My Own Body Denial

Watching her from across the bar room was like watching something magical in a dingy, real world. Her hair was red like rubies, catching the light and shining. Her body moved to the beat of the music with a liquid ease I envied. My eyes hungrily traced the curves of her body, following her milky arms as they swayed, making out the shape of her ankles as she rocked in her heels. She was gorgeous, a goddess, and suddenly I felt very self-conscious.

I adjusted the cufflinks on my sleeves and turned back to the bar, raising my glass to drink. The whiskey burns going down in a way I've come to love. The binder on my chest felt unusually constricting, the wool of my jacket, itchy. The weight of the packing cock between my legs felt unnatural, and this unnerved me—I was not comfortable in my own body, and now this one that I had built for myself was rebelling against me?

I took another drink from my cup, the ice clinking against the glass. Two swallows this time. They call this stuff "liquid courage" and I definitely need some.

Am I passing?

I don't have much time to consider it further. The fire dancer is suddenly at my side, leaning against the polished wooden bar and ordering a drink from the wench. I try to be inconspicuous as I study her sidelong, but I can taste her in the air, see the sheen of sweat on her skin, feel her heat next to me. My pulse quickens, but I manage to control my breathing.

"Let me get that for you," I said to her as the wench slid a bottle of beer in her direction. I kept my voice low, a little worried that I don't sound much like a man at all. She didn't seem to notice, though—I get a flash of white as she smiles down to me.

"Thanks," she purrs to me. "I saw you watching me dance."

Oh, shit.

"I hope I wasn't staring."

Or drooling.

"You were... maybe, a little." Her smile didn't falter. She brought the long-necked bottle to her lips and I know I stare as she takes a sip. Her painted lips cradled the tip and it was everything I could do not to imagine that perfect mouth around my cock. She set the bottle down on the bar and I noticed the smirk before I looked away, damning myself for blushing.

"What's your name?" she asked. Was she still standing there? I couldn't believe it. I looked back over to her, my fingertips playing on the rim of my glass. Her eyes were the most stunning shade of green.

"Jaq." I hesitated a moment before offering her my hand. I hoped it wasn't cold or sweaty and I hoped against hope that she wouldn't notice that it wasn't quite a man's hand. She clasped it in her own, warmth radiating from her grasp.

"Nice to meet you, Jaq," she said. "I'm Ashleigh."

I couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say.

"Want to dance with me?"

"I-I unfortunately am not much of a dancer."

Damn it, I stammered.

"Two left feet. But you are an enchantress, Ashleigh. I'd love to watch you dance again."

She pouted, an expression that was absolutely sinful on her face. The way her lower lip stuck out begged to be bitten. I licked my lips.

"Well," she whispered, leaning in closer, "if your place isn't nearby, mine is... I'd be happy to dance for you there."

I don't want to just fuck you,

I was thinking,

I want to worship you.

But I said, "I'd love to see that."

We finished our drinks, making small talk. She put her hand on my thigh, close to my loins, and I felt my clit—my little dick—twitch in anticipation. As we stood to leave, I tipped the 'tender and put my hat on, the brim low over my eyes. We stepped out of the tavern and she slid her hand into the crook of my arm, gently leading the way. I was intoxicated by her nearness, by how soft her skin was, the smell of her and the taste of her on the air. I reminded myself to stay composed. Be a gentleman.

We walked through the cobblestone streets that way. I can't describe how right it felt to have such a gorgeous thing attached to me.

When we got to her apartment, my mouth was dry and my heart was pounding in my chest. This was not going to be easy. I wondered what she'd do, how could I distract her? It was dark inside and I relied on her guidance again. In the bedroom she flipped on the light. The décor was feminine, but not too strong. Rich colors and heavy fabrics.

Ashleigh moved away from me on silent feet, kicking her heels off. Even without them, she was still taller than me. I tried to look casual, cool, sitting on the edge of the bed, but the truth was that my knees were shaking and it was sit down or fall down. She spun back around, her skirt flaring out, showing more of those legs. They went on and on. I had this almost painful urge to kiss her ankles. She was a natural dancer, graceful and delicate, heartbreaking. I forgot that there was no music—I forgot that this was a foreign place, and a strange girl—here, she was my goddess and she was dancing just for me.

Her steps were simple, not even seductive. She was just being herself, just getting relaxed under the blatant scrutiny of a stranger. I unbuttoned my shirt, just a couple buttons—can't show off the binder. It was getting hot. I was super conscious of the way the silicone strap-on clung to my skin as my temperature rose. The feeling of it against my thigh was making me wetter.

Ashleigh's dance had slowed and she tip-toed closer to me. I nearly scrambled backwards as she crouched before me and slid a sure hand to my hard-on. I hoped my fear—the fear that she would discover that that cock was not of my own flesh—was not visible in my eyes. I choked down the panic and let my hips rise beneath her touch, which was the next strongest urge, and one I felt was appropriate.

"I want to suck your dick," she said, her fingers moving toward the zipper. I grabbed her hand, lifting it to my lips.

"Let me give you a kiss," I said, brave enough to lean forward and slip my free hand beneath her skirt, tracing the inside of her thigh upward.

She tilted her head at me, coy. "Don't like it when a girl goes down on you, pretty boy?" she asked.

"I prefer to give pleasure. Ladies first."

My hand was frozen on the gentle curve of her thigh just before it dips in, before it bows to her flower. I could feel the heat of her already. I could smell her sex and it made me want her, my mouth watering. I swallowed.

Ashleigh didn't object. She stood before me, waiting, a finger idly tracing the brim of my hat before taking it off and tossing it to the side. I glanced up at her and in the dim light of the bedroom she looked divine. I let my hand rise, my knuckles brush against her panties. Silk and lace.

I felt myself getting braver, filling out in my masculinity. I'm just me, and I am whoever I want me to be.

Her legs parted and she leaned down a bit, her head resting on mine. Her sweet perfume was intoxicating me and I had to close my eyes to keep from staring down the front of her dress. My cock was already hard and I had a flash of her pinned beneath me, me inside her, taking her. I pushed the thought aside as I nudged against her vulva.

Ashleigh made a soft, approving sound.

I want you on my cock,

I didn't say.

I want to make you come until it hurts.

She was burning up between her legs, and the way her hips slowly moved towards me as she straightened, wrapping her arms around me, gave me permission. I slipped a finger beneath the elastic of her panties and, with my eyes still closed, slid my forefinger inside her. She was just getting wet, not yet aroused enough to dampen her underwear, as I surely was. Ashleigh put a hand on my chest and pushed me gently back, and I let her, but I kept my finger crooked inside of her and pulled her with me.

"Come here," I growled. She smiled down at me, setting her knees on either side of my abdomen. I kept her high enough on my torso so that she couldn't grind against my hips—a motion that I would find too stimulating and I didn't want to know what it might make me do.

I slid my finger deeper inside of her, eliciting a little gasp from her before adding another. She rested her hands on my chest and I feared for a second that she'd feel my binder, but she didn't pause. I was up to my knuckles and I could feel her juice dripping down my hand.

"Rub my clit," she said, her voice husky. Ashleigh's eyes were shining emeralds as I stared up into them, shifting my hand back and bending my wrist uncomfortably so I could conform to her request. At the slightest touch, she was on fire—her hips bucked and she ground down against me, the pain in my squashed hand forgotten at hearing her pleasure, at feeling it, at knowing I was going to make her come.

She hesitated, her fingers curling, digging into me. I heard her catch her breath, a whisper, "Ah, God..." and I felt her shudder over me. Her back arched and she brought her mouth to my neck, her soft, almost desperate-sounding cries urging me further. Giving me courage. I bucked my hips under her, pressing on her side to flip her over. She was still coming as I lied her on her back and positioned myself, crouching, between her legs.

I relieved her of my slick fingers and smoothly removed her panties. They were red and damp, saturated with her. I couldn't wait to taste her.

I could see everything, even with just the light from a single yellow bulb, heavily shaded. Her lips were thick and puffy, the insides poking out and glistening with her ambrosia. I slipped my thumb upwards along the slit and she lifted her hips as I found that sensitive little nub, rubbing in slow circles. I let my eyes travel over the topography of her body before me. Ashleigh was watching me, her heavy-lidded gaze almost accusing, like I was torturing her. She licked her lips and swallowed, snaking a hand down between her legs, hiking up her skirt further.

She opened herself for me, exposing the insides of her sex. I looked—I couldn't help it.

"Fuck me," she whispered. My head jerked up. "Please, I want to feel your cock..."

I wanted to. So. Badly.

Instead, I took advantage of the opening in a different manner. I leaned forward, sliding my hands under her rear, and licked with a wide, flat tongue. She stretched, gasped, twisted. She tasted delicious, she tasted like a woman. Like sweet peaches and tangy apples and salt. I slid her back on the bed and wiggled my tongue inside her, I nibbled her thighs, I sucked on her clit. Her legs squeezed my head and held me in place—as if I'd ever move, as if I'd ever try to escape.

Her second orgasm took me by surprise, and by the sound of it, she was surprised, too. Her hands were in my hair, holding me steady, pulling my locks as she ground against my face. She said some words in a language I didn't understand, but it was more sexy like that, that she'd come so good that she wasn't speaking the common tongue anymore. I lapped at her like she was sustaining me, like she was the air I needed to breathe.

As Ashleigh came down from her climax, her fingers loosened on my skull and I slowly pulled away, licking my lips. I wiped at my face with my sleeve; I was dripping with evidence.

My borrowed afterglow was cut viciously short.

She sat up quickly, both of her hands grasping at my shirt. In her attempt to pull me over her, Ashleigh popped the next button off my shirt, and the collar fell open enough to reveal the thick cloth of the binder.

She paused, staring at my wrapped chest, her mind processing. "What is... What are you wearing?"

My jaw was slack. I couldn't come up with an excuse fast enough. She looked back up to my face, piecing it together, surely. Small frame, not too boxy, soft, almost feminine voice, no facial hair... all of the faults that kept me securely female, even when I wanted and tried so desperately to be something else.

Ashleigh shoved me away, hard. I lost my balance and fell off the bed, biting my tongue. I felt the blood welling up in my mouth and I tried, so very hard, not to cry, not to be sad, not to be angry.

"Get out," she said, very quietly at first. I couldn't move, I felt pinned in place. My heart was heavy as a lead stone in my chest. My ears were ringing.

Really,

I thought,

what did I expect?

Dimly, I became aware that she was yelling at me. Screaming at me to leave. I stood up and buttoned up my shirt the best I could with shaky hands and missing buttons. I realized I should leave before she started throwing things.

I don't remember leaving, but I found myself on the street, walking briskly home. I forgot my hat. I could buy another. Though I probably shouldn't go back to that bar.

When had I withdrawn so far into myself, when had I become so numb?

My apartment was cold, dark. I didn't need the light to find my way to the bedroom. I pulled off my clothes and fell into bed, still wearing the binder, still strapped onto my cock. It jut obscenely into the air from my hips and I squinted down at it, making out the shape in the darkness. I was still wet, still so hungry. My hand leisurely stroked the dildo twice, before I started to cry.