tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersYou Can Always Say No Ch. 06

You Can Always Say No Ch. 06


We pulled up in front of the professional building opposite the sprawling medical center. The intervening multi-story parking structure was well-lit, but sporadically populated with vehicles this long after business hours.

"What are we doing here?" Angie questioned as we stepped out of the cab.

"Baby, Faye and I have someone we want you to meet," I explained confidently. "Shelby is a friend of ours, a therapist..."

Angie's hand tightened around mine apprehensively.

"It's all right, Sweetie," I assured her. "Shelby works with girls like you to help them realize their dreams. We told her about you and she really wants to meet you. If we want the whole world to see and appreciate you for what you really are, this is the right place to start. We'll just chat for a little while, Baby; that's all. We need this – you need this."

"But I – I..."

I anticipated this. It's one thing to admit to your secret desires in private, to your spouse – or in this case, spouse and 'mother'. It's something else to come face-to-face with the first concrete step towards realization of those desires. I had experienced a similar reticence with Deidre. She had required a little 'nudge'; so would Angie.

"Shhhh," I murmured soothingly. "Everything will be fine. I understand it's scary for you. Do you remember what we talked about in the taxi? You don't have to worry about making the wrong choice. You have ceded that responsibility to me and I have made the choice for you. You want to be my girl. I want you to be my girl. Now, you are going to be my girl. How could that be wrong? See how easy that was?

"I'll let you in on a little secret. Shelby adores girls like you, just as your mom and I do. All you have to do is be your sweet, sweet self and the two of you will get along famously. Faye and I will be right there with you for moral support. Now, let's get inside. Shelby is expecting us."

It was the tiniest of little white lies. Faye had said Shelby was not into T-girls to quite the same extent as us, but I wasn't so sure. She had admitted to us she enjoyed counseling girls in transition and was affiliated with several local gender support groups. I was willing to bet, she didn't see many as good as my Angie. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but....


Our meeting with Shelby was a mixed blessing. After some initial shock at how 'turned out' Angie was – in Faye's own style, with which Shelby was already well-versed – Shelby was enchanted with my sissy hubby. The four of us chatted together for thirty minutes, then Shelby asked Faye and I to leave the room so she could chat with Angie privately. I didn't like cooling my heels in the outer office for thirty minutes at all. My place was by Angie's side, representing her best interests. Faye assured me this was a necessary part of the process, to ensure this is what Angie really wanted. Of course she wanted it! We had agreed on that just a little while before, in the cab. I had forged a career around my ability to take responsibility and get things done. Being reduced to the status of 'bystander' was anathema to me.

In the end, Shelby had been in favor of recommending Angie for Hormone Replacement Therapy – with a few reservations. She expressed concern about the lack of a 'real life test', in which Angie lived as a female full-time. The therapist wanted to continue seeing Angie for a while to make certain her desire was genuine. Genuine! What was I, chopped liver? My company paid me six figures to make that kind of judgment call.

I had diplomatically asked her if it would make a difference if Angie embarked on this 'real life test'.

"Certainly," Shelby had replied. "It would be a strong indicator of her commitment to transition. That sort of 'sea change' in one's life doesn't come about easily, particularly when a career is involved. If Angie decided she wanted The Change badly enough to face even that hurdle, I don't see how I could deny her sincerity."

That was certainly food for thought – especially in light of the evening ahead. I was buoyant with anticipation of a bright, shining future for us that was within my grasp.


The cab dropped us off in front of what could only be described as a gothic-looking castle in the middle of a Near-North neighborhood. I was still floating on air, as I had been since stepping out of Shelby's office. Despite our first stop, it was still early; barely nine-thirty. As we approached the door, I crashed back to earth with a resounding thud. As was often the case with new nightclubs, the looming, body-builder bouncer was carding everyone, regardless of gender or sex appeal. Yeah, okay; Alan was twenty-four years old and had the ID to prove it. I supposed it was inevitable, despite her surreal passability, she would be 'outed' somewhere along the way. In light of recent events, it might even be desirable. She would have to become tough enough to endure this embarrassing – and potentially dangerous - facet of transition. Was she ready for this? Was I?

Was the 'gatekeeper' going to be cool with this, or a macho asshole? I was going over the permutations of my rebuke to the doorman's possible snide comments when we stepped up to the velvet rope.

"Good evening, Ladies," he greeted oh, so smoothly. "May I see your identification, please?"

"You flatterer, you," Faye schmoozed, handing her card over with a wink.

He examined her ID with a suave smile and cursory glance, taking only a bit more time with mine, then turning expectantly to Angie. Before I could get a word in edgewise, she retrieved her ID from the inside pocket of her purse and handed it to him expectantly.

My sissy certainly has balls, I thought, for a functional castrati.

Mr. Olympia took his own sweet time scrutinizing Angie's credentials, then glanced up at her face, then examined the card once more. What was he doing; memorizing Alan's vitals so he could tell his buddies at the gym about the 'fag' that had tried to get into the club the night before? Perhaps he was committing our address to memory so he could swing by with his buds and give my sissified hubby a little 'tune-up' later? What did he think he was, NYPD Blue?

"Thank you, Angela," he intoned with a gleam in his eye, "Happy Birthday. Ladies, welcome to Neo. Enjoy your evening."

He handed back Angie's ID as pretty as you please. The velvet rope parted like the Red Sea for Moses – and we were inside.

I knew I had somehow been 'had'. I kept my mouth shut. We found an available booth, illuminated by a single flickering tabletop candle, and slid into the plush, semi-circular bench. A waitress appeared almost immediately and took our drink order. As she departed, I held out my hand to Angie, palm up.

"Okay," I demanded, "let's see it."

She adopted a look of wounded innocence which was ruined almost immediately by her giggle. She opened her purse, fished the identity card out of its pocket and extended it to me, gracefully clasped between two fingers.

"You mean this?"

"Yeah, Miss Butter-Would-Melt-In-My-Mouth," I groused, snatching it away from her. "This."

I adjusted the card proximate to the candle to allow the maximum illumination possible to fall on it. To my astonishment, the authentic-looking driver's license had been issued to Angela Faye de Castro, residing at what I knew to be Faye's home address. The picture was definitely Angie; no trickery there. The card showed today to be her birthday – her twenty-first birthday! The lettering was crisp; the state seal hologram and safety watermarks all appeared genuine. Our drinks arrived. I handed the card back to Angie, then raised my glass and turned to Faye.

"You never fail to amaze me," I marveled. "That has to be the best fake ID I have ever seen. It even shows our girl to be old enough to drink legally, after we have been telling everyone she is eighteen. That's a nice touch."

"Thank you," Faye acknowledged, "but it happens to be the real deal. I took Angie over to DMV a few weeks ago. I brought along my baby's birth certificate for authenticity. The card arrived in the mail yesterday. You see, this really is my baby's birthday. That's why I asked you two out tonight. Thank you both for sharing it with me."

"Faye, we wouldn't turn down an invitation from you, regardless of the occasion," I responded, then furrowed my brow in thought, "but the birth certificate would have shown Angie to be eighteen, not twenty-one."

"I know," Faye smirked, winking. "I have a friend who is a supervisor at that DMV office. I called him the day before we went. He was on hand to personally escort us back to his office, where I, ah... pulled some strings, so to speak. He was yummy."

I was glad I hadn't taken a sip of my drink yet; I would have choked on it, laughing.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," I challenged, looking directly at Angie. "You now possess..."

"... a fake fake ID," she finished glibly.

We clinked glasses, then had to set them down on the tabletop until the laughing fit passed. So, why did I have a vague sense of uneasiness about this new development? Perhaps I should have thought of a discreet, plausible reason to hold on to her ID for her....

It was an amazing evening. We drank more than we should have on a work night, but certainly not enough to incapacitate us. We were, by far, the most popular stop for men seeking dance partners – and all three of us said 'yes' far more than 'no'. As the evening wore on, we were having a giddy, giggly good time. When we weren't dancing, the talk around the table turned to Sex. Not unexpectedly, Faye was a wealth of anecdotes about lovers, their penis sizes and shapes, and where she had done them – or they had done her – and her favorite positions and techniques. She loved it all; vaginal, oral, anal, light bondage, multiple partners, double-penetration, even airtight. Angie was not in the least put off by this talk of cock. In fact, she seemed fascinated, even enthusiastic over Faye's depictions of past debauchery.

Heartened by this, I encouraged Angie to tell her 'mama' about her own experiences with her 'husband' – me. She didn't disappoint, regaling us with 'his' size, how sublime it was to be taken, used by him, and how much she absolutely adored giving him long, slow, deep, sweet blowjobs. Even a heavy-lidded Faye was rubbing her thighs together as Angie described it.

"Oh, how I wish I could have seen that," she pined. "My baby really is all grown up. There is so much of her life I have missed. What about you, Donna? Tell us about the cocks you have known and loved."

I cast a wary eye towards Angie. I was not sensing any danger signals from her. She seemed as caught up in it all as before, as though we really were girlfriends out for a night on the town.

"C'mon, Donna," Angie chirped. "Tell us. Don't be such a prude."

In the face of such a challenge and tipsy as I was, I didn't mind recounting my favorite sex ever, starting with that magnificent fuck from Angie and her 'strap-on', some of my best experiences with Alan, then some of the studs that had come and gone in my life, going back to an hysterical romp in a tricked-out Chevy with my high-school-quarterback boyfriend. Then came the inevitable comparison of cock sizes, techniques, and all the other sex talk inebriated girlfriends share during a girls' night out. I don't think I was the only one getting horny as a result.

I was taking a break in the booth, my shoes off, massaging my feet. Faye and Angie were on the floor, dancing together. What a voyeuristic delight! I was indulging myself in one of my favorite pastimes; people-watching. I scanned the crowd, watching the people watching my companions, and observing the individual melodramas play out; boyfriends getting slapped by their miffed girlfriends for ogling, groups of women making what was obviously catty remarks about the pair, and groups of guys making their own analyses, or comparing notes on how to approach the duo. I checked the time display on my cell phone. Hurry up guys, I thought, your window of opportunity is closing.

I happened to notice an exceptionally attractive couple dancing next to Faye. He was a tall, handsome, distinguished-looking African-American gentleman, perhaps forty-something. The body under his crisp, well-tailored suit could have been that of a professional athlete. There was something in his demeanor that said he was comfortable both with authority and the skin he was in. His dance partner was a beautiful twenty-something Redhead with a peaches-and-cream complexion and slender, shapely body.

What most captured my attention was the attention they were paying to Faye and Angie, who seemed completely oblivious to their admiring neighbors. Similar to others I had been observing, the other couple couldn't seem to take their eyes off the two brassy blondes. Unlike the others, their smiles and whispered asides appeared to be of genuine admiration. If the Redhead felt any animosity towards them, she didn't indicate it. To the contrary, she seemed every bit as fascinated as her companion.

From my angle, her 'accidental' bump of Faye was anything but. Angie noticed the other couple for the first time at that moment. I didn't see any subsequent contact between Faye and Angie, but my sweetie stumbled all the same. Only the lightning reflexes of the Redhead's companion saved her from falling. I thought his hands lingered on Angie a bit longer than was necessary to save her from falling. Apologies were offered, some small talk was exchanged, and the two couples began dancing together as a foursome. Although I was more than a little uncomfortable with the way the Redhead was making eyes at Angie, I couldn't tear my eyes away from this unexpected, unplanned scene playing out before me. Oh, the possibilities....

The foursome returned to our booth and slid in; first Faye, followed by the Redhead, then Angie, with the Redhead's escort taking the outside. We made our introductions. He was Jerome; she, Trisha. Seizing the opportunity, I introduced myself, then my friends, Faye and her daughter Angie. Although our new guests were anything but rude to me, they were clearly smitten with my companions. For her part, Angie was clearly nervous. Her first act upon taking her seat was to down the remainder of her drink in a single swallow. The consummate gentleman, Jerome ordered another round for everyone.

The conversation drifted once again to Sex. Jerome and Trisha were obvious 'players' – and touchy-feely ones, at that. I stifled my urge to rip the redheaded hussy's lungs out as she alternated between fondling Faye's luscious curves and my Angie's. After all, I had intentionally hidden our relationship from the pair in hopes of exactly this scenario playing out. All for the greater good, Donna. Despite her earlier unease, Angie was responding to the attentions of the sensual pair, as I had hoped she would.

Jerome made no bones about his attraction to Angie. Actually, that wasn't accurate. If Angie's increasingly-fevered ministrations under the table were any indication, her ebony suitor had a formidable bone down South. Trisha's hand covered Angie's, encouraging my sissy to fondle her first genuine hunk of manmeat. At the same time, she whispered words of encouragement in Angie's ear, helped along by the tip of her darting tongue. This bimbo was rapidly staking a claim to the top spot on my Ten Most Hated list. Faye looked on with heavy-lidded eyes, breathing heavily at the sight of her baby's seduction at the hands of our guests. Trisha was spending considerable time ensuring Faye's arousal was more than just voyeuristic delight.

"Do it," Faye crooned softly. "I want to see it."

I knew immediately what she meant. Angie raised her eyes to me, in search of confirmation. I nodded imperceptibly.

"Me too," I trilled, winking.

With the pounding Techno beat filling the air around us, I sensed, rather than heard the subtle rrrriiiipppp of Jerome's zipper coming undone. After some deft hand movements, Angie's head began bobbing up and down over his lap. Trisha rested her hand lightly on Angie's head, more in affirmation than command. I couldn't help it; I had to see this for myself. I slipped out of my side of the booth and stepped next to Jerome. There was my Angie, her exquisite talons wrapped around a truly amazing black fuckpole, making sweet, passionate love to that rod with her lips and talented tongue. My mind turned to mush at the sight of this yearned-for fantasy coming true.

Faye swallowed hard to avoid drooling. Her left hand was under her skirt; her right, massaging one of her pendulous globes. Trisha turned to the sound behind her and softly gasped at the lewd, erotic sight. Leaning forward, she covered Faye's plush lips with her own in a gentle kiss, slipping her left hand between Faye's right and her breast, while Trisha's right hand joined Faye's left beneath her hem. Startled, I suddenly realized I was fondling myself in exactly the same way.

Angie was taking her sweet time with her new paramour, just as I had taught her. Jerome leaned back against the booth's wall, eyes closed, lost in his own private Nirvana. Still, no man can hold out forever under such a determined assault. He grunted like a rutting animal as his hips bucked, ejecting his load into Angie's eager mouth. She, in turn, claimed every precious drop for her own. Faye and Trisha, who were now fondling each other's snatches while keeping one eye apiece on the erotic tableau unfolding before them, both shuddered to their own climaxes. I was a mere heartbeat behind.

I had to return to my seat quickly, before my legs buckled beneath me. In time, Jerome opened his eyes, turned towards his redheaded companion and nodded. She winked conspiratorially. Both turned their attention to me.

"Donna," Trisha purred. "We really hate to break up your Girls' Night Out, but could you find it in your heart to lend us your girlfriends? Jerome is leaving town in a couple of days and I promised him a proper... sendoff. As it happens..."

She turned and smiled coyly at Faye before returning her gaze to me.

"... I think I could find something to keep myself amused as well. Will you forgive us?"

I gave her this much; this bitch had brass balls the size of my clenched fists. This threw a monkey wrench into my plans, not to mention the very thought of this trollop making time with my Angie drove me up the wall. Still, I think fast for a living and the alcohol had not diminished my capacity that much. I realized I might yet turn this new situation to my advantage – if I could just keep my rage in check.

"I'm fine with it," I lied smoothly. "If you will just give Angie and Faye a ride home after, I would appreciate it."

"Done," she mewed kittenishly. "I promise we won't keep them out too awfully late."

"Perhaps I should stay here and keep you company," Faye offered graciously.

She was a true friend. As much as I appreciated her generous offer, the thought of that fiery-maned witch having my sissy hubby alone, boyfriend or no boyfriend, was more than I could handle. I trusted Faye.

"Go, have a good time," I urged genuinely. "If anyone deserves it, it is you. I'll be fine here."

Faye cupped my cheek with her hand, gently scraping my flesh with her talons in the way Angie did so well.

"I'll call you soon," she murmured, smiling.

They all slid out and made their way towards the rear corridor. My guess was, Jerome had eschewed the valet service in favor of self-parking in the rear lot. He and Trisha flanked Angie. Each had one hand on her full, rounded ass. Trisha's other hand was on Faye's. I marveled at the way mother's and daughter's fluid tushes undulated in perfect harmony. I sat there, alone, for long moments, lost in a sexual rush. The thought of the two of them, together in a ménage, was an incredible turn-on – especially in light of what it would mean to me later on.

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