A gay story: One in a Thousand Ch. 01
[NOTE: Recently, the number of people following me on Literotica crossed the 1,000 threshold. That amazes me and I’m happy that so many people derive some pleasure from my writing. To mark this milestone, I decided to publish the first chapter of a planned long story that’s been percolating in my mind, “One in a Thousand”. The significance of the title will become apparent only in later chapters. As always, remember that this is a work of fantasy; it portrays unsafe sexual practices. There’s no need for people to point this out in comments. I think we can trust readers to know that fantasies are not blueprints for behavior. –Cyanlot]
One in a ThousandChapter 1: Crossing the Line
I suppose everyone wants to be special in some way. I am, but maybe not in a way that you’ll envy. I think you should envy me though; I’m happy and satisfied with my life in a way I didn’t know was possible.
This wasn’t always true. I used to be a pretty normal guy: 30-years old, decent looking but not a GQ model. I’d dated off and on but never met that “someone special” and I really hated the dating scene. I usually hung out with guys I worked with, especially Matt, who was, I guess, my best friend. My friends were okay and I fit in well enough but I didn’t really find these relationships rewarding.
I didn’t like my work at all. Whoever thought that white collar jobs are what you should desire, never worked in a low level position in an insurance firm. I made enough to get by but never felt financially secure. I guess I was always one paycheck away from not being able to pay my rent.
Matt was wilder than me. He got me to try lots of things that I never would have tried on my own: hang gliding, skydiving, and things like that. When Matt would propose one of these adventures, as he always called them, I would usually be reluctant. But he was persistent and, ultimately, I came to trust that, even if I found them a little scary, I’d actually enjoy them and be glad that I had tried them.
But, even after I’d come to trust Matt’s judgment about edgy adventures, I was really resistant to the one that ultimately, after I’d given in to his incessant nagging, changed my life.
“Come on, Eric,” he pleaded when we were out at a bar and he first proposed this. I had flatly rejected the idea, but Matt pressed it. “It will be a hoot!” he said.
Matt’s great idea was for us to go to a whore house together. I guess “whore house” isn’t politically correct. Let’s say, “brothel”. Like me, Matt had never done all that well on the dating scene so we’d visited some of those before. Nevada does have some advantages over other states. But his new idea had a twist that I wasn’t down with.
Matt had found a brothel that catered to guys–and gals, I guess, if there were any–who were looking for sex with crossdressers and transsexuals. “Cross the Line” was the name of the place. And my immediate reaction was that it was a line I wasn’t interested in crossing.
But ever-persistent Matt wasn’t to be dissuaded so quickly. He kept circling back to his proposal and finally sort of bated me into agreeing. He suggested that my reluctance was born of some sort of hidden fear that I had gay urges.
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid that you might get turned on by a cock? Afraid it might turn you gay or, worse, reveal your hidden desires?”
He said it all jokingly, but it landed. He’d made a challenge and I wasn’t going to pass on it. So, with some ambivalence, I agreed to his plan. It turned out not so much to be “a hoot” as to be a transformative–one might say “seminal”–decision.
On the fateful Friday night that Matt and I were to cross the line, I was nervous. Matt and I hung out for a bit and had a drink in the common space where you can meet the girls–or I guess I should say, ‘gurls’. We’d decided that we’d both go for shemales instead of crossdressers. “Cross the Line” offered plenty of both and they were conveniently labeled, we learned. The cross dressers wore a necklace with a pendant in the shape of a ‘C’ and the shemales had a ‘T’, which looked, ironically, much like a Christian cross, I thought.
As I looked around at our options, I realized that the markers were going to be very helpful. I really wasn’t sure I could tell those who managed to trompe l’oeil, so to speak, with just clothing, wigs, make-up, and some prosthetic breasts from those who were in some stage–maybe a permanent stage–of transitioning. Some crossdressers are really good at it.
One of the trannies–Valerie, we learned–immediately struck up a conversation with us and, in a flirting and provocative tone, asked us what we two “gorgeous hunks” were looking for tonight. Characteristically, Matt was the one to pick up the conversation.
“Well, I don’t know about my friend here,” he began, “but I think I’m looking for someone like you.” Valerie was good looking–tall, about 5’9″, and slender but curvaceous–and she looked every bit the woman. I could understand his attraction to her.
“Well, then, you’re in luck.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m someone exactly like me, and I’m available,” Valerie said flirtatiously. Then, turning to me, she said, “What about you, honey?”
I wasn’t quick enough on the uptake, I guess, because Matt butted in to speak for me.
“You know, I was lying when I said I didn’t know what my friend wanted. I do–maybe better than he does, Valerie. He wants someone like you, too–that is, if there’s anyone else who can compare.”
“Oh no, honey. I’m unique–sui generis. But, my friend Kiera is a real cutie. I’ll bet your friend will like her. Let me get her.”
With that, Valerie walked off to another room. As she sashayed away, I realized the degree to which she’d mastered every detail of feminine behavior. She walked with a subtle sway of her hips that would be the envy of other women and the focus of men’s attention.
When Valerie returned with Kiera, I was floored. Kiera was a stunner–at least in my eyes. She had dusty blonde hair down past her shoulders, hazel eyes, and an adorable cleft chin. She was slender and not as voluptuous as Valerie–more of a girlish figure. Her breasts were small and high and perky. I was never a big-breast man, though I had always been a big breast-man, so I found Kiera’s figure very much to my liking.
I guess I wasn’t doing a great job of concealing that because Valerie piped up with, “I see you like Kiera!”
“She’s great,” I managed to say, blushing I’m sure.
And so it was set. Matt and Valerie left for one room and Kiera led me to another. Once in the room, I was on my own. I felt awkward and didn’t really know how to proceed. Fortunately, Kiera was a pro.
“So, Eric,” she said in a calming tone, “is this your first time?”
I started to sputter out a denial that was based on my interpreting her as asking if I was a virgin
“No, silly,” Kiera said in a tone that made it clear she wasn’t making fun of me. “I mean, is this your first time with a girl like me?”
“Oh, yeah,” I managed. “It is.”
“Well, no worries. There’s a first time for everything and I think you’re going to like it.” She paused, “You like me, don’t you? I mean, you find me attractive, right?”