts and was startled by the strength of his arm as it simply
brushed away my interfering hand and completed its journey to my
crotch in one, uninterrupted motion.

	I guess that I had always known that, sooner or later, I would
be caught by one of my dates and prematurely revealed as a woman.  "I
thought you were a pre-op, Tawnee.  What’s this?"  His hand now
cupping my pubes, the fingers stroking the length between my labia.  I
was somehow shamed by the wetness that was quickly developing in my
panties in response to his fondling.

	"I’m sorry, Paula.  I tricked you.  I’d still like to suck
you, though."

	"If it’s all the same to you, Tawnee, I’ll do the sucking."

	"But, I thought you were gay."

	"What?  You think a gay man can’t pleasure a woman with his
mouth?"

	I was struck dumb by his question and surprised myself by
standing mute as he quickly finished undressing me and fell to his
knees on the carpet before my nude and suddenly wanting body.

	The feeling of his mouth coming into contact with my vulva and
quickly proceeding to the nibbling and sucking of my clitoris that I
loved so well (how did he know?), soon had me in ecstasy.

	In no time, it seemed, I’d reached an orgasm and Paula
continued with his ministrations.  Feeling weak in my knees, I
suddenly crumpled onto the couch and sat with my legs spread - Paula
still busy between my spread thighs, quickly bringing me to another
peak with his gifted lips and tongue.

	Pushing him away with a sign, I told him that I’d had enough
and now wished to take my turn.

	"Before I let you pleasure me, Tawnee, I want some answers.
Why’d you pose as a man in the bar?  Why’d you not want me to know
that you’re a woman?"

	"I don’t know, Paula.  I know that I enjoy giving head and
have also enjoyed the added spice of mind-fucking a gay man by
revealing afterwards that I’m really a woman.  Somehow, I suppose, I
think that I’ll make him go straight or something."

	"It takes all kinds, I guess, Tawnee.  Do you want to do me
now?"

	"Oh, yes."
	"First, turn down the lights and get me another glass of
champagne.  My body’s not nearly as beautiful as yours and I’m self
conscious when I’m naked."

	Turning out all of the lights in the room and returning to
Paula’s side with a fresh glass of wine in my hand, I was pleased to
find he’d shed his clothes while I was busy with the lights and now
lay on his stomach in front of the fire.

	"Give me the champagne, Tawnee and lick my ass while I drink
it."

	I had no problem with that.  Having long since learned that
many gay men were anally erotic, I’d had an abundance of practice and
his predecessors had benefited from my rimming talents.  Anticipating
the intense pleasure that I knew would be caused by my obeisance, I
could feel a renewed heat between my thighs as I knelt between his
splayed legs and began a slow laving of his buttocks and the divide
between them, slowing down now and then to tease the asshole with my
pointed tongue.

	"I want you to get me off now, Tawnee."

	I didn’t answer his plea but merely grasped his hips and
rolled him over to get at his penis.  As he spread his legs and
grasped my head gently with both hands to draw me into the apex of his
open thighs, I was there before I realized I’d been had.

	Confronted with the absence of a man’s genitalia and
presented with a clean-shaven pussy instead, I began to reflexively
pull away.

	"You promised, Tawnee.  Now, be a good girl and lick.  Believe
me - try it, you’ll like it."

	In spite of everything that I’d felt before this eventful
evening, I allowed my face to be drawn into her softness and extended
my tongue.  My advice, ladies?  Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried
it!

IV

	Paula and I live together now…she ended up spending the night
and we moved her clothing and things over from her apartment the next
day.  We go out now and then but most of all, enjoy our evenings alone
- in front of a skin-warming fire!  We no longer go to gay bars to
  pick up men!

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