A gay story: From Straight To Slightly Bent It is an arrangement we create in secret. Each of us with our own lives, and our own partners, but also each with our own unfulfilled desires. You; you crave to seduce a straight man to the point you would have him treat you as his woman, his bitch. Me; I am restless and curious, seething beneath a placid exterior. The opportunity to have someone under my sexual control is something I cannot ignore, even though it is with someone of my own gender.
I come to you; alone. Tonight, you are alone as well. I am wearing my usual long coat, against the fall chill of the late evening. My expression is equally cold and serious. This is not a meeting I take lightly, not at all. ‘Causal’ is a term others might apply for their sexual proclivities, but I’ve never had the freedom to be that way.
We’ve never met in person before, but you know who I am, and what I’m here for. I think this meeting was as inevitable for you as it is for me, but still I feel compelled to explain my presence.
“What I need is someone who and will do whatever I want,” I tell you. “I’ve never been with a partner who I felt completely and totally free to be myself with, at least not sexually. I don’t know what it’s like to be with a man in bed, but tonight at least I am going to be selfish and I am going to enjoy myself. You will do this for me.”
I’m determined to make you into my ideal lover, by whatever means.
To be that way, you must be attractive in my eyes. By stages, I will oversee this transformation. First must come the shower, which you will take alone, and then you must shave as much body hair as possible. At the very least, I want your legs as smooth as spun silk.
Next comes the black pantyhose, which I take some delight in watching as you pull them on. I’ve always thought an attractive pair of hose can increase the attractiveness of anyone, but I probably have something of a fetish that way.
Next comes the lace bustier, fitted with falsies to give you the illusion of a modest but well defined bosom. The hourglass shape suggests a feminine form, and I can already see the transformation beginning to work.
I want you all in black, because black is mysterious and tragic, and I’m in a black mood. I watch you pull on the long dark gown I’ve instructed you to wear, doing up the zipper for you at the back once it is on. The skirt hem is long, as are the sleeves, in a mock Victorian style.
You carefully and firmly affix the Asian style wig, the hair framing your face in a flattering manner. Seated at the vanity, I watch at a distance while you do your makeup. With the foundation placed, you do your eyes in dark mascara, and your lips dark red. I feel my mouth grow dry as the ritual comes to a close.
“Stand,” I command you. Being forceful and firm is the only way to disguise my nervousness. You obey, and come to stand before me in the ill lit bedroom.
“Turn,” I say, wishing to see you from every angle.
The effect is more than pleasing. In this light, you have the caste of some exotic woman, who’s imperfect features only serve to make her all the more interesting. I begin to feel my reservations wash away as I look at what I’ve turned you into.
I come from behind, and wrap my arms around your chest.
“Be still,” I tell you, “Let me do this the way I want.”
I press my lips to the bare skin of your shoulder, holding you just that much tighter. I press myself against you, my pelvis rubbing against the swell of your ass through the dress. I kiss your flesh, not thinking about the gender of the person I am embracing, only feeling the contours of the body I have against mine and the taste of your skin.
“I want you to undress me,” I instruct you, “Every bit of it. Start with the coat.
Turning my back to you, you obligingly remove my long coat, laying it to the side. I turn back to face you as you pull my matt black t-shirt up and off my frame, letting you see me bare chest. I am thin but not athletic, with a dark patch of hair across my torso.
You are on your knees now, removing my shoes, socks and finally my trousers. I gently run a hand through your faux black hair, and across your cheek. Finally, it comes time to remove my briefs, and my organ is now revealed to both our eyes. My heart is racing, and my throat goes dry at the prospect I am now naked with another man, and what I have come here for.
“Touch it,” I finally tell you, again making my voice hard to disguise any discomfort. “Stroke it. Do whatever you can to make me hard.”
I decide to remove my glasses. Without the ability to focus clearly, everything in the room takes on a dreamy, hazy appearance.
With nimble fingers, you stroke the soft supple length of my penis, feeling the glans, knowing how effective that is. In full erection, it is just under seven inches, with a surprising amount of girth and a slight curve to one side. Your face is so close that I almost think you will take it into your mouth. But of course you will only do what I tell you, and I decide that there is something else I want to do first.
“Get up,” I tell you. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”
Nodding, you do as instructed as I approach you. I feel strangely powerful like this, my erection presented so brazenly, and you still clad in your dress and hose.
Ravishment is my game, or so I imagine. I so adore the idea of taking and ravishing a prim woman, that I, at this moment, can easily block out the fact the person I am with is in fact not a woman. Instead, I come to your side and smother my face once again in your neck, roughly pushing an excited hand up along the length of your leg, seeking it’s entrance past the hem of your skirt. I push you down onto the covers, looking down the length of your body as I finally reach my goal.
I can feel your cock through the thin gauze of the pantyhose, and I pause. This is the first time I’ve touched another man’s erection. If there was any moment when my reserve would leave me, this would be it, but my hand remains there, and I know now that I’m not going to balk. Instead, I sensuously rub your length with the palm of my hand, as if rubbing the pubis of a woman to arouse her clit. Your length is much easier to find than that tiny organ.
What do I do now, my mind quickly races, what now?
Without letting myself think any further, I press my mouth against your red painted lips and do something I’d never have imagined I would; kiss another of my own sex in a wanton and passionate way. My hand clutches at your hardened erection, and I find myself pressing my own cock against your thigh, rubbing against the nylon. I’ve plunged myself into this so quickly that I cannot take the chance of slowing down or stopping now. I must be satisfied.
“You’re going to be a good girl now and take me into your mouth,” I say, shuffling myself up more firmly on the bed.
I hold the back of your neck and guide my glans past your open lips, then gently push myself even further in your mouth. I can feel your tongue against my sensitive tip, and how your lips close over my shaft to create a rhythmic suction.
I lay on my side, rubbing one hand along the stretch of your back, hoping to wordlessly communicate my feelings through my touch. I watch the top of your head as you continue to suck and stimulate my prick. Still clad in your dark enveloping dress, you look like a 19th century housemaid, being forced to serve the needs of her master.
“That’s good,” I encourage you, closing my eyes.
By now, you must be able to taste the clear trail of pre-cum that is oozing from the end of my penis. This is as far as I’ve gone in all my previous experiences with fellatio. Never has a woman deemed to let me come inside her in this manner. Tonight would be different.
With unreal skill, your lips and tongue and the action of your sucking have brought me to the inevitable edge of orgasm. Even if I wanted to stop now, it would be impossible.
My only warning to you is an ungainly grunt, then I let loose with torrid strands of ejaculate. My orgasm is incredible, and I hold onto you the entire time, never wanting this pleasure to end.
In the aftermath, I hug you close, catching my breath and feeling your body beneath me. I don’t want this evening to end quite yet, not this soon. I still want to feel and explore the contours of your body, to turn up your skirt and feel those freshly shaved legs sheathed in dark nylon.
I slip my hand inside the waistband of your hose, now gripping your hard naked erection. Spooning your body, I clasp you in one arm, gripping one of your faux breasts. I kiss the length of bare skin at your neck and shoulders, while my hand strokes your cock in the same way I would masturbate my own. The fact that this is another man’s penis barely enters my mind. All I am consumed with is the sense of power that comes from being in control of someone else’s sexual arousal. I set to work now, determined to see you come.
I tweak and stroke the soft skin of your glans, urging the pre-cum to emerge from the slit at the end of your organ. As it comes, I slow down the action of my strokes, now milking the fluid and feeling it trickle over your cock and my fingers.
“Do it,” I rasp, “Come for me.”
With the waistband of the pantyhose pulled down out of the way, I am free to rub your cock as hard and fast as I please, bending it down away from your body in the way that always drives me mad. I can feel your body grow tense, and despite the shortcomings of my inexpert technique, I have driven you to the edge and over.
Your semen comes out in hot warm gushes, spilling over my hand and the soft insides of the upturned skirt. I don’t pull away, but rather let it all come out as I stroke you slower and slower. The pungent scent of the stuff begins to fill the air. The wig is now slightly unseated. The illusion has been broken.
Suddenly self conscious, I rush to the bathroom. I rinse my hands clean, as if to erase all evidence of my adultery.
It is true; I have now had sex with a man.
Looking myself in the mirror, I reflect on this and quickly realize -it wasn’t that bad at all. In fact, the night is still young…