Grand Rapids Girl Ch. 01

Author's note:

This is the beginning of a slow burn romance that's been unfolding in my head for awhile now, written from the perpspective of a young trans woman who is struggling to find love and her path in life. There's nothing too wild in this first chapter, but I hope you like where it's going. Let me know what you think.

And of course, this is purely a work of fiction in which all characters depicted in sexual situations are at least 18 years of age. If you're a minor, please do not read this and please get off this website. Also, please don't steal my work <3

I've always liked writing fiction and enjoyed erotica, but have never tried writing erotica itself. With that out of the way, let's get into it.

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Before walking out the door on my way to work, I take a minute to assess myself in the mirror. Standing at about 5'9, a 22 year old with green eyes stares back at me through accentuated lashes and subtly winged liner, encroached by blunt brown bangs hanging just above the eyebrows. Reflexively, I tousle them and immediately hate how they fall. Sometimes I think these bangs are hard to live with. Then again, I'm not sure how I ever survived without them. I suppose you could call it a love/hate relationship.

In general, though, my hair is probably the physical trait that I love most about myself. I have been growing it out for several years now, since even a couple years before hormones, the layers of thick brown waves cascading most of the way down my back. It's a source of pride for me; it feels like so much of my identity is wrapped up in these brunette locks. I flip one over my shoulder and I see it catch the light in my mirror, the natural auburn highlights putting a smile on my face. Am I cute? I just can't figure it out.

But there's no time to dwell on that right now. At this rate, I'll be late for work. I reach down and pull up my high-waisted jeans, just to make sure my tuck's not going anywhere, and I head out the door.

The coffee shop moves at a steady clip throughout the morning and I'm hustling around behind the counter taking and preparing orders. It's about 10:45 AM by the time things really slow down, and I glance up as I hear the door open.

I try not to stare as the patron looks around and gradually approaches the counter, reading the menu overhead. He looks a bit older than me, with short black hair and a matching short beard, and intense brown eyes that you can easily get lost in. As he begins to speak, I realize that I failed spectacularly at not staring.

"Hi there, can I grab a pistachio muffin and a small Americano, please?"

His voice is dreamy; deep, and calm. It occurs to me that I haven't followed the company policy of always greeting customers before they approach the counter. It further occurs to me that I haven't responded to him. I can feel myself blushing.

All at once my brain resumes functioning, and I blurt out, "Hi, welcome to Lyon Street Café. Pistachio muffin and a small Americano, that'll be $5.35."

He pulls out a $10 bill from his wallet and passes it to me. His hand is warm which feels nice, and nearly takes my breath away as it brushes up against my own perpetually cold extremity. "Keep the change, cutie."

I knew I was already blushing before but now I figure I must be turning scarlet. "Oh, thank you so much! I'll get started on that right away. What's your name for the order?"

"It's Luke. Can I ask yours?" He adds, "Not for the order?"

That gets a giggle out of me. "Madeline. You can call me Maddie if you like." I'm not sure why I told him the nickname, as if we'd ever get to a level of familiarity beyond me brewing espresso and swooning profusely at his impossible cuteness. "I'll call out when it's ready."

"Thank you, Madeline," he says with a charming smile before finding a spot in the corner of the seating area.

After putting the change in the tip jar, I busy myself with making the Americano. As I'm tamping down a puck of finely ground light roast, the song "Last Girl" by Soccer Mommy begins playing from the overhead speakers of the sunny little coffee shop. I am simultaneously amused at the timing and embarrassed about the sad-indie-girl playlist that I decided to put on this morning.

He called me a "cutie." Did he really mean that, or was he just being friendly? I bet he says that to all the baristas. I have a hard time believing he has taken genuine interest in someone like me. Then again, these days I pass a lot better in reality than I do in my own mind.

I shake the thought away. I need to remember that this is the exact reason I can never get involved with a man. Who knows how he would react if he knew what lies tucked between my thighs? I am acutely aware that girls like me can end up dead in those situations.

By this point, the espresso is dripping its last from the portafilter into the mug beneath it. I add the water and grab a muffin from the display case. Placing the order towards the corner of the countertop, I call out, "Order for Luke!"

He stands and makes his way over to the front. He grabs his order. "Thanks again, Maddie."

Something about the way he says my name makes my knees buckle. Despite the many more risqué replies that cross my mind, I settle on my standard, "I hope you enjoy," with a smile and in this case, very rosy cheeks. I really need to get ahold of myself.

The door to the shop opens and my coworker James appears. I realize then that he is nearly an hour late, but the morning rush is over at this point, so I decide not to mention it. I watch Luke return to his seat at the corner of the café.

James steps behind the counter and begins tying his apron. Turns out I didn't have to mention it. "Hey girl, sorry I'm late. I trust you held it down okay?"

Still a little bit off guard, I respond, "Uh, yeah. It was fine. I mean, it was good! Glad you made it."

He notices my hesitation and eyes me with mild suspicion. "You seem flustered. Everything alright?"

James knows me well enough to see right through me after working together for several months. "I'm okay. I think I'm gonna go take my break though."

He nods. "Of course. Go on, I'll take it from here."

I thank him and take my apron off. I pour myself a mug of medium roast drip coffee and sit down at a small table off to the side of the front counter. Sipping my coffee, I pull out my phone to check my messages. I have a text from my mom and an Instragram DM from my bestie, Sarah, who moved to Boston for school and never looked back. Dreading the message from Mom, I open the DM.

:: Hey bitch! Guess what? I'm coming to visit next week!! 😀

Oh my God. Sarah's coming home! Excited, I reply hastily.

:: OMG YAY!!! It's about time you skank! I thought you forgot about me! When are you getting in?? Want me to meet you when you get here?

I grin at my phone screen, not wanting to sour the mood by opening the text from my mom. Just as I'm beginning to talk myself into it, I sense a presence in front of my table. I look up, surprised to see Luke. The warmth I felt before returns in a flash, and I involuntarily shift a little bit in my chair.

His eyes search mine, seemingly hoping I don't take his approach in a threatening way. "Sorry, I don't want to bother you on break, I just wondered if this seat was taken?"

My eyes go wide. "Oh, uh... No, it's not taken. Or, well, maybe it is, because somebody wants to sit here, and... um, I think you should. Sit here." I cringe. Real fuckin' smooth, Maddie.

He just chuckles and takes a seat across the table. "I didn't mean to make you nervous. I just knew I would regret it later if I didn't come talk to you before I go." I guess not everyone can be as smooth as this heartthrob before me.

He continues, "I might be crazy, I couldn't help but feel like there was some kind of spark back there at the counter. But a girl like you, I'm sure you must have a boyfriend."

This cannot be real life. I shake my head a little too vigorously, avoiding prolonged eye contact. "Nope. And um, you're not crazy." Seriously, why can't I speak in full sentences with this guy?

"Good." Luke smiles and glances down at the phone in my hand. "So, can I get your number maybe?"

I have to stop my mouth from hanging open. Apparently, I lied; he is a little bit crazy. Is this a good idea? I watch as he stares back at me, expecting a response.

Oh, what the hell. A text message or a phone call couldn't hurt anything, right? Nervously, I pull up a new contact sheet and hand him my phone. "Sure, you wanna add yourself?"

Beaming at me, he takes the phone and starts tapping the screen. My hands look small next to his. "I'll send a text to my phone so I can add yours."

In a few seconds, he hands the phone back and I see that he has sent himself a starry-eyes emoji. He has added his full name to the contact: Luke Langdon. I laugh, knowing that I must look a lot like that emoji right now. I struggle to look directly at him, not wanting to get stuck in the vast expanse of those gorgeous dark eyes. I want to say something to him but I'm not sure what.

Luke breaks the silence. "I gotta run, so I'll let you finish your break. I'll text you, is that okay?" I look up at him as he rises from the chair, noting that he's a good few inches taller than me. More fuzzy feelings ensue. I smile at him.

"Yes. It was nice meeting you, Luke Langdon." I like the way his name feels rolling off my tongue. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me to forget about him right here and now lest things get complicated -- or worse, dangerous. The emotional part of my brain is screaming at me to do, well, other things. He crosses one arm around his back and the other around his chest and bows towards me.

"I assure you, the pleasure was all mine." Okay, so he's also a goofball.

I can't help but crack up at his silliness as I wave him away with a hand. Luke smiles cheekily and turns to leave. I watch him exit the shop with a wistful sigh. It's only a matter of seconds before James is all over me, no doubt having watched my interaction with Luke from behind the counter. He plops down on the chair with a mischievous look.

"Sooo, who was that? He's cute!"

Now I am wishing this coffee shop chair had an eject button. I look back at James, sheepishly. "I don't really know, just a customer. His name is Luke. He asked for my number, so I gave it to him."

"Oooooooh. Maddie's got a suitor, huh? I'm jealous," He teases me, with a playful grin on his face.

I am instantly flustered. "I sincerely doubt it's anything like that. Besides, I could never go for it anyways. You know that."

"And why not?"

I give James a stern glance. "He's probably a straight man." James stares back at me, suddenly more serious.

"Okay? And you're an available straight woman. What's the problem here?" I roll my eyes at him. He's being obtuse and he knows exactly what the problem is. He speaks again, in a softer voice.

"Look, I understand why it makes you nervous. And of course, it's important to protect yourself."

I nod. "That's exactly right and-"

"-Wait, I'm not finished." He looks intently at me with his crystal blue eyes. "The thing is, you deserve to find someone special just the same as anyone else. And not every guy out there is as repulsed by girls like you as you seem to think."

I scoff. "I'm not really interested in chasers or fetishists. Been there, done that." My reply comes out a bit snappier than I intended, and James recoils slightly. "Sorry, I don't mean to be dismissive."

He reaches over the table and takes my left hand in his. "Madeline. Tell me, does Luke seem like a fetishist to you?"

I shake my head. "No, of course not. I don't think he knows -- that's kind of my point."

James squeezes my hand. "I get that, but babe, you'll never find the guy you're looking for if you aren't willing to give the guy a chance. Even if it is scary and vulnerable and you don't know how he'll react." He lets go of me.

I take a moment to consider his words, sipping my coffee. I realize that on some level James is right. Though if I ever do tell Luke, or any other man for that matter, I want to make sure that it's in a public or controlled environment, just to play it safe. James interrupts my inner turmoil as a new patron walks through the door.

"C'mon, we should get back to work."

The rest of my shift goes by in a haze. Thoughts swirl around in my brain, Luke's approach and James' advice weighing heavily on my mind. James is a good friend and I consider myself fortunate to work with him. He's the only man I have trusted with the knowledge that I'm trans, and he accepts me for who I am. If only he liked girls.

I also drift to Sarah, who I would be seeing next week. What will she make of all this? Insatiable slut-bag extraordinaire that she is, she'd probably tell me to jump Luke's bones already. I love her dearly and only wish I could muster the kind of confidence she has. Maybe if I was a cis woman. At any rate, I certainly have no shortage of naughty inclinations hiding just below the surface.

The truth is, I am a big time submissive and very much crave that kind of dynamic where I can safely surrender control and make my partner feel good. In my fairly limited sexual experience I have yet to find something that really hits that spot. All the guys I've ever fooled around with I met on the Internet. I've given a few blowjobs, which I enjoyed, but most of the guys I met were almost singularly focused on my feminized penis. Many wanted to use it on them, but I'm just not into it; not that type of trans girl, but more power to them.

To be fair, I know I don't have to be dominant to enjoy using that part of me, but I generally tend to view the little thing more as a massive inconvenience than as a fun novelty. Perhaps that's a separate issue, but it definitely intersects with and informs my overall preferences. Needless to say I have some insecurities that have proven to be a barrier to finding the sort of intimate fulfillment I'm looking for. It's just as well, though -- I've never been particularly interested in casual sex anyway.

I wonder what Luke likes in bed. Would he take on a dominant role, gently but firmly testing my boundaries? I wonder how big his cock is. Does he ever get rough with a girl? Would he want to fuck my face? Would he hold me by the neck and fuck me hard until I can't form a complete thought?

I'm getting ahead of myself. By the time I'm done with work I am a thoroughly horny mess. I say goodbye to James and walk home with my head swimming. When I arrive at my small studio apartment, about a ten minute walk from the café, I head straight for my bed. I need to fuck myself before I do something stupid like texting Luke, so I take out my lube and 7 inch dildo from my nightstand. When I find myself feeling desperate enough, it usually does the trick.

I lay a towel out over my bed and begin by stuffing the big plastic dick into my mouth. I run my tongue over the realistic veiny ridges, imagining I'm sucking a man's actual cock. Inevitably I'm imagining Luke -- this isn't exactly taking my mind off him in the way that I hoped it would.

Nevertheless, I'm determined to try and fuck some sense into myself. I redouble my efforts on the dildo, bobbing my head slowly and pushing progressively deeper until I can feel the head pressing against the entrance to my throat. I relax and it eases past my epiglottis. Suppressing a gag, I swallow around the invading toy and bottom out against the fake balls that make up its base.

I stick my tongue out, lapping at the scrotum as I continue cramming the thick cock into my wet, hungry mouth. Saliva drips down steadily and lands on the towel beneath me. Ever wanting to push my limits, I leave it buried in my throat for several seconds before coming up for air. The dildo rests against my face while I pant with my tongue hanging out of my open mouth.

So, I may be a bit of an oral queen. I'm not sure why, but I am obsessed with the feeling of a cock in my upper hole, somehow even more so than with the lower one. Between the sheer eroticism of someone using my mouth for their pleasure, and the light-headed euphoric bliss that comes with mild asphyxiation, it just scratches a certain itch for me. I am preparing for another round of impaling my face with the formidable dildo, licking up my own saliva from the length of the toy, when my phone starts ringing.

Fucking hell, it's my mom. She's always had such a great sense of timing. Remembering that I never read her text from earlier, I decide I should answer it against my better judgement. "Hello?"

"Hi honey, I just wanted to check in. What's up?" Right off the bat I am suspicious of her motive. She's usually never this sweet unless she wants something from me.

"Just wanted to check in? Cut to the chase please, why are you calling?"

She clicks her tongue. "That's not a nice way to talk to your mother. Did you read my text?"

I take a moment to navigate to my messages and open the text from Mom.

:: Hi Max, Alan will be in town next Thursday. Can you be available for dinner?

I am instantaneously filled with white hot rage.

"First of all, my name hasn't been Maxwell in over three years and you damn well know that. Secondly, for what possible fucking reason would I be interested in dinner with Dad?"

Neither of my parents have taken my transition well, my dad especially. When I came out to them, it was in the middle of their divorce proceedings. They had mutually decided their marriage was loveless, and now that I'm an adult, pointless to continue with. Honestly, the divorce never really concerned me in and of itself. I can't say I didn't see it coming.

Mom is clearly offended by my response. "Such language! You'll have to forgive me for using the name I gave you when I pushed you out of my womb. And I cannot believe you would dismiss your father so flippantly. He isn't in town very often, and I thought it was quite nice that he asked to spend time with you."

If she could only see me rolling my eyes. "Mom, please don't make me regret switching my last name to yours when I changed my name to," I emphasize the next word, "Madeline. And that guilt trip is bullshit, I doubt he even asked about me!" To be honest, I changed my last name to her maiden name because I thought it sounded cooler. Madeline Rose Stone just has a better ring to it.

"But he did ask about you. When we arranged to have dinner he said, 'invite that son of mine, I'd like to speak with him.'"

At this point I have heard enough. Not to mention I have a strong feeling she's leaving out one or two choice words from my dad. "Gross. Not happening. Are we done here?"

She sighs audibly over the line. "I guess so. I do hope you change your mind. And watch your tone when you speak to me -- don't forget who's paying for that bizarre treatment of yours."

Bizarre? Is she fucking serious? Aside from T-blockers my medication is no different than the hormones coursing through her body naturally! It's not worth arguing though. At this point she clearly just wants to get a reaction from me. Two can play at that game.

"Sure thing, Shelly Richardson. Later." I hang up the call before she can say anything about my intentional and perhaps slightly petty use of her married name.

I toss my phone onto the bed and lay down next to my abandoned dildo, my moment of possible sexual release now completely ruined. Tears well up in my eyes as I stare blankly at the ceiling. Why does it feel like she enjoys torturing me?

I reach over to where I have just discarded my phone and retrieve it, seeing an IG notification from Sarah on my lock screen.

:: How could I forget about my BFF!!? I'll be getting in on Tuesday at 11:37 AM central. Would love if you met me at the airport. SO EXCITED to see you my love! <3