been in a forcemasc mood lately
it's not that im unwilling to transition necessarily, it's just that i’ve been a girl my whole life and it’s comfortable, and i don’t want to go to all the effort of doing something different. and yeah i feel like i'm crawling out of my skin sometimes, but doesn’t everyone? isn’t that like innate to womanhood?
and then i meet this guy, and he’s… well he’s my type! he’s sweet while being a little bit of a bad boy, and he’s just so confident in his own skin, and he’s so handsome and has pretty eyes and soft hair and he’s really into me!
but we start seeing each other and something... shifts.
i see him naked and i feel something hot and wretched and so, so turned on when i see the scars and the flat planes of his chest, and the dark trail of hair that leads into his boxers. and fuck… his dick. it’s not something i thought about all that much before i saw it, but he’s so much bigger than i expected, (bigger than me) and sucking him off feels so good.
and he can see it in my eyes, when i stare at his scars a little too long, the way i’m obsessed with the muscle and weight he’s put on, the beard he’s so proud of, the little bulge in his boxers, the strength in his arms and thighs, the depth of his voice and the sleepy morning rumble of it before we’ve even gotten out of bed.
and he doesn’t ask, or push, or even really raise an eyebrow. he just knows.
he starts lending me his clothes. even though it feels like a girl wearing her boyfriend’s hoodie, it’s… different. i can smell his sweat and his deodorant on it, and something inside me jumps when not only do i smell like him, i smell like a man. and suddenly, i can't get enough
i start borrowing more of his clothes. he takes me shopping. it starts a bit more subtly, with jeans and goofy hawaiian shirts that we both cackle at, but he sees the look on my face when i button them and look in the mirror at the swell of my chest. he suggests i wear a sports bra more often. it helps, but it's not enough.
i start wearing two sports bras. that lasts for about a weekend where we don't see each other. when he realizes, he's horrified -- telling me it's dangerous to do it like that. i'm teary-eyed, sniffling: do you want me to stop? should i stop? i don't know what's wrong with me.
he holds me, dries my tears, kisses me sweetly. no baby, what we're gonna do is this. we're gonna buy you a binder, and i think you're gonna like it.
it helps. it feels so good to look in the mirror and see my chest be flat. i had no idea it would feel this good.
he suggests, eventually, that i could fuck him.
i have, of course, on my fingers and with my tongue, but he hands over the familiar strap and harness that i so love when he wears. i'm a little nervous, but he kneels before me and buckles me in, and i'm fucking soaked when he looks up at me, and asks, so prettily, if he can suck my cock.
it's so fucking good. so fucking good. even though i can't really feel his mouth on the silicone, it feels real, it feels like i can feel every lap of his tongue, and when he hollows his cheeks to suck, and when he takes me all the way to the back of his throat -- fuck. i can't help but thrust into him, fucking his face, hearing these precious noises from him, and the combination of the grinding friction on my cock -- on my clit -- and the way he looks up at me through his lashes, teary eyed as he deepthroats me is enough to make me come.
he's been fingering himself while he was sucking me off and he's so wet, wet enough that i can see the slick running down his thighs, and he lays back on the bed, three fingers inside himself, making these little "uh, uh" noises because of the stretch. he looks gorgeous, and even prettier than he looked sucking me off, as i slide the strap into him achingly slowly. i let him get used to the girth and the length, and i fully intend to go slow, but he digs his nails into my back and says fuck me, baby boy, and i. fuck. i have no choice.
i come when he calls me his good boy.
