Thanks for posting three of my stories. I hope the slightly revised version of my fourth submission will also be acceptable. Like the others, it is a tranny fantasy.
"Adults Only" by Noah Vail
Preface
Long-time readers of TG fiction will remember the controversy provoked by the publication of "Little Maid" and "Paper Boy." The slender vignettes featured a precocious preteen crossdresser whose sexual mores so offended respectable TG readers that metaphorical torches and pitchforks were assembled, and an angry mob shouted for her banishment. A third story, "Adults Only," written in response to the censorious onslaught, was also denounced by strait-laced fans of tranny fiction.
At this writing, "Little Maid" and "Paper Boy" were still available at one of the most prestigious TG archives. "Adults Only," best read as a sequel, is reproduced here.
Adults Only
I was eighteen years old when I discovered sex. Up until then my innocent boyhood had been protected by the law and the morality of the just, upright, decent society in which I grew up. I knew the kid next door was a sissy, and his mom, who had a bad reputation, called him "Tammy," but I had no idea what they were really up to.
I wasn't allowed to see any pornography, since I wasn't eighteen, and of course the naughty stories on the internet that kids today find while searching for their favorite Disney characters (Snow White shows up in the weirdest places) were not yet in existence. I did read "Lolita" at the public library, but of course it just seemed like a kinda weird story about a crazy guy driving around the country with a girl about the same age as me and then shooting some other guy, for some reason. When I turned eighteen, I suddenly started masturbating and realized that that Humbert guy was a pedophile and that Dolores Haze was really hot.
And of course it was suddenly all right for me to see porn, and read sexy stories where everybody was over the age of eighteen, like me. That was how I found out just how weird and depraved my neighbors really were.
Of course they had long ceased to be neighbors. "Tammy" had run away from home years ago. She was rumored to live some kinda glamorous life in the big city.
"Her" mother was in jail.
When I read the stories about them in "adult" magazines, I could hardly believe it. Tammy's mom was a whore! And dressed her kid up like a girl! So men could fuck him! It couldn't be true.
But gradually, as I reread the stories over and over, I started to think about how thrilling it must have been to dress up in sexy clothes and wear makeup and be kissed and fondled by older men who told you how pretty you were.
My eighteen year old cock started getting hard at the thought of it. I remembered the slender little mop headed kid next door with the sparkling blue eyes and pixy smile who had so suddenly vanished, years ago. I realized that I missed him, and wished I'd been kinder and friendlier, instead of joining in with the neighborhood bullies' taunts. Yet I remembered too how cheerful he'd seemed, despite his loneliness. I wondered if his childhood, weird as it was, had been so much unhappier than mine.
I found myself looking in the mirror, imagining myself girlish, cute, desirable.
And I was, in fact, quite feminine looking. Dreamily I gazed, and suddenly there I was, stripped, preening in front of my own image. Caressing my hairless torso and gently teasing my nipples with my soft fingertips. Pretending I had breasts.
Feeling a man holding me in his strong arms, nuzzling me, kissing my neck, his swollen hard member hot against my soft round buttocks, probing for entrance.
His huge calloused hand encasing my stiff little rod as he stroked me. Oh fuck.
I jerked off furiously as I imagined myself little Tammy, taking it up the ass.
Soon I was regularly fantasizing about being a girl. A tranny. A cute little crossdressing slut. I bathed luxuriously, wallowing in hot soapy tubfuls of scented water that grew tepid before I finally emerged, pink, soft, and glistening. Painstakingly, I shaved every vestige of wispy hair from my eighteen year old nether regions. Made sure my face was smooth and soft. And started wearing lipstick.
My mom was very understanding.
"Your father and I have known you were gay since you were eight years old and playing with dolls. Now that you're eighteen, it's perfectly okay to be the person you really want to be." She gave me some of her old skirts and blouses, which were maybe just a little too tight, but looked and felt sexy as hell, I thought.
My dad suggested it was time I got out of the house and found a job.
It was more than the stigma of nepotism that kept him from getting me hired me at the pulp mill where he worked, I think.
No matter. The bright lights of the big city beckoned, and I was eighteen, on my own. Soon I was cruising gay bars, selling my barely legal body, seeking my fortune. Gradually, my tranny persona blossomed. Taught by clients and colleagues, I went from femmy boi (18+) to princess (adult), to full-fledged queen.
I tottered on heels, a short tight skirt clinging to my shapely ("callipygian," was the word used in that book in the public library) ass cheeks and revealing glimpses of lace trimmed panties. The panties were crotchless and my four inch eighteen-year-old cock poked through and peeked about, twitching in naughty curiosity, brushing deliciously against the satin of my skirt, and the soft flesh of my thighs. My chest was as flat as a child's, but I still looked cute and girly, with pony tail swishing and hoop earrings dangling, eyes heavily shadowed, lips painted, full, pouting, and parting to show small, evenly spaced white teeth. Men's cocks hardened when they saw my tongue dart out impudently as our gazes met. Their pants and their eyes bulged, and my little blue pupils twinkled. Lust tinged with teasing irony. Coy, avid.
I loved cocks. Loved my own little cock and loved the big cocks of the men I sucked. Loved being down on my knees, my stockings tearing against the rough pavement of the alleyway, feeling large fingers in my tangled hair guiding my head forward as I swallowed the pulsing shaft of warm, hard flexible flesh.
Tasting, licking, savoring the salty moisture, gagging as it erupted into starchy spurts of warm semen flooding my mouth and throat, spilling out and running down my chin, smearing my pretty face, filling me, covering me, making me a sexy cocksucking whore.
And I loved being fucked. The first time I thought it would hurt, but the guy coated my little rosebud with vaseline, and his hard cock went in with a thrilling jab, a faint stab of pain that instantly turned to sublime, epiphanous ecstasy. I knew that for me, this was Heaven. My little cock might have spurted, but I held it in, wanting my lover to thrust to a shared climax. I wanted him inside me deep and hard, wanted his hot cum in my little bum. Oh fuck. Fuck me, yes, fuck me, darling, fuck me forever.
For a while I had a sugar daddy, and life was good. Still, I missed the rough, furtive encounters in bars and alleys that had been my initiation into prostitution. I was a possession now, an ornament and an exclusive toy.
Dressed in expensive lingerie, pampered and petted. Kept.
I ran away.
Back on the streets, I revelled again in the debauched freedom of a sexy young whore. Easy come, easy go, and I was "free, white, and twenty-one," as Helen Vinson said, in an earlier, less politically correct, and no less injust era.
Inevitably, the novelty and the thrill of selling sex on the street palled.
The money stopped coming quite so easily. The sex got rougher and more sordid. I heard about a well-run house that might give me a sheltered, steady income.
I knocked on the door and introduced myself to a tall, elegant, young woman. I heard giggles and shrieks of mirth from within. Politely, diplomatically, the woman explained that I was too old for the niche market she supplied. As I turned away and drifted back into the street, I reflected on the strangely familiar face of the elegant woman. It wasn't until later, sitting alone in a seedy bar, pensively nursing a drink, that I realized it was Tammy.