Falling For The Girl Pt. 02

In the vast history of humanity, no man's balls had ever been as drained as Joel's had for the last seven days. It was a nice routine: every night after work, Keya would invite him over for dinner. They'd catch up on their day, talking of their lives, and taking turns in cooking--something he was vastly outmatched in compared to her. But he'd figured that in exchange for the most incredible blowjobs of his life he'd have to learn. He found some old cookbooks from an old thrift store on the way home from work. Tonight's attempted meal would be mushroom tagliatelle. He settled on a bottle of red and white wine, and went with the cashier's choice since he rarely drank it. Wine, for some reason, always made Keya hornier than normal if that was even possible. He wasn't complaining; he only wished once in a while he could return the favor but it was proving to be a recurring obstacle.

Every time he'd cum, he'd tell her it was her turn. Immediately she would either change the subject or tell him it wasn't necessary. Not wanting to overstep the boundary, he wouldn't argue the point too much; he couldn't anyway. How could he when every time he lost himself in her throat, he'd lose all energy and find himself falling asleep or ending up lost in the inebriation of the orgasm. It couldn't stay like this forever, he thought. He wanted more of her--he needed more of her. She deserved to feel as good as he did.

The tagliatelle was a success. Keya was pleasantly surprised, and he was happy he hadn't fucked it up. She looked behind him at the cluttered mess in the kitchen, and laughed. The counter was filled with cream-stained pots; fragments of linguine, and a sink of dirty plates.

"I'm sorry about the mess."

"I'll wash up," she said as she pushed her plate aside, and finished her glass of wine.

She was sporting a crop top, and pair of sweatpants. When she stretched, he saw the bottom of her bottom of her breasts peeking out and had to look away. He couldn't focus on that right now.

"Let me. I made the mess. You pick the movie."

He had almost finished the dishes when he felt her touch between his legs. She was on her knees, unbuckling his belt as she bit her lip; her eyes filled with lust. She blushed as she hungrily pulled his jeans down.

"Dessert," she said as she pulled him out; already hard, and slid her mouth over the tip of his hard cock.

"You're actually going to kill me." He heard the laugh in her throat, and dropped the plate he was holding. It fell into the water with a muffled thud. Fuck it.

When they were done, they'd settled onto the couch sleepily; his arms around her waist. Apart from being drunk off her mouth, both of them had sunk the bottle of red wine and were both comfortably half-awake while an old cheesy romcom played on the TV; one of Keya's favorites. He was more focused on the outline of her neck, and listened as she exhaled softly. His cock hardened as he put his mouth to her skin, trailing the softness of her neck. She moaned, stirring, and slid her hand behind his head as he gently nipped at her skin with his teeth. He slid his other hand down her stomach, past her bellybutton, and beneath the band of her sweatpants. He felt the smoothness of her mound--

"No," she snapped and jumped up from the couch.

"Huh?"

"We can't do that."

He groaned and pulled himself up on the couch. "Well, why not?"

"Because--I--I'm not--I'm not comfortable with it."

"I just want to make you feel good, Keya. I'm pretty good at eating pussy if that's what bothers you."

Keya crossed her arms, obviously annoyed.

"Look," he said as he pinched his nose, and got to his feet. "I just wanna do more than this with you. What's wrong with that?"

"I'm not comfortable doing that stuff, okay?"

"Why? What's the problem?" He went over to her, and put his fingers to her chin. "I wanna taste you too." He leaned in to kiss her but she pulled away, and went to the island in her kitchen.

"I'm not--I don't want to. Okay? It's complicated."

"Is it me?"

"No," she snapped. "It's nothing to do with you. It's me."

"Well I don't care what it is. Look, I've enjoyed you draining me dry every night but I'm feeling like it's a little one-sided here an' I don't get it. What's the deal?"

"Can you just drop it?"

"But why?"

"I said drop it," she snapped, her voice boomed.

The silence was suffocating. Joel didn't know what to say. Was it such a demanding ask to want to make her feel as good as he did? From how she stood rooted to the spot, rubbing at her arms as she hugged herself, maybe it was. He wanted to just hug her, and apologize but she stepped away and began washing up the rest of the dishes.

"You should go," she said, and he could hear how thin her words were from breaking. "Please."

"I didn't mean to push," he said as he put his shoes on. "I'll go if you want."

"Yeah. Please go."

He gave her one last glance as she furiously scrubbed at the remaining plate, already sparkling clean. He saw her fighting back sobs. There wasn't even a point to this now, he just wanted to understand why she had switched up so quickly on him. If this is how badly she reacted then he'd be content with a blowjob. It wasn't like they were together anyway. He tried to convince himself that but already knew there was something building inside him. He liked her--not just the physical stuff--but just talking to her; being around her felt different. It was a feeling he'd tried to put into words but he kept drawing a blank.

Sleep came to him in the early hours of the morning; thin and broken. Every time he woke up he'd look over to the door, hoping she'd knock. But by the time the blue haze of twilight shone through his window, he knew she wasn't going to.

Keya did not invite him over again, and every time he went to knock on her door, something stopped him. He wasn't sure if it was because she didn't want to see him, or wasn't home. By the third day he'd given up on trying, even though he wished she'd at least talk to him to check up. He missed her face, missed her eyes, and that smell of her smokey perfume. God, he was starting to sound like Janet.

It wasn't until the next day where he'd finally see her. He was heading back from work, and she was just stepping out of the lobby. She looked down to see one of her shoes, a black and white Converse, was untied, and started tying it when he walked up to her. She looked up at him, fully not expecting him to be the one standing there.

"Hi," he said as she stood up.

She cleared her throat. "Uh--Hi."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm good," she said as she stepped past him.

"Are we back to doing the distant neighbor thing?"

"I'm late for work," she said. "I'm sorry. We'll talk later."

"Yeah," he said sadly as she walked away.

He felt awful now. How had things gone to shit so quickly? While he cooked himself dinner, he tried to think of a way to make things right, or at least get her to talk to him on even ground. They'd had one fight and now she was acting like they were complete strangers. It got him thinking, maybe this is what she's like. Maybe she leads people on, and then drops them; some people found it to be an ego-boost. It reminded him of Michelle, his last girlfriend, that prided herself on attention so much that she couldn't fathom anybody else being the center of attention anywhere they went together. Some looked for validation with attention, some with sex, and maybe Keya looked for it with both. He wasn't sure, and he couldn't make assumptions like they were fact, but she wasn't knocking on his door to clarify anything.

He thought back to the first night they'd shared, and of Rick. Oh God, was he the next Rick? Begging for just a five minute conversation, clinging to a few fun times together. He felt dejected as he finished dinner, and slumped down in the dark to watch TV and shut his brain off for a few hours. He was ready to call it a night, stewing in misery when there was a knock at his door. He wiped at his face and groaned as he groggily stumbled to the door. "I'm coming," he said. "Hang on."

He opened the door; she was stood there; beaming a faux smile.

"Hi," she said.

"Hey." He rubbed at his eye, the hallway light too strong.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, no--what's up?"

"Can we talk?"

He moved to the side. She stepped in and looked around. "You decorated."

He grunted. Gone were the stacks of boxes. He'd furnished it with bookcases, a new rug, and even a coat of cream paint. He shut the door behind her and yawned.

"I'm sorry about today." She turned to face him.

"What's going on with you?" He rested his hands on his hips.

"I know we haven't spoken--It's complicated."

"Am I just another Rick?"

"What?"

"Rick--the guy who grabbed you."

"Yeah. I know who Rick is, Joel--what do you mean?"

"Did you blow him a few times then just ghost him?"

She bit her lip and nodded, mulling something over in her head. "I deserved that, I guess."

"I'm just wondering, is all," he said with a shrug. "I don't get it."

"I never did anything with Rick. He's dating my best friend, and has been obsessed with me since he--since--"

"Since what?"

"Nothing," she said.

"Well, good talk," he said as he reached for the door-handle.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner."

"Tell me what?" He lowered his arm.

She dropped her bag down and slumped on the sofa with her head in her hands. He stood in front of her; arms crossed while he waited for her to drop whatever bombshell she'd been hiding.

"Are you married or something?"

"What? No," she said.

"Then what's the deal here? Cause I'm so confused. You pull me close, and we have this amazing week and then suddenly you just snap. Did I put you off--did I overstep? What the fuck is the problem here? If I'm just a quick fuck--"

"I'm trans, alright," she snapped as she stood up. "I'm transgender."

He opened his mouth to talk, then let out a soft "Oh."

"I'm--I was born as a man. I live as a woman now--well--almost." She looked down at herself and then back up at him.

"You still have the thing?"

She nodded. "And I'm so sorry. I should have told you before. It's just--" she said as she reached out to him.

"Woah, woah," he swatted her hands away.

"Joel, please," her voice cracked as she pulled her hands away. "Please understand. I didn't tell you because--because you were the first person in the longest time that just liked me. And it felt different."

He tried to swallow the anger.

"You were the first guy who's ever just been this kind to me. The last few people I've been with were--they only saw me as this thing; a fetish on legs--something taboo. You were different. You were so nice, and I don't know how to explain it. Avoiding you this week has been killing me. It's like being around you feels--there's something there."

"I know. There's something there," he said with a sigh.

"Why didn't you just tell me, Keya?"

"I was scared. Scared you'd be disgusted, or that you'd run away or at worst hurt me. I should have told you. I just wanted to enjoy what little time we had before the truth came out. Before you found out and switched up on me. I was selfish."

"What about Rick?"

She slumped back down on the couch and sighed. "What about him?"

"He knew?"

"I thought I could confide in him and he became obsessed. Told me he had feelings for me."

"What about your special night?"

"There was no special night," she said, "I confided in him because I thought I could trust him. You of all people should know a stalker when you see one.."

"Right," said Joel as he clasped his hands together. "So that's why you've avoided me. Because you thought I'd just be disgusted. Christ."

"I'm sorry," she said; her voice cracking. "I just got scared. I get it if you don't want to talk to me again. I'll give you some space."

She got up, stopped, and reached out to touch his face. He didn't recoil at her touch, but he just didn't know what to do. "I should have known you'd at least understand. You've been nothing but kind to me and I fucked this up." She kissed him on the cheek and walked out of his apartment. He remained there for an hour, trying to digest all the information.

The puzzle pieces all fit together. That's why she didn't want him to do anything with her. That made sense. If he'd have slid his hand down further, deep into her sweatpants, and felt a cock where her pussy should be, he'd definitely have been shocked. When she closed the door behind her, he took a deep breath. The anger that coursed through him wasn't because he'd had his dick sucked by somebody who was transgender--he didn't care--it was the dishonesty that made him bite the inside of his cheek. She'd lied to him, even if it was to protect herself. It was a horrible way for things to start.

And yet the thought of not being with her was a concept he was continually beginning to hate too. He was angry at her, but he was angry at how she'd been treated. That she was so scared to be honest with him for fear he'd hurt her. He couldn't hurt her--different genitals or not--he felt something with her. He needed time to digest everything; process it all before he decided what he wanted to do next. Laying in bed, he tried to weigh it all up in his head. She still had a penis--would it make him gay to do anything with her, knowing what he did now? It didn't bother him about any labels people would want to put on him. He was curious mostly about what would change. He spent the next few days trying to figure it all out.

He hadn't seen Keya for three days. There came no hallway greets, no accidental glances on the way home. The pang of sadness was hard to swallow every time he thought he'd see her out the corner of his eye, only for it to be another random neighbor. Anything yellow caught his eye. He missed her; so much so that every night he'd stand in front of her door and raise his hand, only to pull back and slink into the safety of his apartment. Late Thursday night, he'd built up the courage to actually do it. When he opened his door, and almost jumped when she was stood on the other side; her hand raised to knock.

"Hi," she said softly. He stepped aside and let her in, closing the door behind her. She turned the face him. "How have you been?"

He shook his head. There wasn't any point in formality now. "You should have told me, Keya."

She looked down, playing with her hands. "I know. I am sorry."

"I should have and I didn't--I was scared of how you'd react. Do you know what it's like?" She went to his couch and slumped down. "Wanting somebody, feeling them close to you, and then seeing the disgust when they find out. Looking at you like you're some kind of mentally ill freak. Watching somebody seeing through you."

He put his hands to his hips and sighed. "I'm not disgusted by you, Keya. I'm disappointed by you."

"Because of what I am?"

"Because you lied to me."

"The other night--you wouldn't touch me. It was like all the other times. I thought--"

"I was surprised. I wasn't disgusted," he said, sighing.

"You were angry."

"At your dishonesty," he snapped, and composed himself when she jolted. "I like you. It's different. It's not something I'll claim I'm experienced with but assuming I'd be disgusted or that I'd hurt you makes me feel like you think so little of me. You don't know what I'm feeling, Key."

"Well then what do you feel?"

"If that's who you are, it's who you are. It's an adjustment."

"So just like that, you're perfectly okay with it? Or is it just the fact you like getting your dick sucked and can just pretend?" The words came out like daggers.

He found himself laughing. "You've insulted me twice. Wanna go for a third?" He grabbed a beer from the fridge and twisted the cap.

"Well, that's the truth isn't it? I give good head. Who wouldn't want to miss out on that opportunity? Let's not pretend it's anything more than curiosity. I'll just end up being your experiment for a while. I'm just a pretty mouth--something new, right?"

He chugged at the beer and raised a finger. He needed the moment to think. When it was drained, he slammed it down on the kitchen counter. "How about you just shut up making assumptions for five minutes and let me talk, huh?"

"Go for it," she said as she crossed her arms and scowled at him.

"I've never fallen for somebody so quick but you really need to get out of your own fuckin' way."

Her eyes widened and she blinked at him. "What? You're fal--"

"Sshh--bup bup bup--let me finish." Her eyes were wide, pleading; two deep pools of wonderment staring up at him. He took a breath. "I've watched you sleep. The thought of getting home early just to see you makes my day better. I couldn't care less about whether or not we do anything. Just being around you is enough. I know you're a talented artist and hide away all your paintings in your storage closet. You love old movies, and Summer is your favorite season. You adore old romance novels. You're kind but you're lonely because others only see what's between your legs. I haven't seen what's between your legs, and I don't have to. I just see you. So no, you ain't just an experiment or a pretty mouth."

Her eyes twinkled. She stood up and went to him. As the tears escaped, he wiped at them, and she hugged him. He kissed her forehead, and smelled the sweet perfume--strawberry, and found that he didn't care anymore.

"Why are you saying all this to me?" she asked.

He pulled away, and lifted her chin with a finger. "I'm saying; it's an adjustment One I'm happy to learn."

"I--I--" She looked through him, her eyes flitting until she found his gaze again. "Are you sure?"

"As long as you don't lie to me again," he said. "Can you do that?"

"I promise," she whispered.

"Good," he said as he softly kissed her and looked down. "Can I see it?"

She took his hand and led him to the couch. He slumped down and watched as she stepped back so he could take her all in.

"Show me" he said.

She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, parting the cloth and lowered her arms as she let it fall down to her feet. His eyes focused on her beautiful breasts; curvaceous with dark, small nipples and instantly felt himself getting hard. He wanted to savor this. When he let his gaze lower, he saw the black thong with a noticeable bulge that was perfectly confined by the silk.

"Are you sure you want this?" she asked nervously. "I understand if it--"

"Take them off, Keya," he demanded; his voice curt.

She slid them down. They rolled against the caramel skin of her thighs and fell by the shirt as she stepped out of them. He saw all of her; the softness of her girlcock as it hung loose. The head of it was lighter, contrasted by the dark, coffee-colored skin of her balls. He saw the nervousness in her eyes and smiled. He found the discover of her exciting. The idea of exploring every inch of her so enticing even if there was some nervousness on his part too; he wouldn't dare show it.

"Am I still enough?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?"

"I just really don't want this to go wrong," she whispered, a nervous gasp escaping her.

A sly smile spread on his face. "I want to touch you. Do you want me to?"

She bit her lip and nodded. Inches away from him now, he could feel his heart racing as he reached out, and felt the softness of it. His fingers went to the soft skin of her sack; the smoothness of her balls was inviting. With his other hand he gently held her shaft. It twitched, throbbing at his contact and growing stiff in his gentle grasp.

"You like it when I touch you, don't you?"

She nodded. I've wanted this for so long."

"I've never done this before, Key. I don't know how it works."

She shook her head. "It's okay. We'll go slow."

He nodded. Her cock was fully erect now as he pulled back her hood. Her head had grown, silvery strands of precum drizzled from her slit. He rubbed at it with his thumb, and felt it on his fingers. He rubbed the juice of her between his thumb and forefinger. With lusty eyes she watched him put his fingers into his mouth. He tasted her; it was a warm, sweet taste that lingered on his tongue as he smiled at her.