This is a work of FICTION for ADULTS only. Do NOT read this if you are under 18 or if you are not an adult according to the laws of your state or country. Do NOT read this if you are offended by fantasies involving sexually explicit material.

Comments welcome to bethjac@hotmail.com

A series of stories with TG themes, dedicated to women, and to men who like women, and especially those who like to be women (which includes me!)

 

P is for Penni - First fifteen hooker?

by Bethany Jacques

 

"So Paul. Are you a transvestite?"

Not the sort of question you expect in that sort of situation. Not in the bar after the match, even at the end of the evening when Martin and I had each had about six pints each. But - to be honest, I'd been expecting the question. Just the way the conversation had been going earlier, and the sort of things Martin had said. And the way he looked at me.

"Er - yes."

There. Said it. I'd actually admitted it, for the first time ever to anyone. I'd never even told my wife, or any of the kids, or anyone in my family. But I'd told Martin.

We'd both stopped on in the bar for maybe ten or fifteen minutes after all the others had left. I think Martin and I both knew that our first-team careers were over. We'd had a run of three or four good games after getting drafted into the firsts. That was when the open-side prop, Jeff Holliday, had gone AWOL for a month to go to his brother's wedding in New South Wales, and have a holiday as well. And at the same time the blind-side prop got himself trampled on and laid up again for about a month.

Martin was the natural choice at open-side, of course, he'd always done well in the seconds and in fact had been promoted for a few games in the past year. Quite why the committee decided to pull me out of the thirds instead of Lenny, the seconds blind-side, I didn't know. Except that there was bad blood between the chairman of the selection committee and Lenny, on account of something involving Lenny and the chairman's daughter. But I kept out of that, just relished the chance of playing in the first team.

And Martin and I, even though we'd hardly played together before, hit it off straight away, both as mates and on the field. In our first three games together we really stormed it. We won the first and the third game. OK so we lost the second, but that was against the league leaders. And even in that game Martin scored, after I'd put him through. But in the fourth game, just before Jeff and Lenny were maybe due to return - we were awful. The other team had us sussed. They realised we're neither of us really big enough for the job at that level, and played on it. OK so we're both tall-ish, nearly 6 foot both of us. And a bit muscular, we have similar physiques, but not big enough. Like I said, we were awful. So it was in the bar that evening, when Martin and I both had realised we were going to be back in the seconds or thirds next week, that we were enjoying our last drinking session with the 'big boys' of the first team.

And somehow, I don't remember how, the conversation got onto women, naturally, but then onto drag-queens and cross-dressers and so on. There was of course a natural disdain expressed, but one of the reserves happened to mention that he'd once met a cross-dresser and that he - or maybe she - looked attractive. Martin joined it with some sort of positive comment, and one of the second row said something and so did I.

Anyway, at the end of all this Martin and I found ourselves on our own for a few minutes, which is when he asked me. THE question. And to me amazement I'd not laughed it off, I'd said 'yes'.

"It's just the way you looked when Keith said something about him finding a cross-dresser attractive. Me too."

Now - what did that mean? That Martin liked CDs too? I must have looked puzzled.

"I like to dress up too. Not all the time of course, but it's the vicarious thrill, isn't it?"

I realised Martin was opening up to me, and also that he was feeling relieved to be able to tell someone about it. I just had to say something too.

"Yes it is. Wearing stockings or tights, that sort of thing."

"Oooh yes" was Martin's reply.

And that was that. We got interrupted by one of the other players at that moment and, despite having got through maybe seven or eight pints at that stage, we both realised we'd better change the topic.

Anyway, over the next couple of weeks, when I managed to stay in the second team which meant Martin and I were still playing together, we sneaked a couple of other conversations about our newly-discovered mutual interest. Nothing much, just some sort of acknowledgement of the 'bond' between us. Not that we mentioned anything, of course, to anybody else about it.

And then something came up with out of the blue.

"Martin? You mentioned that next weekend your wife is at her sister's?"

"Er - yes." He said that he remembered me saying something but wasn't too sure exactly what I'd said.

"Well, I'm at a training session Tuesday to Friday. It was going to go on until Saturday but it's been changed. So Chrissie thinks I'm away until Saturday."

He didn't get it. He didn't realise what I was on about.

"So how about I come round to your place Friday evening? We could dress together."

Now that surprised him. And me too, I was suddenly amazed at myself for suggesting it. But I did. We'd mentioned some aspects of our dressing, obviously, in the preceding weeks. And we'd each admitted that we'd done it all solo so for. Pretty similar, really. Dressing at home, in our own secret clothes or our wives', both of us. And the fact that we'd both considered in some way dressing with another 'T-girl', but that in neither case had either of us done anything about it.

"So, Martin. How about it?"

He thought. "I need to think."

"OK then, but I still think it's a good idea. I mean, I'd like to see how you look dressed, and I'd really appreciate your comments on me as well."

He'd thought. Steph was going to be away almost all weekend, from Friday morning. I think, like me, he realised that we may never get a chance like this again "OK."

I rang Martin at work a couple of times in the following week, we sorted out the details or our little deception. And before setting off back on Friday, I inspected the 'femme' clothes I'd got down from the loft before leaving. I'd sneaked out them when I'd left home, packed into a small case ready for Friday evening. I'd even made a couple of small purchases that Friday lunchtime to try to enhance my appearance when dressing at Martin's house.

When I got there at about six, rather nervous about the whole thing, I realised Stephanie hadn't left yet. Martin was home, both cars were in the driveway. I parked up the road and waited. After about ten minutes, just when I was planning to drive home myself, maybe to ring Martin later and abandon the whole thing if Steph had changed her plans, she came out, followed by Martin carrying two cases. He loaded then into the boot, kissed her goodbye, and waved as she left. Then he turned and opened his garage door. We'd agreed that I'd drive my car into it so it was hidden from view. Just in case, VERY unlikely, Chrissie drove down that road and saw my car parked there when I was supposed to be still in London.

I waited, as instructed by Martin, about ten minutes. So that if Steph had forgotten anything, something for her sister or the baby or whatever, and came back there wouldn't be a problem. After that time, he said, she'd be on the motorway, and if there was some sort of problem then she'd ring. She didn't return. I started my car and drove the fifty yards, then swung into Martin's drive and into the garage.

I got out and grabbed my small bag. When I rang the doorbell Martin opened the front door to me almost immediately.

"Hi Paul. You sure about this?"

"I am, are you?"

"Yes. Let's go for it."

We sat and chatted for just a couple of minutes, both of us I think trying to put off the 'evil hour' or something. Then I stood up.

"OK Martin. How are we going to work this?" I asked, picking up my small case. Martin realised what was in it, and I knew the sort of things he would have been getting ready himself in those intervening ten minutes.

"Well, Paul. I'm not sure how these things work. But I thought we should maybe dress separately. You in the spare room, me in the main bedroom. That's where my clothes are now."

So we did just that. We each had a very brief look at each others' clothes while we began to sort things, in a sense to reassure ourselves that this thing was indeed going to go ahead. Then I was alone. In Martin's spare room, with my case of girly stuff. He was going to use the en-suite bathroom, I was to use the main one in the hall.

So I went through the routine. Except this wasn't routine, this was doing the same thing as I had many times before but in a different situation and for a slightly different reason. I showered. I shaved. Twice. I shook scented talc over by body. Then I tackled my lingerie.

Though I'd always regretted - in a sense - not having enough opportunities to dress, being in the closet and all, there was indeed an element of routine to my dressing. Black thong and basque, tied almost as tight as I could, side-padding in my bra to give me some sort of a cleavage. Though I don't have a very hairy chest I have always removed just the few hairs at the top to give my 'boobs' a smooth divide. Then stockings of course, black of course, for the visit to Martin I'd bought a decent pair. Black and sheer, with seams at the back. I sat down at the small dresser in Martin's spare room to go at my make-up. It had taken some years of experience to get the right type and thickness of moisturiser and foundation to look good but not over-done. And I've always totally relished the practice of making up my eyes. It's at that stage that I really begin to feel, in some way or other 'female'.

The eye-making-up went well, that's always one of my main criteria of how good I'm going to feel, and look. I was specially pleased by my mascara, I always feel it's going to be difficult to do the lower lashes well but on that occasion I'd bought a tube of 'X-X' thick mascara which did a particularly good job. And I didn't overdo the eyebrow pencil either, which I know I'm prone to do. Just a little blusher to accent my cheekbones, then my own very favourite deep red lipstick and I was done!

I never really try to see the 'look' at that stage, the short slightly-balding hair would disappoint me, I know. But after donning my most extrovert wig, redhead and definitely 'big hair', together with clip-on long gold earrings I did begin to study my appearance. OK so I know I could never be TOTALLY convincing, never pass in public in daylight and all that sort of thing. But I really did think I was coming as close to looking like a woman as I'd ever be able to.

I always leave my nails until last for practical reasons. OK so I can lift a glass while wearing very long fingernails but the intricacies of dressing while wearing them always have been beyond me. So I slipped on my blouse, a rich pale pink number, very feminine, you might almost say effeminate. But I like it, the ruffles down the front give a suitably tarty impression in revealing something of my cleavage. Then I slid into my skirt and fastened it. Martin and I had discussed the sort of woman we each liked to 'be'. Though my own favourite mode of attire has always been the classy cocktail dress style he preferred the more classic business-woman look, power-dressing, that sort of thing. So we'd compromised, deciding to go for our second-favourite style - tart.

I'd taken along my shortest, slinkiest, tightest and sexiest skirt, a little black number, smooth and shiny, leather-look and in my own opinion just plain gorgeous. There are probably quite a few women in the world who don't look good in a skirt like that, but an awful lot of them do! Rather arrogantly, I like to think I'm one of them. With the skirt in place I was nearing the end of my own preparation. I wondered just how Martin was getting along in the next room. However, I wasn't quite finished.

Since I was to be a tart the choice of shoes was obvious. The pair of classic black patent stilettos with six-inch killer heels remains even today one of my favourite purchases. Especially since I'd found them in a sale in a factory shop. With shoes in place, buckles fastened, I walked round a little to practice though it has to be said that I've never really had a problem there. I LIKE wearing very high heels, unlike Chrissie, and I do realise they can make or break a tranny's appearance.

I was just finishing sticking on my longish deep red fingernails when I heard a slight noise in the hall.

"Penni? Are you ready yet?"

We'd discussed names, or course. I was to be 'Penni' and my companion was to be 'Marti' - with an 'i' as well, Martin had said. OK by me.

"Nearly ready, Marti, just a few minutes" I replied.

"OK then, Penni. I'm just going downstairs."

I heard footfalls on the stairs but I didn't hurry. I knew the adhesive I was using on my nails worked well - if I was careful, so I was. Very careful. OK so it slowed me down, but results here were more important than speed. And finally - this much I can manage in long nails, I slipped on my heavy-ish gold chain, nestling the round pendant just above my boobs. And slid on four or five rings onto assorted fingers. Missing out, of course, the third finger of my left hand.

I stood and looked in the mirror. I picked up my black purse, a shiny soft leather one which nearly matched my skirt, and looked again. OK, not perfect but then I was never ever going to look 'perfect'. But definitely good, maybe even 'very good'. I was ready.

As I've said I'd never done this before, dressed up with another TV that is. My tranny existence had always been totally solo at home with the exception of a few late-night drives and short walks when there was going to be no-one else around. I'd never subjected myself to the scrutiny of another person except someone several yards away, and in the dark. But I was ready to do just that.

I opened the door and made my way carefully down the stairs. Martin had closed the downstairs curtains as we'd ascended earlier since we realised that it would be after dark when we came down again and we'd need the lights on. I could see no-one was in the kitchen from the bottom of the stairs. So I turned and pushed open the door into the lounge.

We stood for a moment facing each other. Then Marti spoke.

"Penni. My dahling! You look gorgeous!"

************** Reality check #1 **************

OK. So just what was going on. A pause for thought is needed. Martin and I - two nearly-middle aged men, reasonably fit and manly and macho and all that stuff - were facing each other, totally tarted up. Martin had gone for white-and-red, though in similar garments to myself. OK, so he was blonde, long flowing blonde locks cascaded over his neck and some way down his back. But with a white top and red skirt, and red high-heels too, almost as high as mine. Like me he liked to show his bra through his top, scarlet red of course.

So there we were. Two guys dressed as women. Did I feel foolish? Hell, no. It may have been the very first time I'd dressed in company but I'd been mentally preparing for this moment ever since we'd stared thinking about it. And Martin's first words, or rather the way he said them, seemed totally the right thing to say, and in the right sort of affected effeminate voice too. It's all in the mind, you see.

********************************************

"Why thank you, Marti, my dear. And may I say you look totally delicious too!"

We each stepped towards the other and air-kissed each other's cheek in a totally sissy way. Both not wanting to spoil our make-up.

"I do like that skirt, Penni. Only a total slut would wear a skirt so short, my dear, clearly you're on the pull, as it were."

"Maybe I am, my dear. Well just have to see. You're not exactly Miss Prim yourself, Marti, not in fishnets and those heels. "

We went on like this for a few minutes, looking at each other and making over-the-top compliments and talking just like ....

************** Reality check #2 **************

Like what? Like two women? Certainly not. In no way would two women have gone on like we did. Thinking back, I think I realise why each of us was behaving in that way. We were just looking for confirmation. Each of us, in wanting desperately to give the impression of being female, was looking at the other - and seeing a woman. As far as I was concerned I may well have been standing in front of a guy in a skirt and make-up but I really didn't see it that way. I wanted to see - and I did see - Marti. A woman. Not a guy in a skirt, a real woman. OK so not a gorgeous sexy girl, the sort of 'look' we'd both seen with some of the TVs and she-men on the Web, but someone who nevertheless could be thought of as a woman. I think we were both seeing that, because each of us wanted to be seen by the other as exactly that. A viable woman.

OK, I know it's weird. But tranny stuff is like that sometimes.

********************************************

Marti invited me to sit on the small sofa with my back to the window, then asked "Can I get you a drink, my dear?"

I smiled at her. "Thank you. A gin-and-tonic maybe?"

She stepped across to the large drinks cabinet and opened the door. "I thought champagne might be more appropriate, Penni. To celebrate."

"Sounds delightful, Marti."

And she poured us each a rather full glass of champagne, then held hers up.

"A toast. To being female, womanhood, to us, Penni."

I repeated her phrase and sipped my champagne.

"So, Penni, please do tell me, what have you been up to lately."

By which I knew she meant Penni, not 'Paul'. As far as that conversation went, Paul didn't exist. She was asking what I'd been doing as Penni, when I'd been able to dress, what I'd worn, what I'd bought and so on. So we spent maybe twenty minutes discussing dressing-up, and make-up, and where we got our shoes, and what sort of lingerie we liked and so on. All the time, Marti and Penni, woman to woman. Sitting there crossing out legs, sliding fingers with attractively-varnished nails across our exposed thighs, both of us slightly thrusting out our 'boobs' and flicking our hair. Just enjoying it.

It was when I told here about my last 'outing' that Marti expressed surprise, and became rather excited.

"You went out? As Penni? You never told me about that."

"Well, it was only a short trip, my dear. And not in the daylight of course. Don't want to excite the men too much, after all. Somebody might get the wrong idea..."

"Ooh how delicious. My clit is getting excited at the thought of it. Where did you go? And more importantly WHAT did you wear?"

I have to say my own 'clitoris' was getting a little excited as I remembered the occasion. Causing me, briefly at least, no small discomfort in my knickers.

"I wore this top, and a blue jacket, and a short-ish blue skirt. Not as short as this one of course."

"And stockings?"

"Of course, stockings, and my other high heels. They're black too but not quite such a high heel. Maybe 4 inches."

"And what happened?"

So I recounted to Marti the whole tale, of my trip out when I'd been on my own one evening. The vicarious danger of going out to my car and driving off while wearing such an outfit. And about going to the ATM of a supermarket the other side of town, a fairly traditional tranny activity. It had turned into my one 'close encounter' with a rather old-ish gentleman who'd appeared out of nowhere and stood behind me for a couple of minutes at the machine.

"And - he didn't - come onto you?"

"No way, Marti dear. I didn't give him a chance. Though I like to think he got a little aroused standing behind me and staring at my miniskirt and heels."

"Ooh Penni, you tramp, you. I think I'd have died. Unless of course he'd but a hand up my skirt....!

"Marti! You wicked girl. Is that all you think men are good for?"

"Well, maybe not just for that. I think we deserve another drink, don't you?" And she topped up our champagne glasses again. Her second, my third I think.

I stood for a moment peering out of the gap in the middle of the lounge curtains, confident in the knowledge that the room faced towards the back garden. Anyone able to see that window would be at least two gardens-length away and looking through the hedge I'd noticed earlier. I pulled the curtains wider open just a little.

"You're really into this, Penni, aren't you? Showing yourself off I mean."

So I told her about my only other 'risky' outing, before the ATM event, when I'd parked in a local park and walked about twenty yards from the car to sit at a picnic table there. And the car which had driven past and couldn't have failed to notice me in the headlights, sitting there with a long cigarette in my red-taloned fingers with my short skirt pulled up to reveal my stocking tops.

"And if he'd stopped, Penni, what would you have done?"

"I'd probably have run, Marti, back to the car and driven off at high speed!"

"I bet you would" she said. And then stopped, as if she'd just decided not to continue. I looked at her, sitting facing me, her legs crossed to reveal fishnet-clad thighs almost as I'd been sat on that evening. She moved a hand up to slide the hem of her skirt up just a little.

"You could have stopped there and teased him, you know. I bet you look really convincing, at night I mean. You could have had fun with him."

I smiled. She opened her mouth, then stopped again.

"What is it, Marti?"

"Do you want to go out?"

"Out? Now?"

"Yes, Penni my dear. I could drive you, I think you've maybe had too much champagne. But I could drive, if I'm careful."

I paused for a moment. Obviously. This hadn't been on the agenda but - the thought was appealing. And I had just finished my third glass of champagne. I wasn't thinking totally logically.

"It could be fun."

I could see Marti was thrilled at the thought. She'd said that she'd never actually been further than three yards outside the back door while 'en femme'. The thought of going somewhere public probably had occurred to her before but she really hadn't had the chances I had. I smiled at her again.

"Hang on a moment, dear. I need to get my coat."

I don't quite why I'd taken that coat with me when the whole intention had been to dress and to stay in the comparative safety of Marti's house. But I had. It was just a blazer-style jacket. Actually it is Chrissie's though I didn't tell Marti that. Indeed I rather think the jacket Marti had chosen to wear was maybe Stephanie's. But we were both too nervous, too excited, to worry about things like that.

"OK Penni. We should be OK, I think, it's quite dark by now. Shall I go first?"

I followed her to her car, slipping in quickly in true mini-skirt-wearing style, bum first and then swing your legs in. She started the car and reversed out quickly. I reached across and put a hand on her knee.

"Take it easy, Marti. You have had a couple of drinks, you know. You don't want to get stopped by the police, do you?"

She did drive rather steadily, and carefully, along and out of her street and then turned left towards the motorway.

"How about Frankley Services?"

"What!?"

"The motorway service station. It's only about four miles. There won't be many people there this time of night, even at a weekend. You can have a little walk there. I'll just sit in the car and watch. It'll be fun to see if anyone notices."

I didn't have time to object, by the time she'd finished saying that she was turning onto the access slip-road, and we were heading along the M5.

"My god, Penni. I never realised this would be such a buzz" she exclaimed as we rolled along at about fifty in the inside lane. Cars were passing us but nobody was looking, probably all too intent on getting home for the weekend.

And again, very quickly, Marti was pulling off the motorway and heading towards the car parking area. At a guess there might have been twenty cars there, all obviously near the far end of the car park close to the café. Marti pulled in a few yards behind the furthest from the entrance.

"OK Penni. Go and strut your stuff."

I paused. Of course I was going to. Any TV would have jumped at that chance, specially one so usually in the closet as me. But I didn't go straight away.

"All right then, Marti my darling. But you too."

I actually think she'd been expecting me to say that. She feigned surprise but I think somehow she'd gained some confidence from my tales of my own slightly dangerous exploits during her own brief drive.

"Come on, Marti. You know you really want to."

She just looked across at me. "Of course I bloody do!"

"Now then, my dear. Language!"

So we both got out. We knew we weren't going far, in no way would we dare actually go into the entrance to the café and the small shops. It was too well lit for that. So we just walked together, not too quickly, towards the entrance. In fact we couldn't have walked quickly, both our skirts were far too tight for that. As we neared the end of the row of cars we both knew that the brief outing had to come to a close.

"Penni. This is fantastic. OK, so we haven't got people around but it's just a lovely thing to do. And - that thing I've read about - the breeze on your legs, and the walking in tight skirts. It really is a gorgeous feeling. Pity we can't go to the Ladies'. "

"Yes, shame, my dear. I need to soon, after all that champagne. But - no, not here. Come on, Marti, we'd better go."

So we turned and retraced our steps. I hadn't noticed, but another car, a van actually, had pulled into the gap between Marti's car and the others. We were going to have to pass it to get to her car. There was nothing for it. As we approached the van the door opened - and a man got out! And another guy came round the front, from the passenger door, to join him.

"Penni..."

I spoke quietly. "Marti, don't worry, just keep walking."

So we did. We didn't really have a choice. And as we approached them, maybe ten yards or so from Marti's car - they just stood there. The two of them blocking our way. Marti had seemed a little afraid a moment earlier, well, suddenly I was too.

"Evening, Ladies."

I didn't speak. Neither did Marti. We just stood there. I looked past them at their van, at the legend on the side. 'Midlands Heavy Lifters'. They were clearly some sort of building workers and to be honest they looked it. Probably three or four inches taller than me, well, one of them was, the other was a little shorter. Though of course I stood taller, in those heels I did anyway. They were both - broad. Well-built. Not exactly fat but most definitely well-built. I turned to glance at Marti. The guy who'd just spoken moved a little towards me, reaching out a hand. And he didn't want to shake hands either! I shivered, again.

"Well, what do we have here? Ladies, I said, maybe not so ladylike. I think I know what you're here for. Looking like that, I mean. Quiet, aren't you? What about it, girls?" He turned round to speak to his friend. "Are you up for this, Pete? Looks like we've got a couple of gorgeous birds here. Ready for a couple of good fuckings if you ask me."

Birds? BIRDS? I hadn't heard that word used, not in that context at least, for decades at least. And the first man's hand reached me, just began to stroke my waist, to move round to grab my bum. Pete obviously was 'up for it', he began to move towards Marti.

Quite how we managed to move so quickly in such heels I'm not too sure. So I can walk OK in them, I like to feel that the combined effect of six-inch heels and tight skirt forces me to walk with a somewhat feminine gait. But I'd never run in them before. Within only a few seconds we'd made it back into Marti's car and slammed the doors, and Marti had put down the lock button thing on her door. Thankfully, partly in case we needed some sort of quick getaway and also because there hadn't been anyone around, Marti hadn't locked her doors.

And, thanks as well to whoever came up with central locking. I didn't need to say it, but I did anyway.

"Drive, Marti! Get us out of here!"

In almost one movement Marti had started the ignition, slammed into reverse, and begun to back out. Very luckily there was no-one coming in behind us, she really didn't look. The gears crunched a little as she shifted, and we shot forward, towards the lit entrance to the café. Even though the car screeched as she swung round and towards the exit, there was no-one around to appreciate her driving.

"OK Marti, we're clear. Slow down. Slow down!"

She did. Neither of us had said a word during our brief encounter. It really had been so scary but the first thing Marti said voiced my own feelings at that moment. Not fear. Not even relief. Just delight. Sheer delight.

"Penni. We did it. They don't know. They wanted - us! They wanted to fuck us!!"

And she was right. I'd caught a quick glimpse of Pete's face in the headlights just as Marti had swung away. He actually looked - disappointed. And even that very brief look had been genuine. He'd fancied Marti, I think the other guy had liked the look of me. They had wanted the two women, the two tarts they thought they'd met.

All the way home we just giggled, slightly hysterically since the relief did kick in, but also with sheer pleasure at being taken for 'Ladies of the Night'. Which of course we were. We got back a bit more quickly because the route from the next junction was slightly shorter and because Marti drove slightly faster. Still safely though, within the speed limits. One 'encounter' was enough for one evening, again we certainly didn't want to get stopped for speeding or anything like that.

As we got into Marti's hall she reached past me to do the lock again. We just stood there for a moment, close together in the semi-darkness of the light from the other end of the passage-way, holding hands gently. I spoke first. I didn't say much.

"Well?"

Marti looked at me. "Penni. That was WONDERFUL. I never realised - wow! I mean, even before we met those two, it was so good to be out and about, in a way. And - when they started to..."

She stopped, really unable to continue. She squeezed my hand a little more tightly. I could smell her perfume. I shivered with the thrill. I have to admit that, even though neither of us had even spoken, even though the whole encounter hadn't been more than thirty seconds, I'd been excited too. It was the experience of not being 'read' from quite close up even though it had been in the dark.

"Penni. I was excited. And aroused. I mean, I've had fantasies before, of course, you know the sort of thing."

I did. Most trannies do, I think.

"And in a way I wanted something to happen, even though I know it really couldn't have, could it?"

I felt just the same. But then Marti surprised me.

"But really Penni, I mean, in so many ways I feel like an ordinary woman, I mean, the dressing and the make-up, and getting excited by those men. But...."

Something important was coming, I could tell. Important to Marti, anyway.

".... in another way I might not have liked it. Because - well - maybe I'm really a lesbian."

She slipped her right hand from my left and moved it up towards my face, beginning to stroke my cheek. I noticed a very small tear begin to form in the corner of her eye. I put my hand on hers again and squeezed again. And I moved in closer to gently place my red lips on hers.

There were two sharp intakes of breath. And we kissed again, a little harder this time but still more of a caress than any sort of full-bodied snog. I felt Marti's tongue begin to push between my lips. I opened my mouth to allow her in, then pulled away a little.

I slid my hands round her waist, pulling her close to me. "Marti, my darling. I feel the same way too."

We kissed a little more. Not harder, not more aggressively, just more. That first experience of lesbian affection, my own red lips sliding gently across Marti's own smooth creamy luscious mouth, well, it was a revelation. And my 'clit' knew it! The response down between my legs was rapid, and substantial. I had to break off our embrace. I spoke quietly.

"Marti, please, we have to stop." She looked disappointed. "Just for a moment, my thong is getting very uncomfortable."

"Christ, mine is too, darling. Come on, let's finish that bottle, shall we?"

And we did. After slightly adjusting our undergarments we sat down on the floor in front of the sofa and re-kindled our growing desire.

"Penni, I want to feel you, to explore you, to give you pleasure. Please, kiss me again."

We did a lot of kissing that evening. In between the necking and the groping we did manage to finish off the champagne, and to make a large hole in a bottle of white wine too. And to slowly, gently and carefully begin to undress each other. Just begin, that is, to unpeel each other's top and skirt, we both felt comfortable caressing and being caressed while wearing our feminine lingerie. Eventually, after about two hours foreplay where neither of us got any further than stroking the other's 'clit' through our silky-smooth thongs, I decided we should move on. I'd heard that lesbians do like extended fingering and foreplay before actually making love. What Marti and I did that night only convinced me that the word 'lesbian' isn't too far off an accurate description of both our sexualities.

"Marti. I think we should maybe go into a bedroom."

To be honest, thick-ish carpet notwithstanding, the lounge floor was getting a bit uncomfortable by then. Marti led me up to the main bedroom. I'd only been in there briefly before, it really wasn't too large but I think the en-suite bathroom had reduced the floor-space to an extent. But that didn't matter. The important feature was there. The double bed.

Marti lay on the bed, stretching out her long fishnet-clad legs towards me, holding out her hand invitingly. I lay down beside her and we kissed briefly once more. Then I moved towards what we both knew by now was going to be, in more ways than one, the climax of the evening's fun. I slowly pulled down her red thong. I stroked it with my fingers and leaned over to kiss it. Then I took the cock-head in my mouth. And as I did so I could feel her gorgeous lips enveloping mine.

"Penni darling, you really do have a beautiful cock."

********************** Reality check 3 ************************

Hang on a moment. I know what you're thinking. Lesbians? Lesbians my eye. This is just two guys doing 69 on each other. Two gay guys, albeit tarted up in effeminate clothes, doing plain oral sex. Well, it wasn't like that.

It was not just that the two men we'd met had actually mistaken us for women, OK so that had been a factor. Nor was it just the alcohol, though doubtless that had removed some inhibitions. It was the fact that, booze-fuddled and confused I may have been, I was starting out on a sexual adventure with a woman. With Marti. With a woman like no other I'd met before, a woman with a cock. Or a clit. Whatever you want to call it.

The fact remains that it was there, and I was teasing it and kissing it and fondling it and kissing it for nearly half an hour. And, though of course I was fully aware of the real truth of what was happening, I was also with the other half of my mind participating in the fantasy of sucking off a woman with a cock. Marti. My Marti, the woman who'd started to undress me, and who was even then sucking on my own cock. Marti, my lesbian lover

OK then. It was two gay guys.

************************************************************

It really was such a gentle and slow activity. Neither of us wanted to speed it up, the total experience was so loving. We took our time but eventually just plain lust got the better of us. Both of us.

I noticed first. It sort-of crept up on me. I was fingering Marti's hole with one hand and enjoying myself caressing her high heels and stroking her stockings with the other when I realised. I broke off, briefly.

"Marti, my darling. I've just got to cum."

When she heard me say that, something was released in Marti herself. I saw her cock, right there in front of me. I wasn't even sucking it at the time, it jumped. Then maybe five seconds later it did it again. Then quite quickly, again.

"Streuth, Penni, get my cock between those gorgeous lips of yours, my darling. I'm cumming very soon indeed - ooooh YES!"

I managed to slide my lips over it just in time. It started bucking and jumping even faster, I could feel her sucking on me, and sliding a finger up and down in my 'cunt'.

"Oooooooooh mmmmmmmmm!!" was all I could murmur as, with incredible timing considering what we'd been through the previous hour or so, my own cock began to spurt in between Marti's rich red lips at almost exactly the same moment as hers did in mine. We groaned, we moaned. We sucked, we fondled. And for maybe half a minute, most definitely the longest ejaculation I'd experienced in my entire life, we pumped.

My mouth just couldn't take everything my girlfriend was producing, her cum swelled up and spilled out even as I tried to swallow as much as I could. It was a glorious moment, made even better by the simultaneity of my own cumming in her mouth. Basically she had trouble swallowing too. And after we collapsed in total exhaustion, after I managed to lift myself onto my elbows and swivel round to kiss her again, we just wallowed in semen as we French-kissed. I sat up and looked at my lover.

"Marti. You look knackered."

And what was the first thing she said? "Is my make-up all right?"

I caressed her in my arms. We kissed and cuddled and fondled more, both satisfied, both sated, both - just happy! We both slept, exhausted. Marti must have got up first. As I myself stirred I could smell - bacon. I looked round, Marti's skirt was on the floor where we'd left her clothes the previous night. Her shoes were there too, and her stockings. And her wig. That was the main indicator. I knew she only had the one wig. So if that was there, it wasn't Marti I could hear down in the kitchen rattling around. It was Martin.

I considered, just for a moment. I'd not seen my own appearance, my own make-up. But I had seen hers the night before just after our energetic and rather messy love-making. Hers, Marti's I mean. Mine probably looked as bad as hers had. So I couldn't just get up and shove some clothes on, that wouldn't do. Even if I couldn't look anything like as good a woman in the daylight, I'd have to try. That meant half an hour maybe in the room next door, and in the bathroom, cleaning, re-applying, and so on. It would take a long time, and without stripping and starting again I knew I wouldn't do as good a job as the night before. Nothing like.

If I'd had the time I might have done that. Refreshed myself and gone downstairs - to meet Martin. Penni and Martin, together, there was a thought. But no. It couldn't be done really. We were playing Stratford seconds that afternoon, even more excitement and exertion that morning could have a deleterious effect on the quality of our game. I'd stayed in the seconds and wanted to keep my place. Chrissie was expecting me to dash in after driving back to pick up my rugby kit and go straight out again. And of course be back quite late after the post-match drinking session.

Penni and Martin just wouldn't work. But - there was an alternative. I got up and stripped, cleansed my face and peeled my nails off, showered, dressed, and packed away all my femme clothes in the case. And began to tidy up Marti's clothes. Yes, there was an alternative.

Martin turned round to look at me as I entered the kitchen.

"Oh. Shame. Morning, Paul. I was just wondering who was going to come down. Breakfast is nearly ready."

"Thanks. Sorry, I did think about it but really there's things to do this morning. And Chrissie's expecting me before the game. But, Martin, am I right, Steph is due back tomorrow?"

"Er - yes, sure."

I just looked at him and grinned.

"So, after the game, tonight, how about you just have a swift half and come back here? And I'll have a pint maybe and come on about half an hour later?"

"Er - yes?" He was puzzled. I grinned again, and then he realised what I was on about.

"I'd really like to fuck Marti. Do you think she could be ready by then?"

It was Martin's turn to grin.

"Oh - YES!!"

 

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