A Part of Me

This story deals with body dysmorphia from the perspective of a trans woman. As a non-binary, male-leaning individual, my experiences in life only partially verlap with that of my main character. Therefore, I have tried to be as respectful and kind with my character building, whilst also staying true to the nature of a sexy little romp.

It's intended to be a bit romantic, a bit sweet, and very sexy. Any offence is unintended and I am open to feedback and critique, as should anyone be.

This also, in tone and content, is quite different from my usual stuff, so I hope you enjoy!

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Kennedy had texted me, asking me to meet her at some gentrified cafe in the city - she was American, and I think the comfort of a cafe line that was the same on both sides of the Atlantic was a big draw. As I walked up, she waved at me through the window, her excited smile a remedy for any of the other crap in my life. A breath of fresh air.

Ever since university I had been a little in love with Kennedy. She was gorgeous, after all - a tight five foot eight, auburn hair that seemed to have been curled by the Gods at all times, an athletic body from all of her swimming yet with curves inherited from her Spanish mother. Why she had gravitated towards me in our first year I'll never know.

I sat opposite her, and she passed me a bagel - our traditional brunch food. She loved them. It was just buttered, which told me she wasn't here for a food-y meeting. There was business to attend to.

'Fiona,' she said, her loose accent making my name sound a bit sing-song.

'Kennedy,' I parroted.

'I have news. Big news.'

'Good news?'

She shrugged. 'So-so. My uncle died.'

'Oh, shit. Kennedy, I'm so sorry.'

'Why, d'you kill him?' she joked. Looking at her, she didn't seem too upset or anything. Maybe she didn't like him.

'Are we talking about... that uncle?'

'We are.' Kennedy's dad's side of the family were rich. American politician rich. And no, she wasn't a 'Kennedy' in that way - it's her first name. It's her dad's favourite joke, apparently, that she was going to be his 'little president Kennedy' one day, before she broke his heart by going into Art instead of Politics.

'Fuck,' I whispered. 'What does this mean?'

'It means I just got handed two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Fi. I'm loaded!' she started squealing, bouncing on her chair like it was electrified. Her smile was wide and contagious. I tried to ignore her buxom chest as it bounced, a distraction as much as it was a blessing.

'Fuck off,' I blurted, laughing. I don't even know why I laughed - nothing was funny - but I did. We both did.

'We're going on holiday, and then I'm getting us a flat together, and I can invest in a studio for my painting, you can quit your job-'

'Wait wait wait wait,' I said, stopping her before she went over the mental waterfall. 'How did you get the money?'

'He had like fourteen million stashed, all of his nieces and nephews got the same amount. Fi, if there is anything you want, you need to tell me. I will be insulted if you don't let me know.'

'I, uh...'

There was something. I had news, too, but much less... positive. I had a secret that I had kept out of my life at university - a life I was able to start fresh with on day one. I had always meant to tell Kennedy, and I had never really hidden it, but that's not the same as telling.

Shit. This isn't how I thought today would go.

'Fi?'

She knew something was on my mind. To most people I was a pretty good liar, but not Kennedy. She saw straight through me.

'I need somewhere to live,' I said, giving her the simplest version of the truth.

Her face fell into confusion. She knew I was living with my parents, and to her knowledge that was it. I had never allowed my... baggage to intrude on the part of my life Kennedy inhabited until now.

God, this was going to hurt.

'Can we do this somewhere else?' I asked, looking around at the semi-busy cafe around us. Kennedy seemed to snap to life, packing both of our things up, looping my arm and walking us out. The street was bustling - normal for a Saturday morning - but it suddenly felt oppressive, intrusive, like everyone who we passed in our hurried scamper to Kennedy's car was trying to pick me apart from the outside.

I had had enough therapy to know what this was. Self-consciousness mixed with anxiety and just a dash of body dysmorphia is a hell of a thing. Kennedy, the Saint that she is, kept my arm locked safe in hers until we reached her parked Corsa round the corner. We dropped in, and paused.

Kennedy turned to me, her face a painting of concern. 'Stay with me.' It wasn't a question, or an offer. It was a demand. I shook my head, but she put her hand on my knee and gave me a shake. 'Talk to me, Fi. What happened?'

I sighed. 'I need a drink in me. Let's go back to yours, you always have good wine.'

'I do have good wine,' she agreed, her voice chirpy despite her furrowed brow.

The drive to her flat took maybe ten minutes, but my imposed silence made it drag out. Kennedy was likely running through all of the potential reasons I would need a place to stay, listing them off in her head. The truth was... complicated. But if she was going to put me up, I had to tell her.

We pulled up to her shitty-but-cheap block of flats on the North side of the city, looming over the terraced housing and run-down park squares. In sustained quiet, we made our way in and up the familiar concrete walls, to the second floor, where Kennedy let us in.

Through the doorway wafted a familiar smell of incense, which Kennedy burned at all hours. The warmth welcomed us, and I made my way to the cushion-adorned sofa without a word. Kennedy grabbed a couple glasses, poured them, and sat opposite me on the footstool to put the wines on a little table to our side.

'So,' she prompted. I nodded, taking the hint. Only problem was, I didn't know where to start.

'So,' I parroted again. 'When I was fifteen, I went through some stuff. Body stuff. I hated myself, and always felt like I was... wrong.' I had my eyes screwed shut, and could feel my hands gripping a pillow, so I pulled it across me - a barrier keeping me safe. 'The version of me people saw, the version they talked to, made friends with, it was a lie. I was wearing a mask I couldn't take off.'

I hadn't heard her move, so when her fingers wrapped around my hand I jumped, opening my eyes. She was kneeling by me, her hands holding me, eyes soft. She didn't say anything, letting me go at my own pace.

Just say it, Fiona.

'I started hormones when I was sixteen.' I didn't stop or look for her expression, I just powered on through. If she was upset, I was scared I would break in two. She might hate me for lying to her, or being deceptive, or maybe for just being trans. Or maybe not. But to have not told her for so long was bound to hurt her. 'My dad was... understanding. My mum thought it was a betrayal. But they went along. I lived a year in my chosen sex, all that... and then I went to Uni. And I could take off the mask, and be who I wanted to be, without... without all that weight. Everything was fine. Good, even. I spent time finding love for myself, but it's difficult. And now, last week, I...'

I trailed off, and Kennedy smiled at me. Just a smile. Kindness. She would never know how much it meant for her to be kind in that moment.

'Do you want wine before you finish?' she asked, her voice a whisper. I nodded, and wiped away tears I hadn't noticed shedding.

She passed me a glass and we both took a drink. Without a word, she stood and moved to sit next to me, her legs folded under her on the sofa.

'I was offered the surgery,' I said, the smell of coffee and incense warming my bones even as they shuddered.

'Your parents, did they get mad?'

I nodded, the memory making it difficult to speak.

'Because you wanted it?'

I let out a sob, singular and pitiful. God, I hated crying. 'No,' I said, almost stern, steeling myself. 'No. They got mad because I hesitated. I didn't know if I wanted to do... that. To have a part of me removed.'

I sobbed again, and she pulled me into a hug. We squeezed for a moment, before she hissed and bounced up, showing me the red streak staining her white top - my wine dripping off her.

'Oh my God! Kennedy I'm so sorry!' I yelled, springing up to get a tea towel. Kennedy swore, before quickly pulling the top off. I spun away, giving her privacy, but she laughed.

'Fi, you have seen my bra before.'

I turned. 'But... I thought-'

'But nothing, stop being stupid.'

God, she was beautiful. Her body was hourglass, curves from her hips dipping in her waist - and her tits! I have never felt more like a perv than when I thought of Kennedy's body. She is sex walking, with a trail of guys left behind her slobbering for more.

As opposed to me, the five foot nothing ginger with a frame made from earbuds and toothpicks, Kennedy had muscles. Not so much as to be, you know, egregious, but she was clearly toned and had thighs that could crush skulls.

And here she was, topless, her bra a satin black on her cream-coffee flesh, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders and shifting as she looked at me, her hip popped and her eyebrows up: stop it, stupid.

I came back over, and she plonked down next to me again, this time, understandably, leaning away.

Silence fell, and she shifted, trying to word a question in her head. Eventually, she asked; 'Why did you hesitate? About the surgery?'

'Because,' I sighed, knowing it didn't make sense. 'Doing that... getting rid of that part of me, would make me a girl. For real. For keeps.'

'Isn't that what you want?'

I shrugged, suddenly numb. I had had this conversation already, and the outcome of this could never be worse than it was with my parents.

I looked at Kennedy, and for a moment imagined her hating me. It could be worse, I knew. A lot worse.

'I don't know. It's what I've been telling myself I want. I don't want to be a boy. I'm not a boy. But, I don't know if I'm a girl either.'

This was where my dad exploded.

'Both?' Kennedy asked.

I shrugged. That was when my mum lost it.

'Neither?' Kennedy asked.

'I don't know,' I said, willing myself not to cry. 'I have been doing research into the terminology, and the labels, and it all seems so... confusing. Once I pick, that's it. And the surgery makes it permanent, so...'

Kennedy nodded, her brow low again. She sighed, and looked at me. 'So, when I get a nicer flat, we can get it together?'

I looked at her, speechless. She carried on.

'You'll have time to find a job, get yourself going without relying on people who will... try to box you in.'

'I don't...'

'And, of course, you can stay here until I move, though it's a bit small.'

'Cosy,' I corrected. She smiled, taking another sip of her wine. 'Are you sure?'

She nodded. 'Of course. You're my Fifi.'

'But, what I just told you; I was keeping it secret from you. I lied about who I was-'

'Uh-uh,' she snapped, sitting up. She put her finger to my lips, shutting me up straight away. 'No. You never lied. You have always been you. Fiona. Fifi.' She let her finger drop. 'So what if Fifi has a pee-pee?'

The way she said it, so serious and calm, made me burst into laughter that I think was more relief-based than humour-based. Together, we laughed off the tension from our conversation, and decided to change the mood with a penguin pyjama top for Kennedy, and a bad movie.

Within an hour, we were on the sofa together, watching Nicholas Cage scream about demons, giggling through our wine glasses. We had set up a little den on the sofa with a blanket and some of her bedding to give it extra fluff. We were both pretty buzzed, and the seriousness that had started this night was long forgotten - or so I thought.

'You know,' Kennedy mused, her eyebrow twitching up in that way that means trouble. 'I've always wondered what it would be like.'

'To what?' I asked, lost as a fart in a fan.

'To have one. A peen.' Part of me cringed that we were back on this, but her use of the word 'peen' just made me laugh. 'I'm serious! I know it's strange to say it, but I bet it's normal to think it. Like, I bet guys wonder what it's like to have boobs.' At that, she hefted her delicious D-cups in her hands, bouncing them under her pyjama shirt for a moment. 'I don't mean to be weird - I just wanna know.'

'Well, what do you want to know?' Fuck it, I'm drunk too. Lets have this chat.

It dawned on me that I had never, with anyone, talked frankly about my penis before - it might be therapeutic. Healing, even.

'How big is it?' she asked, and immediately started giggling again. I rolled my eyes, planting my wine on the table so I could put my hands on my hips, to judge her effectively. 'What!'

I smirked, and nodded my chin at her. 'Real questions, come on.'

Kennedy composed herself, and gave it a think. 'Hmmm. Do you stand to pee?'

'Sometimes, but only at home.'

'Is it uncomfortable to walk?'

'Well, I usually tuck it, so a bit, but not if I don't.'

'Are you tucking it now?'

'Sitting? No. But when I stand, I have a maneuver to do it almost perfectly.'

She paused, thinking again. She tapped her chin with her finger and stared into the middle distance, making my laughter bubble up.

'Shut up, I'm thinking,' she deadpanned, making me laugh more. 'Shut it! Stupid. OH, I know as good question.'

'Hit me.'

'What's sex like with a cock?'

I coughed, my eyes bugging at how casual she was being. The word cock in her mouth, it felt so sexy, but I refused to let my brain drift that way.

'I, uhh,' I hesitated.

She took it as reluctance. 'Oh, go on. I've fucked my share of guys - you know - and I wanna know what it's like for a dude. Is it amazing? Because sometimes it takes almost nothing to make them cum, and I'm thinking, boy that must have felt fucking amazing for you, guy.'

The picture conjured in my head made me squirm, the misgendered 'cock' in my flowery pyjama bottoms stirring at the idea of Kennedy making someone cum.

'I don't know,' I muttered, shrugging. I took another drink of wine before planting it down again.

'What do you mean 'I don't know'? Like you're bad at description, or like you don't know?' Again, I hesitated, and her face went from amused to something else. 'Fi, you're kidding me!'

'I could barely tell you, my best friend that I was - you know. How was I supposed to get naked with anyone?!'

'Oh, it's easy to get naked, Fiona.'

'Not for me, it's not.'

She sighed, and planted her wine down too. 'Fine. Follow my lead.'

With that, Kennedy pulled the blanket off us and balled it up onto the floor. Sat next to me, she pulls her pyjama top up and off, freeing herself from underneath. Her perfect, firm tits bounced as she moved, balling her top into a ball as well, before she adjusted so she was facing her whole body at me.

I realised I was staring, but it was hard not to. Impossible not to. Her breasts were high on her chest, her nipples like small brown erasers. They were teardrop-shaped, and as she shifted their weight made them connect for a moment, her flesh bouncing in some unheard rhythm. Her stomach was flat, if rippled by her and that held her assets aloft with such sexual confidence.

I caught her eye, but she was smiling at me. 'It's okay, Fi. Now you...'

She reached over, bringing her face close to mine. My breath caught in my throat, as she tugged at the base of my top. She pulled it up, and I let her strip it from me in a moment, leaving me in my A-cup bra. I felt a flash of insecurity at my meagre bust next to her - hormones had given me softness and curves, but apparently I was a washboard in either sex. Ah well.

The air was cold on my skin, and the knot in my stomach twisted as Kennedy's fingers traced my back. She stroked me, inches from my face, until her fingers found the clasp of my bra. I gave her a short nod, and she pulled it open in a moment.

As she undressed me, I felt the pull of my heart give in to the distance between us, and I kissed her.

Her kiss was heaven. She wrapped her soft arms around me, and our chests met as we shared a moment of sensuousness beyond anything I've had with anyone before. I can't help it, but a tear fell from my eyes before the kiss broke, her soft lips forming a smile against mine.

She pulled back, and saw the streak on my face. 'Fiona?'

'I'm sorry,' I mutter, scared that any volume would break whatever spell we were under.

'Don't be upset,' she whispered, before kissing me again. This time, we became more urgent, our hands exploring each other. I felt her fingers in my hair, then pulled me in at the waist so we were up on our knees on the sofa together, our chests pressed up together as she made love to my mouth.

The hardness between my legs, free from my usually-automatic tucking, gave me pause. I shuddered as her thigh pressed against my length, and she pulled away from me.

I saw a glint in her eye, and a smirk on her wet lips. 'No one has ever...' Her voice trailed as her hand slid down my belly, her finger tips teasing the gap between my pelvis and jeans, before sliding over the material. Her palm pressed against my shaft and I gasped, my hands gripping her shoulders as she lazily, softly rubbed me. '...made you feel like this before?' I shook my head, rocking my hips into her as she nipped my neck. It turned into a kiss as she stroked me, before whispering into my ear; 'Made you feel sexy?' I shivered as her other hand found my butt, pulling me against her, pinning me between her hands as she whispered dirty nothings. 'Never made you feel like you deserve to be fucked?'

The sound that came from my mouth was an open moan, released from me against my will. Kennedy kissed my neck as her fingers unbuttoned me, relieving some of the wonderous pressure on my member, pinned against my pale thigh as it was. Her soft digits wormed in, slipping into my clothing without missing a beat. Kennedy bit her lip, her hooded 'fuck me' eyes catching mine as her perfect hand found my boxers - men's underwear was always more comfortable - and stroked my rigid sex through the thin cloth.

'Kennedy,' I said, my voice meaning to sound husky, or sexy. Something must have been off, however, as she hesitated now, pulling her hand out.

'Fi?' she asked, her voice low, the quiet in this room broken only by the creak of her sofa under us and the soft panting of breath.

'No one has ever... Not just accepted me. Wanted me.' it felt so stupid saying it out loud. Like a child in a playground with no friends.

But she wasn't making fun. Instead, she kissed me again, and slid from the sofa, standing over me. She quickly, unceremoniously shed her trousers and underwear, so she was stood before me in perfect nudity.

Her curves. The soft nape of her neck, red from my kisses. Every inch of skin a marvel.

'I want you,' she said, offering her hand. I took it, and she pulled my lithe frame up, so I was standing on the sofa. With her on the ground, I was just taller than her, but she pulled me into a sweeping kiss anyway, lifting me off the sofa with ease.

She took my breath away.

Kennedys arms wrapped around my thighs, and she easily took my weight, holding my half-naked form against her perfect body. It wasn't until she dropped me onto her sheets that I realised we had moved to her bed.

Oh god, I thought, as she pushed me onto my back, her face an inch from mine as her body encompassed me.

'You're going to wish we did this sooner,' she quipped, shifting her legs so she was straddling my waist.