A Song for Sissies Ch. 01

This work is dedicated to the men that kept me secret in their lives and used me for sexual pleasure. Thank you for grooming me to satisfy your unique desires. Every time you decorated me with cum gave my life purpose and made me accept who I am.

Second, this work is for the curious sissy reading this in secret. Fearful to let this sexual vignette leave your mind and become reality. You are special and I hope this work provides comfort to the crazy thoughts in your head.

This work is based on a true story. All persons are of legal age.

Chapter 1

Normal thoughts for growing boys

"I knew I shouldn't think about these things. I knew it was bad when I couldn't stop thinking about it. Why can't I have normal thoughts for guys my age like golf or craft beer? With time I came to see it as a spiritual awakening that opened my heart, mind, and of course my body, to a whole new world. But I still wonder - why me?" -Aaron M. Chattanooga, FL.

Ashlen, C. (2024). A compilation of Sissy Voices. Spheniscidae Novels.

I'm seated at my desk writing but both my hands are moving feverishly. My left hand holds a pen, and the right is plunged in my pajama bottoms stroking my penis. I stab at my notebook to finish the final sentence with a period and look left past my messy bed to confirm my door remains shut. The bedroom is dark except for a desk lamp that emits blue-white light. The clock on my bedstand says it's 2:04 AM in red digital numbers.

It's amazing how quickly time passes while writing. I never enjoyed writing except if they were graphic sex stories involving me as the naïve, 19-year-old protagonist. Aren't I lucky? The stories are far-fetched and completely imaginary because I've never had sex, but I think they're hot. I'll share a few of my favorites. But please promise that you'll keep them secret. Maybe you'll like them too?

Story Idea 3

I'm old enough to go alone to my annual physical. Seated on the medical exam table, I wait for Dr. Carter's arrival. After knocking on the wood door, he walks in, a white lab coat and outstretched hand fill my sight. He asks a few questions and feels around my throat and neck. He navigates a cold stethoscope under my shirt and holds it to my chest and tells me to "Just relax," as he listens to my heart flutter. His arms wrap around my shoulders as he rests the stethoscope on my back and tells me to "Breathe." He stands in my personal bubble, and his presence makes me feel physically and emotionally vulnerable. After saying "You're perfect," he tells me to stand and drop my pants, stressing the importance of this part of the physical with maybe a few too many words and rationale.

As I rise from the medical table, Dr. Carter takes a seat on a padded stool chair with little wheels. His eyes are level with my waist. Standing over him, my body begins physically reacting as the only thing separating us is the bulging fabric of my pants. He approaches and hooks his fingers in my sweatpants' pockets and lowers his body to guide them to rest around my ankles. Dr. Carter's head raises, and gelled hair gently brushes against my bare legs. His eyes return to me. I feel completely petrified. Looking down my body I see a girly white thong that was kept secret under my pants. My body is producing every single hormone possible. It's unclear even to me if wearing women's underwear was on purpose. Dr. Carter sees my response, sighs loudly and scratches his head, portraying this as an inconvenience. He holds his hands out and urges me to "Just relax." He walks over and lifts a post from the left and right sides of the medical exam table. Dr. Carter orders me to "Please take a seat."

With an outstretched arm he guides me to the medical table. I nervously press my legs together as my sweatpants remain loose around my ankles. I am so scared. Am I in trouble now? A chill runs through me and goosebumps decorate my thighs. Dr. Carter's hands guide me to lay down. He navigates my feet out of the pants and raises my calves up into the stirrups on the side of the medical exam table. Dr. Carter stands tall between my upraised legs with his arms bent at his side.

The front of his khaki pants rubs against my white thong, and I feel the warmth of his manhood. He studies me carefully, working his eyes from my ashamed face, down to my flat stomach, and further down to the lacy panties. My smooth, thin frame dressed as a woman was not something he was formally trained in. None of the medical textbooks he studied described a 19-year-old boy like what he saw in front of him.

With my heart absolutely racing, Dr. Carter leans in close and grabs the lacy waistband of my white thong. The fabric offers little resistance as it is removed from my hips. They are guided upwards past the stirrups and my ankles until they're finally freed. His head is racing with thoughts, but he steadies himself by resting a hand on my naked 19-year-old body. His fingers are inches away from my smooth semi-erect penis and the entrance to my asshole. It's unclear if he's trying to hold me close or keep me away.

Dr. Carter returns to the room's single wood door entrance and with a clockwise twist of his wrist he drives the lock in place with a "Click." Dr. Carter drops his white lab coat on the floor and looks at me. His face is agitated with sexual desire. The medical room blinds remain open letting in a blue and green vision of the outside world. I breathe deeply and rest the palm of my hands on my thighs feeling goosebumps and the drafty feeling that comes from being entirely exposed.

The Doctor's coat and my thong touch intimately on the floor in a mound of white fabric. They form a blend of rugged polyester and delicate French lace. The mating of two similar objects with very different purposes. Metallic sounds of unbuckling and unzipping fill the room as the two of us become completely undressed. I close my eyes and adjust slightly into a comfortable position and try to "Relax," just as he instructed.

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Story Idea 13

It's a hot day out, but powerful fans, shade, and misters help keep the crowd comfortable. With my elbows resting on a railing, I look over my shoulder to see how long the line is for the roller coaster. I can't believe so many people are out here waiting in line on such a hot day. I return looking forward and feel sweat roll off my back and down my ass. It's so fucking hot. A dampness covers my body. I spread my feet slightly trying to catch the breeze from an oscillating fan, thankful to feel the wind gently caress my bottom.

After several minutes of waiting in line the cool gust from the fan ceases. Looking over my shoulder a grown man stands directly behind me and is blocking the fan that I can see is still running. Not wanting to cause conflict, I return facing forward and adjust my elbows on the railing missing the cool breeze that once comforted me.

Large hands gently grab my shoulders and slowly work their way down my back. My feet instinctively adjust backwards a few steps and spread wider for balance once the hands reach my lower back. The body behind me radiates heat. One hand in the center of my back holds me in place and the other tugs at the bottom of my athletic shorts revealing my milk white ass moist with sweat. I'm filled with mixed feelings. Relief, because I am happy to lose a layer of clothes in this heat, and powerless as I'm completely pinned between a large body and a railing. The stranger approaches my ear, and whispers, "Show me," in a low voice. I reach obediently behind me and grab my ass cheeks and spread them with both hands, exposing a glistening pink asshole that sparkles with moistness. With both hands occupied, my chest rests on the railing for balance. I try to look backwards hoping to see a satisfied smile.

The grown man sticks out his finger and pushes into my asshole with complete confidence, slowly and firmly until he is knuckle deep. The sweat from us eases his entry. My 19-year-old ass wraps tightly around his finger like a glove. Despite being in a sea of people he doesn't rush in exploring me. He controls me as he works a second finger into me. The warmness from his wriggling fingers radiates in my core for a brief second before it dissipates when he removes his fingers. I feel empty. I realize the feeling of him really wasn't warmness at all, not like temperature, but in a soothing, comforting way.

His large hand grabs my neck, and he holds me steady as he leads his outstretched fingers that penetrated my core in front of my face. I focus my eyes on his wet fingers and not the crowd of people and machinery past them. Instinctively my mouth gapes accepting his fingers as mine to clean. I hope this is what he wants but it also felt like my choice to continue, the little contribution I can make. Amongst the chatter of people and the roller coaster, I eagerly lick and suck at multiple thick fingers. I stare deeply into his hungry eyes. His face looks serious as I make slurping noises with my mouth.

His fingers plunge deep past my tongue and into my throat as I gag. The sound of my throat closing is muffled by his fingers still in my mouth. My eyes water and begin to sparkle. I feel his wedding ring on my tongue, and I begin sucking again more eagerly than before as I wrap my lips around the cool of the metal band. Before I realize, he's left me, returned to the crowd somewhere.

I pull up my shorts and lean against the railing feeling the cold of the fans hit me again. After several moments, I look behind me as I realize I didn't even know who the stranger was. I can't spot him in the crowd. I search for the hungry eyes of my stranger. A sadness builds as I realize that he's really gone.

Maybe I made all this up, a perverted fantasy to pass time in line? But the fleshy taste from the two of us in my mouth reminds me otherwise. I check to make sure there's plenty of room behind me and then seductively present my bottom towards the crowd. My hips oscillate suggestively from one side to the other. Tempting him to return.

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I put my pen down and grab my swollen penis with my left hand and rub. The bedroom is still except for the sound of rubbing skin and a smacking sound of my scrotum quickly rising and falling. An explosion of sticky cum shoots inside my pajamas releasing an orgasm that had been building from hours of writing. I lick from my fingers a few misplaced drops of cum. A post-orgasm clarity reminds me how ridiculous my stories are. I don't expect many people will like them because they involve being taken advantage of by superior men. A 19-year-old boy attracting the attention of a divorced football coach, an overly helpful plumber, a dentist with large hands and oral fetish, and many more. Strong men. Dominant men. Real men.

I don't know why this topic is so interesting. The funny thing is most men are very unattractive! So, I realize these stories will remain fiction. I have written stories involving women before, but they don't give me that much joy. They're sexy but maybe... a little dull? But with these stories I feel such a complex mixture of feelings. Sexy, taken advantage of, and ashamed. But ultimately, when I imagine myself in these sex stories, I feel needed. I feel a purposeful warmth spread inside me.

I finish cleaning cum from my hands and pajamas and hide my weathered 500-page notebook in the space behind my desk drawer. Only some of the pages have writing. These stories are just the beginning. It's unclear where they will go next or what I'll be inspired by. I feel constant terror that someone will find the notebook's resting place and discover my stories. Learning more about me than I ever want to share. Discovering more about me than even I understand about myself.

Well past my bedtime, I crawl into my Queen bed and the sheet's chill penetrates me. My legs explore the surface of the bed and find only coldness. In the night's dark and silence I feel lonely. I close my eyes and the comforting thought of being surrounded by powerful men comes to me. A look in their eyes reveal how serious these men are. I sense from their agitated energy that they need something from me. The temperature rises as they approach my small frame. Their dark faces look down at me. They exude a sense of dissatisfaction. Are they mad at me?

Strong arms reach towards my bare body. A hand wraps around my neck, another grabs and lifts my thigh, and one hairy hand reaches towards my soft penis. The language these men speak is physical. They grab, push, and spread me, as they effortlessly control my 19-year-old body. I remain silent except for an occasional gasp as they inspect every inch of me without asking for permission. Based on their size and numbers, I am powerless to stop them. Little do they know the thought never crossed my mind.