Oxygen

I'm hearing words I never wanted to hear again, ever, in my life.

Biopsy.

Malignant.

Cancer.

I can't for the life of me remember leaving the doctor's office, but I'm sitting in my car, key in the ignition, door open, one foot on the concrete, and I can't breathe. The wound on my breast is throbbing, as if it knows that what was hidden beneath the flesh had evil intentions. I'm suddenly overcome with rage at my own body, how could it turn against me after all I've done for it, how could it? But the sobs shaking my frame, the tears running down my face, that's sheer fear.

I'm clutching a square of white paper. I know it's from Dr. Qasba's prescription pad, and I know it's not a prescription, but I don't remember what he scribbled on it until I pull myself into the car, shut the door, and flatten it out on the steering wheel in front of me.

Ah, it's a recommendation. For an oncologist. I finger the strange loops and angles of a doctor's handwriting, blinking away the final tears as I know I need to drive home. I put the paper on the seat next to me, push the emotions away for later, take a deep breath, and start the car.

I focus on driving. I turn the music up so loud that Florence is screaming to me about a bird that saw what she did and won't stop singing about it.

Elisa's Dancing is playing when I pull into the parking space, and I'm crying again. I turn the car off and sit there for a moment, letting the tears roll down as I whisper along with the melancholy tune. I'm feeling afraid again, but for an entirely different reason now. I know I have to tell Gerry.

Gerry couldn't get out of work for this appointment. She was angry at her employers, but we need the money more than I needed support, and we were so sure it was benign.

We were so sure. But we were both scared. The "C" word was never talked about, because it was just ridiculous. I'm only 27 years old. Way too young for cancer. Yet little things changed. We'd slept wrapped up in each other last night, Gerry's arms around me so tight it was like she worried I'd disappear.

Now we have to talk about it. Now I have to say it.

The apartment is empty and cold when I walk in. We'd talked about getting a cat or a dog, but we never made it to the shelter. My mind drags me to the idle wonder if we ever will, if I'll ever live to get a cat or a dog?

And I'm a mess again.

Distantly, I'm aware of the phone ringing. Was it ringing when I walked in? I sniff and wipe my eyes, sidling to the handset. The number is Gerry's cell. I reach for it instinctively, as I'd reach for her. The beep when I answer the call makes me realize I need to talk, and as soon as I talk, she'll know I'd been crying. She'll know.

"Baby?" Her voice sounds tinny. I assume she's sitting in her car in the parking garage.

"Hi," is all I can manage before my throat closes up. I need to not cry while on the phone. I need to get it together.

"I'm sorry I called," she says, "but I can't even think about work right now. I need to know if you're okay?"

I can't even speak. My knees feel weak and I need to sit down. I hurry to the couch and fold into it, pulling my legs up. The hand holding the phone to my ear is pressing it so hard that I hear the plastic creak in protest.

"Janine, are you there?" Gerry sounds on the verge of panic. I know she can hear me struggling to keep my breathing under control.

"I'm here," I say. "Gerry..."

She breaks in, "Oh my god."

We sit in respective silence. I can hear her crying on the other end of the phone, but amazingly my eyes are dry.

"I love you," I whisper into the handset.

"I'm coming," she says, and I hear her start the car. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I love you. I love you."

The call cuts off before I can muster any more words. I put the phone on the arm of the couch and pull a blanket over my legs, feeling strange and numb. I think about Gerry, about how we'd dance in the kitchen while cooking breakfast in our underwear. How she'd bring me dandelions and purple clover flowers and we'd clip them and put them in a crystal vase like they were a dozen long stem roses. How she'd wake me quietly during the wee morning hours with kisses along my spine, her fingertips dancing desire across my skin.

I'm calmed down a little when Gerry bursts through the door, her keys missing the side table and crashing to the floor as she shoves the door closed and hurries to my side. She crouches in front of me and I study her face, this beautiful face, with big puppy dog eyes overflowing with love and, right now, set in determination.

"Tell me what he said," Gerry says, curling her hands around mine. I'd been gripping the blanket in my lap unknowingly, and as I relaxed, blood tingled its way back into my stiff fingers.

"He said the results were..." malignant

"Did we catch it early?" I look at her, sensing her strength now, not for the first time.

"What? I... I don't... I guess so. Maybe."

Gerry stands up and sits on the couch next to me, still holding my hands.

"It's going to be okay," she says, and she sounds so positive, so certain that I will not die of breast cancer. "We're going to take care of it."

"It's worse in people who get it young," I say, because even though it happened a decade ago, I still remember the swift decline of my mother who died of the very same thing at the age of forty. I remember every terrible detail. As sure Gerry is that I will not die, I'm sure I will. Cancer is a death sentence. I crumple inside myself, leaning into my lover and her arms go around me, cradling me. "I don't want to die," I sob. "I'm not fucking ready to die."

"You aren't allowed to die," Gerry says. "I won't let you."

"I'm so afraid, Gerry. I'm going to have to shave my head." The absurdity of my own train of thought suddenly hits me and I go from weepy to giggly in moments.

"You've got too much spunk to let this kill you, Janine," she says, and I can hear a smile in her voice. Her arms around me are calming, and I want so badly to just believe her every word, but I'm just so damn afraid. I sniffle, snuggling into Gerry, feeling my heart slow its anxious tattoo.

"I love you," I sigh, finally lifting my head to give a tentative smile to the woman I love. She smiles back, but I can see tears standing in her eyes. I sit up and lean toward her, and she always knows what I'm thinking—she closes her eyes and I kiss each eyelid as the salty tears slide down her cheeks.

When I'm leaning back, she stops me, her hands on my upper arms, keeping me in an awkward position between kneeling and sitting. Our eyes meet and I know she's going to kiss me, but I'm in no way prepared for the intensity. I can taste the bitter sadness shared between us, and my heart aches but I put my hands on her head and crush her lips to mine.

My heart beats, defiant against my previous submission to death. I breathe, and she's loving me, and I'm alive.

She leans back and I fall on top of her. I'm hyper-aware of every way our bodies touch, and I want to be closer to her. Gerry is the oxygen I need to burn. Our kisses are getting deeper. "Please," I whisper. I want to live.

Gerry moves us. Somehow, we manage to get into the bedroom while still kissing and never breaking the physical bond. Gerry sits on the bed in front of me and pulls me close, her arms wrapping around my waist, her face nuzzling my belly. I run my fingers through her short, soft hair, smiling at her sigh of contentment. When she pulls away, there's a different, patient look on her face. I understand when she raises her hands and starts to unbutton my blouse.

The incision in my right breast is covered with gauze, taped there half-under my bra and over the stitches. I unhook the bra and let it fall to the floor. I feel, irrationally, betrayed by my breasts and fight an urge to cover them with my arms.

"You're beautiful," Gerry breathes, planting little kisses down the curve of my side, her fingertips tracing the edge of my jeans. I shiver.

Gerry pulls her own shirt off—the plain white Polo she wears for work—and throws it aside. She keeps the sports bra on but shimmies out of her pants. I smile because she's wearing the joke underwear I got for her on Valentine's Day: white boxers with little red hearts all over. Like in cartoons.

She scoots back on the bed. "Get undressed and come here."

I slide out of my jeans and panties and crawl onto the bed, moving gingerly. The motion causes my wound to ache.

I forget about the pain when Gerry starts kissing me again. She leans back against the wall and pulls me between her legs, not quite on my back, not quite on my side. Her warmth is contagious, and like an ignition switch I'm on again, tingling and hungry for her, hungry for life. Her hand slides down my belly, slipping between my legs to tease my lower lips. I know I'm on fire, clinging to her. She bends her neck and kisses my face, my ears, my neck, all while featherlight touches tickle the skin on my sides, back, hips.

Gerry eases herself from beneath me, laying me on the pillows as she creates a trail of kisses from my collarbone to my hip. My fingers grasp at her, unwilling for her to be so far away, but any protest dies on my lips when I feel her kisses land on my sex. My legs open for her.

She's inserted herself between my thighs, but all her attention is diverted. My legs are getting nibbled, licked, kissed, and my core is burning, teased. I whimper and she only smiles up at me. It's when I'm starting to squirm that she finally dips down and sucks on my puffy outer lips. I'm exploding with sensation. A heady gasp overcomes me. Gerry splits me open with two fingers and tickles my clit with the very tip of her tongue. My hips jump off the bed, but she keeps up with them, adjusting her position as she slowly slides a finger inside me.

I come faster than I'd ever come before. My climax shakes me, takes my breath away, blots out my vision. I'm dizzy. I crash down, instantly alert, and I reach down and pull her face up to mine. I need to kiss her—I need the oxygen—I need the life. I suck on her tongue and pull her hips down between my legs, holding her close with my ankles on her thighs, my arms wrapped around her shoulders. I could kiss Gerry for eternity. Her body pressed against mine, I can feel her heart beating, I can smell her sex mingled with my own.

Gerry maneuvers a hand between us, sliding inside me again, pushing deeper, harder. We share breaths and we're one body and we're alive, so alive.

We make love until we're both exhausted. I lay in Gerry's arms, panting softly, satiated, unable to wipe the goofy grin off my face.

"You're not going to die," Gerry whispers into my hair.

"I'm alive," I say, holding her, holding me.

i'm bad

Your hands are on my thighs. My skirt is bunched at my hips, and right now I'm wondering, why, why didn't I wear underwear?

I knew the temptation would be strong. But I wasn't expecting us to have time alone. I was expecting to flirt, carefully. I was expecting to always have someone around us, one of our lovers. To keep us in check. To keep us on guard.

I can feel the press of your hard cock through the front of your jeans as you lean against me. I wrap a leg around you and hold you tight because I want to feel it against my pussy. My thighs are soaked and I know I'm probably drenching the fly of your pants. Oh my god, I want you inside me. I've been thinking about it all day but

“We can't do this,” I say. It's true. We'd be breaking the trust of the people we love.

“I know,” you say.

Neither of us pull apart.

I don't push you away.

In fact, my hands are grasping the front of your shirt as if I couldn't bear to see you back off. My words, my logic, are at odds with what my body wants.

You pin me against the car. The passenger side door is still open next to us. I remember stepping out, my ankle bending improperly, stumbling. You caught me. The rest was a blur, until this moment.

This moment.

Your hand fumbling with your belt, shaky, unbuttoning, pulling down the zipper. I can smell you even before you pull out your cock; I don't have to see it to know it's hard and leaking.

“Not inside,” I say, though we both know it's what we want the most. You let me slip my hand between us and I breathe in as I feel your length, how thick, mouthwatering. Your hips are pressing forward. I run my thumb around the head of your penis, feeling the liquid beading out of the tip, rubbing it in circles.

It's dangerous. I know. I stand on the tips of my toes and direct your cock between my thighs. It's hot and slides easily along my slit. It takes every ounce of my power not to tilt my hips forward, to take you inside. I feel your length run along my lips, my clit, and I moan wantonly. Maybe you do, too.

You get the idea. You pull back, and push in, not fucking me, but fucking my legs, so slow it could be torture. I feel like I'm on the perpetual edge of coming. I rock with you, my self-control slipping a little more with every nudge against my sex, with every rising degree of heat between my legs.

You slip. Or my hips finally curve toward you, my body willing to ask for what I verbally deny. The very tip of you slips in, then pops back out, sliding past that hungry mouth. An accident. I gasp, and I'm aware of my thighs spreading further, my legs aching from strain. You press against me, harder, pinning me between your hips and the curved side of the car.

I feel my body tremble as the pressure is released a bit. I feel the whimper escape my throat as your length slides backwards, away from me, my hands now gripping your upper arms desperately. I dare not even look up to your face; I know the want is clear in my eyes, as if with every gasp and pant, I'm begging you to fuck me properly.

You go slow, deliberate. My mind is reeling, I'm so lightheaded I can scarcely form words. I know you're sliding into me; I'm delirious with the pleasure. Wrong, my brain is whispering, but my mouth caresses the word “yes.”

You're stretching me, filling me, my heels are digging into you and pulling you closer, deeper. My morals cannot deny me this most basic pleasure. I can never go back, and I don't want to. This may be good-bye.

As you start to pull back, I clutch you near, panting, begging, “Don't.”

You pause. I feel your cock throb inside me, hot and hungry.

“God,” I murmur against your chest, “amazing.”

“I'm inside you,” you whisper, exulted.

“Yes.”

This time, when you move, I let you. My body is relaxed around you, every ounce of my awareness concentrated on the sensation of your length running backwards through my ridges, focused on the negative space created within my body that had been filled by you just moments before. We sigh together, in that way that two people sigh when they're making love, when they make that first real connection, when they come together.

You shove back into me, and I cry out. How alone are we? It's night, it's dark. The parking garage is almost empty.

You hilt inside me and I don't care anymore, really. I just want you.

The torture of anticipation all day, walking around with you, feeling your presence, sending and receiving sly, dirty texts, all brought me to this pinnacle. My toes are curled and I can't seem to breathe. Your own breath is heavy and harsh in my ear, the world shaking with your thrusts, rocking me against the car. Vaguely, I can hear the tires are squeaking from the motion.

“I'm gonna come,” you warn, never hesitating.

“Yes,” I say. “Do it, yes.”

You groan, your fingers digging into my skin. One more, two, and you hold me fast against you, pumping deep into my loins. “Oh god,” I gasp. Your climax filling me is what sends me over the edge. I clench my teeth to keep from screaming. My body seizes, convulses around you. I'm sure I'm not quiet. My sex is clenched around yours, starved for you, so reluctant to let go...

I kiss you. I'm shaking, cold.

When you move away, I miss you.

My Own Body: Tender

first, read My Own Body: Denial

then read My Own Body: Slowly

and for kicks, read A Day in the Life of a Caged Slave (the short that started it all)

I lost myself in my work for two days. I sustained myself on microwaved dinners and water from the tap, just so I wouldn't be tempted to visit the food stand across from Ashleigh's apartment, just so I wouldn't be further tempted to locate her door.

When I awoke on the third day, I decided to take a day off from working. Showered and dressed, I headed out, and purposely walked in the opposite direction—away from her building. It wasn't difficult to find the slave tents. I paid the burly man standing watch at the open flap before stepping inside the den.

Immediately to my right was a tall, narrow cage holding a skinny boy. He was taking it slowly and steadily up the ass from a cloaked shadow of a man. The boy's mouth pressed shut, his lips invisible, his eyes squeezed closed. His fists were balls of white knuckles on the bars, holding his body steady for the man taking his pleasure. He was naked and his penis stood out from his bony hips, small and pink and hard.

I moved on. People didn't come here to be watched.

“Back for more, sir?”

I stopped in my tracks, turning toward the familiar voice. The girl in the cage grinned back at me. I noticed her fingers on her nipples, tweaking them, pulling her heavy breasts up. I felt the heat rise between my legs, but reminded myself that I wasn't here for pleasure. Not today.

“Hello, brown-eyed beauty,” I murmured to her, coming close to her cage. I can smell her arousal, and it's making mine stir. My hands pressed against my thighs in my pockets, my wrist rubbing against the harness, the dildo, rubbing against my sex. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

She pouted, her thick lips looking sinfully luscious. “I don't get to suck your cock today, sir?”

I groaned. “I'd like that, actually, but... I... I need to know something.”

“No one's ever wanted to just talk before.”

I leaned up against the cool bars of her cage. “I'll make you come if you answer my questions.”

“Oooh,” she purred. “What can I do for you?”

I took my hands out of my pockets and tugged a set of leather gloves from the inside breast of my coat. I pulled them on as I spoke. “Last time I visited you... you saw my dildo. You know I'm... not a man.” It was difficult to say those words out loud.

She watched me, guileless. “Yeah,” she said. “I remember.”

“You didn't turn me away, though,” I pointed out. “I need to know... why did you... accept it?”

She shrugged. “You're a customer. I mean... it was kinda weird. But I was hot and I wanted to be fucked. I guess it didn't matter who was fuckin' me, or how or with what.”

I nodded—I'd expected as much. But I didn't lose heart. If one person... even a slave... could look past the harness, then hopefully I could find someone else who would look past it.

Ashleigh's words rang through my head. Be confident. Be honest.

I closed my eyes, pushing her from my mind. I tightened the gloves on my hands and slipped one between the bars. When I opened my eyes again, I had moved into my more comfortable skin. I was brave. I was sure.

I brought her to orgasm easily, efficiently. But my thoughts were elsewhere.

I showered when I got home. I put myself back together delicately, choosing fine clothes, dressing sharp. I spent an unreasonable amount of time on my hair. At the door, I chose a wool pea coat that matched the color of my slacks. I forwent the hat. It'd just mess up my hair.

Before I knew it, I was steeling myself at her door. It was not a difficult task to find the apartment; I remembered she'd said I was standing outside of her window when I was eating my lunch that day that now seemed so long ago. I made a loose fist with my hand and rapped on the metal door, praying that she was home. I was just starting to get nervous when I heard the lock sliding over.

Ashleigh cracked the door open. I smelled incense and burning wax and heard soft music. She looked at me, her brow creased. “Jaq?”

“Ashleigh,” I said, sounding much more confident than I was feeling. “May I come in?”

“Um, yes,” she said, looking behind her. “It's kind of a mess...”

She opened the door wider to let me in. I stepped over the doorway, feeling like a vampire invited into a mortal's home for the first time. My hands were stuck in my pockets. I looked around, drinking in the surroundings. The music was clear now, instrumental, piano. The floor was cluttered with stacks of books. Wooden shelves lined every wall, which I assumed would be filled with the books like classy insulation. A few paintings graced the walls, but no mirrors. The furniture was cloaked in canvas.

“I'm redecorating,” Ashleigh explained, dancing past me on bare feet towards the couch. She nudged a pile or two out of the path, gesturing that I come forward. I did not allow myself to hesitate.

She sat down on the couch, poised on the edge again as if, at any moment, she would have to get up. I sat next to her, but not too closely.

“I didn't mean to interrupt you,” I began, “but I really wanted to talk to you.”

Ashleigh brushed a lock of hair from her face, tucking it deftly behind an ear. She was wearing simpler things than what I'd seen her in before; pale khaki’s, a dark green shirt. They still managed to hug her body in a way that made me nervous, made me ache. “It's okay,” she said. “I needed a break, anyway.”

I nodded. My hands found each other and connected in my lap. I made myself hold her gaze while I spoke. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. About you, actually.” Her expression didn't change. I pushed forward. “I think you're right. That I... shouldn't trick people into thinking that I'm a man. But the problem with that is, everyone thinks there's only one other option—that I'm a woman. I'm not that, either. I'm somewhere in between. And I'm tired of pretending... I'm tired of being afraid that someone's going to find out I'm wearing a mask. I... wanted... I want so desperately to just be who I am, this in between person, and stop pretending. Whether I'm doing it to fit in or doing it... to pick up a girl. I don't want to do it anymore.”

“That's good,” Ashleigh said. “I mean, that's great, Jaq.” She was smiling. It felt genuine.

I sat up, moving my hands to my knees. I hoped I didn't look like I was begging. “So, Ashleigh, I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner?”

She pressed her lips together. The silence stretched on and I started to feel nauseous with anxiety, my heart pounding in my chest.

When she still didn't answer, I said, “This way... you know I'm not hiding anything. You know what I am. I'll be a gentleman. I don't expect anything. Just please... let me take you out, this once?”

Ashleigh nodded once, just barely. “Okay,” she said.

“Great.” I stood up, offering her my hand. She looked up to me, questioning. “I have reservations.” I couldn't stop my grin.

She laughed. I was relieved. “Confident?” She took my hand and stood, wearing a wry smirk. “You should at least let me change first. You're dressed and I'm... well, just wait here and let me get into something a little more glamorous.”

“Not too distracting, I hope,” I said, releasing her hand reluctantly. “I can hardly think straight, and you're wearing slacks.”

Ashleigh flashed me a winning smile before disappearing down the hallway. I heard the door to her bedroom close.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked around the living room, being nosy about the books. It felt like an eternity before she emerged. At the click of the door reopening, I raised my head.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Um...”

Ashleigh smiled. She was wearing a black skirt that ended at the knees, a lacy red petticoat just visible at the hem. Her legs were covered by black stockings. I was already hoping they were thigh-highs, hooked to a sexy garter belt. The top was a halter, tied in a bow behind her neck.

Was I drooling?

“I guess this is good, then,” she said, approaching me. The sound of her heels echoed against the empty shelves.

“My word,” I said, my voice low, “you are dangerous.”

I followed her to the door. “It's only fair if I let you know,” she said, “I'm not really into women.”

“Then it's good I'm not a woman,” I said.

Ashleigh just smiled, opting for silence.

The restaurant we entered was likely a big surprise to her. The tallest building in the city had a swank cocktail lounge and high-end restaurant on the top floor. I didn't say a word as we waited in the elevator, I just watched her eyes widen infinitesimally as I pressed the button for the correct floor.

When the heavy elevator doors opened and we stepped out of the car, Ashleigh glanced at me, as if checking to make sure I wasn't bluffing. I smiled and approached the hostess. “I have a reservation at seven,” I said, “but we're a little early.”

The hostess knows me. She smiled and nodded, saying, “Oh, it's all right, your table is already being held. Right this way, please.” I saw her eye Ashleigh cautiously. I'd never brought anyone to dinner with me, before.

The table was at the edge of the floor. It was against the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, and the ocean beyond, reflecting the setting sun. The view was gorgeous. I caught Ashleigh appreciating it, awe glazing over her face for just a moment before she recovered and slid onto the plush dining chair I was holding out for her.

“Thank you,” she said as I was sitting myself. The table was heavy mahogany, protected by a wide runner and place mats. The fabrics were all an expensive, clean white, which used to make me nervous about spilling, but once I saw the prices, I didn't fret over a drop of red wine.

“You can order anything you like,” I said, taking our menus. Ashleigh leaned in almost immediately after the hostess gave us the name of our waiter and excused herself.

“How did you get in this place?” she whispered conspiratorially.

“I eat here the same night every week,” I answered casually, my fingers tracing the gold lettering on the leather cover of the menu. “They know me. They know who I am.”

Ashleigh sat back, opening the menu. I couldn't tell if she was impressed or not. My heart was hammering in my chest, my throat dry. I sipped water from the glass on my side.

The waiter approached, all smiles and specials. I didn't hear a word he said. I was staring at Ashleigh and she was looking anywhere but in my direction. She was blushing and I wondered why, but still marveled in the way her fair skin flushed.

We ordered drinks and I let her look over the menu again in silence for a while. She was bouncing a little, I assumed her leg was shaking. Was she nervous? Excited?

The drinks came and the waiter left again with our dinner orders and the menus. Now, with nothing else to distract her but the view, Ashleigh glanced back in my direction. I smiled.

“How...?” she asked again.

I couldn't help but chuckle. “I designed this. The building. I worked very closely with the property manager and design consultant. As a result, I'm fairly close with the folks who work here. I'm a regular and I get a discount, but I tip really well.” I winked playfully.

“You designed this?” she looked around.

“Well, just the structure. I'm an architect, not an interior designer.”

“I'm impressed,” she said. “This place... it's impressive.” Ashleigh turned her head and looked out over the sea, the dying light warming her features. I was still so enchanted with her, and that she had planted this little seed of self-confidence inside me. My mind drifted to the different routes our encounter could have taken. Besides the obvious one, the one I had hoped for, where I would leave her pleased and oblivious to my gender, there were not many alternatives that ended well for me. In many ways, I had opened myself up to her, and she didn't harm me. I was grateful. Surprised, and sometimes confused, but very grateful.

The conversation moved on into easy territory. She ordered wine when our entrees came and the waiter poured it into her glass, red and precious as rubies. I declined the wine, already feeling buzzed just by Ashleigh's presence. We chatted about our jobs, about books and good food, staying in the safe zone. I didn't try to touch her hands as they rested on the table, looking so touchable. I didn't scoot my foot forward, seeking hers.

So I jumped a little when I felt her toes sliding up my pant leg. She had been sipping her wine, browsing the dessert menu. I was looking outside, or pretending to look outside while actually admiring her reflection on the dark glass, when it happened. I jerked my gaze toward her, but she didn't look up. I only knew she'd caught my startled reaction by the smirk on her lips.

Her stockinged toes. Reaching up against my shin, my calf, against my bare skin. I felt the heat growing in my loins and I pressed my thighs together, stifling a groan in my throat. What was she doing? How was I supposed to react? I felt frozen in my chair, my gaze dropped, staring at the menu in Ashleigh's hand.

It was agonizing. I could feel the barest touch of her toenails, the curve of her arch. It was as if all of my senses were keen on that part of my leg, to feel so perfectly the shape of her foot. She was driving me mad, and she was hardly doing anything. I wondered if she knew.

“Have you decided on a dessert, miss?” the waiter asked, appearing suddenly at the side of our table. I raised my eyes to Ashleigh, feigning interest in her decision. She smiled brightly up to the waiter and ordered a fruit tart. He took the menu and left to retrieve the dessert.

Ashleigh, no longer holding the menu, finally met my eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with wine.

“Hi,” she said, resting her almost naked foot on top of my shoe.

“Be careful,” I warned her.

The waiter returned with Ashleigh's treat before our conversation continued. It was an artfully arranged tower of fruit on a fluffy, crunchy pastry shell, topped with whipped cream and shaved white chocolate. As soon as the waiter was gone, Ashleigh stuck a finger into the fluffy cream and sucked it off, her eyes finding mine unabashedly. I could feel myself blushing, but I refused to look away.

Was she teasing me? Why?

I was so confused, conflicted. My body was reading her advances and I wanted her, I didn't want to spend another moment in this restaurant and I wanted to take her to my apartment and throw her on the bed and have her every way a woman can be had. My clit ached. I felt the cock against my thigh and imagined I was aware of its pulsing with my heartbeat, hungry. Wanton.

But in my head, I heard her saying, I'm not really into women.

I watched her eat her tart. She picked it apart and ate it with her fingers, going so excruciatingly slow. I felt like there was a fire going between my legs. I was sure she knew what she'd done and was continuing to do, though admittedly with less finesse. I think she knew that, once the tart was gone, we'd be leaving.

And eventually, it was gone. So was the wine. I paid quietly and stood, offering her my arm to help her rise. She was just as graceful as ever, not stumbling, even in heels.

Without a word, I steered her towards my apartment, waiting to see if she'd object. She didn't.

Ashleigh didn't even raise a question when we came to my building and climbed the stairs to my address.

As I was unlocking the door, she leaned against me. She was warm and smelled like Merlot and strawberries. My heart was loud in my ears, but I was brave enough to wrap my arm around her waist as I opened the door, ushering her inside.

“Oh,” she said, after I'd turned on the lights and turned the deadbolt in the door. “I've gotta pee.”

I chuckled. “All right.” I led her to the only bathroom in my apartment, which was in the master bedroom. She went inside and I heard the click of the lock on the door knob.

I was too antsy to sit, at first. I paced. One of my shoes was squeaking, so I sat down on the edge of my bed, facing the bathroom door, and took my shoes off. I realized I was still wearing my jacket. I was removing it as Ashleigh emerged.

She paused in the doorway, light spilling out into the darkness from the overhead light in the bathroom. Ashleigh saw what I was doing and came over to me easily, sitting next to me on the bed and kicking off her heels. She folded her legs under herself and leaned against me as I was setting my jacket aside.

“Dinner was very nice,” she said, her head dipping down to rest on my shoulder. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” I said softly. “Do you want me to call a coach?”

I was suddenly hyper-aware of her hand on my thigh.

“Are you wearing it right now?” she asked, almost whispering.

I bit my lip, feeling my face heat up. I couldn't look at her, the way she was sitting, so I had no way to gauge her expression.

“You are, aren't you?” Her voice was feathery, tickling my senses. “Have you been hard all through dinner?”

“Yes,” I said finally. “I've been thinking of fucking you since before I knocked on your door.”

She moved her hand further up my leg, slowly. I watched her fingers stretch out and find the bulge against my thigh, the silicone that was hot on my skin. She traced the head of my cock with her fingernails. My hips rose mere millimeters but it was enough for her to know that her touch was making me hot.

My jaw was clenched. “What are you doing?”

“I think I want you,” she murmured. “It isn't the wine. I was thinking about it before... but I thought maybe the wine would make me braver.”

“B-but--” I stuttered, “you said...”

She leaned up, and we looked into each others' eyes. “If you're not a woman,” she said, “prove it.”

I felt confidence rising inside me. I knew who I was—and what I was—I was just me. When would I get another chance to prove it to anyone else? I didn't know.

What I did know was that, right now, there was a gorgeous woman sitting next to me, in my bedroom, with her fingers on my dick, telling me she wanted me. My heart ached. I wanted her.

My body knew how to move.

My fingers at the base of her scalp, moving up, closing the distance between her lips and mine. I kissed her, tentatively at first, my heart beating so hard I could feel it shaking me. She was kissing back, as shy as I was. I broke the kiss and she caught my bottom lip between her teeth, sucking gently, before she let me back off. I felt her grip on my cock and I gasped, holding her neck steady as I pressed my forehead against hers.

“I want to see it,” she said. “Take your pants off. You've seen all of me...”

I hesitated, so she moved her hand up to my belt. I heard the clink of the buckle and she tugged on it, then began working on my fly. I was powerless to stop her. I didn't want to stop her. She worked the fly down and traced the waistband of my boxers with her fingernails. “Take them off,” she said.

I disentangled myself from her and shoved down my trousers, kicking them off the edge of the bed. I pushed back on the bed and she followed me. My harness and my cock were under my boxers, but the dildo was straining against the less-confining material, visible through the button-less fly. Ashleigh leaned over my thighs, positioning herself perfectly as her fingers curled under the waistband, grazing against the harness, and tugged the front down.

She maneuvered my cock delicately, angling it, to my surprise, into her mouth. I pressed my lips together to keep from moaning out loud. I remembered her pressing a bottle of beer to her lips and struggling not to imagine her sucking me off. She wasn't sucking, but rather she tasted, testing the material, her nostrils flaring to catch the scent, her fingers pressing into the length to try the firmness.

I must have made a noise, because her eyes flickered to me. Her pink tongue pressed the spongy head forward, her hands holding it steady. She leaned back just a tiny bit. “It's not as hard as I thought it would be,” she said.

I tried to clear my head enough to answer. It wasn't easy. “It's for packing. I have... other ones. This one's my favorite.”

Her hand moved up and down my cock, slowly stroking my arousal higher and hotter. “Why is it your favorite?”

I licked my lips. Why was she talking to me? Why was she asking questions? I wanted to occupy her mouth so she would stop. But I answered her, instead. “I can wear it and fuck with it. Other ones I can't fuck with. Others I can't pack.”

“This one does both,” she purrs. Her breasts are grazing my thighs.

I nod.

“Do you like it when I suck your cock?” she asked.

“More than you can imagine,” I replied.

Ashleigh lowered her head back towards my lap, her lips parting gently over the tip of my length. I put my hands behind my head to help resist digging my fingers through her long red hair, controlling her bobbing. To resist being forceful. To some deep part of me, this was still a dream, and I didn't want to ruin it. I didn't want to pop the bubble.

Every downstroke was delicate, feminine. I was chewing my bottom lip and watching, helpless, as my hips rose of their own accord. The harness was rubbing between my legs, enough to torture me without bringing me to orgasm.

She released me with a soft pop. My dick glistened with her saliva.

I moved quickly—I sat up and grabbed her arms, pulling her forward, over me. She squeaked with surprise, but didn't fight. We rolled on the bed until I was on top of her, holding her wrists over her head with one hand. I grinned down to her before leaning in. The dildo was sticking to her skirt, tugging at my harness, impatient.

“I want to be inside you,” I whispered into her ear as she squirmed beneath me. My free hand found the dip of her sex, heat radiating against my fingertips through the fabric. I could feel the lips of her sex. I groaned softly. “You aren't wearing anything under this, are you?”

Ashleigh made a soft noise as her thighs struggled to part, but my legs held them together. “I was,” she said breathlessly.

I was hitching up her skirt, little by little.

“I wanted... I wanted you to touch me again.”

The flesh of her thigh was warm. I slid my hand under the cloth, moving oh so slowly along the tender inside. Her thighs were wet. I brought my fingers, moistened with the evidence of her arousal, up to my lips, licking the taste of her from them. Her green eyes were wide, pleading.

“Just touch you?” I asked. My hand slipped between us again, my wrist pressing against my abdomen as I angled my fingers, come-hithering featherlight touches against her vulva. She sighed and wiggled under my weight, trying to get closer, to bear down for stronger contact. I refused to let her. I barely touched her; I teased her. “Is that really all you want?”

“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

I placed my hand against her sex, covering her up, but not satisfying her. Now, there was no movement—I took it away, and replaced it with steady pressure. “What is it, Ashleigh?” Her hips were straining beneath me, her legs nudging my cock against my groin. “Tell me.”

“Mmmmh.” She was blushing. Her cheeks and chest flushed with color. “Inside... please. I want you inside me.”

“Oh, yes,” I rumbled down to her, bending my fingers. They slid between her slick lips easily, one pushing into her with little resistance. She arched against me, moaning. She was clenching on my finger as it moved inside her. I couldn't take it much longer. I wanted to fuck her. My slow, agonizing pace wasn't only wearing on her; I was so hungry for her, I could hardly think straight. I pulled my fingers away from her sex and she made a small disappointed noise.

“I need to fuck you,” I said honestly. I leaned up, releasing her hands, and instantly she brought them lower, rubbing her wrists and stretching her fingers. Her eyes didn't leave mine, though, and they were soft, vulnerable, but not without want. Her fair skin had a sheen of sweat and her breathing was quick.

I felt her fingers in my hair, yanking me close again. She bit my lip and forced my mouth open, kissing me ferociously. I groaned into her mouth, but my hands were busy. I shoved her skirt down and nudged a knee between her legs, kicking the skirt away. We broke for air, both of us gasping. She spread her legs for me and I ran my hand down her side, feeling lace beneath my fingers. I took a moment to look down, and I really wasn't surprised at all to find that she was wearing a black skirt garter belt. I let it stay. It wasn't in the way.

Positioned between her thighs, I leaned back onto my heels. I pulled my boxers up and stuck my cock through the hole in the front, stroking it, looking down to her. I was suddenly shy, and I felt foolish for feeling it. Ashleigh was waiting. Wanting. As much as I was wanting. I lowered my cock and rubbed between her swollen lips with the tip, lubing up. As I hit her clitoris, her hips jumped up and she sucked in air, smiling up to me.

I lowered my angle and pushed forward with my hips. I slid in easily, but slowly, savoring it. I watched until I couldn't see my dick anymore. I rocked back and felt the tug, the rub of the harness against my tormented sex and I groaned. Ashleigh's eyes were closed, but her legs trembled as her hips rose to meet my tender movements, and I noticed that her hands were now occupied with bunches of the blankets beneath us.

I bent over her and felt her body accommodate the change in position, her knees lifting, the weight of her heels at the small of my back. My fingers slid into her hair and I cradled the back of her head, burying my face in her neck, losing myself in the smell of her hair and the steady rhythm of our bodies rocking together.

“Go faster,” she purred, and I felt her hands at my hips, sliding up beneath my shirt, pausing at the wrapped binder around my chest. I steadily increased the pace as Ashleigh casually moved her hands to my back, finding the flesh, clinging to me and holding me closer.

She lifted her legs just a bit more, and I felt myself hilting inside of her even more clearly. Her muscles were clenching and she was grinding against me as our bodies connected. With every thrust, I was yanked closer to orgasm.

“Jaq,” Ashleigh gasped, her fingertips digging into the flesh of my lower back. “Harder, Jaq... yes... oh yes, that feels amazing...”

My eyes squeezed shut and I moaned against Ashleigh's shoulder. “I'm going to come,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “Come for me, pretty boy. Ooooh... yes yes yes...”

As her body seizes and her cries echo off the walls, I felt my thighs begin to twitch, and every graze of the leather at my core made me buck and gasp. My climax crashed down over me like a wave, crushing me and carrying me, violently, to shore.

The shore was Ashleigh's form under me, the sound of waves in my ears were her heavy breaths. We'd came, we'd collapsed, completed, as one. I felt her thighs twitching with the aftershocks of her orgasm. My head felt so light. My limbs tingled.

The world was fuzzy.

Dark.

We slept.

My Own Body: Slowly

read My Own Body: Denial

read A Day in the Life of a Caged Slave (the short that started it all)

I dreamt of the caged girl. Of her calm acceptance of me.

I dreamt of her big, brown eyes and her full lips. Her tan skin and short, wavy hair. She looked so bored when I came into the tent. I watched as she hungrily took in the scene going on next to her; another girl in another cage being taken brutally. I watched, too. It made my dick hard, made me want to fuck her.

With her on her knees before me, and just a few inches and metal bars between us, I was so nervous that she'd take one look at the cock strapped to my hips and back away in repulsion.

But she didn't.

It was so sweet to fuck someone who didn't care if my dick was an attachment. She didn't mock me, she didn't shun me. She called me “sir.”

When I woke, my pillow was still damp with the sorrow of the previous night. My throat was dry and my eyes burned.

I sat up and pulled the binder off, my head swimming with her memory. Sometime in the night, I'd removed the harness and discarded it. After a little searching, I located it under the bed. I took the dildo with me into the bathroom and cleaned it in the sink before turning on the shower and climbing in. I was thinking of nothing; focusing on Nothing, concentrating on NOTHING. Stop thinking about her, stop being so damn wistful.

The hot water felt amazing. I scrubbed my scalp with shampoo and rubbed soap over my body, all of my mind power going into the simple task of getting clean.

Not even NOTHING could keep the caged girl out of my head. My heart ached with the rejection fresh from the night before, and I blamed that for the lingering of my mind on a moment of peace I'd known. As I got out of the tub and toweled dry, and as I dressed slowly, building my man's body in layers, I couldn't rid my mind of her.

I didn't feel dirty. I wasn't ashamed. Men used the tents regularly—the slaves inside were used however they saw fit. I knew that sex was the simplest of things that could happen to them. I'd heard rumors that some men go in there to kill, when a rage is on them. I knew slaves had to endure torture. Mutilation. That if a slave wasn't used, it wasn't fed.

Born a different class, I was not used to thinking of slaves as other human beings. They were treated like animals. Sometimes less than animals. I supposed that the slave just accepted what I was because I was just another dick in a long line of dicks. It was probably true, but I had to admit to myself that she still had the choice to recoil, to sneer in disgust. But, not only did she accept me rather smoothly, but she also...

...her cool fingertips slid beneath my harness, touching me... there...

I licked my suddenly-dry lips, steering my thoughts elsewhere. I was starting to--

Anyway, I had work to do. I flipped on the light in my office and the low hum of fluorescent bulbs helped to put me into working mode. As I slid into the swivel chair and looked down at the drafts of blueprints for a boring skyscraper, I turned my emotional mind off and let my logical brain scan over it, looking for faults, looking for holes. The way the eraser warmed in my fingers as I rubbed, the sound of the pencil scratching over paper; these were real, these were necessary, these were home.

Not the girl in the cage.

When I looked up at the clock, hours had passed. I'd gotten lost in the intricate lines, the fine delicacy that is the skeleton of a building. I stood up and stretched and my back popped. I needed to take a walk, get a bite to eat. Do normal things.

I grabbed my keys, pulled on a coat and reached for my hat, but the peg on the coat stand was empty. I felt a tug in my heart when I remembered that it was gone and I probably wasn't going to get it back.

I turned away from those thoughts and those bruised feelings and, trusting that my hair wasn't too messy, made my way out of the apartment building. The air was brisk, with a breeze. Winter was clinging late onto the beginnings of spring, and the heavy clouds above belied more snow. I pulled my coat around myself and kept an eye open for a food stand. I could smell them already—it was late lunchtime, so the vendors had been cooking for awhile. Pizza, hot dogs, cheese steak subs. The scents were making my mouth water and my stomach growled in anticipation.

I was waiting in line when I saw her. No—I didn't see her. I smelled her, first. They say scent is the strongest form of memory and it didn't take a lot to wrench me back to the previous night, the night I was working to forget. My head turned to look at her before I could catch myself and I caught her brilliant eyes, the back-lit green. As soon as she saw me, her eyes narrowed in recognition and...

“What are you doing here?” Ashleigh asked.

My palms were sweaty. I rubbed them on my slacks, willing my nerves to settle. “Getting food,” I said. “Isn't it obvious?”

I noticed with a sick feeling that the food cart was across the street from her apartment building. I was terrified she'd make a scene. Instead, she shook out her red hair and made a soft noise before crossing the street and sashaying up the stairs into her building.

Later, cradling a greasy tin-foil wrapped snack, I stood in the shade of the towering building she'd entered. I wondered, masochistically, if I could remember which apartment was hers, and if she'd answer the door if I knocked. My curiosity was, I told myself, piqued because I left my hat up there last night and I'd like to retrieve it. Not because I wanted to see her. Definitely not.

I finished my lunch and tossed the garbage in a can. I ran my fingers nervously through my hair, chewing my bottom lip. It's go or go in, I told myself.

I climbed the stairs and pushed open the glass doors to the apartment building. The barely conditioned air chilled me, made me pause. I looked down the hallway, down the carpeted stairs, and up the stairwell to the second floor. I couldn't even remember if she lived upstairs or down. I lingered there in the parlor for several moments, trying desperately to remember, just a hint, but my mind was drawing a blank. I think that, just maybe, my mind was trying to hide her from me, to protect my heart.

I left and walked several blocks back to my apartment. My keys were loud in the hallway.

I got back to work. I lost myself in the intricacies of the blueprints, forgetting for a while.

The sun went down without my noticing. A light knocking at my door broke my concentration, and I turned my head instinctively towards the sound. I waited. It may have been a neighbor's door.

knock

knock knock

knock

I stood up and brushed eraser fuzz from my slacks. My socked feet were not as silent on the wooden floor as I would have liked. I lifted the latch on the old-fashioned grated peep hole and opened the tiny metal door.

Ashleigh was standing at the threshold.

I slammed the little door closed, my fingers fumbling with the latch. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice shaky. What do you want? How did you find me?

“I have your hat,” she said.

She didn't say anything more. She didn't move. She was waiting.

Waiting for me to open the door.

“Shit,” I whispered. I moved the chain off the door, unlocked the deadbolt. I wasn't sure I could turn the knob—did I have the strength?--but it turned, easily, as easy as ever.

I felt my traitorous heart shudder at the sight of her. She didn't look angry.

Ashleigh held out my hat. I took it silently, watching her, waiting for her to turn into a monster or something, I don't know. I felt wary, afraid, nervous as hell.

She stuck her head into my apartment and looked around. I shied away from her, one hand still on the door, ready to close it. “So, this is where you live?” she asked, as if we were just the best of friends, and we totally hung out on the regular. I felt the scowl twist my face. She looked back to me, sensing my mood. “Look,” she said, quieter, “I.. I think I want to talk to you. About last night.”

Fuck. “Come in,” I said, stepping aside and opening the door a bit wider. I set my hat on the rack as she moved, catlike, into my humble apartment. I suddenly wished I'd cleaned more. I was achingly aware of her perfect femininity among the rough, cluttered surroundings of my life.

The door clicked into place and I reassembled the locks out of habit. When I turned around, Ashleigh was watching me.

“You really are a girl,” she said, marvel in her voice. I eyed her steadily, neither confirming nor denying the statement.

She bit her lip. It was adorable. I struggled not to appreciate it.

“Can we sit down?” Ashleigh asked, glancing off into the living room, dominated by heavy leather furniture. I crossed my arms over my chest and walked over, sitting in the chair, so she'd have to sit on the couch. I was absolutely terrified that if I sat on the couch, she'd sit next to me, so close, so... touchable. Her fury from the previous night was not forgotten. I was wounded, but still so needy. I dared not hope. I relied on my doubt, I leaned into my pain.

It must have been clear on my face. “Jaq,” she said, sitting on the edge of the cushion nearest to me. I was suddenly extremely aware of her bare knees, pressing together beneath her skirt. “I shouldn't have reacted the way I did.”

She paused. “Alright,” I said, not yet ready to forgive.

Ashleigh's frown even looked pretty. “It was wrong of you to be deceiving, though.”

“I never said I was a man.”

She sighed, but didn't argue. “After you left, I was still angry. I couldn't sleep. I went back to the bar, and the barwench told me that you were always alone.”

I waited.

“She thinks you're a man too, you know.”

“That's good,” I allowed. “I'm not a woman.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I'm not.”

We sat in heavy silence, neither of us willing to cede the point. Eventually she shook her head. “It doesn't matter anyway,” she said. “My point is, maybe you should... be honest. If I knew...”

“You wouldn't have spoken to me,” I said pointedly. “If you'd known I had a female body, you wouldn't have approached at all. You'd have thought, 'Why is that woman dressed like a man? Is she some kinda freak?' And probably laughed with your friends about it, later.”

“Well,” Ashleigh said, lowering her voice, “why do you dress like a man?”

No one had ever asked me this before. I was at a loss for words, unable to explain myself. How long had I been doing it—how long had I been dancing at this masquerade?

“It feels wrong,” was the best I could come up with. Ashleigh tilted her head at me, questioning silently, feline. “I mean... to be a woman. This body. It's wrong. It isn't me. I hate it.” As I said the words, I felt my eyes begin to sting, my chest constricting.

“Okay. It's okay,” she told me, scooting even further on the edge to place a manicured hand on my knee.

“I'm fine,” I lied, straightening my posture and trying to compose myself. I told myself I was not going to cry in front of her. I wondered if I would break that oath. “Sometimes I dream about being a man... I mean, being born that way. But it doesn't feel right, either. Maybe... less wrong than being a woman, but still not right.” I tried to keep the hopelessness I felt out of my voice. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Ashleigh was silent, unmoving. I looked up to her, expecting to see pity, or disgust, or some expression that would make me want to push her out of my apartment and tell her to never come back. Instead, she was watching me patiently, not judging, just listening. She didn't immediately deny that there was nothing wrong with me. She accepted that I was different, that I was not like everyone else, that I was other.

“I've never told anyone this,” I said haltingly. “I … I don't think I've even said it aloud.”

Ashleigh moved, fluidly, as she did when she danced. Before I could object, she was kneeling before me, trying to pry my hands apart. I'd had them balled up on my thighs, fingers interlaced, knuckles white. I looked down at them and relaxed my grip, allowing her to separate them, to take each of them in her own delicate hands.

I dared to relax.

“Thanks for bringing back my hat,” I said. Then, after a moment, “How did you get my address?”

She laughed; the sound was wonderful. “I just asked around. You are easy to find... you draw eyes.”

The thought made me queasy. I supposed it was possible. Not everyone was fooled by my costume, and for those who were, I'd be small, and clean-shaven—two things that were often a dead giveaway, given that most men had some facial hair and were bigger, bulkier than me.

I supposed it was possible that people stared, and I ignored them.

“I was going to come back and get it. My hat, I mean. But I couldn't remember your apartment number.”

Ashleigh smiled, just a little. “I saw you standing outside of the building. You were right outside of my window, actually.” She hesitated. “I think I was hoping you would come to my door... when I went to bed, I was still angry. But I woke up feeling guilty for the way I threw you out of my place. I could have been a little more graceful... but then again, you could have been honest.”

“I'd say that I'm sorry for being your man last night,” I said, “but I'd be lying.”

I was surprised to see her blush. Gently, she withdrew her hands from mine, standing. “I better go,” she said. “You have your hat, and I've apologized, so... I guess I'll be seeing you around, Jaq?”

I nodded, rising to walk her to the door. She turned as she was halfway through the doorway and met my eyes. “Have confidence in yourself,” she said. Then she was gone.

(making) Love

Love. Making love. Are these the words that pass through my mind in those dark, heated moments? Are there words at all? I am filled with want, I am filled with need. I'm burning for your touch but unable to articulate. Your skin is hot beneath my palms, you're burning for me, too. I feel like I should rein myself in but I've long lost the lead. Everything else falls away and nothing outside of us exists anymore; you are what I breathe, taste, all I see, all that anchors me.

Can I be too eager? I want you so close, I want to feel you tremble, I want to hear you moan, I want I want I want. I want to bring you to the edge, deny you, pull you over, indulge you. I want to feel every inch of your flesh flush against mine, I want your nails, I want your teeth. I don't want to wait. I slide my hand between us and slip my fingers between your secret lips. I love finding you hot, slick, I love when you gasp at my touch. I already just want to make you come, quick and hard, but we both enjoy it more when I take my time.

I know your sex almost as well as I know my own. It feels tiny to me, precious, perfect. I am as amazed with our similarities as I am with our differences. Your musk is heady and it makes my head swim, suddenly I can't smell anything else. You cling to me and gasp and move closer when I slide my fingers inside you. I try to stay conscious of your body's movements, trying to keep time with you, trying but usually I fall off the beat. You don't seem to mind. I slide out and find your sweet spot and rub, circle, nudge you toward your climax.

I'm only working with one hand, but my imagination runs wild with the possibilities of my mouth, my tongue. I know your taste but I have to be braver to go down, and I am not quite that brave. So I focus on the moment, on the now, on your legs wrapped around me and your arched back and quick breaths. Are you going to come for me? I think so. I change my tactic, aiming for the fireworks. More pressure, more insistence, a higher tempo. My boy is reacting like it's my climax we're working for; I'm burning up, so wet, muscles clenching, hungry. Sometimes I sigh and moan against you, mimicking you, complimenting you.

It's at this point I want you inside me the most. I want to come with you, I want our ecstasy to crash together like to waves on the ocean. I move away from the pinnacle of your sex to push into you up to my knuckles. Your back arches and you make the most delicious sounds, I feel you squeezing my fingers as I reach, stretch, fill you. Sometimes you ask for this, deeper, and I love it when you ask for what you want. I angle, realign, and I can press into you as my thumb presses circles against that nub.

When you tense, arching further, I know you're close. I feel my hips moving of their own accord, almost with the beat, my feet curling around your ankles, my lips and teeth on your flesh where, when I can. I want to please you with my whole body, I want to embrace you with it, hold you close, rock you. You're toppling over the edge and I catch you carry you through the explosions of your pleasure. Your claws dig in, toes curl, breath comes in little gasps. You shudder. I pull you in nearer, kissing you, sliding my fingers oh so gently from your sex, cupping your vulva.

Your orgasm has shaken me, too, and my pulse is racing. It's love to the billionth degree. I wrap my arms around you and kiss your soft skin, your jaw, your lips. I'm so enamored of you, I never want to stop touching you. Yes, it is making love. All I can think of is how I love you...

My Own Body: Denial

Watching her from across the bar room was like watching something magical in a dingy, real world. Her hair was red like rubies, catching the light and shining. Her body moved to the beat of the music with a liquid ease I envied. My eyes hungrily traced the curves of her body, following her milky arms as they swayed, making out the shape of her ankles as she rocked in her heels. She was gorgeous, a goddess, and suddenly I felt very self-conscious.

I adjusted the cufflinks on my sleeves and turned back to the bar, raising my glass to drink. The whiskey burns going down in a way I've come to love. The binder on my chest felt unusually constricting, the wool of my jacket, itchy. The weight of the packing cock between my legs felt unnatural, and this unnerved me—I was not comfortable in my own body, and now this one that I had built for myself was rebelling against me?

I took another drink from my cup, the ice clinking against the glass. Two swallows this time. They call this stuff “liquid courage” and I definitely need some.

Am I passing?

I don't have much time to consider it further. The fire dancer is suddenly at my side, leaning against the polished wooden bar and ordering a drink from the wench. I try to be inconspicuous as I study her sidelong, but I can taste her in the air, see the sheen of sweat on her skin, feel her heat next to me. My pulse quickens, but I manage to control my breathing.

“Let me get that for you,” I said to her as the wench slid a bottle of beer in her direction. I kept my voice low, a little worried that I don't sound much like a man at all. She didn't seem to notice, though—I get a flash of white as she smiles down to me.

“Thanks,” she purrs to me. “I saw you watching me dance.”

Oh, shit. “I hope I wasn't staring.” Or drooling.

“You were... maybe, a little.” Her smile didn't falter. She brought the long-necked bottle to her lips and I know I stare as she takes a sip. Her painted lips cradled the tip and it was everything I could do not to imagine that perfect mouth around my cock. She set the bottle down on the bar and I noticed the smirk before I looked away, damning myself for blushing.

“What's your name?” she asked. Was she still standing there? I couldn't believe it. I looked back over to her, my fingertips playing on the rim of my glass. Her eyes were the most stunning shade of green.

“Jaq.” I hesitated a moment before offering her my hand. I hoped it wasn't cold or sweaty and I hoped against hope that she wouldn't notice that it wasn't quite a man's hand. She clasped it in her own, warmth radiating from her grasp.

“Nice to meet you, Jaq,” she said. “I'm Ashleigh.”

I couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say.

“Want to dance with me?”

“I-I unfortunately am not much of a dancer.” Damn it, I stammered. “Two left feet. But you are an enchantress, Ashleigh. I'd love to watch you dance again.”

She pouted, an expression that was absolutely sinful on her face. The way her lower lip stuck out begged to be bitten. I licked my lips.

“Well,” she whispered, leaning in closer, “if your place isn't nearby, mine is... I'd be happy to dance for you there.”

I don't want to just fuck you, I was thinking, I want to worship you. But I said, “I'd love to see that.”

We finished our drinks, making small talk. She put her hand on my thigh, close to my loins, and I felt my clit—my little dick—twitch in anticipation. As we stood to leave, I tipped the 'tender and put my hat on, the brim low over my eyes. We stepped out of the tavern and she slid her hand into the crook of my arm, gently leading the way. I was intoxicated by her nearness, by how soft her skin was, the smell of her and the taste of her on the air. I reminded myself to stay composed. Be a gentleman.

We walked through the cobblestone streets that way. I can't describe how right it felt to have such a gorgeous thing attached to me.

When we got to her apartment, my mouth was dry and my heart was pounding in my chest. This was not going to be easy. I wondered what she'd do, how could I distract her? It was dark inside and I relied on her guidance again. In the bedroom she flipped on the light. The décor was feminine, but not too strong. Rich colors and heavy fabrics.

Ashleigh moved away from me on silent feet, kicking her heels off. Even without them, she was still taller than me. I tried to look casual, cool, sitting on the edge of the bed, but the truth was that my knees were shaking and it was sit down or fall down. She spun back around, her skirt flaring out, showing more of those legs. They went on and on. I had this almost painful urge to kiss her ankles. She was a natural dancer, graceful and delicate, heartbreaking. I forgot that there was no music—I forgot that this was a foreign place, and a strange girl—here, she was my goddess and she was dancing just for me.

Her steps were simple, not even seductive. She was just being herself, just getting relaxed under the blatant scrutiny of a stranger. I unbuttoned my shirt, just a couple buttons—can't show off the binder. It was getting hot. I was super conscious of the way the silicone strap-on clung to my skin as my temperature rose. The feeling of it against my thigh was making me wetter.

Ashleigh's dance had slowed and she tip-toed closer to me. I nearly scrambled backwards as she crouched before me and slid a sure hand to my hard-on. I hoped my fear—the fear that she would discover that that cock was not of my own flesh—was not visible in my eyes. I choked down the panic and let my hips rise beneath her touch, which was the next strongest urge, and one I felt was appropriate.

“I want to suck your dick,” she said, her fingers moving toward the zipper. I grabbed her hand, lifting it to my lips.

“Let me give you a kiss,” I said, brave enough to lean forward and slip my free hand beneath her skirt, tracing the inside of her thigh upward.

She tilted her head at me, coy. “Don't like it when a girl goes down on you, pretty boy?” she asked.

“I prefer to give pleasure. Ladies first.”

My hand was frozen on the gentle curve of her thigh just before it dips in, before it bows to her flower. I could feel the heat of her already. I could smell her sex and it made me want her, my mouth watering. I swallowed.

Ashleigh didn't object. She stood before me, waiting, a finger idly tracing the brim of my hat before taking it off and tossing it to the side. I glanced up at her and in the dim light of the bedroom she looked divine. I let my hand rise, my knuckles brush against her panties. Silk and lace.

I felt myself getting braver, filling out in my masculinity. I'm just me, and I am whoever I want me to be.

Her legs parted and she leaned down a bit, her head resting on mine. Her sweet perfume was intoxicating me and I had to close my eyes to keep from staring down the front of her dress. My cock was already hard and I had a flash of her pinned beneath me, me inside her, taking her. I pushed the thought aside as I nudged against her vulva.

Ashleigh made a soft, approving sound. I want you on my cock, I didn't say. I want to make you come until it hurts.

She was burning up between her legs, and the way her hips slowly moved towards me as she straightened, wrapping her arms around me, gave me permission. I slipped a finger beneath the elastic of her panties and, with my eyes still closed, slid my forefinger inside her. She was just getting wet, not yet aroused enough to dampen her underwear, as I surely was. Ashleigh put a hand on my chest and pushed me gently back, and I let her, but I kept my finger crooked inside of her and pulled her with me.

“Come here,” I growled. She smiled down at me, setting her knees on either side of my abdomen. I kept her high enough on my torso so that she couldn't grind against my hips—a motion that I would find too stimulating and I didn't want to know what it might make me do.

I slid my finger deeper inside of her, eliciting a little gasp from her before adding another. She rested her hands on my chest and I feared for a second that she'd feel my binder, but she didn't pause. I was up to my knuckles and I could feel her juice dripping down my hand.

“Rub my clit,” she said, her voice husky. Ashleigh's eyes were shining emeralds as I stared up into them, shifting my hand back and bending my wrist uncomfortably so I could conform to her request. At the slightest touch, she was on fire—her hips bucked and she ground down against me, the pain in my squashed hand forgotten at hearing her pleasure, at feeling it, at knowing I was going to make her come.

She hesitated, her fingers curling, digging into me. I heard her catch her breath, a whisper, “Ah, God...” and I felt her shudder over me. Her back arched and she brought her mouth to my neck, her soft, almost desperate-sounding cries urging me further. Giving me courage. I bucked my hips under her, pressing on her side to flip her over. She was still coming as I lied her on her back and positioned myself, crouching, between her legs.

I relieved her of my slick fingers and smoothly removed her panties. They were red and damp, saturated with her. I couldn't wait to taste her.

I could see everything, even with just the light from a single yellow bulb, heavily shaded. Her lips were thick and puffy, the insides poking out and glistening with her ambrosia. I slipped my thumb upwards along the slit and she lifted her hips as I found that sensitive little nub, rubbing in slow circles. I let my eyes travel over the topography of her body before me. Ashleigh was watching me, her heavy-lidded gaze almost accusing, like I was torturing her. She licked her lips and swallowed, snaking a hand down between her legs, hiking up her skirt further.

She opened herself for me, exposing the insides of her sex. I looked—I couldn't help it.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. My head jerked up. “Please, I want to feel your cock...”

I wanted to. So. Badly.

Instead, I took advantage of the opening in a different manner. I leaned forward, sliding my hands under her rear, and licked with a wide, flat tongue. She stretched, gasped, twisted. She tasted delicious, she tasted like a woman. Like sweet peaches and tangy apples and salt. I slid her back on the bed and wiggled my tongue inside her, I nibbled her thighs, I sucked on her clit. Her legs squeezed my head and held me in place—as if I'd ever move, as if I'd ever try to escape.

Her second orgasm took me by surprise, and by the sound of it, she was surprised, too. Her hands were in my hair, holding me steady, pulling my locks as she ground against my face. She said some words in a language I didn't understand, but it was more sexy like that, that she'd come so good that she wasn't speaking the common tongue anymore. I lapped at her like she was sustaining me, like she was the air I needed to breathe.

As Ashleigh came down from her climax, her fingers loosened on my skull and I slowly pulled away, licking my lips. I wiped at my face with my sleeve; I was dripping with evidence.

My borrowed afterglow was cut viciously short.

She sat up quickly, both of her hands grasping at my shirt. In her attempt to pull me over her, Ashleigh popped the next button off my shirt, and the collar fell open enough to reveal the thick cloth of the binder.

She paused, staring at my wrapped chest, her mind processing. “What is... What are you wearing?”

My jaw was slack. I couldn't come up with an excuse fast enough. She looked back up to my face, piecing it together, surely. Small frame, not too boxy, soft, almost feminine voice, no facial hair... all of the faults that kept me securely female, even when I wanted and tried so desperately to be something else.

Ashleigh shoved me away, hard. I lost my balance and fell off the bed, biting my tongue. I felt the blood welling up in my mouth and I tried, so very hard, not to cry, not to be sad, not to be angry.

“Get out,” she said, very quietly at first. I couldn't move, I felt pinned in place. My heart was heavy as a lead stone in my chest. My ears were ringing. Really, I thought, what did I expect? Dimly, I became aware that she was yelling at me. Screaming at me to leave. I stood up and buttoned up my shirt the best I could with shaky hands and missing buttons. I realized I should leave before she started throwing things.

I don't remember leaving, but I found myself on the street, walking briskly home. I forgot my hat. I could buy another. Though I probably shouldn't go back to that bar.

When had I withdrawn so far into myself, when had I become so numb?

My apartment was cold, dark. I didn't need the light to find my way to the bedroom. I pulled off my clothes and fell into bed, still wearing the binder, still strapped onto my cock. It jut obscenely into the air from my hips and I squinted down at it, making out the shape in the darkness. I was still wet, still so hungry. My hand leisurely stroked the dildo twice, before I started to cry.