It was an all-too-familiar scene. I met with a handsome guy for a drink and some conversation Yes, you've read that story before. And you know how it ended. Twice, in fact. First with Kyle, and then with Matt.
The flavor of this week was Sean. He had responded to a personal ad in which I clearly stated that I was a T-girl. So he knew when he sat down with me that I was not like other girls. Sean was a confirmed tranny-chaser.
He was about five years older than me. Not too bad looking, but certainly no model or movie star. He was thin, had a mop-top bush of dark brown hair hidden under a red "goober" hat. He had mysterious brown eyes. And he was very intelligent. But he was also somewhat less than perfectly masculine. He wasn't the type of guy who had "straight" written all over his forehead in big bold letters. It was more like "straight" followed by a big bold question mark.
"So if you don't mind me asking," I said. "What is it that attracts you to girls like me?"
"Well that's a pretty loaded question," he said.
"Start unloading," I said.
"Well, I like your courage," he said. "You know, living as a transgendered woman in a world where not everybody understands you. I like that girls like you know what they want and aren't afraid to go after it, no matter what the cost."
"Very good answer," I said with a smile. "I like you."
"And of course," he said, taking hold of my hand and caressing it for a minute. "It doesn't hurt that you have a little extra, if you know what I mean."
I took my hand away abruptly.
"I know exactly what you mean," I said. "And you should know that I would do anything in the world to get rid of that something extra if I could. Anything."
"Why?" Sean asked. "It's what makes you different. I mean, you're a chick who can both fuck and be fucked. Who wouldn't want that?"
"A complete woman," I answered. "And that's what I intend to be. Why? Because I know what I want and I'm not afraid to go after it, no matter what the cost."
And so the story began...
****
I had made an appointment with Dr. Ginsburg, a prominent sexual reassignment surgeon in the Tri-State area. Together, we went over surgery options and discussed them in detail.
"The most common technique is known as the Penile Inversion Techniue," he said, pointing to a chart. "Here, we create a vaginal canal from the skin from the shaft of the penis. The head of the penis is later converted into a clitoris."
"Those don't look like very good results," I said.
"There is another procedure, known as the Suporn Technique, developed in Thailand by the world-renown Dr. Suporn," he said. "Here, the vaginal canal, the labia, and the vulva are all created from the scrotum, while the head of the penis is converted into a clitoris, as in the Penile Inversion Technique."
"I like those results," I said. "You can't even tell."
"That's because the male scrotum is simply a vulva and labia that fused together in the womb, thanks to the Y chromosome. It's the same structure," he said.
"In any case," he continued. "The chances of being able to achieve an orgasm are about fifty-fifty. For the rest of your life, you will need to dialate using a dildo or vibrator to prevent the vaginal walls from collapsing and fusing together."
"Okay," I said. "So here comes the obvious question. How much does all this cost?"
"Fortunately for you, you won't be needing facial feminization surgery," he answered. "You don't need breast augmentation. You don't need electrolysis. Your voice is fairly feminine, thanks to the hormones you began taking at 16....
"...But the sexual reassignment surgery is a bit pricey."
"Ballpark figure?" I asked.
"About fifty-thousand," he said. "Most insurance plans don't cover it. But some do. You might want to check with your employer. And if they don't cover it, we offer something called Care Loan, which helps patients pay for cosmetic and elective surgical procedures. Would you like to see if you qualify?"
I had nothing to lose.
"Sure," I said.
Dr. Ginsburg left the office for a few minutes. To me, this might as well have been a lifetime. Then, he returned.
"I'm sorry, Shanna," he said. "We weren't able to get an approval, based on your income and credit history. But do check with your employer."
The next day, I had a meeting with Fiona, my boss.
"I'm sorry, Shanna," she said. "Our insurance plan covers hormone replacement therapy and counseling, but not sexual reassignment surgery. That's considered a cosmetic procedure."
Two doors slammed in my face in as many days. My completion as a human being was blocked by my income, my student loans, and the fact that I was not fortunate enough to live in a liberal country with socialized medicine covering transgender medical needs.
I was crushed. My dream of finally having the body of the person that I had always been in my mind was slaughtered by a very rude financial awakening. This is the reason why most T-girls are pre-op. They don't want the "something extra". They're stuck with it.
But I was determined.
I was reminded of that horrible day when I was stuck in the middle of West Virginia on the way to New York. A perfectly disgusting man used me as a piece of human meat and fucked me in exchange for fixing my car so that I could come to New York to pursue my dreams.
My best friend, Monica, once told me that I have assets and that I should use them to get what I want. As the West Virginia incident proved, I wasn't too proud to get dirty and if I wanted something bad enough, there was no road too low for me to travel.
Self-respect be damned. I wanted to be complete.
****
They say there are three ways to get what you desperately want: beg, steal, and borrow. It was clear to me that borrowing wasn't going to happen. I didn't savor the thought of being sent to a mens' prison where I might not even be able to take my hormones, so stealing wasn't an option either. That left begging. Panhandling, if you will.
I set up a website in which I described my sob story in exquisite detail. At the bottom, I asked for donations for my surgery fund. I even set up a bank account so that charitable and understanding souls could help me with the one thing I wanted most in the world.
After a few weeks, this turned out to be a bust. There was one very kind man who donated $20. This was as much as I was able to raise.
$20 down, $49,980 to go.
It was then that I realized it was time to work my ass, just as I had done at that West Virginia service station.
I placed an ad, which read:
"Southern gal with something extra seeks $ecure gentleman for a good time, possibly a regular thing. Any age, any race welcome. Donations appreciated. Too won 2 five five 5 7 three for ate."
That evening, after I got off work, I met with a young man named Patrick, who responded to my ad. He was a young medical student, about my age, and very handsome. In another set of circumstances, this might be a regular date. He was my type, after all. And because of that, I had to remind myself that this was not a date. I was working.
I walked into Patrick's apartment wearing a dress that exposed my cleavage and a set of black silk stockings and high heel shoes. I hated heels. But men found them sexy.
I began to unbutton my dress as Patrick took his shirt off. There were no introductions. Everything I knew about him was from the text message he had sent me in reply to my ad.
Patrick had one hell of a body. He had a very nice set of pecs and abs. He stood six foot two.
He took off his pants and I leaned against the back of his sofa. Then, he lifted up my dress to play with my ass.
Like Matt, he had a very thick cock.
"This is my first time with a she-male," he said.
I hated being called that. It bears repeating: I hated being called that. However, in the interest of good customer service, I let it go.
"I'll be sure to make it memorable for you, babe," I said.
He pulled out a bottle of lubricant.
"You have lube," I said, surprised.
"I'm studying to be a doctor," he said. "I know my anatomy. And I don't want there to be any problem inserting my penis into your rectum."
"Most guys don't get that," she said.
I felt his finger caress my butt pussy with a cold liquid. Then, I felt his condom-covered cock enter me. This was the first time I could remember ever being fucked with a condom. Most guys did me raw because there was no fear of pregnancy. But Patrick, being a medical student, had other concerns.
He fucked me hard and furious for a half hour before he finally came. Not concerned about my desire to get off, he pulled out his dick and took the condom off.
Then, he handed me $200.
"Here's my donation to your surgery fund," he said with a smile. "Who knows? Maybe someday I can be your gynecologist."
I smiled back at him as I took the money. Then, I left.
As I walked toward my car, the horrible realization set in that I was now officially a whore. Unlike the awful experience in West Virginia, where services were traded for services, this was prostitution in its most classic form: sex in exchange for cold hard cash. I at least took with me some dignity in the fact that I was a high-class call girl, rather than a crack-hustling street walker.
****
My next trick was an older man named Tom, who lived in Greenwich Village. In his reply to my ad, he mentioned that he was into unusual fetishes and was looking for a "mommy" figure. Strange that a sixty-something man would be looking for a 21-year-old "mommy." But, whatever...
I walked in the entrance of his apartment building and dialed apartment 1207 on the intercom.
"Mommy?" he answered.
"Yes, Dear," I said. "This is Mommy."
Suddenly, the door opened and I went up the elevator to the 12th floor.
The door to apartment 1207 was wide open and I walked in. I was stunned to see what looked like a baby nursery. There were teddy bears and toys everywhere. Tom didn't have normal furniture. He had baby furniture. In the center of his living room was an oversized crib. And in it was Tom himself.
Tom was in his 60s, bald with a thin horseshoe of silver hair, heavily obese, and wearing nothing but a giant cloth diaper.
"Mommy," he said. "I wet my pants. I need changing."
I walked over to his crib and unfastened his diaper pins. The cloth diaper was urine-soaked. I took a baby wipe and a piece of paper towel and wiped his cock and balls clean. Then, he lifted his legs so that I could wipe underneath him.
"Mommy," he said. "Will you play with my pee-pee?"
I took hold of his cock, which was growing an erection, and gave him a hand job. I stroked him until he was rock hard. Then, I took his old, decrepit cock and put it in my mouth. I sucked his cock until he came.
"Swallow it, Mommy," he said.
I swallowed the old man's cum, licking the head of his dick clean.
Then, I put a clean cloth diaper on him, fastened the pins in place, and picked up the $200 that he had laying on the table.
Then, I left.
****
The next night, I met up with my third trick, a woman named Alice.
Alice lived in a large, beautiful house in Queens. Hopefully, I thought, her donation would match the high-class wealthy lifestyle she lived. She introduced herself as she let me in.
"I'm Alice," she said. "So great to meet you. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Sure," I said. "I could go for a drink."
Alice and I sat down in her living room.
"So here's my situation," she said. "I have a beautiful wife who I love more than anything. But she's a business woman. Sometimes it feels she cares more about her work than she cares about me. Still, a woman's got needs. And that's why I answered your ad."
"Well," I said. "I have to be honest. I've never, you know, been with a woman before. What exactly are you wanting to do?"
"Just touch me," Alice said. "It's been so long since I've felt a woman's touch."
"You do know that I have extra parts?" I said.
"All the better," she said with a smile.
"Excuse me," I said. "I need to use the little girls' room."
I went to her bathroom and took a Viagra. I had scored a couple of pills online, just in case I would need to use that abominable appendage between my legs. This would obviously be one of those occasions.
Then, I returned to Alice in the living room.
"Would you like to get started?" I asked.
"Let's go upstairs," she said.
Alice and I went upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her wife. There, we got undressed. As she revealed her body, I saw an older version of the body I longed for. This made disrobing particularly uncomfortable: Alice was a complete woman from birth, while I revealed to her a girl with a penis. A rock-hard penis, in fact, as the Viagra had taken effect.
She laid down on the bed and spread her legs. This gave me the opportunity to explore the organ that I I was determined to someday have. That was, after all, reason I was here to begin with.
I played with her clit and pussy lips, carefully examining her womanhood. As I played with her pussy, I fantasized about that special day when a very special man would do this to me.
"You want to put your finger in me?" she asked.
I laughed.
"I've got long nails," I said.
"My wife wears long nails and nothing pleases me more than having her fingers inside me," she said.
I put my finger into her pussy and felt her warm, wet interior. With the other hand, I played with her clitoris.
"Dr. Ginsburg is going to give me one of these very soon," I said, feeling comfortable enough to open up to her. "I'd give anything to feel what you're feeling right now."
When I finished fingering her, I leaned down to lick her pussy, continuing to explore her most amazing organ with my tongue.
Then, I put my breasts to her mouth, allowing her to suck on them. She wet my erect nipples, sucking and biting on them. The feeling was out of this world.
Then, I threw back my long red hair and prepared to penetrate her with my cock.
I took her legs over my shoulders, as many men had done with me. Then, I slid my disgusting manhood into her.
Thrusting back and forth in and out of her, my cock felt the warmth and wetness of the inside of her pussy. It was a horrifying experience for me, but I was motivated by the thought of someday being in her position with a beautiful man in the position I was in.
I felt her pussy collapse around my cock as she came. Shortly after, I shot my spermless ejaculate into her.
Of all the sex I had since leaving Tennessee, this experience was by far the most humiliating and traumatizing. I would rather be bending over for Terry in West Virginia, as he lubed my ass with his greasy motor oil-laced fingers and sucking on his filthy smegma-covered cock. He may have denied my humanity. But at least he acknowledged my womanhood.
But I had no time to ponder this deed I had done. At that moment, very familiar voice rang out from downstairs.
"Alice, honey," she said, calling up the stairs. "I'm home!"
It was the voice of Fiona Charles, my boss.
I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.