It has been such a hectic month, going all the way back to Pete's Halloween party. For my part I was 100% excited to meet more people like us, mingle, network, whatever you want to call it. I don't think we all wanted it to be a big therapy session or anything but it's nice to be able to share your experiences with someone who understands
Take Magdaryl for instance. Both he and my David had their manhood exchanged for a female model with somewhat more... mileage on them. But despite that commonality, it seemed like Darryl was the last person David wanted to talk to. The second last was Tyler, who has impressed me with his/her growth over the time I've read this book, adapting into their new role and getting out into the world as Valerie. David, of course, didn't want to talk to anybody who views the "Curse" of the Inn as anything but a true curse - something to complain about and sulk over.
Personally, I found Ty fascinating and after a few drinks he/she opened up about some of the details that got left out of the blog about him/herself, her love life, and some of the possible directions they'll be taking in the new year. Of course I also pressed for more details about Rafe and Ryan and whether there was any other romance on the horizon.
Beyond that, we also talked about out "gender" situation - Pete and Annette had issued those stickers allowing you to declare your name and preferred pronouns. I reveled in the fact that I got to be a "she" for the night, but Tyler had noticeably lacked one. He chalked it up to being "old fashioned," which is to say skittish about things like that. Not that Tyler doesn't "get" the gender-spectrum thing, but he had some really interesting insights into ways that we transformed-people might be outside of it - that when he is in a woman's body is feels like a woman, but calling him a "he" isn't wrong either... and I guess he's just too "old fashioned" to accept "they" as an alternative. So it's like... call her anything.
Take a guess who was least impressed with the length and energy of my conversation with Tyler - David, who stood pouting by the liquor half the night, looking fetching in an androgynous suit with his hair pulled back. I had tried to wave him over to join the conversation but of course he declined. Like I said, he clearly was not interested in talking to someone who had positive things to say about being female.
Of course there was more to it than that. On the car ride home (in Lena's beautiful Lexus!) he laid into me - "How could you spend so much time talking to her? Did you see how much she was flirting with you? Were you trying to fuck her? Because I could tell she was trying to fuck you."
Writing it out like that makes it seem a lot more confrontational and angry than it was, but it was really said in a sarcastic, light tone. Still, I did not enjoy hearing such accusations. Like, excuse me, it was just an innocent conversation between two people. Just because one happens to appear to be an attractive young woman doesn't mean there's a sexual undertone to all of it. And what does that say about how David thinks of me? I can't talk to guys at the gym because he's worried I'm attracted to them, and I can't talk to women because he's worried I'm attracted to them?
Newsflash, I said, I'm not out here trying to sleep with anything that moves. I can see the difference between a polite convo and a flirt, and there was really nothing flirty about my chat with Tyler. If there was, why would I have tried to get David involved? I just wanted some info and guidance from someone who's "been there" and yes, a little juicy gossip because I'm an old hen at heart. Big whup.
I have told him time and again that I am attracted to one person and that's the person he is inside, no matter his outside appearance and I wish he could see it the same way.
David was unimpressed and we had a chill between us for days.
Then one night he had a late conference at work. I should tell you that David doesn't exactly like Lena's work, but it more or less takes care of itself - or Pete takes care of it for him - and he just gets to be a figurehead and sit back and watch Lena's bank account grow.
But he's also indulged in some of the perks of the "high life." Going out to "business dinners" or cocktails to which I'm not invited -- not a good look for the 45-year-old company founder and president to be seen with her 20-something "boytoy." So I sit at home and occupy myself and try not to worry - and definitely not being jealous.
But on this night, it's different. He's texting me. He's obviously drinking. He's being affectionate, calling me his Jenny-Bear and saying he misses how we used to be. He tells me how right I am about only loving the person inside. I tell him we can still be that way and he says maybe, maybe.
Midnight, he comes in. I'm getting ready for bed. He swaggers in - like the man I know he is - and drops his purse on the couch next to me.
He leans down and kisses me.
This isn't the first time I have kissed "Lena Howard's" lips, but it's only happened a few times when one or the other of us kind of got caught up in a moment, and it's always been met with a recoiled "yuck" reaction from David, and me trying to suppress how much that hurts. So knowing this, I start to ask why, and he puts his fingers to my lips. "Shhh, don't talk. I want this, I want this now." I don't know if this means that later he won't want it or if he's permanently crossed some kind of threshold. I'm totally unprepared, and I think of saying I can't because I'm not ready. But he's running his hands over my body and "little Jenn" perks up, and before you know it I'm "ready for action."
I just keep saying "Are you sure, are you sure? You can say stop anytime--" because I want to be good, I want to do this right, and I really did not expect him to do a total 180 on the physical affection thing. Not this soon, if at all. I worry that alcohol is playing too much of a part, but I can tell he's at least cognizant of his actions. He keeps shutting down my reservations... looking back, it's like he was taking a "now or never" approach.
He paused only once, as we were making out, to note that my stubble was scratchy. I said that if I knew this was coming I would have been clean-shaven, but he says "No it's fine. You're a man. And I'm..."
He doesn't finish the thought. We get back to making out.
Clothes are stripped - a beautiful silk blouse on the floor. My boyfriend is in his bra - a fancy if somewhat matronly one. But it's sexy in its way. I'm surprised by my reaction to Lena's nude body. Of course it's far from a perfect, perky young thing. Far from the body I had. I'm conflicted as to how attracted I am to it, because on the surface I see its flaws, but they don't stop me at all. In a heartbeat, those "flaws" become attractive features.
Something about all of this - the newness, the reversal of roles, heightens the sexiness about everything. My boyfriend sitting on my lap, grinding against my... my stiff crotch. My hands find the bra clasp. I hesitate for a moment, but he whispers "Yes!" I flick the hooks away like a natural.
We permit each others' hands to roam each other, thirstily taking it all in. I play with his breasts and stroke his neck and shoulders and back and hips, encircling around where I know will be my final destination if it keeps going. And he does the same, and I wonder how ready he is, if he is trying to prepare himself, trying to see what he's "supposed" to be seeing in Zack's body. I wonder, and hope, that he's undergone the same mental flip I have, where those things that might have recoiled him months ago, are now things he yearns for. I hope it, and I fear it.
My belt is unbuckled. He can tell through my pants that I'm at full attention but he's never seen in in person. A moment of panic - what if he sees it and it's too "real"? Too much?
He reaches into my waistband and fondles me. His reaction is surprising... he lets out a low, Beavis and Butt-Head like chuckle, like "Huh huh huh," which sounds very strange coming from this "lady."
Before I know it, it's out in the open. My eyes bulge out at seeing what it looks like in his hand - how much more of it there is when his dainty fingers are clasped lightly around the shaft, than mine. I'm also surprised at how readily he took it in hand, how good he is at handling it. But of course, I never had my own to practice on - he's "done this" before, in a sense. Amazing how suddenly without warning he'd gone from literally "get that thing away from me" to all-in.
I'm fully disrobed first. He's still in his panties. We have a moment where we look at each other like "What do we do now?" At first I thought it was understood that he wanted to go "all the way" but there was this moment of hesitation, to be expected I guess but how do you overcome that.
I get halfway through asking, "Do you still?" and he gulps a quick yes, just... let's go to the bedroom already.
Maybe it's showing off a bit, but I left him up and carry him. Will this make him feel like "a woman" in a bad way, or a good one, I wonder?
In the bed, he's under me. Our momentum is stopped for a little bit when we encounter a little embarrassing issue... there was some, er... dryness. Lena is not exactly in the prime of her life, and this is nothing she nor David should be embarrassed about, it's just a reality of life for women over a certain age - an age much younger than Lena's in many cases.
In that moment, I had to think fast. If Lena happened to have anything on hand that would aid with this, I would have to take a break from what we were doing to tear up the condo to find it and risk ruining the moment. There are other ways to improvise but given the urgency I didn't want to ask David to provide any saliva. So I took matters into my own hands... or rather, my tongue.
Readers, I really never thought I would find myself in that position. I have to admit, if I had not been so aught up in the moment I would have balked, but I had found myself in a potentially once-in-a-lifetime position. David had already shown he could shed his inhibitions (alcohol would have helped me too) and I was very, very turned on, to where I would do virtually anything asked of me. Of course, he didn't ask - I really don't think he would have expected or even wanted it. But once I set myself face-first between his legs, I could see an instant change in demeanor... from tentative to "Oh God, yes!"
I had to spend a little more time than I wanted to down there, but it was certainly worth it in the end and had the effect i wanted. Again I had to ask a potentially mood-ruining question: "Are you... ready...? For my..."
He responded by throwing a condom at me.
I struggled to open the package, so he helped me, and rolled it on for me. By then, pretty much all the blood in my body was located between my legs. It was like there was a non-stop buzzer going off in my head screaming "TAKE CARE OF THIS NOW."
I pushed myself into him - perhaps less delicately than he or I would have liked, but again, it was a caught-up-in-the-moment thing.
It felt... incredible. Simply like two parts that were meant to couple. I've always wondered how it feels for guys... it was a lot less, erm, "pressure" than I thought it might be? Certainly less firm than my own hand... like a perfect delicate kiss.
It took me a moment of adjusting to figure out how to "move." I don't think David realized that he, too, could have moved if he wanted to, and probably would have found it pleasurable, but maybe he was a little lost. I would have liked to really take stock of the moment and appreciate where we were, and really take my time, but... there was that buzzing in my head, saying "Go! Go now!" Craving instant pleasure. The Man's folly.
All I had was the knowledge of how I liked it as a woman, not really taking into account what was most practical for me as a man, so after trying to pace myself gently I began to find my rhythm and thrust my hips faster and harder, overtaken by my own urges, as I heard David's soprano voice moaning in pleasure, egging me on, panting, losing control... I tried to stay quiet and focussed and not let out any unappealing grunts that might remind David exactly what was going on. But in that moment - dare I say it in this age of complicated genders - he was truly "female," enjoying a pleasure that he could not previously had imagined. And I think, loving that he had enjoyed it.
I tried - I really did try - to pace myself, but it was just not possible. Neither of us wanted it that way, but neither of us really realized how short the fuse was going to be. Suddenly, almost without warning, I erupted into the condom, while David was still moving with me. I let out a weak groan, and slowed my motions to a standstill, hoping he would understand what had happened and I wouldn't have to say it. I wanted to keep going - I wanted to be able to keep going. I wanted to show him exactly what was possible, but I fell short, and not long after, my body kind of... gave out from under me.
"I... I'm sorry..." I sputtered once it had become clear why the abrupt stop.
"It's, uh... it's okay..." he said, catching his breath.
I laid there for a second, experiencing a few aftershocks of orgasm, still inside, until he muttered, "You can, uh, get it out now" with a level of bitterness I recognized as the David of the last few months.
I sighed sadly and gingerly did as he asked, rolling over to the side of the bed.
"I think I could uh, go again soon."
"Don't worry about it," he snipped coldly. I felt worse than ever. It was like I had one chance to show him we could still be great this way and I blew it. I felt a fear in the pit of my stomach that the opportunity would never come again. And post-coitally, the last thing I wanted to think of was the pressure to perform again. I was drained.
Then, as if sensing how hurt I was, how guilty I felt, he tried to offer some comfort:
"It was... better than I thought it would be."
Meekly, I said, "I'll, um... I'll do better next time."
"Yeah," he sighed. "No worries."
I rolled over and held him in his arms. He didn't pull away but he didn't really embrace it either.
Since then, sex almost gone back to bei g the Forbidden Word it was before, and hes resisted any attempts I've made to ask about his experience, find out how he feels, what he liked or disliked. I'd live to discuss the xomplicated delights and contradictions of female sexuality with him and reassure him thatit can take time to adjust even after you've decided that's something you'd want to do. But anytime I bring it up, he waves it off - some other night, maybe, when he's "into it" again. That upsets me, because I feel like if I had done better the first time he would be more eager, but my disappointing performance is only reinforcing his resistance to pursuing this. And you can't really get better without practice. So I don't know. It stinks.
I tell myself I'm taking it too hard. The obsession with orgasms is more male than female and I could tell I was givig him pleasure. I just wish we were as connected as we once were. I still don't even know the reason for his one-time-only interest in sex to begin with!