Jo, T-Girl Goddess! Ch. 02

The Virgin

Jo, T-Girl Goddess, Book 2

(Years ago I watched an adult movie which featured the late Camilla De Castro. I found the way she and her partner made love to each other very erotic. She was simply gorgeous and is the inspiration for my character, Jo, T-Girl Goddess!)

Jo chuckled as the man in the sharp business suit looked hastily away when she looked up and caught him staring at her legs, again. Her 'Rupaul' legs as men with a history of watching men dressed as women called them, or her 'Naomi' legs as the 'straighter' ones told her.

Both divas had fabulous legs; Jo didn't at all mind being compared to some of the best pins in the celebrity world.

She had never seen the man in the bar before. She would have remembered someone who had stuck out like a sore thumb as he did.

If he had accidentally wandered into The Pink Panther Bar thinking, as some people did, that it was a reference to the movie, he wouldn't have stayed unless he was curious or looking for some action.

Picking up her glass of Shiraz she sauntered over and introduced herself, "Hey, big boy. I'm Jo."

"Hi Jo. I'm Alan." The man flushed as he stood up and pulled out the empty chair at his table to seat her. "You're probably wondering why I was staring at you earlier. You're so beautiful I couldn't help myself. Are you a model?"

"No, I'm a stylist. I work for Ebonée at the moment."

"You know Ebonée! Wow! She's a great singer, but so underrated because she's not good looking. She needs a makeov--," Alan stopped abruptly as he realized his faux pas. "I mean..."

Jo decided to take pity on the floundering man. "I know what you mean. If she looked like Rihanna or Beyoncé, she would sell ten times as many albums."

"It shouldn't matter what she looks like," Alan replied with passion. "It should be about her voice. Things have changed so much in the last ten years. Actresses model, models act, singers act and model...the world has gone crazy."

"I admire Ebonée for not changing her look," Jo defended staunchly, even though she'd had dreams of making the singer into a black Lady Gaga when she had first gotten the job as her stylist. She had soon realized that the singer was not comfortable in anything too fussy or stylish.

Jo had reluctantly accepted the singer's simple, no-nonsense way of dressing, her dreams of her artistry catching the eyes of even bigger celebrities dying an ignoble death.

"In interviews she comes across as such a lovely person." Alan still seemed to feel the need to make up for nearly putting his foot in his mouth. "She must be a great employer to work for."

"She's a sweetheart!" Jo readily confirmed.

Ebonée was polite and considerate of her staff. Wherever she went she introduced Jo as her stylist--which was sweet but not much of a recommendation.

Often, Jo planned a new outfit for the singer, imagining that she'd finally found something that will accentuate Ebonée's finer points, only to be disappointed when Ebonée put on the outfit and it lost any semblance of style.

Shorter than average, the singer was neither slim nor overweight. She was straight and flat: her waist almost the same measurement as her narrow hips, her breasts and behind both small.

Jo sometimes wondered in amusement if Ebonée realized that her stylist had a cock. The woman undressed in front of her without embarrassment and Jo sometimes found herself getting hard as she watched the singer's boyish little body. She often wondered what the young woman would do if she bent her over, whipped her girldick out and gave her the ass fucking of her life.

But Jo would never do anything that stupid; she was well paid and the job was essentially a breeze.

And thank God that Ebonée was not a diva. Jo was known to have her diva moments and two divas in the same room would have been asking for trouble.

"You must meet a lot of celebrities." Alan's words were more a statement than a question, but they brought Jo's thoughts back to the present.

"Not many. Ebonée's more likely to go to a play, or to the ballet or the opera rather than go clubbing on a Saturday night."

"I read somewhere that she'd already been accepted at Cambridge when she was discovered. I wondered if it was just a publicity stunt."

"No, it's true," Jo confirmed. "She'd planned to study Art History. She's an art connoisseur. I could learn a lot from her, if I liked that sort of thing. But my parents are both artists and none of their talent rubbed off on me."

"So what sort of thing do you like?" Alan queried, his grey eyes lighting up behind the lens of his designer glasses as though he fully expected a naughty answer.

"I like fashion--the glamour, the jewellery, the celebrities, all of it."

"You look like a celebrity yourself," Alan complimented. "And I've never seen such gorgeous legs on anyone before."

"Alan, have you ever slept with another man?" Jo asked bluntly.

She knew that she passed as a woman to the untrained eye.

Alan seemed a little naïve; he might have thought that he had stumbled across the only straight woman in the gay bar.

Jo was horny.

She had come to pick up someone for the night.

If Alan wasn't a possible candidate she didn't want to waste any more time on him.

Though the thought of turning him out was making her even hornier.

"I've been curious for a long time," Alan admitted, flushing with embarrassment. "I came here tonight just to hang out and get the vibe of the place, but once I saw you...."

"You've hung out. Now let's get a taxi to my place and I'll show you my vibe," Jo promised with a suggestive wink.

Alan quickly downed his drink and let her lead him by the hand out of the bar.

They were in luck. Fred, one of the taxi drivers who worked exclusively for the bar, was parked in front waiting.

He was a kindly father figure to the younger guys especially, getting them home safely when they had drunk too much or didn't have the fare home.

A gay basher had killed his youngest son at the age of twenty, prompting Fred to make the welfare of young gay men his number one concern since his retirement two years ago.

He stepped out of the taxi and scrutinized Alan slowly from head to toe, "Son, do you know this man well enough to be going anywhere with him?"

Jo laughed despite herself.

Even though she was wearing a micro mini and four-inch heels, Fred had called her 'son'.

It was lucky she hadn't lied to Alan or Fred would have given the game away.

"Fred, meet Alan, my new friend."

Fred shook Alan's hand and Jo smiled secretly as she saw Alan wince.

The older man acted as if all strangers were potential killers of young gay men. His silent, 'I've got my beady eye on you' warning was enough to put them off. If Alan had planned anything shady, he would be rethinking it right about now.

"So where are you boys off to?" Fred stepped back, assured that Alan had received his message loud and clear.

"We're going to my flat, Fred," Jo told him. "Step on the gas!"

Fred gave Alan one more flinty-eyed stare before he unlocked the doors and let them into the taxi.

Alan was so unnerved, when Jo tried to kiss him, he hastily checked to see if the driver was watching them.

"Forget about Fred," Jo instructed, rubbing her hand over the bulge of Alan's groin. "He's paying attention to the road, you pay attention to me."

Alan relaxed a bit and kissed Jo when she tried again, but she sensed that he wasn't going to loosen up until they got to the privacy of her flat.

"So, what do you do for a living, Alan?" Jo asked, finally peeling her lips off his.

She was so horny she had hoped to have them both primed by the time they got to her flat, but he was too uptight with Fred in such close proximity.

He'd better be worth her restraint!

"I work for the BBC. I'm one of those photographers behind the scenes who no one ever sees."

"Wow! That must be exciting!"

"It can be. You get used to it after a while. Well, you get used to most of it. I still get star struck when I meet famous people and effected when people are hurt or killed, especially children."

"I worked as a stylist for GMTV years ago," Jo told him. "The money was great, but I only lasted three weeks. The early hours cramped my style. I used to party all night, go home, have a shower and get dressed for work without taking even a nap. I would have been dead if I hadn't quit that job."

"Is that how you met Ebonée?"

"No. I was doing hair and makeup for a diva called Manda Trent--you might have heard of her--who got through the second round of X-Factor and started acting like she'd won the season. Her voice wasn't that special, but she knew how to work the crowd. She would have gone further if she hadn't sung Hero and forgotten that she wasn't Mariah! Instead of demonstrating her versatility, the song highlighted her lack of it. Simon loved her because she was a real drama queen and great for the ratings. He would have given her another chance if she had chosen a less popular song to massacre. Ebonée debuted Chrysalis on the show that night and I had to do her makeup because her stylist got caught in a traffic jam on the M25. She loved the 'nude' look I gave her after she said that she didn't want anything fussy. Her old stylist apparently had never turned up on time for anything and Ebonée is a rare, always-punctual celebrity. When the woman finally got there almost an hour late, Ebonée fired her and hired me."

"I'd love to meet her in person."

From the eagerness in his voice Jo sensed that Alan truly appreciated Ebonée's prestigious talent.

She would arrange an introduction, she decided, if Alan proved satisfactory in bed.

"She's in Antigua at the moment writing songs for her next album, staying at some place called Jumby Bay." Jo opened the buttons of Alan's jacket and stroked his chest through his soft, high-quality cotton shirt. "She asked me if I wanted to come out with her, all expenses paid. I agreed until she explained that the hotel is some sort of retreat, cut off from the outside world with no phones or TV. Apparently people use it when they are burned out or need to generate fresh ideas. Not my cup of tea, thank you very much!"

"One of our travel reporters spent a week there last year!" Alan replied, and they smiled at each other at the odd coincidence. "She had a great time, she said, but wouldn't have wanted to spend any longer or would have gone quietly insane. She said it gave her too much time to think."

"I would have gone crazy in less than a day!" Jo said with a theatrical shudder. "I can't stand being idle. Oh, here we are!"

As Fred pulled up to the kerb Jo was pleased to see Alan reach for his wallet. There was nothing she hated more than a tight-fisted man, unless he was using that tight fist to jerk her off.

Smiling, she put her hand over his and prevented him opening the wallet. "I'll get it."

She intended to get more than her money's worth out of him later.

It had been ages since she'd gotten her hands on a 'virgin'.

Alan stood back awkwardly as she went to the front to give Fred two folded £10 notes and a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

Slipping the notes into his top pocket, Fred warned, "Be careful now," before driving away.

Jo felt her girldick stir as she turned and looked at Alan standing nervously rooted to the same spot he'd stepped out of the taxi onto.

Closing the gap between them, she took his free hand in hers and promised, "Relax, I'm not going to bite you...too hard."

Alan laughed and tightened his fingers around hers as they strode up to the entry door of the three-storey, six flat building.

Sometimes when she was exhausted, Jo wished that there was a lift to her top floor flat. Tonight she was glad that using the stairs gave Alan a view of her shapely ass as she mounted the steps ahead of him.

She was rather proud of her back view but too few men took the time to fully appreciate it.

They were usually too busy checking out her legs, or her slanting brown eyes, small nose and full lips.

Her features puzzled most people until she explained that although her parents both had Jamaican ancestry, her father was half-Chinese.

Her paternal grandparents were the unusual pairing of a black woman with a Chinese man.

Intrigued by them, Jo had done some research when she was younger and discovered that decades ago, when Chinese men had migrated to the USA for work and there had been fewer women of their own race available, many had married black women.

As much as Jo adored her grandfather, she couldn't see herself falling for a Chinese man, unless he was well over six feet tall and swung a huge dick.

Jo's parents were a somewhat unusual pairing, too.

Growing up she'd always thought that if they weren't married to each other, she would have thought that her father was gay and her mother a lesbian.

Her mother, a sculptor, and an inch shorter than her husband at five foot five, definitely wore the trousers in the relationship. She looked like Grace Jones circa 1985 with cropped hair, high cheekbones and full lips which Jo had inherited. She worked out regularly and had the kind of physique some men would give their eye teeth for.

Jo's father, a talented landscape artist when not engaged in the battlefield of the corporate world, was slender, handsome and wore his shoulder-length hair in a glossy ponytail.

They had behaved oddly compared to the other parents Jo knew.

Once she had woken up in the middle of the night and found her father sitting on her mother's lap as they'd watched a late movie on television.

On another occasion, when her father had laughingly protested that he was too tired to go on a quick grocery shopping trip with them after returning home from work, her mother had lifted him bodily and taken him out to the door, telling him that he spent too much time sitting at his desk and needed the exercise.

Jo had skipped along merrily between them on the way to the supermarket, not realizing until she was much older that it had been yet another instance of her parents bending usual gender roles.

They made a striking, unusual-looking couple and had created an equally striking, unusual-looking child.

If Jo had been born a woman she might have graced the covers of top fashion magazines.

She had done some modelling in her late teens, but had been fired after one of the top female models had objected to sharing a dressing room with her at a fashion show.

Jo hadn't been interested in the models, not really, but so much naked flesh and lovely pert breasts on display had given her strange stirrings in her nether regions.

The top model had spotted Jo's hardening girldick and had screamed as though she'd thought it was a snake.

Jo was quite sure that the skinny bitch had seen, and likely had, several hard cocks before.

She had probably just been looking for an excuse to get Jo fired.

With her fierce strut, Jo had been vying with the woman to rock some of the designer's best outfits down the runway.

The poor man had been gutted.

It had been a bold experiment and the audience at the show had responded incredibly well to Jo and her long, sleekly muscular legs and diva strut.

But, since there had also been three under-sixteen models in the same show, the designer had had no choice but to fire Jo and her unruly teenage hormones.

***

"Right, take off your clothes and let me put it on a hanger so they don't get creased," Jo instructed Alan as she opened her front door, turned on the light and punched in the security code into the alarm panel almost simultaneously. "I haven't had a fuck in ages. I don't want to beat around the bush."

By the time she had nipped into her bedroom for a wooden suit hanger, Alan had obediently slipped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes.

As soon as he had unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them, Jo draped the suit over the hanger and hooked it onto her coat rack.

Sadly, he wasn't one of those men who looked sexy in shirttails and socks. His pasty legs looked as though they had never seen the sun and were only lightly covered with fine dark hair.

Jo preferred rugged, hairy alpha males.

But, she admitted with a secret smile, every now and then it was nice to get hold of a beta and have her wicked way with him.

She winked at Alan before moving her blow-dried straight hair off her nape and turning for him to unzip her. She could have done it herself, but she liked being unwrapped like a gift.

As the dress slithered to the floor, Alan surprised her by wrapping his right arm around her waist and pulling her back against him as he reached his left down to stroke her already hardening girldick.

"I can't wait to suck on this," he groaned, burying his lips against her neck and covering it with tiny love bites as he humped himself against her.

Jo laughed.

He was a rather eager 'virgin'.

Perhaps he was going to be more fun than she'd anticipated.

"Then why wait?" she asked, turning around to meet his lips as she moved backwards until she felt the edge of the sofa against her calves.

Breaking the kiss, she lowered herself onto the cool leather and pulled Alan down to his knees in front of her.

His eyes darkened to gunmetal as he stroked her through her black man-thongs.

They weren't as sexy as many of the others in her lingerie collection, but for comfort and dependability they were hard to beat.

Older and less a slave to fashion now than in her youth, she'd acknowledged that she needed to wear something more substantial than a scrap of lace or silk, if she didn't want to be constantly running to the ladies on a night out, to slip her spilled girldick and balls back into her drawers.

Alan reached under the soft stretch cotton and Jo groaned appreciatively as his warm, slightly calloused hands closed around her girldick.

He brought it out into the open and it reared between them as he let it go to sit back and admire it for a moment.

"You're so built," he said as he clasped it once again.

He caught Jo's gaze briefly before moistening his lips, lowering his head and taking the tip between his lips.

It was only then that he seemed to remember he was still wearing his glasses. As he reached up to take them off, Jo stopped him. "Leave them on, so that you can see what you're doing. I like the idea of getting head from a guy with glasses."

Alan quickly wet his lips again and got back to business, taking more than half the length into his mouth.

Jo sat back, propped up on her elbows, and watched him.

This wasn't going to be a deep-throat session, she accepted, as Alan moved back up to the tip and ran his tongue over the head, but he was doing better than most of her first timers.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" she asked as he gently sucked one of her balls into his mouth a minute later.

"I watch a lot of porn," he admitted as he gave her balls one last lick and then started to wet two fingers in his mouth.

"Lube's better," she told him and reached over the armrest for the tube she'd left by the side of the chair when she had herself been watching porn the night before.

Though she'd watched one of her favourite movies, jerking off had been strangely unsatisfying.

Hence the foray to the bar tonight.

Jo tilted herself upwards as he circled her asshole with two now nicely-lubed fingers teasingly before sliding them inside her.

He must watch some quality porn, she thought. He knows exactly what to do.

"You like that tight ass, don't you?" she asked him as he started to work his fingers in and out of her with great enthusiasm. "I might let you have some of it later, but for now get back to sucking on my girldick. Let's see if you'll like your first taste of cum."