Friday Nights

This is a one of story. There will be no follow up, so please don't bother asking for one. (You know who you are! LoL) I do have other FTM stories (My new favorite subject) and my first MTF story in the works. I'll post them as soon as I have them finished. Until then, I hope you enjoy the story.

As always, please let me know if you (especially transmen) find the story appealing and leave any criticism you may have. I always aim at normalizing trans relationships and try to make my stories as authentic as possible. To (hopefully) get better at that, I need feedback on what I get right and wrong.

TRIGGER WARNING: The P word is used once- and only once- to emphasize which character is trans. I want to forward my apologies for not being more clever in finding another way of describing it in a way that a reader who doesn't know the story is a trans story can follow.

FRIDAY NIGHTS

I lay in bed, listening to the occasional outside noises- a passing car, a dog's bark, the sound of my neighbor's front door closing as he left for his work as a grave shift security guard. Then came the sound I was expecting to hear as my roommate, Sam, was dropped off by an Uber in front of the little house we shared. He went out drinking every weekend, and every weekend he'd come home wasted. I always worried he'd do the stupid thing and try to ride his motorcycle home, despite his consistently calling an Uber ever since we became roomies.

I rolled over onto my stomach and relaxed, listening further to the familiar sounds of Sam quietly making his way into the front door, then slamming it shut because the thirty-two year old construction worker didn't know his own strength, as if his being intoxicated made him incapable of judging how hard he pushed the door closed.

A skilled welder and electrician, he worked for a construction company while he continued his education to add plumber to his list of job titles. At five foot eight, he wasn't a tall man, but he carried himself in a way that was as physically imposing as he was mentally. Quite unlike my rail thin six foot two inches with a high school education that found me working my ass off as I climbed my way up the ladder at a well known fast food restaurant, finally earning a promotion to assistant manager only two years prior.

He worked out in the home gym we built together in the garage, and always kept his black hair cut short in a tight fade, but allowed his beard to grow to considerable length. That on top of the motorcycle and the heavily tattooed body, he cut a striking image, even in my eyes. I practically worshipping him with my eyes every time I saw him, but kept my mouth shut about it. Especially after I learned he had a tendency to let his guard down when he was shitfaced and discovered his secret.

The first time I learned his secret and went down on him, effectively cheating on my then girlfriend, I thought we were meant to be a couple. He shot that down the next morning when I tried to climb in the shower with him and he informed me in no uncertain words that I was nothing to him but a booty call and we'd never be anything more than that. When the incident repeated itself and he fucked my brains out, deflowering my ass, I decided I'd take what I could get, even if it meant waiting patiently for him to want me, and even if he had to be drunk to admit it to himself. He was a lone wolf, and I was just some stray bitch in heat he knew he could have his way with anytime he wanted.

I heard him in the kitchen, the refrigerator door opening, then closing, no doubt in search of a bottle of water. He always looked for water when he got home, and I learned he always flowed every beer with a water chaser to prevent the effects of a hangover. As a rule, I always made sure there was bottled water in the fridge when he went out after work on Friday nights.

Then there was the sound of his heavy work boots in the hall as he made his way to his room. I listened intently to see if he would close the door or not. A closed door meant he was going straight to bed, but if he left it open, he intended to be in the room only long enough to get undressed. I held my breath, mentally crossing my fingers. I didn't hear any indication that the door had closed and smiled wickedly to myself.

He moved around his room, the sound of his steps evident on the wood floors of the seventy year old house, even after the thud of his work boots when he took them off. He wasn't trying to be quiet. He wanted me to know he was home, that he intended to come to my room and have his way with me. He wanted me to be ready for him, waiting for him.

Footfall in the hallway was followed by the sound of my door opening and a pale light from the hallway barely illuminating my room from the light in his, as if his energy was blending into mine. It was always dark when he came to me, with only enough light to help him find his way to the edge of my bed. I heard his body move into the room, then felt the covers being pulled from my naked, expectant body. The bed shifted as he crawled onto it, moving between my wide opened legs. There was a pause, then the touch of his fingers as they pressed between my ass cheeks and dabbed a generous portion of lube on my hole before those same fingers pushed into me, finger fucking me slowly, deliberately.

With the withdrawal of his fingers, the bed shifted again as he lined up his big tool with my hole, then pressed into me, pushing his girth and length deeper and deeper into me. Only after he was completely inside did he start to fuck me, giving it to me deep with hard thrusts before pulling out until just the head remained inside and he slammed in deep again. I moaned and grunted, signaling my approval as he railed my tunnel like a freight train.

He fucked me brutally and without mercy. I screamed and moaned and begged as he destroyed my hole and ruined me for any other man. He was the first guy I ever went beyond a discreet blowjob with, and he fucked me with the certainty that my ass belonged to him. He pulled out and flipped me over, pulling my legs high above my head and holding them in place with his hands on the back of my thighs before unceremoniously pushing his cock back into me with one hard thrust, resuming the brutal fucking immediately. There was something deliberate in the violent way in which he fucked me, slapped my ass cheeks, spit in my face. Something I didn't know I wanted or needed until that first night, when he threw all conventionality out and had his way with little regard for my sensitive nature.

When I thought I could take no more, he pulled out and lay next to me. I recovered from the ordeal of his fucking and pulled myself to my knees, my fingers finding their way blindly to my gaping hole, to feel for myself the effects of his incredible lovemaking.

Moving over him, I straddled his chest and pushed my cock into his mouth. His was the best head I had ever received, his lips gripping my shaft tightly and the warm, wetness of his mouth slid up and down, taking my cock between his lips inch by inch until he had swallowed my manhood completely and my balls were nestled in his beard. Reaching to the side table, I fumbled around until I found the condom I left there, ripped the packaging open with my teeth. I could have easily cum just from what his mouth was doing to my seven inch cock, but always extracted my hardened flesh from his enticing lips before I finished. and quickly rolled the condom down the thick shaft of my own cock.

Sliding down his body, I positioned myself between his legs and found my target, sliding my latex encased cock into the tight, warm grip of his pussy, burying myself deep in him. He grunted with the sound of his own approval, and I smiled at the darkness in front of me. I lay across him as his outstretched arms pulled me in and held me against him. I buried my head in his strong shoulder smelling the scent of his beard oil as I began fucking him, giving him the same as he gave me, occasionally lifting my head to kiss him passionately. He grabbed my ass, fingertips pressed deep into the flesh, and pulled my pelvis into him, insisting I fuck him harder.

He gave me what I needed and taught me how to be the kind of man he wanted. Over the last year, he slowly molded my little bottom into his favorite fuck toy and introduced me to the pleasures of being with a man who expected me to fuck him as nothing less than a dominant top. He showed me there was more than one way to love, more than one way to be a man, more than one way to express unbridled passion. By his example, I fucked him the way he fucked me, the way he wanted to be fucked. He was an alpha, and he required another alpha to fuck him, so I became what he needed, because he was what I needed.

I came in the condom, collapsing on top of him, but only briefly. After gathering my senses, I pulled off the rubber and gave it to him, knowing he'd suck my fresh load out slowly as I went down on him. I was never finished until I sucked him off. From the first night we were together, I always sucked him off, sliding his hairy cock into my mouth, torturing it with my tongue, my fingers fucking the slick walls of his sensitive hole, playfully slapping the loose folds of his labia until I brought him to orgasm. I loved making him cum, hearing the "Oh, FUCK!" that was the only words ever spoken between us. Then he'd get up and go back to his room, not returning until he chose to entertain himself with my willing body once again.

I think we're going to be roommates for a long time to come.