Rhiannon A Story Of Being A Girl

The streets she frequented were the seedy side of Castro, not that there was a not-so-seedy side of Castro, but San Francisco never the less held it’s charm. She was a charmer. Rhiannon was her street name. She had lifted the name from that Stevie Nicks song and promised long ago that he would use it if he ever became a she. Well, he was as close to being a she as it could get without really having a pussy. Such a crude word! Rhiannon could hear the voice of her mother now, hushing the small child, the boy that always snuck into her room to wear her oversized stockings, no matter how ridiculous triple Queen sized panty hose in dark nude color looked on an eight year old boy.

The flickering neon light on the side of Molly’s Bar on Polk Street had finally burnt out. “Live Nude Gurls”, cleverly spelled wrong to charm the tourists and the pleasure seekers who came through here to catch a glimpse of the Polk Street drag queens and trannies that walked the streets calling out like ballyhoo at a sideshow circus. Rhiannon chose to stay sweet about it. Picking up Johns was an easy sport, if you wanted to call it that. She tossed her carefully curled dark brown hair over her left shoulder and adjusted her new black skirt and stockings. Rhiannon was lucky in being a small enough man to fit regular sized women’s clothing. The hassle of finding oversized high heels or specialty dresses was not one that she had to deal with. Rhiannon was petite, slender and looked like a lady...well, a slightly trashy one.

She was adjusting the zipper on her knee high Vercace knock off boots (Payless Shoe Source- $22) when she heard whistles and catcalls. Looking up with large blue eyes, Rhiannon beheld in front of her, a long black limousine with smoked windows. The other kids on the street were making whooping noises and lewd gestures. The inhabitant of the limousine had obviously been interested in Rhiannon. She straightened up and automatically took a feline, graceful pose next to the street lamp, feeling like a 19th century whore in an old fashioned movie.

A window rolled slowly down and in the shadow of the car, all Rhiannon could see was a black gloved hand, and the crisp, clean fold of a $100 bill. The hand extended the bill to her and as she reached to take it, the door opened. She did not hesitate, but got in quickly and took the money from the hand. As she looked at the face of the man who picked her up, the limousine sped away. Rhiannon’s eyes widened. The face was beautiful...androgynous and beautiful. The palest of skin, rose colored lips, full and sensuous, dark blue eyes like sea foam and high cheekbones. The hair was the most platinum blonde Rhiannon had ever seen. The man was tall, and somehow Rhiannon could tell this even as he sat down. The body slender and athletic covered by a gray cashmere sweater and black jacket. Before Rhiannon could say anything, the man lit up a cigar and gracefully puffed in the sweet smelling smoke,

“I’m Rhiannon.” She said lamely, regretting speaking at all. The beautiful man simply reached into a small cabinet of the car and extracted a Cognac glass, pouring fine liquor into the strangely shaped glass. He gave the glass to Rhiannon and she sipped the fiery liquid, saying thank you.

“What’s your name?” Rhiannon asked.

There was no answer. Only a smile, a beautiful, devastatingly gorgeous smile and a slight tilt of the head, blond locks falling into dark blue pools of eyes.

“I see. Okay, no names then...well, where are we going?”

No answer still, just a look away and a graceful and gloved hand splayed over Rhiannon’s knee and thigh. She tried to breathe.

Soon, they were in the Presidio and Rhiannon opened her mouth again,

“Do you live here?”

Another smile and this time there was a simple order following,

“Shut up.”

Okay.

The limousine stopped in the long driveway of a beautiful Victorian. The door opened and the graceful and beautiful creature of a man stepped out first, followed by Rhiannon. She was overwhelmed. This place was a mansion, absolutely stunning. The man silently led her into the house and shut the door behind them. A middle-aged servant started a fire to warm the house. Another servant took Rhiannon’s coat and served her a cup of steaming hot tea. She sipped at the tea and watched her client stroll near the fireplace. The man made the-all knowing gesture of “Come here.” Rhiannon complied easily, trying to walk gracefully in his presence.

“Show me your cock.” The man said, a lilting European accent making his voice graceful, and cultured. The words shocked Rhiannon, coming from such a beautiful mouth but it was wildly sexy.

Rhiannon slowly lifted the black skirt until the white cloth of the garment that held his penis between his legs, called a Gender Bender, was showing. Blue eyes cast on him, a gloved hand reached to stroke him. The feeling of leather gloves against his cock and balls excited him. He started to get hard and his cock strained against the restricting garment. He reached around to unfasten the garment and his penis sprang free, bouncing just a little with his erection. The gloved hand stroked him, squeezing the tip of his cock and spreading the pearl of milky fluid all the way down to the base. Rhiannon moaned a little, wondering what this eccentric beauty wanted her to do.

“What can I do to please you?” she asked breathlessly. Her tormentor stood up then and bent Rhiannon over gracefully on the arm of a chair covered in thick velvet. Rhiannon felt tingles of pleasure on her back as this beautiful man brushed cashmere over her skin. Rhiannon turned to look at her lover but the man straightened her face so that she could only look at the wall in front of her and the painting of a naked sea nymph. There was a large mirror on the side, and she hoped she could peak at it and watch herself as they made love, or rather watch this glorious creature with golden hair. She wondered what his naked body looked like. Was there hair on his chest? Was it as light gold as the hair on his head? She wondered the size of his cock and it gave her a shiver of pleasure.

It was clear though, that her mysterious lover did not want her to look, and she obliged, staring at the painting instead, worried this man could get angry and send her away. Gloved hands caressed her narrow hips and up along her slender chest. She wore no padding for a bra, and was happy being flat chested. She found that many Johns didn’t mind and found it sexy. The leather hands pinched the nipples that were already pebbled on her chest. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling of this exquisite man. She heard a zipper, the familiar soft sounds of clothing being shed, and something that sounded like a latch...a belt probably.

And then the cold touch of liquid against her asshole...on slick gloved leather fingers. The fingers spread the oil onto the most secret of openings and prepared her there with swift efficiency. Rhiannon tried not to squirm with anticipation, and then she felt the tip of a hard, fleshy cock against her buttocks. Hands held her hips as the cock pushed into her, large and filling. She rocked against it, loving the texture of it, and the iron hardness. She felt the soft thatch of hair at the man’s groin, not as wiry as most of the men she had “entertained.” The skin was soft, the cock rock hard and this man was rocking into her, pushing her up on the balls of her feet and arching her back to take more of his inches. A gloved hand reached beneath to cup Rhiannon’s taut testicles and massage them softly with talented fingers. Rhiannon felt as if she might collapse with the pleasure of it.

She was going to come soon, probably on this beautiful velvet chair but none of that mattered right now...she just needed to come. Rhiannon turned to the side then, risking taking a glance at the man in the mirror before it all ended. She instantly lost her balance, but leather covered hands held her hips and kept her from falling. Rhiannon struggled to breathe, and thought for sure her eyes were tricking her. There in the mirror, was the body and frame of a beautiful woman...tall and slender with small, but perfectly rounded breasts, long legs and graceful lines to her body...and strapped carefully at her hips was the intricate workings of a fake cock, currently being pumped into Rhiannon’s anus at a deafening speed and fever, behind a golden thatch of quite womanly pubic hair.

A tiny jewel even pierced the woman’s navel with a bright silvery glimmer. And in seconds, in delirium, Rhiannon came. The hot, sticky fluid spurting over her own hand as Rhiannon feared ruining the furniture. Still impaled on this...woman’s cock...Rhiannon straightened up, in shock and waited for the woman to remove the thing. She did so and unstrapped the device quickly and gracefully, simply dropping it to the floor near the fire and sauntering to a Victorian chaise to stretch out lazily on it, displaying her perfect body, like that of a Goddess.

“You...are a woman...” Rhiannon mused aloud.

“Very observant...come here, pretty one.”

Rhiannon, entranced with this enigma of a creature, obeyed and went to her, hand sticky with fresh cum. To Rhiannon’s surprise, the blonde raised Rhiannon’s hand to her mouth and began to slowly lick the sticky cream from Rhiannon’s fingers.

“My name is Christine...you can call me Chris, if you like.”