this morning...

...I woke and he was already up. He saw me stirring and smiled, his eyes blue-green in the darkness of our bedroom. He leaned over, I lifted myself up, and we kissed, and as always, it made me shiver.

Later, I leaned over him and pressed him onto his back, kissing him deeply and sucking his earlobe into my mouth. "Can I interest you in a fuck before we get up?" he asked and I laughed, the crudeness a turn-on. Oh yes, he can always interest me in that.

Our relationship is deeply sexual but rooted in the kind of love I had only ever read about. I desire him more deeply and completely than I have ever desired anyone in my life before. My libido is not normally the most reliable; I need to spark my arousal from my lover's in order to want sex. But I do want to want sex, if that makes any sense, and I am lucky because my boi has a very dependable libido of his own. When he is on T (testosterone) it's in overdrive and the sex is even more spectacular than usual. He's been off now for a couple of months due to a mix-up in prescriptions but we hope to get him back on soon.

There are so many things about him that turn me on. Physically, he easily overpowers me: he's taller than I am, heavier, stronger, just bigger in every way. I love it. I love feeling small next to him. I am on the tall side of average for women and though he was born female he got good height genes. He's TALL. I love it -- have I already mentioned that? He has incredible eyes that shift from green to blue to grey with the change of a t-shirt, but the golden flecks at the center never change. He has the longest, thickest, darkest lashes I have ever seen and perfect, dark, expressive eyebrows. He is tatted and pierced in all the right places and wears it well. He has what I like to call the Swagger -- he moves with a confidence that is a pleasure to watch. He has great hands. He has great style overall and knows it. He's a cocky bastard and it's wonderful. It makes me want to jump him.

Sexually, he's dominant in a way that I have only yearned for before him. In fact, he's the one that awakened me to my own desire in terms of BDSM a loooong time ago. I don't remember how we started talking about it but I remember that we were chatting online one day and began talking about pain and pleasure, sexually. I knew what BDSM was but was in my curious mode about it because I didn't understand it fully. I hadn't really thought of it in terms of MYSELF, but the way he talked about it caught my interest. I found myself wondering what it would be like -- we were talking about bloodplay (vampires, etc.) -- and the thought terrified me, but when I thought about it in terms of him...it made me wet. We explored it a bit and eventually I confessed that I yearned to submit to "someone" (him, obviously, but of course I couldn't say that at the time!) and he admitted that he leaned toward dominance. I was unspeakably aroused but felt I couldn't say so -- we weren't talking about it in that way -- and so I adopted my supportive-friend stance and just listened. We moved on to other topics but that talk stayed with me for years.

I began searching. I read blogs (obviously!) and books (Macho Sluts and Doing it for Daddy by Pat Califia, thank god for intelligent erotica!) and pondered whether I liked what I was finding. And I did, I liked it so much. I wanted to be restrained, I wanted to be hurt, I wanted to lose control -- more than that, I wanted to give up control to someone I trusted implicitly. I wanted it to be him.

But we weren't together so I settled for research, my imagination, and my right hand. I pushed that part of my desire to the back of my mind and contented myself with "normal" sex, though really, I was never truly content. I never came, for one thing, regardless of what my lovers tried. It was never for lack of desire on their part. I figured it was just one of those things -- lots of people never come unless they do it themselves, right? (And even then it worked only 3 times out of 5.) Eventually I gave up and decided that I liked sex just fine. It just didn't like me much and I wasn't destined to receive pleasure that way. But I liked, always, to please my partners.

When we began to get ourselves untangled from years of dancing around each other and never really putting the truth out there, I had trouble admitting to him that our talk from so many years ago had opened me to a longing that had never left me. He didn't make it easy: he wanted me to say it explicitly. I hinted; he parried. I kinda sorta almost said it outright; he pretended not to understand. I misread him and worried that he was no longer into "that kind of thing" and finally lost my patience and told him outright: "I want you to hurt me. I need you to hurt me." And he told me that's all he'd been waiting for; it had been a test all along, a test of my need. And oh, my need was great, so great that it overwhelmed my natural shyness.

This morning, though, this morning there was just an undercurrent of our darker desires. He wanted to fuck me but I asked prettily enough that he let me fuck him first. I started kissing him -- his lips are soft and so is his tongue but it is amazing how roughly he can use them when he wants to -- and gently nibbling his neck and ears until he sighed contentedly and tilted his head back, arching his back. He hasn't yet had top surgery (reconstructive surgery on his chest to remove his breasts and construct a more male torso) but he doesn't mind my licking and biting his nipples, and I am so proud of him for that. (And many other things.)

I sucked one nipple into my mouth and reached for the other, twisting it gently. He is sensitive and I don't like to hurt him. That's his forte. I was after one thing: eliciting his juices so that I could slip my fingers into him. I worked his nipples for few moments, listening to his breathing and evaluating his body's undulations beneath me. A soft intake of breath told me that he might be ready, so I slid one hand down his stomach (deliciously soft, his skin; I love to rest my head on his abdomen and stroke that silkiness with my cheek) and cupped his mound gently. He'll never have bottom surgery and takes great pleasure in his cunt and all that pleasure that it gives him. I am one of the few lucky lovers (perhaps the only one?) that he has allowed to fully access it, though, and that gift is not lost on me. It is unspeakably precious and I would feel bereft if I wasn't able to stroke him with my fingers and tongue, if I wasn't able to penetrate him and feel him from the inside. I've never felt anything so intimate, so intense in my life. It feels like home to me when I am inside him.

Heat greeted me there, heat and dampness. Good -- it was working. I sucked one earlobe into my mouth (soft, silky) and spread his lips, searching out his clit. He was slick already and hard for me, so I pressed down on him and began a back-and-forth rhythm that soon brought him off for the first time. He gasped and allowed me to spread his legs further as I maneuvered myself between them, on my stomach. This is my favourite place in the world, this is what I dream of at night. I often wake with his taste flooding my mouth, tears in my eyes at the sweetness of it.

He obligingly spread his lips for me and I laved his clit with my tongue. Slowly, I reminded myself, slowly, for once he's come he becomes more sensitive and doesn't like me to attack him, though my need would prefer I did. I must hold myself back with him much of the time, for my desire for him makes me feral and insatiable, something I have never before experienced. It's all too easy to lose myself in it, especially once I am buried in him and he's coming for me so easily...but that comes later.

I gently tested the slickness at his entrance and decided that I would add some lube, just to be safe. He is not as delicate as I am but more wetness is always better, we've found. I reached for the bedside pump and took a bit in my hand, spreading it around over his inner lips and slowly beginning to penetrate him with my first and second fingers. He was tight but ready for me; he lifted his hips and helped me slip inside him. The heat and silken tightness of him made me gasp -- I have never known a more welcoming, embracing feeling. If I could, I would stay inside him forever.

But I was on a mission; I slightly crooked my fingers and begin to feel along the front wall of his cunt for those places that make him moan. Finding one, I lowered my mouth to his clit once more and took him inside, my tongue stroking its length and savoring his flavor. He is, simply put, delicious. His scent intoxicates me. I often tell him so, though it makes him uncharacteristically shy when I do. But he is; he is everything I've ever wanted.

He was hard on my tongue and I began to concentrate on the very tip of his clit, making him moan and arch into me. I moved my fingers faster, stroking the inside of his cunt, (slick, hot, oh god), in rhythm with my tongue. He swelled inside and out and I knew he would soon come. And he did, his body arching with tension as I attacked his clit with abandon, knowing that now it won't hurt him.

When he relaxed, I slid out of him and reached for my strap-on. He'd asked for it a few days before (again, I am one of his few lovers he's allowed to fuck him rather than ONLY vice-versa; I am a lucky, lucky grrl) and now he looked askance at me. "Did I tell you you could fuck me with that?" I was feeling cocky (heh) and reminded him of his earlier request. The cock I wanted was a bit gritty, so I stepped out to wash it off and when I came back he was still on his back, his legs bent and I knew I'd get what I wanted.

Fucking with a strap-on is something I never gave much thought to because he'd made it clear it wasn't something he was often the receptive partner for. So I just never even considered it, but the first time we were together, he asked me to try. We adjusted his harness as best we could and I was shaken by the experience. For one thing, I had only ever been the fuck-ee, not the fuck-er and so I had no idea how much physical exertion was involved! It wasn't bad, though, only new. And I was so worried about hurting him; the lack of sensation due to the dildo was disconcerting. But after a few moments I suddenly sensed his muscles contract around me (suddenly the dildo was ME), and that's all it took. Phantom cock, indeed. Holy shit. It stirred something in me, and suddenly all I wanted to do was fuck him. Hard. So I did, telling him to work his clit with his fingers while I did so, and luckily he liked it! I know I did.

So I got into (my own) harness, cleaned and dried his favourite cock, and came back, poising myself between his legs. He eyed me suspiciously, as if considering whether to put up a fight with me, but as I sank my cock into his cunt, he relented and just...moaned. Deep in his chest. And I knew I had him.

I started to fuck him the way we both love -- me kneeling over him, his legs tight against my hips, my arms around his neck and using his shoulders as leverage -- when I began to lose my damn footing on the sheets of the bed. Shit! I couldn't keep myself as deeply seated inside him as I'd need to in order to trigger his orgasm -- his muscles are very strong and I kept slipping out. I readjusted, tried to hold onto him tighter, push him down on my cock, all to no avail. "Come to the side of the bed," I told him, "I am going to fuck you standing up and use the wall as leverage."

"Oh, are you?" he countered, but he was already moving into position. I grinned and pushed into him again, my left hand wrapped around his right leg, my right hand flat against his mound and my thumb pressing hard against his clit. He threw his head back and began to pump his hips against me. This is what I love; he loses control over his body in the same way that I do when I'm with him, and I know the depth of trust it takes for him to feel this way.

I fucked him harder, on my toes, ignoring the burn in my calves. "Come, love, come for me," I murmured to him, my thumb fast on his clit. "I am," he gasps, and he did with me hammering him hard inside and outside. I removed my hand from him and balanced myself on the bed, fucking him as hard and fast as I could. If I can fuck him hard enough, he'll come again very quickly. And he did, shaking with it and tossing his head back to expose his neck. I leaned forward and bit him along his neck, his collarbones, his ears, not letting up on his cunt, and he breathed that I was going to kill him.

"Just a little death, darling," I promised, and his orgasm pushed me right out of his cunt. He turned on his side, panting and half-sobbing, and I knew it was enough for the moment. I stepped out of my harness and left it on the floor -- I'd clean it later -- and climbed up on the bed, taking him in my arms. "I love you, I love you, I love you," I whispered to him as I stroked his short-clipped hair.

"I love YOU," he answered, and soon after, began to fuck me in retaliation. But that will have to wait for later.

M. Monkey

Born female, it has taken time for me to learn what it means to be partnered to a transgendered person. Feeling uncomfortable (which is an understatement) in one's own skin because one's gender outside doesn't match with one's gender inside is, for the most part, an experience that I can't relate to. But I fell in love with him before I knew he was trans -- back when I knew him as 'she' -- and none of my feelings changed when he came out to me for the second time. He was brave, I was confused but open-minded, and I spent months afterward reading all I could find on FtMs (that's female-to-male) and their experiences. I'm like that: I want to KNOW, I want to understand, I want to be as well-informed as possible about everything at all times. I think that's why I love blogs so much. A world full of people writing about their experiences of all kinds of things, every day! I'm a voyeur at heart; this is heaven to me.

Other than simply female, I am: 5' 7", pale-skinned, dark-haired, blue-eyed. Curvy and athletic -- but not as code for overweight, (not that there's anything wrong with that) -- with an hourglass shape that makes me uncomfortable. I am queer and my drug of choice is androgyny. I love genderfuckers; girls that look like boys, butches, trannybois, almost everything floats my boat at one time or another. I tend not to be attracted to "femmes", whatever that is. I find it frustrating when I am read as a femme myself because I don't identify that way. Yes, I have longish hair. Yes, I wear girly clothes, at least sometimes. Yes, I have a very feminine figure. But if I'd had my choice I would have been born a slight, tall, flat-chested androgynous girl -- think Shane from the L-Word (how I hate to use that as my benchmark! But it's the best example I can think of. I don't so much want to fuck her as BE her...). So having a body like I do is rather lost on me, though I do get quite a bit of attention for it. I almost always misread that attention; I'll have more to write about that later.

I've been in love with my boi for ten years, though only recently have we gotten our ducks in a row enough to actually BE together. He is the first "girl" I've been with, though I've had opportunities with and certainly feelings for others before. I just...I wanted it to be him. I wanted my first time with a female-bodied person to be with him and no-one else, because as far as I was concerned if I couldn't have him then I didn't even want to know what I was missing. It's like the first time I got glasses. I didn't even realize that I wasn't seeing the leaves on the trees until I slipped them on and rode home in the car. I cried the whole way because the world was so beautiful and I had never, ever known. It was like that the first time he made me come; I cried and cried. The world was so beautiful and I was in his arms and I had never known I could feel that way.

I'm glad I waited. He was worth every second.