Adjustment

Paul Soong thought he'd waited to get into the shower in the suite's communal bath at the athletes' dormitory of Virginia Tech until he could be there alone. He had a shared bath with two dorm rooms for four student athletes. He'd just moved into his dorm room, having transferred from an athletics prep college, Emory and Henry, after his first year to take up a lacrosse scholarship at Virginia Tech. His suitemates would find out sooner than later, but he'd prefer that it be later. It had been a stressful day of adjustments and he wasn't looking for more stress. They could find out tomorrow.

He'd moved into his room that afternoon, with the help of his parents, a very fretful and fluttering about Chinese-American couple who had been helicopter parenting Paul through his transformation and the traumatic period of his last year in high school in Newport News and his first year at Emory and Henry. His parents had even moved to Emory, his father leaving a cushy professorship at Old Dominion University to take a less-endowed chair at Emory and Henry. They had enrolled Paul as a day student in his first college to keep his life as normal as possible while he transitioned to a life of independence. The athletics major had also been their idea. Paul had preferred the arts. His father had pressed him to prefer making money.

They had left asking him several times if he'd be all right for that weekend. "We're visiting the Yangs in Roanoke," his mother said. "We'll be back on Monday night, though, for that dinner our professor friend, David Talmadge, is giving to welcome you to Tech. We're so pleased you'll have someone here to help you adjust to the university."

Don't smother me, Ma, Paul had thought of saying, but all he actually said was that he'd be fine and that, yes, it was great to have a professor here who already knew him and would be watching out for him. The last two years had been even more stressful on his parents, who had retained a lot of traditional Chinese ways even though they'd both lived their lives as Americans.

"I already have a welcome mixer to go to tonight. Coach G has gotten me invited and is here tonight for a conference," he said. "I'll be fine. Coach will be here too." Bill Grogan was Paul's lacrosse coach at Emory and Henry. He had supported Paul through all of the traumas of the last two years--even more than Paul's parents realized--and had helped get Paul his scholarship at and transfer to Tech. He knew about the transition and had given support.

That afternoon was the first Paul had seen his roommate too, who was moving in the same day, and who was doing so alone. No parents to fuss over him. Paul envied Tyron Lawrence that. At twenty, Tyron was a year older than Paul--and black. He had transferred here from Ferrum College, in remote southwest Virginia, on a football scholarship. It had taken him longer to get through high school than most. He wanted to be a professional football player, and he had the magnificently muscular body to do so, but he had trouble memorizing the plays and had attended a smaller college than Virginia Tech his first two years to make the grades for the Virginia Tech program.

The two had nervously worked around each other to move in, all the time with Paul's parents fluttering about being more in the way than a help. But eventually his parents had left for Roanoke for the weekend and, or so he thought, Tyron had taken off too. So, all mucky from the move in, Paul thought this was a good time to hit the showers and have the bathroom all to himself.

He was wrong there. No sooner had he gotten under the shower head and soaped up when Tyron, all black muscular beauty and hung like a bull, entered, naked, and positioned himself under another one of the showerheads.

It couldn't be avoided. This was when Paul's roommate would learn about him. He could only turn away for so long. Besides, he wasn't able to not take looks at the Tyron's magnificent dark-chocolate body. Tyron checked Paul out too. To Paul's surprise, though, the black footballer didn't show surprise or recoil in disgust. He took a good look, quickly soaped up and rinsed off, and left the shower. Paul waited until he knew Tyron would be dried off and back in the room before he left the shower. When he returned to the room, Tyron had dressed and was gone.

Well, at least that was over. There were two other guys in the suite, but at least Paul's own new roommate now knew what was what.

* * * *

The introductory mixer was held at a private home on several landscaped acres on the outskirts of Blacksburg, the home turf of Virginia Tech. It was a private, by invitation, gathering catered to a very specific subset of students at the university. Bill Grogan picked Paul up at his dorm and took him to the party. At the party, he stayed close to Paul as they nosed around, seeing what was what. Paul was surprised to see that his roommate, Tyron Lawrence, also was there, but that explained Tyron's lack of surprise in the shower that afternoon. It also made him think that perhaps it was all part of the supposedly blind pairing up with assorted roommates who had already requested each other. He'd admitted to being gay on his room application. It stood to reason they would avoid pairing him up with a straight, especially in the athletic dorms, if they could. A lot of athletes could get violent over this sort of thing.

When Coach Grogan went off briefly to talk with an older, distinguished man, who was hosting the party and to get them a couple of drinks, Tyron walked over to Paul.

"I wondered if you'd be here," he said. "You seemed so shy this afternoon, with your parents here, that I didn't know if you'd be coming out of a shell this soon. Hope you won't take it wrong, but I wouldn't have been surprised if it took you a week to detox from your parents' fussings."

Paul laughed. "My parents are what they call helicopter parents. I hope yours aren't the same."

"Short story. Mom's dead and Dad's in prison."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean."

"No problem, but the long story is a lot worse than the short one, so we can drop that. I shouldn't have ragged on your parents. You at least have parents who worry about you, probably more so knowing choices you've made."

"My parents don't know everything," Paul said. "I don't really know how to tell them. They are traditional Chinese."

"They don't know that you're queer or that you've done the male-to-female transition?" Tyron asked.

"Neither. You didn't seem surprised when you saw me this afternoon," Paul said. "It was like you knew."

"I did. They told me about you before pairing us up. It wasn't enough that we were a match because we were both gay. I had to know about your transformation too and be comfortable about that. You are gay too, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Paul answered. "When you came into the showers this afternoon when I thought you had left the dorm..."

Tyron laughed. "I was curious. I wanted to see what a guy with a pussy looked like."

"And you're comfortable with what you saw?"

"Sure. It feeds curiosity. The older guy hanging onto you like he owns you. He's your Daddy? He's fucking you?"

"That's my lacrosse coach from Emory and Henry. He's stuck with me through everything and has helped me get here--and tried to keep my head on straight through all of it."

"But he's fucking you, isn't he? He touches you like he owns you."

"Yes, he's fucking me."

"What's it like? What's it like having been a guy but now having a pussy and having a man inside you other than in the ass?"

"It's different. But it's still arousing... sexy," Paul said. "I don't know quite how to describe other than more fulfilling--for a guy who's in to it."

"And the guy's who cover you. Do they think it's more special too?"

"I think you'd have to ask them."

"Or experience it for myself, maybe," Tyron said.

Paul just let that sit there. After a pause, Tyron said, "So, you like muscle, you don't mind black guys, and you lay down for older guys." Bill Grogan was black.

"No, I don't mind."

"Sweet. Two out of three. Not bad." And, with that, Coach Grogan was returning with a beer for him and a ginger ale for Paul and Tyron smiled at Paul and drifted away with a "Later."

"Sorry about the ginger ale," Grogan said, as he handed Paul the soft drink, "but I see one of the university coaches here. You don't want to be caught out of training on your first day at school."

Later, when they left the party, Grogan wasn't as careful with the booze. He didn't drive Paul back to the dormitory. He drove him to the Holiday Inn where he was staying, parked at the far end of the hotel parking lot, and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels, which the two passed back and forth. Grogan did more swigging than Paul did, but Paul drank enough to get a buzz on and to lower any defenses he might have had.

They necked a bit, with Paul turning on his seat, back to the door, and his left leg bent, his foot pressed to his seat. Grogan turned toward him in the driver's seat, unzipped himself, and pulled out an above-average-sized cock in half erection. He took Paul's right hand and put it on his cock.

"Stroke it," he commanded, and Paul did so. That was a key to their relationship. Grogan gave commands and Paul liked being told what to do.

Grogan reached over, unzipped Paul's shorts and inserted his hand in the flared fly, finding the vestigial penis transformed into a clit at the top of the trans's surgically provided cunt folds. Paul moaned as the man worked the new clit with two fingers, which moved to rubbing and parting Paul's labia and then to burying his thumb in the cunt. His thumb was as thick as some men's cocks, and Paul moaned at the penetration.

"Come up to my room," Grogan whispered.

"Yes," Paul answered.

"You don't have to go back to the dorm for a while. I'll be gone tomorrow. But I'll keep coming back for you. But, right now, I have to have you again. Come up to my room."

Paul lay on his back at the foot of the bed, buttocks hanging over the end, legs spread and raised, held in place by his own grip under his knees. His back was arched, his gaze wildly running across the ceiling of the Holiday Inn room, his body slowly rocking, and the transformed trans panting and mewing as Coach Grogan knelt between his spread legs and feasted on his surgically provided cunt. Paul was in a bit of a daze from the bourbon he'd drunk, but he knew exactly what the coach was doing now and would be doing in a few minutes, and he didn't resist.

Grogan rose up and hovered over the young trans, planting one fist in the mattress beside Paul's waist, capturing the young man's eyes with his to gauge the pain-pleasure he was about to inflict and enjoy, and positioned his chocolate-colored cock, with its purple, uncut, but now-exposed mushroom cap just inside the folds of the new cunt with his other hand. He rubbed the cock head over the clit at the top of the folds again and again.

Paul shuddered, lowering his legs to wrap around the black muscle stud's waist, rubbing the heels of his feet at the top of the man's bulbous butt cheeks, and gripping the coaches biceps with his hands.

"Say it. Say what you want from me," the coach muttered.

"Fuck me. Fuck me now," Paul whimpered. He cried out, "Shit! Fuck, Coach! YESS!" as the coach thrust his cock up into the cunt, deep, and fucked the shit out of his protégé. At the climax, Paul arched his back, buried his fingernails in Coach Grogan's biceps, cried out his ecstasy, and exploded in a orgasm.

Yes, he thought, as he cooled down, in answer to Tyron's question, a male-to-female trans can be brought to orgasm by a penetrating cock. Thanks to the wonders of science, Paul had no more trouble coming than the Coach did.

* * * *

Paul was huddled in the corner of the passenger seat, murmuring and trembling as Coach Grogan drove him back to the dorm.

"Do you have the key to the dorm? Can you get it this late?" the coach asked. It was 3:00 in the morning. He had fucked the luscious Chinese-American trans college student repeatedly for two hours. For the last thirty minutes, Paul had just lain there, on his back, legs spread, thighs turned out, a pillow under his butt, raising his snatch to total vulnerability, panting and moaning low, while completely taken that the young man had a cunt, Grogan hovered over him, pressing the young man's shoulder blades into the mattress and moving his cock in and out of the slit, spreading the trans's puffy labia and enjoying the total taking.

"Can you really feel my cock inside you?" he'd asked.

"Would I have shot a load if I didn't?" Paul answered.

Paul was leaving his world. He would be adjusting to a new one. There would be more times, but coach wouldn't have the access he had over the last year at Emory and Henry. Everything would change now. When he fucked the young man now, it would be sporadic and the coach wouldn't be the only one controlling him. Paul needed someone to control him. Surely someone here would step up to that. Grogan had a pretty good idea who it was. And, if he was right, whereas he, Grogan, controlled the lad, the other man would master him.

Just the thought of that made him horny again. He pulled off into a student day lot, now nearly empty, and parked between two cars at the far end of the lot.

"Coach? What? Oh, shit, again?" Paul moaned as coach slid over under him on the passenger seat, stripped the young man's shorts and briefs down and off his legs, and, unzipping and releasing his erection and putting the young man in position on his lap, facing the dashboard, pulled him down on the cock and fucked him in the cunt again.

"I asked if you had a key to the dorm," he asked again as they sat in the passenger seat, Paul still in his lap, both of them concentrating on Coach's shaft going soft inside Paul's passage. "Here, give me your phone. Do you have your roommate's number in the phone yet?"

"It's late. He won't be..." But Tyron picked up the call.

"I wondered where you were. Off taking your Daddy's cock, weren't you?"

"Can you let me into the dorm?" Paul asked, speaking into the cellphone the coach was holding up to his face.

"Sure, I was waiting up for you. I'm curious."

What Tyron was curious about was how his cock would fit and feel in a surgically supplied cunt. Helping Paul into their room, he stripped the young man, having no trouble, a half-drunk Chinese-American lacrosse midfielder having no chance against a black bull football halfback.

"Fuck, you're all swollen down there. That old guy of yours can really keep it up and going, can't he?"

"Tyron, I've had a tough evening. Maybe we shouldn't... oh, fuck. Oh shit."

Tyron put Paul on all fours on Paul's bed. Paul reached up to grab the slats of the headboard, below the top rung to hold himself in place, as the black bull mounted him like a dog in heat, forced the biggest cock Paul had ever had up into the young trans' cunt, and fucked the hell out of him. It was a good thing Paul didn't grip the top rail of the headboard or he would have bruised his knuckles. Tyron's forceful thrusts were banging the rail rhythmically against the cinderblock wall that must have raised a sound that reverberated throughout the dorm. No one came to Paul's relief, though, and Paul didn't feel the need for relieving. If this was going to be dorm life for him from now on, he was fine with that.

Going deeper and spreading Paul's channel more open than anyone had been done before, Tyron banged him longer before releasing too. Panting hard, moaning, and whimpering, but murmuring, "Yes, yes, like that. Screw me hard," Paul rejoiced that he had been rebuilt to be able to adjust to a monster shaft like the big black dude wielded.

Mid fuck, Tyron changed his approach, withdrawing from the cunt and moving down to Paul's ass, where Tyron was more used to be dipping his wick and where Paul had first taken men before going through the transformation. He reached around Paul's belly with his right hand, his left gripping the back of Paul's neck, and diddled the trans's clit and fingered his cunt while maintaining the rhythm of the fuck.

Tyron's conclusion was that two holes were better than one and that this was going to be an interesting year. He could easily adjust to a two-hole trans, especially one as sexy and luscious as Paul Soong was.

* * * *

The dinner at Paul's parents' professor friend's house went very well--very well indeed. Paul shimmered through the meal, fully aware of the lustful gazes from the professor and not understanding how his parents could miss that. When they drove up to the house, Paul realized that this was the same house in the outskirts of Blacksburg where he had been brought for the mixer of gays at the university.

The professor was the distinguished-looking man Paul had seen talking with Coach Grogan at the mixer, David Talmadge. He was tall and elegantly dressed as well as in his movements. He was remarkably handsome and fit for a man in his late fifties. His hair was dark on top but graying down into his sideburns. His close-cropped beard and mustache were salt-and-pepper, as were the curls of hair pushing up from the neckline of his silk shirt. He was a sexy man. The looks he gave Paul were baldly of the "I want to eat and ride you" variety. Again, why weren't his parents seeing what he was seeing in the man? Why were they so trusting?

Of course, the professor had let them loose in the house to look at all of his treasures. He'd lived in Asia and had collected Asian antiques. His place was like a candy store of East Asian goodies for traditional Chinese such as Paul's parents. And while they were off looking, Talmadge and taken command of Paul, starting with gruffly telling Paul to fix him a drink and giving directions on what to put in it. Talmadge had obviously been given some notes on Paul's subservience to command by Bill Grogan and he asserted control successfully while Paul's parents roamed the house.

Paul's parents left early, with the assurance from Talmadge of, "I will see Paul back to his dorm and I will take care of his needs while he's at the university." Paul's parents were innocents. They took that assurance innocently.

"You stay there in that chair," he told Paul. "I'll see your parents out." The professor had made sure that Paul sat in that chair when they returned to the living room for brandy after the dinner, which the professor had catered. He was all alone in the house that evening. "I've given the servants a couple of days off," he said.

When he came back, he said, "I know you and what you want--and that you will give men what they want. I saw you at my party. I spoke to your former coach. I know what you do for him. He says you can't get enough of it. I want you to do it for me too." He leaned over the chair and took Paul's mouth in his for a kiss. Paul didn't resist.

"Are you going to give yourself to me willingly?" he asked as he came out of the kiss. There was no menace in that as if he'd take Paul by force if he didn't agree to it. Paul would miss out if he said no or was coy, he thought. He didn't need to assert control; he'd already established it.

"Whatever you want," Paul answered. "I should tell you, though--"

"That you have a pussy now?" Talmadge said.

"Yes."

"That's why I want to fuck you. I like the thrill of variety."

Paul had ached for the man all through dinner. He couldn't wait for his parents to leave. He couldn't wait to find a new freedom in a new body. Conversely, he'd been afraid he wouldn't find a new dominator. The professor laughed. He reached down and pulled Paul's shirt over his head. His fingers went to Paul's nipples, which he worked with his fingers, and the young man moaned for him.

"Are you going to have breasts implanted too?" he asked.