tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersSydd~Playing The Other Side

Sydd~Playing The Other Side

bysydian©

Chapter 1: Phone Calls & Photos

A Phone-call.

'Have you ever considered playing the other side?' The voice was low. Sultry and disembodied—as all phone voices are. It seemed to play not only on Sydd's sense of hearing, but tactily across her earlobe itself. A whisper that carried heat; raised the small hairs on smooth skin; that softly tickled the inner-ear with promise....

Sydd knew the voice. Its soft, feminine lilt had graced this receiver more than once. Sydd was sure that she and the body of the voice had shared the same space, though possibly not the same intimacies. The voice had revealed that its possessor was at least intimate with a number of Sydd's intimates....that revelation was the only thing that had allowed them to get this far 'conversationally'....

'Have you ever considered playing the other side?' 'The other side?' Sydd thought.... 'Which side was that.... How many sides are there,' she mused....

She was silent for what seemed like and eternity. She spoke: 'What side might that be?'

The response was slow, but deliberate: 'Whatever side I might be on, Darling.'

Sydd was tempted to ask just who the hell was this. But she restrained herself. There was some fun in anonymity....

'And what does that side have to offer?'

'Come now, Sydian. You know exactly what 'girls' like you and I have to offer: brains, imagination, drive, good-looks, and several physical dimensions only discovered in intimacy....'

'If that's the case, why in the world would you assume that I've never played there?'

'The point, Sydian, darling, is that you have never played there with me....'

Here, the conversation ended....

***

The phone rings.

'Have you missed me, Love?....'

Sydd waits....

'I watch you, you know?'

'That would qualify as stalking....'

'Yes....it might. But then, you are such an illusive quarry....so sexually dangerous, that one can't be certain when....when, the tables might be turned....'

Sydd listened.... She could feel the heat rise; the sexual tension straining like taut cat-gut ready to be strummed....

'You made me quite hard the other day, Sydian.... No, I haven't invaded your private space, Love....that would be très gauche...and totally inappropriate. And besides, if you're as much like me as I believe you are, you wouldn't stand for it....in fact, this conversation, and all others, would be at its end.... No, Love.... My arousal is quite public....and, you do it so well....'

Into the silence, the line goes dead...

***

'Those pumps are a bitch, Girlfriend....'

'So when are we going to stop this bullshit and do a face-to-face?....'

'Sydian...Sydian....you surprise me.... Is that annoyance—anxiety—I hear in your voice? Then again, I do suppose we could shop together rather than me standing there admiring what you've chosen; what you try on; what you wear.... Hmmmmm, if we shopped together, maybe we could share the same dressing room.... I do so love public encounters....'

***

'Hmmmmm....a great game: stalking...,' Sydd mused. The long, white silk robe flowed over the white, heavy, silk sham thrown over the sofa.... A fire roared in the large fireplace. Though the robe was tied, Sydd's breasts were exposed; her thighs spilled out and down into stiletto mules. Her cock, thick and sleeping, nestled in the folds of silk....

'Turning tables...turning tables,' she whispered to herself.

She had called in a favor. She had asked a friend—a dear friend—for a favor. He had obliged....

'R? This is Sydd. I need you to do something for me, please....'

It was simple enough. Follow her for a weekend. From Friday evening til Monday morning. And take pictures of her background. Be unobtrusive. Stay out of sight. Don't let me know you're there....don't let anyone know you're there....

***

Monday evening. The phone rings. The voice is deep; sonorous. R begins: 'Your 'backgrounds' are quite interesting....'

Sydd chuckles. 'You've always known this, Love.... You've had more experience with my 'background'—or is it 'backside' than any other man I can think of....'

'Not quite what I meant,' R countered. 'I was referring to the backgrounds of the photos I took for you this weekend....quite interesting....'

'Before you go there,' Sydd cut in, 'tell me how you do it....'

'You know how I do it—quite well, thank you,' R quipped.

'If I could climb through this phone, I'd slap you....'

'Left cheek or right, or both?'

'You're insufferable,' Sydd sniffs. The audible contains nothing weepy. It is high haughtiness....

'Besides,' R goes on, carrying the play out, 'if I told you....'

'I know, I know,' Sydd comes back tiredly, "You'd have to kill me.... As if you haven't already tried with that big-assed dick....Tired, very tired, R.... When can you bring them over?'

***

R is quite interesting in his own right. More mysterious than Sydd ever hoped to be—which said a great deal.... And all with so little effort. They had been friends for ages—ever since Sydd moved to town. They met in a supermarket, where he genuinely thought she was a woman. She bemusedly, then as now, had to convince him that she was a bit more special than just a woman....that morning, wedged between the open trunk of her sports car—supposedly loading her groceries—she guided his hand to the ever enlarging and throbbing knot twisted inside her sweat pants....he asked if he could come check it out later—never having had the experience—or so he said.... The rest is history....

An intellectual...a traveler....a man of many skills....good friend in a pinch—no matter how many questions you asked.... And an extraordinarily fine fuck—on both ends of the noun....

***

R comes in, attended by Roscoe who bounds over to Sydd, rises on his hind legs, forepaws on her shoulders and commences to lick.... 'Enough already!'...as she pushes him down and pats his nappy head.... 'Roscoe....' His ears prick.... 'You're the real man in my life....' The tail bangs the floor like Tito on percussion....

'That would hurt,' R, with exaggerated pain.... 'but the dog is gay'....

Sydd leaps on his tall frame and begins the mock punches.... Roscoe wheels in circles on one haunch, a booming array of barking and tail thumping....Sydd and R's ritual before business....

***

R opened his laptop, stroked a key and it hummed into place.... 'Yes, Love, a quite interesting life....' Images danced on the screen.

'You were quite busy this weekend. My expertise, time, shoe-leather, gas, oughta cost you pretty....'

'Hmmmmm...that much, huh?' Sydd quipped. 'Take it out of my ass....'

R arched an eyebrow as if he were seriously considering it. 'This weekend's work wasn't that expensive....' He smirked....

'Then keep the tab running....'

'Damn! You got me up early and then you kept on goin'...what the hell do you run on?'

'Dunno....'

'Well, when you want to engage my 'services' like this again, can we skip six o'clock at the gym? I'm still aching and I only watched....'

'R....you are such a liar....I've seen your workouts...even 'participated' in a few....' On that last note, Sydd squeezed his crotch....

'Business...business....,' R muttered....

'Groceries...the Hardware...the coffee shop. The afternoon gets even more interesting....'

'How so?....'

'Imagine a guy—a black guy—trying to take shots in Vicki's....'

'You took shots in Victoria's Secret???!!!' Sydd's mouth fell open....

'I did say "imagine"'.... Another pummeling....Roscoe circling and hooting once again....

'Shoes...the mall...lunch...Spanky's....finally, the club. You don't go on like this every weekend, do you? That was only Saturday....'

'Not as a rule,' Sydd yawned. 'I only wanted to give you something or someone to shoot....'

'Well, that you did....and comparatively speaking, she was ubiquitous and gorgeous.... Didn't know you had a twin....'

'WHAT????!!!!' Sydd's head snapped. 'WHERE??? SHOW ME!!!!

***

Chapter 2: Almost a Twin

'Well, almost a twin,' R went on.... Damn! I had to keep rubbing my eyes and adjusting my focus....'

'Show me! Show me...dammit!'

'She's not exactly you....coloring is different....she's red where you're dark; hair's longer—that cork-screwed, spirally thing—but that face, and the body...it's like she's copied you...then not....'

'Would you stop it, and show me this bitch!' Sydd was as close as she would allow herself to becoming agitated....

R paused as he brought up the images; paused and studied Sydd's face as he worked a series of different panoramas on to his screen.... 'You really don't know this woman, do you?'....as close as he could come to being astounded....

'I can't tell you if you don't show me the frickkin' pictures....'

' 'kay....this is the gym....she turned up almost everywhere—almost everywhere.... You on the free-weights—how the hell can you press all that as small you are?—her, on the tread in the back corner—blazin'.... I'm not sure that even you could outrun her....'

Sydd nudged R and his chuckle out of the way....

'Can you enhance that?'

R brought the image into focus; enlarged it a bit. It was still blurred somewhat, but Sydd could make out something of her stalker....

'The first thing is to vary the pattern of your activities....,' that was R.

Still studying the image, 'the weekend was bait,' Sydd replied....Show me more....'

The corner, cross from the hardware....she was innocuous—unobtrusive—gray sweats, ball cap, sneaks....just another sista running Saturday errands...

Check-out in the grocery....R's shot was from the side, over Sydd's shoulder....an astounding pic—sharp, clear, detailed.... No sweatshirt; stripped down to her tank....bra-less, solid, firm, heavy-nippled tits, tearing at the flimsy fabric.... 'Fun with that one, huh?' she sidewised at R....

'What can I say?' he smirked.

The face had unbelievable focus....angular nose that bottomed in wide, African nostrils; lips thick and plentiful....the wide, wide sunglasses that rode those extremely high cheek-bones obscured the rest of a coppery/bronze face covered by the same color, wildly cascading hair....

'Interesting,' Sydd whispered....

'It gets better....'

Sydd realized that there had been a break between her time at the grocery and lunch and the rest of the afternoon's activities....

'So, where was she when I took my stuff up?....

'She was there.... Well not 'there' there, but lurking.... When you left the car at the curb she pulled up across the street and watched you haul stuff in—or rather have your stuff hauled in....', R chuckled....

'She stepped out of her car and went over to the mailbox.... She knows how to run this game....'

He clicked up another image....'You'll like this one....'

R had caught her crossing to the mailbox, tank-top, minus sweatpants....racing shorts and stilettos....calves and thighs to kill for.... An ass that was tight and sculpted.... Back and shoulders not necessarily for power, but certainly not the equipment of some prissy-girl....

Sydd whistled....

'Who is this woman, Sydd?'

'Wish I knew.... Haven't the foggiest....What's she driving?'

'White on white, two-door, Merc convertible coupe....'

'Hmmmmmm...she's making it too easy with that....'

'And you're making it sound like she doesn't want to be found....'

'True....'

***

'So, did you follow her home?'

'Wasn't in the job description....'

"Sometimes you are fuckin' insufferable....'

'Ow! That hurt!' R mocked.... 'I thought you might find this interesting....'

The image leaped to the fill the entire screen.... Her license plate; a California tag....

'You've taught me never to make anything too easy for you'....his turn to look side-wise....

'Hmmmmm.... She's a long way from home....'

***

R flitted through a weekend worth of slides—the mall; shoe stores; boutiques; the coffee shop; bookstores....she was there in various manifestations.... He stopped at the last two series. The first was Saturday evening, Sydd's favorite nite spot....slightly upscale, but not snobbish...hot enough that the young came to dance and be seen; cool enough that Sydd's generation still ruled, could find their music, and on occasion, dance their dance. R's image of Sydd was absolutely gorgeous.... 'I couldn't help myself,' he stammered.... 'Sometimes, you are so incredibly beautiful, that....'

'And you are so incredibly full of shit,' she blushed, more than a little overcome by his offering and its sweetness....

On the slide, Sydd looked like she had been anointed in oil....her skin was slick and glowed with a radiant heat.... Over that oiled and burnished skin was a

long gauzed white shift, already transparent, but made more so by the oil that made it cling to her and then saturated the dress at strategic points—the cleft of her breasts, her nipples, riding her haunches and the crack of her ass, clinging to her thighs and emphasizing the too, too fullness of her already exaggerated 'mons'....Saturday night some sort of perverse discretion ruled: she wore a tight, though heavy-laden, white thong beneath it all, capped off by white open-toed, sling-back stilettos. All that white on luminescent black....

Click.... R made the machine pan the screen.... There she was....

Another image took its place alongside Sydd's. It was 'our girl'.... She, too, was laid out beautifully.... The first thing noticed was the broad-brimmed straw set slightly rakishly to one side over copper cork-screws....bangs cascading over a broad forehead....


'Don't let that throw you,' R murmured.... Sydd focused.

R again, 'How does she do that?'

Sydd concentrated. Then she saw what R saw. This bronzed bitch was wearing Sydd....from the oiled sheen of the skin and its cling on the fabric to the cut of the dress itself and the intimacies it took with her body....the only difference was color. This dress and its accessories were soft oranges—swirling pastels—caressing that body in the most provocative—and nastiest of ways....

As Sydd muttered 'bitch...BITCH....BITCH!, softly, barely audible...she was aware of a growing dampness between her legs....

R picked up on something—what he wasn't quite sure.... He broke the spell: 'One more.... This set was the most difficult for me.... You never told me you were a church girl...'

Sydd flashed one of those 'you-don't-know-everything, do you?' grins....

'Glad you can smile again, but you better hold on to your dentures....'

Click...

'That's you.... Now slide down your pew.... Hello! Look again. What's Ms. Sydd wear to church?'

'Dammit! Dammit! DAAAAAMIT!!!!! She was sitting right next to me—right next to me! How? How? How? I've never noticed that woman; and she's been in my space, and for how long?'

'Well,' R again, 'at least you know she's having a good time.... What about you???....'

***

Sydd stared at the image on the screen while R packed his gear.

Absentmindedly, as he moved round her she asked if he could raise the screen that had the plate number of it....

He pressed a folded square of paper into her hand as he closed the laptop. 'I'd suggest two things for the next couple of days: you learn to move around in the dark, and you get a telescope....'

She looked up at him quizzically, opened the paper square: '242 Fifth Avenue, #3036B.'

'The scope's in the car. I'll bring it up after I load Roscoe and the gear....'

***



Chapter 3: The Lanthorn

'Don't draw the blinds....' had been R's last words. He had explained that they knew where the mystery woman lived—even had her apartment number. They figured that she had a clear line of sight into one of the banks of windows that made up three sides of Sydd's condo.... What they didn't have was a visual line to her place, and he figured Sydd might want that....

So Sydd had to think on this....and be patient....

Patient enough for her stalker to show herself to Sydd's scope.... Here, muddling through the issue paid off.... 'Our girl' liked to watch Sydd dress and then sometimes mimic her. On night two of 'lights out' Sydd backlit the window to her bedroom with the light from the walk-in.... Then she proceeded to dress and undress several times....

Moving out of the line of site, she would move to her own scope and scan the windows of 242—The Lanthorn....

She did this Tuesday night...no luck. She let it go Wednesday; she didn't want to press and she wanted 'Missy' to be a tad bit hungry....She also answered no phone calls; simply listened to the messages. They ranged from 'Sydd, I know you're there....'to a rather plaintive sigh....

Thursday night, Sydd did everything in the walk-in with the bedroom completely dark.... There was a feeling—just a feeling....

R had come by earlier to check.... He'd brought a new gizmo. Nothing really technical: a motorized digital cam with a very powerful zoom lens....'Nothing to it. When you get a sighting hit the shutter and it'll do the rest....infra-red capability....pics'll be perfect....'

***

As usual, Sydd had it planned. She bathed, but instead of oiling in the bath, she did it in the closet....slow, methodical, meticulous.... Sydd used lots of oil, and spent lots of time and gave special attention to her 'nether' regions....

She started with her breasts.... She oiled them until they glowed. Then she worked her way to her nipples and truly 'punished' them....the oil made them elusive. It meant that she had to work extra hard to get hold of them. She pinched, then pulled, and then twisted....over and over again. Her nipples got longer and thicker with every tug and twist....and with every tug and twist her cock got longer and thicker and began to produce its own 'oil'....

The closet's interior mirrors—floor to ceiling all around—reflected her....she saw what her voyeur did....

The nipples—the breasts in their entirety—were wonderful pieces of art. They were just that. Her doctor had been an artist. She knew what she wanted and he created it. She was so happy when she had perfected her body that she insisted he try it out.... Well, perhaps a bit more subtly than that.... She wanted to see if she was as alluring, seductive, and as stunning as she thought she was—could she believe the hype.... So, she worked his sense of medical ethics overtime...literally exhausted it.... She needed that initial proof that she was all that, and then some....

So here she was, in her closet, lovingly 'abusing' her nipples, letting them shoot sparks to her cock and asshole, knowing that she had an audience of at least one out there in the dark.... She also knew she had to be careful....on one hand, this couldn't look contrived; she'd never catch her quarry.... On the other, she had to pace herself. A night's work would, literally, be shot, if she came too soon....

Oiled hands travel from her breasts and nipples to her ass.... Her cock was hard and leaking without so much as a touch. She cupped her ass and kneaded. Anyone watching could only see the motion; the full frontal of cock, breasts and nipples would preoccupy them—particularly her cock's rhythmic bobbing and leaking....

She kneaded her cheeks then spread them.... Two fingers slid effortlessly, gracefully, to the knuckles and bottomed—or so it seemed—in her ass.... She winced, pumped herself three, four times....presented an angle that showed her audience that 'insertion' made her longer and thicker.... Then she pulled out and shook herself like some beautiful beast....

'Do I have your attention now, Bitch?' she whispered as she began the night's fashion show....

She was a bit more than an hour into the night's 'performance'.... Lights across the park that separated her from The Lanthorn began to blink out.... She remembered what R had told her: 'Scopes get better resolution when their back planes are dark...' She wasn't looking for a lit window, but a clue in a darkened one....

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