Trans men are so incredible. I need him.
He listens to me and validates me. I need him.
He engages with my interests and asks me about the things I like. I need him.
He loves his artistic work and tells me about his characters. I need him.
He bonds with me over our shared religious trauma. I want him.
He kisses me so gently. I fucking want him.
He holds my hand and says yes when I ask. I want him.
He presses his body against me and sinks his teeth into my skin. I want him so badly.
We affirm consent. I want him.
We don't take our clothes off yet. I need him.
He pushes me against the pillows and grinds himself against me. I fucking need him.
He tells me that dry-humping is underappreciated, and I say "You're goddamn right." I fucking need him.
"I want you in my mouth." I need him.
He takes me all the way, he's a good boy and I need him.
Up and down, I sigh in ecstasy as he works, hitting the right spots and using his tongue like a weapon against me, teasing out my whines. I am desperate for him.
He teases me for the noises I make. He teases me for the transparent blush that coats my face at his words. I need him.
Trans men give incredible head. I'm craving him.
He stops, leaving a slick trail as he comes back to me for kissing.
We re-affirm consent. I want him.
We trade positions, and I take his clothes off. I see him naked. I grow weak at the sight of his tummy and his thighs and the curve of his hips. I tangle myself in his bush as I inhale him. I need him like I need oxygen.
I taste him. I feel like a feral animal and I need him.
I hear him moaning, I feel his legs shake as I wrap my lips around his clit. I feel how sensitive he is, and I fucking need him.
He holds my head between his legs, his fingers wrapped in my hair. I need him.
"You're a good girl," he says as my tongue traces his body, and my heart races in ecstatic joy. I want him more.
I pull back to breathe and bite his thighs. His fingers curl against my head as he whines. I drink the noises and I want him more.
His noises reach a pitch. He squeezes his thighs against my head and the world goes silent. I can almost hear his heartbeat through his body. His muscles flex, his fingernails dig deeper. He's cumming. I need him!!! I want him!
I move over him to kiss him again. He is wet and my lips are covered in him, but he doesn't care and drives to push his tongue between my lips. I wrap my fingers in his hair, pushing him against my pillows and hoping that they will smell like him when he is gone. I need him.
"What would you like?" I want him.
"I want you to fuck me." He wants me.
I ask if he wants to use condoms. He says he doesn't care. I want him.
We re-affirm consent, again, a third time, checking in, saying with certainty yes.
I kiss him again and shift my hips to push inside him. He whines softly. I feel how wet he is. I feel like an animal. I want to tear him apart and hear him whine and scream around me, I want to push him into my pillows and make him cum again and again.
The animalistic humping continues, less dry this time. I need him.
I think of the bar where we met. I think of our conversations. I think of how lucky I am. I wanted him so badly, and now I have him.
But he is not a prize. He is not an object. I feel wanted as well, I feel desired and equally needed. We wanted each other.
I kiss and bite him as he whines around me, whispering that he's such a good boy for me and growling in his ear as I push all the way inside him. He grabs my hair and tells me I'm a good puppy for him, a good dog.
I tell him next time he should pick a collar from my collection.
He giggles and agrees, then pushes his hips against mine, pushing me deeper inside him. I want him.
The sex is gentle, slow. Neither of us cum again. That's okay. We trade bites again, promises of remembering when we saw the bruises later. I go until my knees start to give out, aching from my full time job of manual labor. He doesn't mind. I slow to a stop, I pull out. I still want him.
I kiss his body. Legs, bush, tummy, abdomen, his sternum, gently touch each of his nipples, then come up to his neck and softly press my teeth into him. He sighs softly. I want him.
We kiss more. We cuddle. We talk. I want him.
I ask him about a next time. He enthusiastically agrees.
I love and adore and cherish trans men.
