There's been some request for me to describe the sensation of having sex with Leo. I've put it off because I wasn't sure I was ready to get graphic about it. Since this whole thing has started, I've struggled to put it into words, and using phrases like "We did it," has helped me kind of get around that, but I think there comes a time when you need to stop dancing around it and get into it.
So I'm giving myself license to get explicit here... and if that makes you uncomfortable, just scroll down to where it says I'm done.
Before I get to Leo specifically, I want to go back to the first time I ever thought of a man as being attractive. I wasn't really sure what, if anything, it meant at the time, but now that I've had a year to think about it, I can sort of admit that it started in Buffalo when I went to visit my old body.
I was waiting for Willie at the bar when I ran into Justin, my best friend for years. Seeing him without him knowing it was me... it was weird. He was dating Randi at the time, but he was putting this vibe out there like he was still on the lookout. A little later I found out he knew ahead of time that I was Tori, that I was "with" Cliff, but the energy he was putting out got to me. He exuded confidence.
I spent much of the evening avoiding eye contact with Willie. My eyes darted back and forth between Justin and Randi. His arm around her, her head on his shoulders... she was wearing a light top and her nipples were just poking through ever so much. He stroked her hair. Suddenly I was noticing how handsome he was... the stubble he'd let grow, his strong jawline, his eyes... I tried to pack away these thoughts and focus on Randi, tried to remember what made her so good looking.
Make no mistake, she's attractive, but when I tried to let me mind play with that, put myself in HIS shoes, with my fingers running through her hair, it got really... complicated. It put me off. But it didn't TURN me off... I wanted to be both of them and I wanted to be with both of them.
Later on that trip, Willie and I almost... well, we messed around a bit. I had felt the need to test myself because of all this new information my brain was processing. The gates were already opening when I really started to look at him in my body. And I didn't mind what I saw.
Maybe he wears my face better than I did, but I didn't see anything wrong with the way he looked. In fact, between the rather masculine Justin and the cute, girlish Randi, "Cliff," clean shaved, a little baby-faced, was a nice middle option. I began to wonder why I had ever had problems with girls. A little later I decided it must've just been because I was myself... which set me down a bit of depression. But let's flash forward.
It's late in the summer. I can pretty much admit to being into guys, and whatever I think of girls I'm not as dedicated as I once was. I mean, I sure as hell wouldn't mind getting a look at Sara naked, but I wouldn't want to date her. And that's when Leo and I started hooking up. He was in the right place at the right time.
When it started to get good, here's what it's like:
To start, I'm sitting on his bed. I'm fully clothed, he's fully clothed. He stands in front of me, unbuttoning his shirt. I run my fingers over her stomach and chest. He's thin, with just a few patches of hair. I hold his belt-loops. He leans in and kisses me. I feel my back straighten. A tingle goes through my body. I love the thought of us breathing heavily into each other, just panting and moaning.
I take off my top. My brastraps fall over my shoulders. He unclasps it with a quick motion. When I bare myself, he takes a moment to look at them. I don't blame him, I do too. Then he looks me dead in the eyes, and all I want is for him to touch me. He lays me back on the bed. The longer we go at it, the more creative he gets. First he has his hand on my breast, gently massaging as he kisses me. Then he moves his fingers away and starts to stroke the side of my breast, running his tongue down my chest and circling my breast.
That's when I get wet. I can feel my knees shivering. I feel like I'm so close to something, I can't stand being teased.
I stave off my own feeling by turning my attention to him. I unzip his pants and reach down. Not surprisingly, he's hard. I don't really do anything with his dick once I have it in hand... I guess I've got a mental block against that, but it doesn't stop me from handling it just a little. Sometimes I think to myself, "How bad would it be just to try putting my mouth on it?" but I never cross that threshhold, even though I'm willing to go further.
Soon he has me on my back, and I'm letting myself moan uncontrollably for him. I remember when I was a guy, I'd jack off quietly... there always seemed to be something so unappealing about letting out a pleasure moan as a guy, something weak... but since I've taken on the female persona, I don't care anymore. I like what he's doing and I know to let him know.
He pulls my panties down and moves his mouth to the base of my crotch. I don't let him stay there too long, because as good as it can be, it just makes me want to go faster. Somewhere in all this we find the time to make sure he's got protection on -- I've been taking the pill since the summer, but it doesn't hurt to double these things, and when I give the signal, he pulls himself over me and I sprad my legs, trembling, moist, letting him in.
For a few minutes, we move in unison, slowly. I'm embarrassed, so I close my eyes or turn away, but it's so absorbing that I can't stop myself from screaming out, "ungh, ungh." I move with him and we go faster... the feeling of having another person inside me is so intense, because the parts in there are so sensitive, and I've never used an item (eg, a dildo) to reach, only getting what my fingers could find. With every thrust, a radiation of pleasure that leaves me weak flushes through me until finally I feel myself come.
I let him keep going, though, because there's nothing to stop him. I'm not shriveling away or going limp, I'm just... good. And it's not long before he is too. He rolls off me and we lie on top of the sheets for a moment, his arm wrapped around me. I can't stand up, my legs are trembling, so we just lie there and drift off, leaving the clean-up for later.
That's how it was. At the best of times. Here's what it's more often like:
I go over to his place. He hasn't cleaned up, there's usually dishes here and there, clothes on the floor. He's on the couch playing XBox. In a past life I might've been more interested in sitting on the couch with him and playing Call of Duty, but we both know why I'm there.
He wants to finish his game so I go to the bedroom, undressing as I go. I leave my clothes in a heap by the bed. Sometimes I wait a while, naked, in his bed, before he gets around to me. I don't like getting too much time to think about what I'm about to do. I prefer to get caught up in the moment. I'm far from turned on, but I'm still "willing," if that makes any sense. I get myself warmed up.
He comes in and disrobes. I remind him to put a rubber on as he disrobes, slipping out of his pants, lifting his shirt over the bed and pulling his socks off.
He's plenty hard -- part of me wonders if it's me or the video game -- so I just lie back and let him go to it. In this scenario, there's not a lot of kissing and touching, just a willing submission to his need. I try to get us into some kind of rhythm, but he just goes at his own pace, jutting up into me sharply, awkwardly humping. A few unsatisfactory minutes later, he's done. I wonder why I even bothered coming by. Sometimes I try to get him on the bottom so I can make it last a bit longer and do some work of my own, but he likes the dominant position and I'm more comfortable this way anyway.
He rolls off me. Sometimes I try to complete the mission myself, sometimes I just lie there.
Sometimes he falls asleep. Sometimes he gets up, gets dressed again and goes back to his Xbox.
I don't stay the night. He insists we don't sleep together because we're not a couple and he doesn't want to complicate things. We don't have one of those arrangements where I leave a toothbrush and a pack of tampons at his place. He's never even been to my place. I'm not sure I'd want him to.
So after maybe a half hour of activity and aftermath, I roll out of his bed. I reach down onto the floor and pick up my panties, unbunch them and pull them on. I re-clasp my bra and dress myself again.
I gather my things, grab my purse, say a polite "thank you," and leave, waiting for one of us to be in the mood to text again. This has gone on for the better part of 2 months. I slink off into the night, and go home to my own bed, alone.
When I put it that way, it's a wonder I haven't quit yet, but the truth is somewhere between these two extremes. It can be very good, but it can be very impersonal. It can be convenient, but it can also be un-fulfilling. In my more clear-headed moments, I feel it would be smartest to end this thing with Leo and take a chance with Buddy. But just as often, I'm thankful for something that, if not perfect, is easy to manage and that oftentimes does feel good.
I feel guilty sometimes for being too comfortable with what I've got. I also sometimes feel guilty for not liking it as much as I should. I don't know. I'm really mixed up.
Maybe it can't last much longer, but for now, that's what it's like.