Patricia

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Victor falls in love with a girl with something extra.
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This is inspired by, and sort of about, the incredibly beautiful Brazilian transsexual porn actress Patricia Araujo - Machado is her real last name (though in this story she doesn't do porn these days a la Elisha Cuthbert in the underrated "The Girl Next Door," the only actual similarity - no proms or award robberies here!). Apart from her, none of the characters in this fantasy are for real (although the two main male characters are supposed to represent myself and the man who helped germinate this story), and this isn't meant to be an indication of how people behave in real life... though men willing to have sex with women who weren't born as women are a more positive force than rapists, don't you think?

Comments, complaints, or whatever to the link below.

* * * * * * * * * *

Victor Stevens trudged out of his workplace at the end of another busy day. This would usually be the cue for the tall, dark-skinned man to head to his bachelor flat, but tonight was Tuesday. The first of the three weeknights he had to go to his evening classes. Having finally had all his defences worn down by his sister, he'd signed on to expand his mind and maybe get out of the job he was in (never mind that he liked the people he worked with). But it was still a bit of a drag; he hadn't been too fond of classes even when he had been a student, and now that he was officially a grown-up... well.

The classroom was still emopty when he got there - another holdover from his old school days; he was usually the first one there. Victor thought about going through his textbook or reading his paper, and (in another throwback to his schooldays) went for the latter. He was still reading when he heard the door open - the other prisoners had started to arrive.

"Excuse me, is this... Vic!"

"Mike!" Victor said, glad that there'd be at least one familiar face around here. "You're in this class too?"

"To the bitter end," the unfortunately named Michael Bolton confirmed. When his parents had divorced, she had gotten custody of their only son and dropped her married name of Jackson, which he had thought would bring an end to endless jokes about his name. Sadly, this was done the year before "How Am I Supposed To Live Without You" made the straggly-haired song-murderer famous, ensuring Mike's embarrassment continued, though he was one of the few men in history who actually welcomed the onset of premature baldness. It cut down the resemblance.

"I didn't figure you as a student type," Victor said.

"It'll keep me busy," Mike admitted, sitting down near his friend. "Give me something to keep my mind off my job for a couple of hours."

"You'll be dead this weekend. Two jobs and this three nights a week..."

"It pays the bills and keeps me off the streets."

Victor couldn't argue with that. The two kept talking about theie jobs (OK), their relatives (sort of okay), their favourite TV shows (usually ones starring really good-looking women) and their love lives (ha ha ha...), until the room was almost full of students running the gamut from professionals to amateurs, men and women, rich, poor, you name it. Your typical cross-section of people you got in a night class. Or in a sitcom. Victor and Mike were keeping up one of several conversations running in that room when the door opened. Victor started to put away his paper and get the real texts out - another school holdover; put the non-school stuff away fast just before the teacher came in.

Then he saw who it was, and forgot about the class for a second. He just stared at the woman who was walking into the room, holding her books to her chest. "Nice..." Mike said under his breath. Victor didn't say anything; he was just drinking in the newcomer's beauty.

Now, there are men who can look at a young woman with shoulder-length jet-black hair, lovely almond-shaped eyes, an indescribably innocent-looking face, the most strokeable dusky tanned skin this side of Jessica Alba, and an illegally attractive shape and the walk to go with it, and think "Bleh." But none of those men were in that room; every single prick swelled to the size of Donald Rumsfeld's arrogance as their owners watched the class's only female student move through the desks towards the only emmpty one left. The one directly in front of Victor.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully with a strong Latin American accent to the guys on either side of her as she moved into the space, giving Victor a clear view of her buttocks; big, round and sexy, they were made for tight jeans. It only took her a brief moment to sit down, but for him and the other guys lucky enough to have a view, it seemed like a moment frozen in time. But with his luck, she was probably a lesbian.

His luck did run out just then, as the teacher arrived; Victor, his mind on the vision in front of him, registered that the man's name was Mr. Grant and he'd be their teacher in this class, and that he wanted to get to know his students - who they were, what they did...

"My name's Cletus Hogan, and I'm an accountant..."

"I'm David Robinson, and I'm unemployed..."

"I'm Tony Knox, and I'm a journalist..."

Come on, come on, get to this gorgeous creature...

"My name is Patricia Machado," said the gorgeous creature, "and I'm a waitress."

I'm Victor Stevens, Victor thought, and I'm in love.

* * * * * * * * * *

All his friends knew that Victor wasn't a drinking man, so it was quite a surprise when Mike rang him two weeks later and invited him out for drinks after work. Victor, rather than tell him that bars didn't usually look kindly on people who didn't drink anything stronger than tea, was about to come up with one of his variety of excuses for begging out when Mike said the magic words: "It's the one Patricia works at."

Patricia. Who Victor had spent the past few weeks silently lusting after when he should have been keeping up with the lessons (so that was another thing this had in common with his school days). Whose lilting laugh had come back to haunt him in his dreams. Who often starred in his dreams. Who he had been utterly petrified of talking to in case she said no... "Is it a smoky bar?" Victor asked.

"Hell, no," Mike assured him. "Well - there's a smoking section, if that counts."

But Victor would have gone even if it was wall-to-wall cancer risk.

* * * * * * * * * *

Patricia's shifts alternated with her classes, which was one reason she had signed up for the night school. Victor was surprised that he didn't see anyone else from the class that evening as he and Mike waited at one of the tables, trying to look as if they loved the music that was playing. But Dido was making it hard.

"How come there aren't any others from the class here?" Victor asked.

"I only found her here by chance," Mike admitted. "She only started working here a couple of months ago; I didn't know until I came in here one night and there she was. Let the others look for her - she's mine! All mine! Ha ha ha ha..."

"So why'd you tell me?"

"That's what friends do, Vic."

They shook hands as Patricia came over to their table, bearing her tray and fielding admiring glances. "Hey there," she beamed, "taking a break from the grind?"

"Where better to get over the day?" Mike asked the beautiful Brazilian woman.

"Thanks for not spreading the word, Michael," Patricia added. This girl really had him around her little finger - he didn't like being called Michael. "I knew I could trust you to keep it quiet."

"Huh?" Victor said.

"Oh, you didn't know? When he came in here I asked him not to tell anyone where I was working - I get enough guys trying to put their hands up my skirt and pinching my ass without Croft and his pals coming here..."

Oh yeah, Croft and his pals. Victor hadn't been in class with them long, but he knew the type - loud, annoying, thought they were God's gift to women (the Grinch's gift to women more like). They had actually hit on her at the end of Thursday's class; told her she needed to be with some real men. Patricia had sweetly told them to let her know if they found some, and left them steaming and everyone else delighted. Croft had been muttering about how she was the first woman ever to turn him down, and how she would regret it; Mike had whispered to Victor about how the missing ingredient this time around had been money.

"And I don't really like to date much," Patricia continued. "Word gets around..."

"Parents get mad?" Victor asked.

"They're already mad," Patricia sighed. "That's why I haven't seen them for years... but what's your poison? Funny expressions you have here."

"Fruit juice for me, whisky for Mike," said Victor. "My treat."

"But I invited you!" Mike pointed out as Patricia took their order to the bar. "This is my bill..."

"I got to see Patricia out of class," Victor pointed out. "It's worth it."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Okay, that's it for tonight," said Mr. Grant, looking as weary as the students felt. "Remember, it's a test next week... don't let that ruin your sleep."

Mike muttered something under his breath as he led the other students out, Victor chucking his books into his bag as he hoped and prayed that the bus driver wouldn't be late again tonight. It was no fun having to sit out there waiting for hours while the driver was probably getting pissed in some bar somewhere -

"Hey, Victor!"

Victor stopped his mental moaning and put himself on Patricia's wavelength; she had touched his arm to get his attention along with the "Hey, Victor!" Not that she had had to say anything... "Rough class tonight."

"No kidding," Victor agreed as they said goodnight to Mr. Grant and headed out. "I don't know why I agreed to this..."

"You want to do better for yourself," Patricia told him. "So do I... you think I want to be serving drinks forever? And speaking of drinks, maybe you could come over sometime and I could get you one on my own time."

Victor almost tripped himself up. He had trouble asking women just for the time of day, and now this lady was inviting him over to her place? "...Me?"

"No, silly, Zorro! Of course I meant you - you're a good one. I can tell. Even my parents wouldn't mind if they knew..."

Croft and Mike could hear Patricia asking, and Victor answering sure; and Patricia asking him if he could do it this evening, and adding that she could give him a ride there and home if transport was a problem, and Victor, who by now would have agreed to a spot of devil worship if the cherubic lady had asked, going along with it. Only one of them narrowed his eyes as a result.

* * * * * * * * * *

"You know, if Mike had gone any greener he'd have been the Hulk," Victor told Patricia as the two of them sat on her sofa in her comfortable apartment, sipping their drinks (Dr. Pepper and a Martini respectively). His eyes roamed around her living room; she had pictures dotted around, but none of them had anyone who looked anything like parents. She must have had one hell of a rift with them... Victor put it out of his mind. If she didn't want to talk about it, it wasn't any of his business.

"Either that or about to throw up," Patricia suggested, looking at him teasingly over her glass as she swallowed.

"To Thaddeus Grant," Victor toasted. "The man who brought us together."

"To Thaddeus!" Patricia agreed, clinking her glass with his and throwing the rest of the drink back. Victor looked at her as he drank.

"Fuck me, she's so beautiful," he thought to himself as he finished his drink...

"Mmmmm... so nice..."

Victor stretched himself out on the sheets. He hadn't had such a good night's sleep in ages... today was going to be a great day -

Sleep? SLEEP? Victor jerked awake and looked around. He wasn't in his room - it was too tidy for that. It had to be Patricia's bedroom. The man turned around in the bed; it was untidy, but it wasn't untidy enough for just him. The bed had been well and truly rumpled, and -

Oh God, what was that he just felt? Something damp. Something sticky. Victor let his eyes roll down to what it was... he hoped that stain wasn't what he thought it was. He touched it, and smelt his fingertips, and slumped back onto the bed. It WAS what he thought it was. "Oh shit... Victor Stevens, you didn't," he said to himself. "You and her didn't..." He looked down at himself further, realising that he was naked. And what was that smell around the sheets - not from the stains, the other smell...

Even before he saw the strands of dark hair on the other side of the bed, Victor knew that smell. It was Patricia.

Victor's heart leapt like a salmon as he realised what must have happened... he couldn't remember for sure, but he knew he couldn't have done it while he was drunk. Or maybe he HAD been drunk - maybe sweet, sweet Patricia had talked him into having something stronger than Dr. Pepper. He wasn't sure he wouldn't have turned her down if she'd offered. One thing for sure - if the two of them had made love last night, Victor Stevens wasn't regretting it.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Where were you, man?" Mike asked. "I was calling your place last night - then your mobile..."

"Listen, this is between you and me, okay? I was... I was with someone."

"Yeah?" He was really interested now. "Who?"

Victor mouthed "Patricia." Mike was really jealous now.

* * * * * * * * * *

Croft kept telling himself that Victor Stevens - that fucking wimp - simply could NOT be tapping that juicy Brazilian ass. He couldn't. But if he was, at least Stevens wasn't going around bragging to everyone. Otherwise Vic wouldn't have any teeth by now.


* * * * * * * * * *

Patricia couldn't wait for her shift that night to be over - Fridays were always busy busy busy, and today had been no exception. Her tips had been great, but right now all she wanted to do was get home to sleep before tomorrow night. When she'd be out all night. And then sleep all day Sunday... a perfect weekend.

"Hey."

Patricia didn't know how to feel on seeing Victor standing there; he didn't look confused or upset - he looked happy, as if nothing had happened. "Oh, hi Victor," the young woman replied. "I really have to get home; big day tomorrow or I'd stay and chat..."

"I know, I won't hold you long. I just need to know - what happened?"

Not exactly subtle, but there wasn't the time for that. Patricia shifted herself from side to side and kept looking at her feet, while Victor just looked at her.

"Look, I don't know what happened, but I know that I felt wonderful the next day, like I never felt before... was it what I think it was? Just tell me yes or no."

Patricia lifted her head; her eyes told Victor the truth even before she said it.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Why?" Victor asked, as they entered his home sweet home. Patricia had dreaded this; she had half-hoped Victor would have been a love-'em-and-leave-'em type - be content with a good memory to notch on his bedpost, and then the next girl.

"Why did I drug you?" she asked. "Because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what? That I wouldn't want to see you again?"

"No... well, yes... oh God... you don't know what this is like..."

The room was silent; Patricia searching for words, Victor mixed-up as he wondered where she was coming from. They sat there in each other's own world for what seemed like an eternity; a five-minute eternity.

At last Patricia stood up. "Wait here," she told him quietly. "I'll call you in a few minutes." And she walked off to Victor's bedroom and closed the door, piquing his interest and his mind. What was she doing in there? She couldn't be getting ready to do a striptease? Or some weird kind of sex game? More of the stuff they had done (might have done) last time? Victor glared at the phone as if daring it to ring and ruin the moment.

It rang. It wasn't even through with the first ring before Victor picked it up, said "Go away" and hung up, sparing himself ages at the mercy of a telemarketer. He turned back to the door, wondering how much longer he'd have to wait for her.

"Come in now!"

Not long at all; Victor had to keep himself from running inside, telling himself that it was probably nothing; she probably made something for him and wanted to give it to him now. Yeah, that was it, he thought to himself as he entered.

He was half-right; it was nothing. It was nothing Patricia had on. She was standing with her back to him, nude from top to toe. Victor let out his breath in admiration at the sight of her trim body, trying to keep his eyes from going straight to that perfectly round behind. And failing. Fuck, it was beautiful... but so was the whole package. He had seen naked women before, but never before had one actually undressed just for him.

"Thank you..." Victor said in a trembling voice, mentally telling himself to touch the woman, but unwilling to break the mood. "You... you're..."

"Wait," Patricia said, and turned her head to look at him. "I have to show you the rest - I'll understand if you leave..."

"What is it? Are your boobs fake?"

"Yes," the woman admitted.

"Is that all?" Victor asked with a shrug. "You haven't gone to extremes like Lolo Ferrari, God rest her soul, so what's the problem? Anyway, I'm not a breast man."

"You like butts, right?"

"Yep. That HAS to be real."

"It is," Patricia assured him with a giggle. "Behinds like that run in my family."

"Come on, turn around..."

Patricia nodded, and turned herself around. As she'd said, her breasts weren't real, but they were still nice, even though one of them did have a slight scar. She also had a pair of terrific legs on her, as more than a few of the men she had met had noticed. In fact, there was a lot of stuff about Patricia Machado to draw attention.

Including the long, stiff penis between her legs.

Victor lost his ability to talk when he saw the cock and balls there; his mouth hung open and he felt his head swim... he felt many things in the next few seconds. This... this wasn't happening. The girl that he had been dreaming of for weeks - the girl that gave all his friends stiffies - she was a tranny. A T-girl. A chick with a dick. A shemale. Right here. Right now. Right in front of him.

For her part, Patricia thought that Victor would turn around and run out. Either that, or think back to that night and leap on her; she was big between her legs, but he was big everywhere - Patricia still remembered that one night in Sao Paulo with a guy she thought was a friend; she had barely escaped with her life. That was why she had kept it a secret until now. Patricia prayed she had told the right man...

She felt Victor's hands clutching her asscheeks as he dropped to his knees and wrapped his eager mouth around her cock. Patricia's eyes filled with tears of joy; she had told the right man.

* * * * * * * * * *

If his schoolfriends could see him now...

Nicholas Nelson had smuggled in one of his dad's "freak magazines" as he called them. "This shit'll make you puke!" he'd told the guys before class. "Take a look..." Before the eyes of fifteen teenage boys, he opened up the magazine.

"OHMYGAWD SHE'S GOT A COCK!!!" "Aw man, that is SICK!" "People like that stuff?!?!" "Your dad needs help, Nick!"

That last had been Victor, who had gone on to be the leader of the loud decrying of Nicholas' dad's proclivities (which Nicholas heartily endorsed). God, what a bunch of weirdos - all looking exactly like women except that they sported male equipment of various sizes. Victor and his friends assured each other that they wouldn't go near any of those freaks.

And he really meant it.

And continued to mean it until that evening in bed, the visions of the women in that magazine lingering in his mind. In his mind he was looking up at Lana, the woman on the cover of the magazine. She was waving her massive rod above his face, and he was running his tongue over the plum at the end. Thoughts like that had been there all night; he had hated himself for fantasies before (like the time he had jerked off to Lisa Bonet despite hating her and that crappy Cosby spinoff), and he could have felt guilty about imagining he had a prick in his mouth instead of a boob. But instead he felt like he was enjoying the best of both worlds - enjoying a beautiful cock while touching a lovely female form; not truly straight but not 100% gay either. And what was really great about fucking a transsexual was that you could never get one pregnant, he thought with a little smile.