Richard the Second

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-Vicky

Richard the Second

So, that was that.

I mean, the whole transgender thing is such a big deal these days, and one evening and morning helped me realize what I was. I was a biologic male who enjoyed taking the role of a traditional female in matters pertaining to sex. Now, the fact that an attractive man who lived as a woman straightened me out on that score is sort of an interesting thing. Amazon, the lady in question, not Mr. Bezos, showed me a new way of dealing with the situation, and that was to just let the male thing go and behave the way my mind told me.

That was the whole sex and gender thing wrapped up in one ball. I looked. It is part of a change in language and meaning. "Sex" and "gender" used to mean about the same thing- gender being a term to describe how the biological sex was reflected in social expression. Really not a big deal at the time and not infrequently interchangeable. Which is where the useful characterization of the one thing as a sort of verb reflected the ability to change it through social behavior. You cannot change biological stuff, regardless of what you implant, subtract or dress up to mimic something else.

The term "sex change" used to describe the whole thing, ignoring chromosomal fact. It reflected how people acted. The two are not the same, and the sex part can't be changed short of some sort of resurrection. Gender can reflect attitude and preference, and I have seen emotional email strings about whether there are three or sixty-seven of them. It made me scratch my head, since I am a chromosomal male who prefers another way of using what the chromosomes made of me. People are really emotional about it. But of course, emotions are a gender, not a sex thing. Though it does affect how one uses the sex you get at conception. Not "identified" at birth, since that would leave you with just two, and the difference (except in a tiny minority of medical mutations) is apparent to anyone with vision or sense of touch.

That is not to say that there are not consequences, and the old way of saying there are just two ways to behave caused some modest social issues that could have catastrophic social consequences.

The liberating thing about it was that it wasn't about the fact that I enjoyed being penetrated and used. That was the given part of it. The fact I had learned so quickly was that it was not so much the sex of the person I was having it with, but the way that we did it. My favorite aspect was the penetration and the means of doing it. I confess giving head to an eager fellow is about as much fun as there is. The role is plain and clear, and the idea of having his sperm splatter my eager mouth, looking down at his pleasure-giver is just part of it. There is an aspect of triumph in the subjugation, making his completion come at my bidding. Not giving a shit about my having to do gentle foreplay or any of the rest of it. I had broken up with my fiancé Robert at that point.

He had started pressing on the marriage thing, and that is where I collapsed. I knew we were a great couple, and my personal life was my business. I loved the way that he loved me, very male and sort of abrupt when he wanted my favor for something quick. One time on a trip he announced he was randy and in preparation for some lovemaking I discovered there was no lube at the place we were staying. I wasn't going to have him stick butter up inside me. We had to get dressed and drive to the supermarket to visit the personal needs aisle. When we checked out the girl at the register looked at the two of us and the single item for purchase and smiled. I smiled back, thinking I knew what she was thinking: "here are two fags who are purchasing artificial lubricant in order to play-act sexual conduct." I was just thinking that I wanted to share some intimacy with my man, and the slippery stuff would make it more pleasurable. I appreciated her gentle understanding of the situation whether she approved or not, she didn't mind us being happy.

So, I suppose that is a gender issue, though for many it is not. Some are attracted to sameness of mind and genital arrangement, born chromosomally whatever they are. I liked how Robert took me as a matter of his desire and routine, and if it had been butter that time, or cooking oil, it would have been fine. I just liked that moment of understanding from the girl. When he wanted me most times, several times a week, he would push me back on the bed after making me undress. I would lean back as I spread my legs to accommodate him casually. He would take a finger of lube from the jar by the bed, and in an efficient manner anoint my bud with enough gel to coat the inner surface of the ring of desire. Then he would wipe that finger on my arm or face as he desired and lower his erect cock to slide up and down my channel before starting his plunge. I enjoyed that part, and the gracefully slow way he would enter me, perhaps an inch with each thrust until he was well seated. Then he would start to fuck with deliberate haste, my legs up in the air to give him unrestricted movement. It was a fairly straightforward sort of love-making, and I felt that is what it was. I was his, and I wanted him to breed me when he wanted, mark me as his by pumping his seed into me.

I liked the missionary posture, his weight commanding me insistently, pinning me where resistance would have been futile. If there was any resistance, of course. But there was much more. Once we had a little place with a balcony overlooking the beach, and he decided he wanted me right there, leaning forward on the railing. That was nice, and if I liked it being on my back, I was equally comfortable in any way he was eager to try. And that was the other thing. When he used me, my own release simply wasn't that important. Sometimes, on a Sunday with the game on, I would make a little nest between his legs as he sat on his good chair and listen to the action on the TV while I lapped hungrily on his manhood. It felt normal, happily licking his dick, and the marriage thing didn't at that moment. It was my fault, but this is of course a fairly long and winding road.

Robert was special, and with him I felt normal. There were other guys. I was never much of a cum-slut even when single, health matters being the big deal they were, but I always thought that real sex meant taking a man's seed, however he wanted it. A few weeks after the breakup I realized there wasn't any normal to go back to. I started going out to the clubs again and got lucky on the second or third try. Richard was a nice guy, tall and wiry. An architect by trade, though he had some other stuff going on. I assumed he was gay, I mean, it was a mostly gay club, and he seemed to respond when I suggested the club was getting quiet and maybe he would like to stop by my place for a drink. He seemed open to that, and I did not press questions on what his home situation was. He followed me up the hill in his little sedan, around the block and into the lot in back of my building. I pointed out where to park and walked him up to the back door of my place, which was on the first floor with a door to the outside.

I didn't know what to expect, so I unlocked the place and invited him in. I showed him a place on the couch and asked demurely if he preferred whiskey or vodka. He nodded at the V-word and I trundled off to the kitchen to make a couple unobtrusive glasses of high-test. I brought them back, handed him one and sat next to him. Close, but not too close. I leaned back and looked at him in the eyes. They were a soft brown against his brown eyebrows and neatly cropped hair. I asked him about the architectural trade, hoping to gauge his interest and see what that might entail. The awkward part in these things is trying to ascertain who likes to be on top. As far as I was concerned, I was committed to being on the receiving end of things. Sometimes it is easy, sometimes it is hard. If you wind up with another handsome bottom there are ways to work through it, but I prefer being the object of whatever desire seems attractive at the moment.

This one was very cool. We did not drink too fast, but we got past the first part with ease. He leaned over and gave me a nice firm kiss that signified he knew who he was and what he wanted. I smiled and kissed back in acceptance of whatever he wanted to do. There was some couch fumbling that followed, and no request for another drink. At length, I rose and asked if I could show him the place. He smiled at my bluntness and got up to follow. The place is small, so there wasn't a lot to see. I walked down the short hallway and turned into the master bedroom. Richard followed and my heart began to beat a little faster.

I turned to him and slowly unbuttoned my shirt. He did the same. Another button and a zipper and the jeans fell to the floor where I kick them off. In vague hope, I was not wearing underwear, so there I was in my glory. Robert had never minded the modest body hair I had, though I tried to keep my crotch at modest length. When I thought I might start looking again, I went to one of the Asian spas down on the turnpike and got a nice job done, wanting to look my best for whatever might come up. Richard doffed his clothes just as quickly, tossing them on the end of my queen-sized bed. He was a good-looking man, nice hairy chest but no back hair. His cock drew my attention, of course, and it was rising nicely. Not fat, but assertively long, maybe eight or nine inches in length. He looked good, and I wanted him to want me.

I made a step to him, and gently put my hands on his waist and leaned in for a kiss. This one had a lot of tongue and some passion. The touch led to an embrace that made me gasp. He was lean and well-muscled. We made out vigorously as a prelude, then I turned to yank the comforter down and aside. I leaned forward and rolled onto it prone, facing him, still standing. I was good and hard, and Richard was as well. He followed me once my legs were clear, and we embraced and explored for a while. I ran my right hand slowly up and down his erection, squirming to my side to give him access to me as we learned each other's desires. It was good and fun. At some point we wound up in a classic sixty-nine position that allowed me to get his delicious cock in my mouth where I wanted it. We spent a fair amount of time that way, him exploring me as I tongued him avidly. We were not getting near the goal-line, and he turned to sit up. That beautiful cock beckoned, but I could tell he wanted something else, and I hoped it was what I wanted, too.

"Would you like to fuck me, Richard?" I asked as casually as I could. I didn't want to put him off if there was anything else on earth he might like me to do for him.

"I want to fuck you," he said with a pleasing intonation.

"Then please do." My mind swirled. There was lube at the bedside, but I had run out of condoms, since I did not use them with Robert, and had not expected to meet such a nice man so quickly. "I don't have any rubbers, so don't cum in me, OK?"

"Sure," he said, looking at the table and reaching for the lube. I rolled on my back, the easiest first position, and raised my knees a little with them spread widely. God, this was heaven and exactly what I wanted. What I needed. I stared at his face as he turned and came over my left leg and looked down at me from his posture atop his knees. He smiled and unscrewed the lube top, scooping out a dollop on two fingers. Then he made a show of re-capping the gel and reaching over me to put it back on the table with a grin. Then he got back to business. He was a godsend there on his knees. He reached down with his slippery fingers and ran them up and down my crack as I strained to keep my knees wide. After a first pass, he found my anus and gently probed it, pressing just hard enough to get one finger inside. Then two. He gave me two or three trial penetrations that made me gasp. Then he wiped the last of the lube down the length of his cock and pushed it down to give him access. His arms came down on both sides of me, and we were connected only by the insistent pressure on my anus. I pitched up my hips to give him a better angle and held him by his muscular ass.

The pressure on me sent that precious signal to my brain. I was going to be fucked, and wanted him. The first penetration is always a little uncertain. Robert had a slightly shorter cock, but thicker, and he loved to make me take it until he was fully buried. Richard was a little more delicate in the approach. He gave me one good thrust that opened me to the head of his cock and provoked a gasp of surprise and delight at the surrender to him. He waited a moment, pulled back to the edge of his proud helmet and drove forward again. This was another gasp, this one of pure delight. He repeated the same firm but tender motion another few times, slowing only when he was almost fully seated in me. Robert had never loosened me that deep, and I clenched his flesh to let him know I needed a moment to adjust. He took a hand and brushed it gently across my face, backed out a bit and then thrust in hard. I yelped a bit, but took him to the deepest. Once in, he rested his weight against me and kissed me deeply. The sensations of his tongue probing against mine so soon after having lapped his impressive dick, now also resting so firmly deep within me, made me feel complete and whole.

Then he began to work. The start was slow on the first few strokes, making sure he had all my folds and furrows well oiled. The he assumed a more assertive pace. My legs collapsed on his back, ankles crossing to keep him close and raise my ass just a bit for easier repetition. He was steady and disciplined in his approach. After he knew I was warmed and ready for active fucking, he began a series of sharp deep thrusts with his full weight pressing down. He was so deep he left me limp in the enormity of his violation of my secret places. Then he steadied to a near equal stroking pattern. It was raw masculine power, filling me completely, driving the air from my lungs as he pounded home. Thoughts poured through my head. I did not want this to stop, huh! I did not want him to pull out huh! I panted and concentrated on what he was touching deep within me. I didn't know how close he was, but one thing I wanted had changed. I wanted him to come in me. All the way.

That is one of the things that most appealed to me, that complete vulnerability. He had me ready with his steady probing and got down to a nice steady fucking. I knew I should take care, but this was something happening all in one complete package, from first exchange of words to the prospect of having his seed planted deep within me. All of his seed, and the lingering traces of all the men he had been with, and the idea that he could make me part of that, all of it, his seed settling within, his blood becoming my blood, and his spurting joy mine as well.

I felt his eagerness rising and I gasped as I told him what I wanted. "Don't pull out," I moaned. I want you in me. I want you to breed me...ugh...God! Cum in me! Oh, God..."

I sensed a new urgency with my words, and his real desire was to plant himself deep and shoot me full of him. He did, me gasping in an act of complete submission to his need and the completion of mine. A work of architecture, pumping his manhood into my very center. When his passion slaked, he withdrew slowly. I wanted to lick him clean, but as in all first times there was something to learn. His cock was still sending him signals, now not of triumphant and assertive dominance, but of sensitivity and vulnerability.

We rested together, and then he began to stir to get on his with evening's duties. I let him do what he needed, though I could have entertained him again. He dressed, and I pulled on my Japanese robe. I walked him to the door, and told him I wanted to see him again if he felt like it. He nodded. I made sure he had my number, and as he opened my door to leave one of the ladies who lives upstairs was walking in from the parking lot, and looked in, me a bit disheveled in my kimono and Richard fully dressed with a big smile.

I knew she knew everything she needed to know about it, and when we saw each other checking mail in the lobby, she would see me as what I was. A fucking fag.

That was my time with Richard, a sort of end chapter. He came by a couple times a month, and the drill got refined to an efficient sort of love-making. If it was morning, a nice time for him to have me splayed under his powerful stroking, I would serve coffee as he undressed. I would wear the kimono, draped open, and we would chat for a while. Once the cup of coffee was mostly consumed, I would roll toward him and sink to my knees between his and lower my face toward his hardening cock. It was as close to foreplay as we got, except for a little kissy-face. After a dozen or so encounters, it was all he needed, and would soon tug my shoulders and indicate he was ready to mount me.

Back up the hallway to the bedroom, kimono dropped, and a roll onto the bed had me ready to be lubed and used. I always had condoms now, even though his seed ran in my blood. He was gentle on entry, and allowed me to open to him before he began to thrust, but there was a certain assurance in his assumption of dominance of me that was appealing. Being used. On one of our last meetings, when he was done, he slid off the condom and held it by the tip so that his warm and viscous ejaculate literally ran from the sloppy tube into my gaping mouth, eyes locked on his, the sperm puddling on my waiting tongue. These were quick encounters, but they required intense and immediate submission to his need. The funny thing about it was that I had no need to reach orgasm myself. That wasn't even the point. He had a little time every week or so, and his need was what drove him to me. Not mine.

I don't even think I thought about the last time he had me. There were other things going on, and Robert had reached out to me a few months into our break up. I looked at the email from him and thought of those casual but profound moments of intimacy that so moved me, that tender feeling of his romance and the comfort of having him atop me when he wished and deep within me until his primal need to pump his essence deep within me. I wanted to reach out to him so he could hold me and comfort me, but it would mean marriage to be real, and that meant opening everything up to everyone. I typed something tender back to him, but said it was too late and I was so sorry.

Robert was a magnificent lover, but I realized suddenly that I had fucked something up badly, as bad as anything I had done. I realized that all I had wanted was to be his wife, and all the baggage I carried made it inconvenient. Not impossible. But it was more than I could do.

So, that was a big moment of realization. In a tizzy with myself, I deleted the gmail account I used for sexual communications with men. Destroyed the icon of greeting. Ended it.

Richard texted the next day, since he knew my mobile number. He had no idea my big boat of reality had collided with an iceberg of cold emotion. He was wondering if I could accommodate a visit and a nice fuck. I did not break into tears or sob in remorse. I carefully typed back a note to the man who made love to me in such an efficient and ecstatic matter, the man who used his assertive long probe of his cock to penetrate me, slide over my prostate, and made me squirm in violated delight beneath him.

"Richard," I typed. "Some stuff has come up. I need to leave town for a few weeks to take care of business. I will let you know when I am back." I looked at it for a moment. Then I hit "send," and realized that was it. I was never going to be treated like a girl again by either of the men I realized I loved. I couldn't go to the places we used to or be called out as a pretentious bitch.