MY SENSUAL JOURNEY

MY SENSUAL JOURNEY – PART ONE

By Katharine Sexkitten

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

It's a cliché, but it's true. It's a cliché because it's true. And it's true even if you don't know you're on the journey.

My first step was when I was ten years old. Someone gave my mother a pair of boots, for a present. I can't remember if it was her birthday or Christmas. She politely smiled and said thank you, and never wore them. They were a little too risqué for her, I suppose. A lovely woman who dressed conservatively, she would never wear black leather ankle-high boots with pointed toes and three inch heels with the sexiest little zipper on the outside. One day, when I was home from school and my brothers were off with friends and dad was at work and mom was next door gabbing with her friends, I was walking through the basement mudroom looking for something, and came upon those boots. The sight of them made me gasp. It's almost as if they were speaking to me, in spiritual vibrations. I was mesmerized. All my senses were on fire. My breath had quickened, my heart beating faster. I didn't know the word at the time, but they were the epitome of sexy to me. At the age of ten.

I pulled off my slippers and socks, as if in a trance, and gently slid my right foot into the boot. I had no idea if my foot would fit, but I had to try. I was floating on air. And when my foot moved into the boot languidly and sensuously, I zipped it up. The left one went on just as beautifully. I stood, suddenly three inches taller than before. I wobbled on the heels a little bit, but caught it soon enough. I took a slight step forward, my balance correspondingly moving through my hips, and then began walking. The first few were jittery, learning the balance and cadence, but my hips just started moving differently and it made me stick my bum out and then I walked in those heels like I'd been doing it my whole life. All ten years. Just the sound of the heels clacking on the smooth concrete basement floor made me elated, made me sated, made me high. It wasn't sexual. Or at least, I didn't perceive it that way, because I was so young and inexperienced. All I knew was that it made me feel like life was perfect. Like a drug, I suppose.

For the next few years, I would find opportunity to repeat the joy from time to time. It never failed to send me spiritually into places I'd never dreamed of before. Peace. Tranquility. Belonging. I didn't know those words or concepts then, I just knew it made me feel unlike anything else in my life, and I had to have more. A few months into this journey, I found a pair of my moms' knee-high stockings in the trash. They had a small rip near the top, so she'd bought new ones and discarded the old ones. I volunteered to take the garbage out, and pocketed them. From then on, when I could find time to wear the boots, I would slip into the stockings as well. From the first moment I rolled them up and began to slide them over my toes, up my foot, and then silkily up my hairless calves, I was hooked.

The only way to describe it is that it made me feel whole. But I was a growing boy, and very soon those boots became unbearably tight, and I had to stop wearing them. I'd grown almost addicted to the stockings, however, and kept wearing them whenever I could. They felt soft and cool and sensual and sexual to me. Femininity, in a small way. I adored them.

My second step came when I was thirteen. We moved into a new house, and as it lucked out, I got the bedroom suite in the basement. It put me away from everyone else, who were on the main or top floors. I was on my own. And the bedroom itself had some built-in cupboards and cabinets. A couple of months after we moved in I was looking for something, and scouring everywhere, when I discovered that the built-in armoire had a false bottom, and there was space underneath. And then I was gobsmacked when I discovered what I found.

Stacks and stacks of porn magazines. Tons of seventies and eighties Penthouse, and Gallery, and Hustler. And a few other mag titles I'd never heard of, including a couple that were gay. But mostly Penthouse. I was thirteen, and I had a treasure trove of porn. Suddenly, I was finding all sorts of reasons, day and evening, to spend time in my room. I'd always been a kid who could entertain himself, when my brothers weren't around, so my parents never really worried about me. They assumed I was listening to music, or playing video games, or whatever.

What they didn't know was that I was masturbating.

Daily. Somedays, when it worked out, hourly. Every second I could find the time, I was lying on my bed, with a magazine on my left, my right hand wrapped around my five inch uncut cock, giving myself pleasures that once discovered have since ruled my life. I learned early on that I absolutely positively loved the taste of precum. I can recall to this day, and will till the day I die, the first time I dipped my finger into the giant pool of clear liquid held in the delightful rim of my very large foreskin. The way a large dollop of the sweet nectar clung to my finger, as I raised it to my tongue, keenly outstretched. And the micro-second it hit my taste buds, it became an ambrosia to my soul.

I had taken my next step. It didn't take more than a few months until I began to learn how to edge myself, to bring myself almost to orgasm and then back off, go slow, gently massage my shaft, or caress my balls, or gather up more precum to roll around in my mouth, over my lips, and then finally swallow down. I could produce copious amounts of precum, and I would!

I was dedicating my free time to reading stories in Forum about all kinds of sexual experiences. Hetero, bisexual, group, orgy, and occasionally gay. I didn't know if they were true or not, but I loved them. Some more than others, of course. Initially, the stories that really sent me sailing were girl/girl stories. Lesbian. The taboo of it! And the beauty of it! And of course, in Penthouse, there were quite often lesbian photoshoots. Those were my favorites. Especially when they were wearing lingerie. OH MY GOD. The first pictorial I saw that had two girls gently kissing and stroking each other and then lovingly sucking nipples and then sliding down and putting their tongues inside the others' pussy, all while wearing the most AMAZING black lace bras and panties and garter belts and stockings and heels, had me cumming. I didn't even know what it was, but the physical sensations one goes through, as well as the metaphysical shift in consciousness that is available should one wish to discover it, hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt as if I'd been born again.

When I touched back down on earth, which took a while, I had a problem. What to do with all the cum I'd just shot up my own torso? My solution was I would wipe it up with an old sock, which I kept hidden with the porn. When it got crusty, I'd replace it with another. Every once in a while my mom would ask me why I was losing socks, and I'd say I just didn't know. But I knew. Maybe she did too.

But the other thing I found under the armoire was seven different pairs of panties. Two of them were obviously cumrags, due to their smell and texture, but the other five were clean. And two of them were so feminine to me. Both of them thongs, one black with lace trim and one fire engine red, each with a deliciously sexy strip of cloth that, once I put one on and discovered, would slip in between my bum cheeks and out again at the top, which felt heavenly. Luxurious. Sexy. Ultra-feminine.

All of which gave me peace, and tranquility, and rapture.

Then one day, maybe a year after discovering the porn, wearing the red thong, and after a particularly long edging session, I blasted the biggest load I'd ever made, and the first shot came out my cockhead so fast and hard that it shot directly into my open panting mouth, while the second shot landed all over my chin. I was dumbstruck. Of course I'd read tons of stories about blowjobs so I knew that some people swallowed, but for a few moments, I couldn't do it. I was scared, I suppose, or confused. Swallowing would be so, you know, gay. And while my liberal upbringing led me to believe that being gay was fine for others, I had always assumed that I was in the majority, and perfectly heterosexual. I considered that swallowing might just be the stuff of written fantasies.

I just lay there, cum in my mouth, cum on my face and now sliding down my neck, cum all over my hairless chest and rosy red nipples, on my tummy, and still gently oozing from my cockhead. As my heartbeat came back down to earth, I heard the sounds of someone walking down the stairs in the house. Probably my mom, with a load of laundry to put into the washing machine. She wouldn't see me, with my door closed, and she almost always left me alone. And she'd knock in any event. But, possibly it could be one of my brothers, who might just knock and barge in (our sibling code of ethic), and then I'd be busted. So I swallowed what I had in my mouth, instantly, and began scooping up all the cum all over my body and face and sliding those pools of viscous gelatinous creamy white liquid directly into my mouth. I sucked my fingers clean, and fast! And good thing, because I barely had time to pull all the sheets and blankets back over top of myself, hiding the magazine, the panties and me as well, and then yelling at my brother that I was trying to have a nap. He said sorry and backed out and went to bug someone else, I suppose.

What I did was lay in stunned silence, slowly going over in my head the newly discovered abject physical and mental joys I'd just discovered. There was the most profound taste in my mouth, one I'd never imagined before, one I'd never dreamed possible. It was like the proverbial bolt of lightning, a direct hit right into my very being. I was at one with the universe.

I learned that I could achieve this oneness over and over again, with porn stories, edging myself almost to oblivion, and swallowing copious amounts of cum.

My next step, I suppose, was also finally getting over my societal shunning of anything "gay" and exploring a new world. It was called "STUD". It was strictly gay stories, gay pics, gay ads, gay sex. It was so very very very outside of anything I'd considered before. Stories of just out-and-out fucking. Leather sex, sling sex, gloryhole sex, bathhouse sex, domination, submission, and about sixty pages of cocks, cocks, and more cocks. Cum and cocks and cocks and cum. I remember one story in particular, about a young Japanese exchange student staying at the home of an American mentor, quickly falling under the man's spell, and quickly succumbing to passion. They fucked and sucked for page after page. The young man character didn't speak English all that well, but he did know a few words. The name of the story was "Heaven is you kiss cock". I thought that was the most erotic thing I'd ever read.

All through the next few years, I masturbated. Often. And swallowed my own cum. Always. And wore panties, and my mini stockings. After a while, when reading the Penthouse mags, I began to be more inclined to read the gay stories. Of course I was burdened by the standard social moral Christian prevailing attitudes, so gay anything was THE most risqué that my brain could imagine. Society was telling me that it was wrong. But more and more, I came to read those stories with an ever-increasing delight, over time perfecting and exploring my masturbatory techniques. All while reading stories. Lesbian stories still interested me, as did the occasional orgy story or threesome story. But the gay stories were starting to take over my desires. And my tastes became apparent quickly. The stories I loved the most were of young men discovering themselves sexually by being seduced by older, gentle men who would show them what true love was. And yes, I certainly did empathize and envy the young men being seduced. I just innately knew that there were strong manly men and I wasn't one of them. I wasn't a wimp, by any means, but I wasn't that alpha male ideal. Some of the other standard gay story scenarios were fun...bi threesomes sounded titillating, gay bathhouses sounded yummy, and so on. And I knew what I didn't like as well. I was totally turned off anything that had BDSM or pain, or humiliation. Sex and loving, to my mind, should be about pleasure, and sensuality, languid movements and breath-taking passion. So once I started reading a story, no matter how well-written, if it got rough, I stopped reading and moved on. Besides, I rationalized to my teen-aged brain, I wasn't gay. It was just risqué fun. I didn't know what an erotic and sensual journey was, not then. But gay stories started to take over my mind, and naturally I started to look at other boys and men differently.

And of course, with my leanings, the stories of men who cross-dressed and explored their sexuality and sensuality with other men (dressed or not) began to consume my desires. I would edge for hours, drinking and savouring gobs of precum before finally exploding cum out of my cock as directly into my mouth as I could manage. Sometimes I hit my mouth, but sometimes I hit my eyes, which really stings.

Which leads to my next step on this journey. When I was seventeen my oldest brother invited me over to the two-bedroom apartment he shared with a friend. I can't remember exactly why, but it was probably to smoke weed. When I got there, his friend was in the shower. My brother started up a joint, took a hit or two, and then went off to find something in the kitchen. I sat alone in the living room getting stoned. At one point, the friend came out of the bathroom, drying off after his shower. Naked. Towelling his hair dry. He was about six one, maybe six two. Dirty blond curly hair. Blessed with a hairless, tanned, buff body. He was an athletic guy. He was toned. Not gym monkey built, but muscular, sleek, and in shape. Masculine. He had a modest six-pack. Because he was naturally athletic his legs, particularly his thighs, were curved and had the most amazing definition. His skin, bronzed all over, shone from the humidity of the shower. He was drying his hair, the towel covering most of his head and face, so I'm sure he didn't even see me as he made his way to his bedroom. But I saw him.

All of him.

An epiphany, for me. Firstly, for finally understanding what an epiphany was. But more importantly, for coming to the realization of my life, the meaning of my life. I was a seventeen year old masturbation addict, who loved wearing silky stockings on my hairless legs and walking around my house in three inch heels, who loved the sensual eroticism of lingerie, who loved the taste and texture and tang of my own precum, who loved the salty, almondish taste and texture of my own cum, and who was now staring at the most gorgeous cock I'd ever seen. And I'd seen a few, in all those porn mags. But this was a real cock, not on a page, right in front of me. My first.

A penis. A majestic, erotic, enticing, and most beautiful penis. Gently swaying back and forth as he walked. The monument of masculinity made manifest, directed straight at me. And that's the thing, which I realized instantly. At first they were just cocks in those magazines, and then they became interesting to me, and then I started to imagine myself touching one, and then kissing one, and then of course sucking on one. But right now, right here, there was a gorgeous example of one right directly in front of me. Right there. And even flaccid, it was far bigger than mine, flaccid or otherwise. It was hanging down, with maybe a small degree of uptick, so it was possible he was just beginning or just ending a hardon. But it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. It swung as he walked, and each swing allowed me alternating views of his balls, two big egg shaped orbs that seemed to be floating on air between his legs.

Every synapse in my brain was firing. Every sensory receptor in my body was active. Every erg of energy I possessed was at the ready.

Now at this point, in many stories, one of about three or four different scenarios might play out. The casual meeting of eyes, the smile and question "do you like what you see?", the "play along and blow me kid or I'll tell your brother you did anyway", or the quick promise of a later seduction. All wonderful outcomes, I suppose.

But the truth is that nothing happened like that. It was just a most profound moment in the journey.

The next, and biggest step, came two years later. I was nineteen, living on my own in a small one-bedroom apartment, and going to college. All in the same town as my family, so I was home a lot doing laundry and eating free food, but still having a place I could call my own. I had a part-time job that gave me some spending money, and I had a small group of friends who I socialized with. I was probably as fully grown as I was going to get, which was 5'8", and I weighed about 135 lbs. My hair was past-the-shoulders long in the back and longish in the front, with a side part, blondish-brown. I suppose it could have been considered a unisex style. Fair haired, and fair skinned. I didn't tan, at all. So I was pale, but I had a subtle rosy tone in my cheeks that almost looked like I'd had some sun. I wasn't a virgin. I had had a few make-outs with girls in high school, and enjoyed them a lot, and in senior year had gone to third base with one girl who really seemed to like me fingering her while I gently sucked on her nipples to a big old orgasm. She's the first person who ever told me that I had a great mouth, built for providing pleasure. But she wouldn't go all the way.

Just a couple of months before my nineteenth birthday, a older woman in my apartment building ended up taking me to bed one night. It was the best of times, and the worst of times. My hairless pale body surprised her, perhaps disappointed her. I certainly loved kissing her, and touching her, and I made her gush with my mouth, which just seemed to come naturally to me. But when it got to the intercourse, my smallish cock size wasn't a big thrill for her, and I only lasted a minute or two at best. Which made me embarrassed. And ashamed. But she kept telling me not to worry about it, and that I had a great mouth and lips and tongue, and I could orally pleasure the lights out. That did make me feel somewhat better.

The last great step on my journey was a few months later, when a friend of a friend of a friend called and asked for a favour. He had loaned me some records to listen to a while before. He had a ton of them. He was a DJ. Sometimes for canned music events, like wedding receptions and sock hops and the like, and sometimes he mixed in clubs when their regular spinners were sick or on vacation. Anyway, he was working that night, in a club downtown I'd never heard of, and needed back a couple of the records he had loaned me. I said of course, naturally. I told him I was home and he could pick them up anytime. He told me he had stuff to do and wouldn't have time, so if it wasn't too much trouble could I bring them to him at the club he was spinning in, any time after nine. He'd leave my name with the doorman on the street. I'd get escorted in. I said sure, though I hadn't intended on going out that night. He reminded me that it was a nightclub, so I would probably be best served not dressing like a "shlub", as he put it. I had a couple of hours before I had to go, and I decided that he was right, it was a nightclub and I should dress accordingly. So I showered and shaved everything and, as I had been doing much more often lately, slipped into a sexy pair of panties. Forest green. Cut so they covered about half of each cheek in the back, leaving a tantalizingly significant section of curved asscheek uncovered, and totally free of hair. I'd also recently discovered that you could buy thigh-high stockings in the Safeway, with a lace covered elastic at the top that kept them from falling. They were black, and silky, and deliciously sexy to me. I had four pairs. So I slipped some on as well. I donned a dark blue men's dress shirt that wasn't silk but looked and felt like it, and my best pair of black dress pants, which hugged my bum a little more than all my other clothes, but which suited me well. And dress shoes, also black.

I took a cab downtown to the club I'd never heard of, but which was in a nice section of town, and after mentioning my name to the doorman outside, got let in ahead of a small line of people and a bouncer told me to follow him and he walked me down some stairs, and onto a giant floor modestly full of people, some dancing in the middle, others socializing around the outside, where there were intimate little cut out areas with limited seating. A love seat in some, two big old comfy chairs in others. Some were being used, some weren't, but they looked like great places to talk. The music was loud but not overbearing. The lights and architecture blurred as I hurried through the club to the DJ booth. The bouncer, who I noticed was really built like a brick shithouse, knocked on a door which opened and I was let in. Up a small flight of stairs to the booth. I saw the friend of my friends friend. I gave him his records back. He said thanks. He offered to get me a drink. I said sure. I was legal at that point. He used a walkie-talkie and said something to the bar, and told me it'd be a couple of minutes. He showed me all the high-tech equipment the club had. Turntables and mixers and outboard gear and all sorts of things that were foreign to me, but sounded interesting.

As he was explaining things and how they worked, I would occasionally look out the windows of the booth, at the club patrons. I could see a bunch of them dancing. With the subdued atmosphere inside, they looked hypnotic, moving in unique and different waves of the same ocean. It delighted me, somehow, inside.

And it took me a few different looks before I realized that all the dancers were couples of the same sex. Men were dancing with men. Women were dancing with women. Some men were dancing with what appeared to be women, but a more intense visual examination showed clear signs that these women were men in drag. Crossdressers. Transvestites. Perhaps even transsexuals.

I was at first shocked, I suppose. For an instant. Because, it wasn't what I'd been expecting. He hadn't told me it was a gay nightclub, and I had never asked. Why would I? And I'd never heard that our town even had a gay club. But that shock was soon replaced with first a feeling of acceptance, that everyone should be able to enjoy a night out with others of similar interests, and then a feeling of gladness. Joy, even. I was almost instantly happy almost to the point of glee that there was a welcoming place for these parts of society that are so often disparaged and discriminated against and in some cases threatened and worse hurt or killed. All for whom they love. The saddest thing I've ever heard.

The song tempo at that point had been in the slow range, and so these couples were close dancing. Many cheek to cheek. It made me giddy. The DJ was asking me if I was alright, since I had apparently been ignoring him for a couple of minutes. I giggled. That's the best way I can describe it. I was embarrassed that I had been caught looking at gay people being themselves. For a sexually-confused young man who was still in the closet, he could have, perhaps, if he was prone to being cruel or nasty, hurt my reputation amongst society. But he didn't. He simply smiled and reminded me that people were people, gay or otherwise, and that if I was uncomfortable being around gay people that I could leave the club. I stammered that I was fine with it. And I was.

There was a knock on the door and then a waitress brought up our drinks. A beer for the DJ. A tall crystal glass filled with white wine for me. She instantly apologized, once she actually saw me, because he had told her to "bring his friend a drink" and she had barely seen me walk through the club from behind for a second or two and assumed that I was a woman. So she brought me a woman's drink.

It could have been weird, but I just smiled and thanked her and took the glass. A sip later and I thought that I could get used to this life. Drinking wine, which I'd never had before, while being dressed up nicely in a nightclub full of loving and lovely people. Wow!

After ten minutes in the booth, and with my glass almost empty, I asked the DJ where the washrooms were, since I had to pee. He gave me directions to the normal bathrooms, and also told me not to go in the opposite direction, to the "special" bathrooms, because gay sex would be happening in there and I might not want to see it, unless I was "into that, in which case fill your boots!"

I headed down the stairs and out the door towards the non-sexual bathrooms, which were down a well-lit hallway. There was an empty table outside the hall that I placed my champagne flute down on, and then made my way into the men's room. I chose a stall, not wanting any chance of someone seeing my panties if I brought my zipper down. I unzipped and lowered my pants, and then panties. But it took a little work to move the panties, because my cock was rock hard. I'd never noticed it up until that point. My senses had been on overload since the second I walked into the club, so it had never even hit me that I was sexually excited by all of this! And I was so hard that I had to actually push my cock down and hold it, so I could sit down. And it's difficult sometimes to pee with a full erection that's pointing downwards! Then after, I had to arrange my cock in my panties so no one would see my bulge.

Coming back into the big room, I turned to the table to retrieve my drink. And was shocked to discover it was gone. I looked around at the neighbouring tables, just in case my memory was wrong, but there weren't any champagne flutes at any of them. I looked back at the table, absolutely sure that this was where I had left my drink. I was confused.

Then I heard a voice from close behind me, cutting through the noise of the club. A deep, baritone voice, but caramel-smooth, and soft, said "the waitress took your glass away. She probably thought you were finished with it."

I turned to look at the body of the voice. I was overcome, instantly. I had to look up. A tall man, who was big across the chest. He was probably six two or three. He had a full head of chestnut brown hair, with some flecks of gray in the short styled sideburns, all of which accented his golden tanned skin and hazel eyes. And those eyes were staring fiercely at me, staring through me. But I didn't feel violated, or under attack. I felt wanted, and warm, and loved. His barrel chest tapered to a slimmer midsection that had just the hint of a dad belly, and then down further to strong looking legs. And I couldn't help but notice that there was a significant bulge in the front of his jeans, leaning towards his left side. I couldn't see the back of him, but I instantly knew from his shape and his appearance that he was a guy who took care of his body, and he probably had a really gorgeous masculine ass. For a second, I wished I could see it, right there, right then. He was wearing a dark turtleneck sweater under a dark suit jacket, and jeans. He looked like a model in an advertisement for something aimed at successful, forty year old business executives.

"So I bought you another one," he added, leaning his head closer to me so I could hear him, and bringing his left hand from around his back, indeed holding a flute filled with white wine. "I'd be honored if you would accept this gift from me." He held out the glass directly towards me, and I gently reached for it and took it from his hand.

"Thank you," I said, with a smile, standing up on my tiptoes slightly so he could hear me. He was wearing some sort of cologne or body spray, and I liked it! And I immediately noticed that I was indeed smiling. Normally in my life, meeting new people was always a slightly intimidating experience, and while I wouldn't have been rude, I was generally a little standoffish.

But not now. I felt like I had fallen in to the most comfortable sofa I'd ever been on, or the most pillowy luxurious bed. Soft and gentle and warm and loving.

"I'm David," he said, switching his beer to this left hand and extending his large right hand, "or Dave, if you prefer."

I reached out my hand to be enveloped by his, both of us standing closer to each other. His skin was warm, and tender. "I'm Kelly."

"I love the name Kelly," he said, smiling more, his breath warm and intoxicating on the skin of my cheek. Which made me feel even warmer inside, which must have shown itself in my facial expressions, because he smiled even more, which made his eyes shine more, which made my heart race more, and made my hand, still in his, feel as if I was being rooted in the most wonderful place in the world. "It's one of those names that could be for someone masculine, or someone feminine." The way he said the word `feminine' did something to me, and the way he said it made things very clear to me that he'd prefer it that way.

"And which would you prefer I call you? David, or Dave?"

Suddenly his eyes became more intense. More fixated on me. His hand pressure increased, slightly. Not the point of hurting me or causing me any pain at all, but enough to make me notice that he was holding me harder, perhaps not wanting to risk letting me go, radiating his heat and energy through our joined skin.

"If I may be so bold," he smiled even more and moved slightly closer, "I'd prefer if you called me...lover."

My eyes opened wider.

"And I would love to call you...darling."

He paused, analyzing the look on my face. He was worried about my reaction, I suppose.

"But only if you would like me to. Only if it would make you feel beautiful. I don't want to offend you, or risk losing your affections."

"My affections?"

"Oh yes, darling," he smiled even more, at using his preferred pet name for me, "your affections. For instance, right now, you are allowing me the pleasure of holding your hand, of feeling your soft skin, and through your skin I can feel your heartbeat, and your soul. And I can feel your passion for life, your thirst for the heights of sensuality. For adventure, of the heart and soul and body. I sense all of that just from holding your hand."

I was so charmed. I could barely get the next words out. "Really? Me?"

"Yes," he replied, his voice back down to just over a deep sensual whisper, "you. When I saw you walk down those stairs I was entranced. I was captured. Does that sound silly to you?"

I shook my head. "No. It sounds heavenly."

"And the only word I could think of to describe you in that moment, and every moment since, including right this second, is beautiful."

I blushed. I could feel the blood running to my cheeks, making them even rosier than normal. Part of me found his word incredulous. Me? Beautiful?

"But that's a word for a woman, isn't it?"

He shook his head. "It's a word to describe physical and spiritual perfection, male or female. And it's a word that definitely describes you. Beautiful. Inside and out. I barely know you and already I can tell you're just as lovely on the inside as you are on the outside. So I can only imagine how much more I would get to feel should I be blessed with more of your affections! I have very selfish reasons for wanting to call you `darling'. You don't mind, do you?"

He still had my hand in his, and was still staring into my soul with his hazel eyes, and was still smiling so warmly that I felt like the center of the universe, and I'd never been so alive. The very idea that any other human being found me attractive was not something I normally dealt with. So there was that. But the fact that it was this handsome, charming, attractive, virile, well-dressed man who was pushing all my envelopes all the way open took me to a new level of experience. A new level of awakening.

"I don't mind. At all." It was the only thing I could think of to say, and the only thing I wanted to say.

Then I smiled even more. "Lover."

He motioned to an alcove, with a small two-seat leather sofa currently unoccupied. "Would you like to sit with me?"

I enthusiastically nodded yes, and we walked over, hand in hand. He allowed me to sit first, and then he sat to my right. His right hand was still holding my right hand, so he rested his left arm on the back of the sofa, over top of my shoulders. My legs crossed automatically as I set down, in what I had always thought was just the natural way to cross my legs, but which a couple of people over the years had told me was a feminine way. His eyes never left mine, but I somehow innately knew that he had noticed the way I cross my legs. I had to turn my head to the right and he to the left, and I had to look up and he down.

"Would I be wrong," he asked "to assume that this is your first time? In a place like this, I mean."

It felt so easy to talk to him. "No, you wouldn't be wrong. I was just dropping off some records for the DJ."

He nodded. "I saw that. And are the two of you good friends?"

"No, no," I replied, "not at all. I barely know him. He's friends with a friend of mine, that's all. He asked me to bring him some of the records he'd loaned to me. I haven't even listened to them."

"So you're only here to drop off some records?"

"That's right."

He leaned still closer and spoke softly. "Nothing else?"

He was gently tracing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. A reassuring pace, and a welcoming touch. I was melting, and changing I suppose, right in front of him.

"Like what?" I asked, my eyes wide with curiosity. I honestly didn't know what he was inferring.

"It's your first time in a gay nightclub. Perhaps you coming here was the start of something for you. The start of a new exciting life full of first experiences. Perhaps you know it, too. Deep down. Perhaps that's why you didn't just drop the tunes and then scoot out the door, which you didn't do, did you?"

I shook my head no, my eyes never leaving his.

"Perhaps your subconscious brain is telling you to stay, to open yourself to other firsts."

I moaned a little bit, and hoped he hadn't noticed. Then I thought maybe I wouldn't mind it if he had noticed.

"Like what?"

"Well, like your first sensuous hug with a man. Then your first gentle, heart-warming kiss, your soft lips craving more and more." I was mesmerized. Things I'd not considered ever happening to me in real life, and yet things I found myself leaning towards. He continued. "What else, you ask? How about your first dance with a man, being held in his arms, feeling his love and lust for you, feeling his passion and his desires, knowing you could satisfy him in ways that no one else could."

He could see the effect his words were having on me. I was swooning. That's the only word. I was light-headed, and yet crystal-minded on my senses and how they were all alive and throbbing and pulsing with delight and joy and eagerness.

I didn't have to consider my answer. "That all sounds so wonderful. I mean, it's all so new to me, and yet I love it! I do! I don't know why, but I want to try all those things." I paused. "With the right man."

He laughed, not in a haughty way, but as an expression of shared joy. "Do you! And tell me, darling, how would you describe the right guy? Speak from your heart, baby. It makes life so much more sensual when you say the words out loud, don't you think?"

I realized his left hand was gently caressing my left shoulder. For a second I wondered where he'd managed to put his beer, but then realized that his touch was enticing and languid and I didn't care where the bottle was.

I said the first thing that came into my mind. "Someone warm and gentle and understanding, I guess. Someone handsome. Someone who will hold me and make me feel like the most important person in the world."

His caressing began to gently flow down from my shoulder, across the silky material of my shirt down my upper arm, with the occasional circular movement that brought his fingertips across to my chest, lightly touching my pec, and then moving ever slowly closer to my nipple, which I suddenly realized was as hard as a pencil eraser. I could feel it, turgid and solid, trembling with anticipation of something profound and life-altering ahead.

He moved his head closer to me, his lips lightly grazing my right ear lobe. "Have you seen anyone so far that checks all your boxes, darling?"

Then he placed his lips upon my cheekbone. The softest gentlest of kisses, but the rush of sensations it generated inside me was like a volcano. I was bubbling inside with excitement and trepidation and sensuality and pleasures only imagined for me.

Then I said the only thing in the whole world that I knew to be true. "You."

A slow romantic song came on. Strangers in the Night, sung by Frank Sinatra. His right hand squeezed mine; his left hand fingertips found my nipple and flicked it, gently, but with purpose. He saw my body quiver, the tingles travelling through me. He saw my eyelids close, just slightly. He saw my chest heave up a little, as I gasped physically at the sensations coursing through me. He leaned closer to me, so his face was just a few inches from mine, his eyes so close that I felt instantly and completely covered in the warmth of the hazel coloring. His mouth was equally close to mine, and I could feel his breath on my lips as he exhaled. I felt like what I assumed someone drowning would feel, except in the most glorious way. I could see the end coming, this time of enormous life change, except mine was a passionate transition and I couldn't wait to succumb to it.

"Would you do me the honor and dance with me?"

I was elated. And frightened, in equal parts. He saw my hesitation, and a slight look of worry came over his face. It made me sad that I had caused his heart to sink, even if it was but a slight drop. I put my champagne flute on the table and reached my left hand up to touch the side of his face. To reassure him, I suppose. To caress him, and to connect with him on a simple and yet sensual level. Touch.

"David, my darling," I said, "I don't really know how to dance. This is all so new to me. So I was a bit shocked at first, at your question. But then I instantly knew that I do want to dance. I do. I want to move, to be free to move and sway and let the music and passion and emotion take me to places I've never been. I've never even said those words before, but I know now that's what I want. It's what I've always wanted, my whole life. I just didn't know it until right now. And I am so amazed and flattered and happy to be asked to dance. To have someone so warm and friendly and...and so handsome, so attractive..."

His smile just got bigger.

"...and then I think, wow, I just called another man attractive, which I've never done before. But you are, darling. I am so attracted to you, which is new for me. So this is an evening of new things, I suppose. But I don't want to chicken out. I don't want that. I want to follow these feelings I'm having, follow these dreams. So yes, lover, I really do want to dance with you."

He stood silently, and his hand guided me to my feet. The next thing I knew we were on the dance floor, amongst a small sea of people. He turned to me, and took my left hand in his right. I looked up at him expectantly, unsure where or how to start. He then gently pulled me forward, and placed my hands on his shoulders. Then he put his hands on my hips, and pulled me, quite willingly I might add, to him. As our fronts touched, his hands slid gently around my back, resting very reassuringly on the top of my buttocks. That allowed my hands to move up slightly from his shoulders, and the only natural place to put them was on the back of his head, my fingers lightly slipping into his hair.

All of which put my head on his shoulder, with my nose in the crook of his neck. He began easing me into motion, my hips gently swaying in time with his. My breathing slowed, my heart realizing that I was safe and secure and loved and warm. I could hear his breathing, with my right ear pressed into the top of his left pec muscle. He was almost purring.

I thought about my evening so far. How all of it had been completely unexpected, unplanned for, unknown in any sort of realistic way. And yet how all of it had felt so right, there and then. It felt so perfect, so natural, so wanted and so deserved. This was what joy was. This was what sheer utter nirvana was.

I kissed his neck, about halfway between his Adam's apple and his ear. I wanted to show him, in my sensual way, that I was appreciative of him. That I wanted him to love me. That I wanted to explore the great universe of physical and emotional pleasure. That I wanted him to be my guide.

That I wanted him to fuck me. To make love to me, as a man makes love to his wife. Or his lover. His sensual partner.

Up to now, our fronts were barely touching, but after I laid my kiss on his skin I felt a jolt from his groin, which was pressed firmly into the area between my belly button and crotch. And I was shocked. My eyes shot open, from their dreamy state. My breath caught in my throat. It had felt like a piece of pipe had moved inside his jeans, which of course I instantly knew was his cock. Then I realized that I was the reason that cock had flexed like that, had grown to that size. Me. I caused it. My kiss, the sensations I caused by placing my lips on the skin of his neck with all the love I could muster, had initiated this incredible physical reaction in him.

Then I wondered what it looked like. What it felt like. What it tasted like. Was he cut, or uncut like me? Did you produce copious amounts of precum like me? Was his precum as tasty and delicious as mine? Or more? Was that possible? And if his cock was that big, and that thick, would that mean he produced that much more cum than I do? Because some days I can produce a lot! But if he's this much more developed, perhaps his cum capacity is also bigger. That made me wonder what it tasted like. I wanted to feel it on my tongue, feel it sliding down my throat, feel it in my tummy, feel it lingering on my taste buds for as long after as possible.

And then, as if he knew of my desires, he pulled me even closer, so his hard erect cock was pressed up against me fully. Tighter to me. Almost becoming a part of me. I wanted it. I pulled my head back, to gaze into his eyes. I saw nothing but love, and desire, and lust.

He spoke. "So tell me, Kelly, how do you like your first dance?" The grin on his face was incredible. He was so happy, which made me happy for him, and for me, because I was the one making him happy.

I moaned. "Mmmmmmmmmm, I love it. I do. And I don't know how to thank you enough, darling." I said the last word with a glint in my eye.

"Well, it's been a night of firsts for you so far, hasn't it? Would you like to do something else for the first time?"

The DJ had started another ballad, so everybody on the dance floor just kept groping and grinding and swaying. Elvis started crooning out. "Wise men say, only fools rush in..."

"Like what?" I quipped, because I think I already knew the answer.

He simply said the word "this", before lowering his head and offering me his lips. My first kiss, with a man. So my first real kiss. I knew within microseconds that the kisses I'd had with girls were amateur compared to this kiss. A man's kiss! His lips were soft, quivering, delicious, forceful, directing, moist, intense, giving, and passionate. His arms pulled me tighter to him, bringing me up on my very tippy-toes. His iron pipe of a penis pushing into my belly even more. Then his hands caressed their way down until he was holding both my ass cheeks, feeling their firmness, and obviously finding them to his liking, because his already impossibly solid cock impressively became solider. For several minutes, our kiss was just lips on lips, each of us occasionally shifting our heads to the other angle, but our lips never seeming to lose touch altogether.

His kiss owned me. His kiss enthralled me. His kiss filled me with joy, and elation, and I was awash in sensual perceptions. His touch, his taste, his scent, all sending my senses into overload. I lost all thought of everything and everyone else on the planet. His kiss consumed my very being. When he gently parted his lips and made mine follow suit, he languidly slipped the tip of his tongue into my mouth, sending me into new levels of spiritual orgasm that I'd not thought possible. Like doorways, each opening to an even better part of heaven, each new sensual experience for me was expanding my understanding of what pleasure is.

All too soon, the ballad came to an end. A faster song came on, and couples began breaking apart, some staying on the dance floor, some not. Our lips finally parted, and with his hands sliding off my ass cheeks he gently let me back down so all of my feet were on the floor. His eyes were searching mine, inquisitive, and yet still playful and passionate. He had to speak louder, over the music. "Kelly, my sweet, how did you like your first kiss?"

My arms were still around his neck, barely, and I used his strength to pull myself back up his body, so my head was next to his, my mouth close to his ear.

I whispered. "That was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me! Thank you so much!"

Then I kissed him again, this time on his cheekbone. He turned his head more, and looked me in the eyes. "I would love to give you more kisses, Kelly. Would you like that?"

"More than anything!"

"I have a condo, about six blocks from here. Would you let me take you home with me? I promise I will make you feel so wonderful, darling. So wonderful."

My reaction was immediate, and the most truthful thing I've ever said.

"I've never wanted anything more."

We left the nightclub. On the walk up the stairs, we held hands, and the gorgeous built black bouncer I'd followed to the DJ booth earlier was at the front door. He watched us all the way up, and as we passed he said "Goodnight" to David and then smiled at me and said "I'm glad to see you enjoyed your first visit here. I hope we see you again!" He winked at me too. The flirty man! David noticed too, and smiled.

"I'm not the only one interested in you, Kelly," he said.

I giggled. He squeezed my hand as we turned left and headed down the sidewalk. "That bouncer wants to fuck you."

I stopped walking, and looked at him. I was feeling so wonderful, so elated, so wanted. Which made me giddy, and proud, which made me perhaps a little bolder than I normally am. I said something that I could never have imagined saying or even thinking up to then.

"And you don't, darling?"

He shook his head. "No. I want to make love with you. There's a difference."

Our walk was leisurely, and purposeful. We held hands. When we got to intersections and had to wait for the light to change he would lovingly wrap me in his arms, making me feel safe and secure and loved and wanted and happier than I've ever been.

Hi condo was nice. On the fifth floor, facing the inner harbour. Two bedrooms and a den. The second bedroom, as I found out, was for his daughter. The small den had a pullout sofa bed for his son. She had just turned seventeen, the boy was fourteen. They visited every other weekend. He was a divorced man, for almost ten years. Both his kids and his ex knew he was a gay man, which was the reason for the divorce, and everybody was fine with it. As he bade me welcome and showed me around it was apparent to me that he probably made good money, since all the furnishings and knickknacks were nice. I don't think he was a millionaire or a billionaire, but he probably did well. He told me he was a financial advisor, and had a few really successful clients.

He showed me to the balcony off the living room, and asked me to make myself comfortable while he got us something to drink. He mentioned that the city lights were always so beautiful at night, and I would enjoy the view. And he was right. There was a gorgeous view from his balcony. I could see yachts and sailboats in the inner harbour, and city lights twinkled all around. At that moment I was sure they were twinkling just for me.

As I stood at the railing, I heard him approach from behind. The next thing I knew he was behind me, his body touching mine, his front on my back, his heat immediately drawing me to him. I could feel his rock hard cock too, as he gently ground it into me, above my bum cheeks. He placed a wine glass on the railing for me. "I brought us some prosecco. It's like champagne, so I know you'll love it. And it's like you too, now that I think about it."

I continued to stare at the glorious sights of the city. "How is it like me?" I took a sip.

"It's sweet, and delicious," he whispered, as he bent his head lower and kissed me gently on the right side of my neck. I couldn't stop the moan that escaped my lips, and neither did I want to.

"And I can't think of a single way to make this night better," he added.

I turned my head, to gaze up at him. There was love and passion and want and need in his eyes. Then he bent his head down again, and I stood on tippy toes and we kissed. Soft lips on soft lips. No tongues. We just kissed. Romantically.

We broke the kiss, and each of us opened our eyes. I thought maybe it was uncomfortable for him, being so much taller than I am.

"I can think of one way to make this better," I said.

A look of concern came over his face. "How so, my sweet angel? How would you make this better?"

I giggled. "I'd make it better by being three inches taller."

He titled his head to one side, and his concern washed away, replaced with joy. "I'll be right back, don't move." Then he was away inside.

The lights kept twinkling for me. Some of them reflected off the water of the harbour, in delightful flashes as the waves softly moved in or out. There was a slight breeze, which was cool, and a noticeable contrast to the heat that was coursing through me. I heard him approach again.

As I turned, I saw him. My man. My lover. Well, my soon to be lover, I suppose.

He had taken his shirt off. Tanned like a California surfer, with pecs like a statue in the Louvre. A slight trace of hair on his chest, and two brownish-red nipples pointed right at me. My cock got even harder. He had what looked like a joint in one hand, and a pair of shoes in the other. The shoes were pumps, a silver colour, and had heels that were at least two inches. Maybe three. My mind raced back to my mom's boots, and how unbelievable sexy I felt when I wore them. I'd never had the chance since then to wear heels, and that innocent and yet sensual cocoon of glorious feelings rose in me anew.

He saw my look. "They're my daughters. They might fit you, if you're willing to try putting them on."

"Oh yes, David," I gasped, "yes yes yes, I'd love to try them on."

He motioned to a patio chair and asked me to sit. He told me he would love to put them on me.

My heart sang. I plopped down on the cushion of the chair as he got down to one knee. Smiling at me, he lit the joint, took a hit, and then handed it to me. Perhaps I had a look of concern on my face, about doing that on the patio next to his neighbour's patio, but the twinkle in his eye assuaged me.

"All my neighbours are cool," he whispered. Then he unlaced my left foot, and slipped my boring boy shoe off my foot.

And then he saw my stocking. And I saw him seeing my stockings. I'd totally forgotten that I'd put them on. And then I worried, feared even, that it might be something he's not into.

But I needn't have. "Oh, my angel," he whispered, and then looked me in the eyes. "Are you wearing pantyhose?"

I shook my head. "Stockings."

His smile lit up the dark evening. "With a garter belt?"

"No," I replied, "they're called thigh-highs. Do you like sexy stockings?"

He moaned under his breath. "I love them, darling. I absolutely fucking love them." And then his smile got bigger, and my heart sang more. "And I think these sexy heels would look amazing on you, with the stockings. And it would be a shame to block those sexy legs of yours with these boy pants you're wearing."

I giggled. "Do you think so?"

He nodded. "I do. So I'm going to take your other shoe off, and then I think I would love to take those boring boy pants off you too." His big fingers made quick work of my second shoe, and then he motioned for me to stand up. He got close to me, as his eyes never left mine, and as his hands moved to my belt, undoing it and then working the clip apart and then unzipping me. My pants were cut tight, so they didn't automatically fall off me. They slid a little, and without looking away from me his hands slid the pants over my hips and we both heard them hit the floor. I stepped out of the piled-up legs, and he stepped back to give me room. And to stare at me.

Well, to stare at my legs, in black thigh-high silky stockings, and my forest green panties, which were having a hard time containing my hard-on, and which had a darker stained area around my cockhead about the size of an omelet. I had been leaking so much precum for at least an hour now, and my panties were soaked.

I waited for him to say something. He just stared at me. Up and down and up and down.

I had to speak. "Please tell me what you're thinking, David. Please."

"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen," he said.

Then he motioned for me to sit back down. As I did, he knelt, with his daughters heels at the ready. Gently, he slipped the first one on my proffered left foot, his large fingers having a little trouble with the ankle strap buckle. But after a short moment, he got the job done. And while they were a little bit tight, they fit! His hands then gently caressed my right leg, from knee down through calve and foot, and then slipped on the other silver shoe and finished making me taller. Then he stood, and with both hands took my hands and helped me stand.

In three inch heels.

On the patio of a man's condo overlooking the inner harbour, clad only in a long-sleeved shirt, forest green panties, black thigh-high stockings, and silver fucking three inch heels. And right about that moment the effects of the marijuana cut in, and I achieved a kind of joy I'd never felt before. My little cock was as hard as it had ever been. EVER. And all the joy and glee and elation and happiness that I could ever have imagined in my short nineteen years paled at the feelings overwhelming me at that moment.

We stood, not quite eye to eye but closer. He didn't have to bend his head down so much, and I didn't have to look up so much. I moved to him as naturally as anything I've ever done, my arms going over his shoulders again, his arms wrapping around my back again, his hands firmly finding purchase on my bum cheeks again, our mouths meeting again, the passion racing between the two of us as our tongues danced back and forth. The lip-smacking sounds that we were making were bouncing off the side walls of his patio in the dead of this night and were music to my ears. He pulled me closer to him again, and I readily accepted his invitation, and the bare skin of his torso radiated his heat for me. I could feel his penis against me again, and I wanted it there for always. We kissed and kissed and caressed and kissed with abandon and pride and wanton lust. There's just no other way to describe it.

After some time, I pulled my head away from his and looked him in the eyes. My confidence was more than it had ever been, and the desires washing through my veins would not be ignored.

"Darling," I purred.

"Yes, my angel," he answered.

"I want," I paused, "no, I need something from you."

He smiled.

"Anything."

"Anything?" I teasingly asked.

"Name it," he answered. "Say the words, let me hear your desires and dreams, and I shall move heaven and earth to provide it."

I giggled. "Darling, you don't have to move heaven or earth yet. Right now, all you have to do is sit down, here, on the patio chair."

Which he moved to do, but before his knees started bending, I stopped him, took another toke, and handed the joint to him. Then I put my hands flat on his chest, feeling the power and heat of his pecs in my hands. He moaned, as did I. Slowly I began to gently trace circles around his nipples with my middle fingers, and his breath quickened. So I ever so softly closed my thumb and forefinger from both hands onto his nipple, and squeezed, ever so slightly. Then I looked up into his eyes, and they were closed, his mouth slightly open, his breath coming more forcefully now.

I bent my head, lowered my focus, and with as much love and affection as I could generate slipped his right nipple into my lips, gently touching the tip with my tongue, and softly beginning to nurse on it. He moaned out loud, a masculine, throaty moan. It was indeed the most cherished symphony to my soul. My left hand slid down his dad belly to his belt buckle, which I managed to open quickly, and then my fingers latched onto his zipper and I began its slow descent. I could hear the teeth unlocking from each other in that staccato "click click click" as I increased my suckling on his nipple. His hand came up from behind me and he slipped his fingers lovingly into my long hair, caressing me, which in turn caused me to full out suck on his nub, the saliva in my mouth flowing like I've never experienced before.

When I had gotten his zipper to the limit of its travel, I couldn't help but try to slide my hand into his pants, to feel his cock, to touch it, even through his underwear. But there wasn't enough room, so I let go of his nipple, looked him in the eye and smiled the biggest smile of my life, and began to kneel down. As my head passed his groin I could see his hardon, big and thick and magnificent. I kissed it, through his pants leg, as I finished kneeling. Then I looked up at him again, and saw his love and lust and passion and approval in his eyes, and pulled his pants off his hips and down to the ground. He stepped out of them for me, and I folded them and placed them on the patio table top. Then I slipped each sock off, and then I took what I knew I wanted more than anything in the world.

His cock popped free as his briefs came down his thighs. It was glorious. An amazing spectacular physical embodiment of masculinity and virility and passion and sexuality, standing ramrod straight up in the air, the uncut head glistening with a liquid sheen, a vein running up the length of the underside of his cock, pulsing with eroticism and energy and desire, two giant orbs nestled underneath, a small ring of hair around everything, his meaty thighs leading down his moderately hairy legs.

I was there. In the place I never knew I wanted to be, but now realized with astonishment and rapture.

I was whole.

As I reached for his cock, both my hands acting on their own and moving for it, he stepped back and sat down in the same patio chair I'd just been in. Naturally I moved forward too, back onto my knees in front of his splayed legs. My hands each began to caress his thighs, slowly feeling the heat of his skin, the smile on my face now replaced with a concentration, my mind and soul focussed on nothing except this man and his sex. I took one last look into his eyes, and as he took another toke and exhaled he whispered to me.

"Kelly, take what you want from me, take what you need, let yourself be the person you are meant to be, were always meant to be. There are no limits here, no boundaries on this planet, to the sensual and sexual highs that you and I can achieve, that are ours by nature, that are ours to give and take. With each other. Because now we both know that giving is taking, and taking is giving. I can see it now, in your eyes. That you know it. That now you realize who you are. Do you agree?"

I nodded, because truer words had never been spoken.

"Darling," I whispered back, "yes, yes yes. I am, I'm so, so, so alive. That's the only way to describe it. I'm...I feel like, like I'm...home."

With that, and while never breaking eye contact with him, I leaned down and kissed the top of his cockhead. A soft, loving kiss, as the skin of my lips felt the skin of his helmet, and one second later my lips were opening slightly so my tongue could taste the precum that was all over his cock. He'd been leaking just like I had this entire time! YUM! The tang of his precum was different than mine, I knew instantly, and yet its slight pungency and instant thrill on my taste buds sent my spirits soaring. The next thing I knew I was lapping up his entire head, and then down the sides of his shaft where some had dripped. I let my tongue continue to move lower, and began to first lap at and then suckle on his left ball. The hair tickled my tongue and lips but I moaned heartily as I began to adore and worship him. I realized my hands were stroking his shaft and inwardly smiled, finding so much satisfaction that I was naturally just pouring my entire being into providing him pleasure, which gave me more pleasure than I could put into words. It made me feel that there was no truer or higher plane of existence.

I worshipped both balls for a few minutes, while my hands continued stroking his cock, until finally I could wait no more, and I kissed and licked my way back up to his cockhead, lovingly slurping on it with the stream of saliva I had in my mouth. And then, when I reached the highest of highs I'd ever had in my life, I leapt into the universe of infinite pleasure.

I took his entire cock head into my lips, and eagerly into my mouth. His moans were visceral, and mine were the natural expression of my absolute passion. I was in a level of consciousness I'd never known existed, and my only purpose in life at that moment was sucking that cock until he came in my mouth. There was simply no other eventuality that my soul would be willing to envisage. I was aware of every cell of the skin of his cock as they passed by every cell of the skin on the insides of my mouth, and on my tongue. My senses were flying in the stratosphere as my tongue kept searching down the underside of his cock as I took more and more of his length into my wet, slurping mouth. His cock was reaching the back of my mouth now on every down stroke I made and any worry I might have had about trying to take a cock into my throat just disappeared as I naturally opened up and swallowed him. Breathing through my nose was easy, and the feeling of a cock in my throat was fantastic! Then I sucked hard and came back up his shaft, my wet tongue and lips moving around his girth, loving him, worshipping him, caressing him, pleasuring him.

Then I plunged back down again, and took him a little bit further into my throat. I'd read about this so much in all those stories in the porn mags, and now I was doing it! And absolutely fucking loving it! I thought it would be wonderful to have all this on video, like a Hollywood movie, so I could watch it over and over again after it was all over!

He had both hands in my hair now, and he half-screamed and half-whispered the most erotic thing I'd ever heard.

"Mmmm Kelly, your mouth feels just like a wet pussy!"

Which just emboldened me further. I began to move up and down his cock a little faster now, each time slobbering as much as I could while taking more and more of his cock into me. And at that moment, I became determined that I was going to take it all. That I could do it was of no doubt to me. I just felt it, innately. I simply knew it. It was who I was, and it was what I wanted.

More than several strokes later, my nose was buried in his lower belly, my eyes were closed and rolling back in their sockets, and his entire cock was inside me. For just a few seconds, his hands clamped onto my head harder, with a small degree of force, but not anything that scared me or frightened me. Despite this being the first cock I'd ever sucked, I somehow intrinsically knew that his passion was approaching its zenith, and he was preparing to skyrocket.

I slipped most of his cock back out of my mouth, leaving just the head inside my sucking lips, and both my hands slipped around his shaft and started stroking him. Long, sinuous strokes. My sucking increased. I knew what was happening, and I wanted to taste it all.

And then it happened. His breathing stopped, audibly. His hands gripped me just slightly harder, he grunted, and then his cum began to pulse into my mouth. The first shot was huge, and so amazingly delicious, and I swallowed fast, before I began to feel the second throb push even more juice, filling my mouth. Creamy, slightly salty, so much different than my own cum and yet so similar. CUM CUM CUM CUM! I loved it...for years I'd adored swallowing my own cum, and now here I was swallowing and savouring this mans' cum. And with each shot into me he moaned, timed exactly right. Then a third and fourth stream of cum came out, as whimpering moans came out of David's' mouth, which were music to my ears, of course! I marvelled at the quantity of his load, and was instantly so happy to meet someone else on this planet that came as much or more than I did! I swallowed all that too, but more slowly this time, savoring the taste and texture. And heat! YUM! And I almost laughed when I realized that cum straight from the cock was sooooooooo much better than scooping it off my chest and body like I'd always done with mine. I had always loved cum, for sure, but getting it in my mouth and tummy like this was the best feeling ever!

He oozed a couple of more small amounts of cum, which I eagerly lapped up, and his breathing returned to normal. I continued to kiss and lick his shaft and head and balls, trying hard to please him and knowing that I was doing what fate had me here on this earth for. His hands began to caress the back of my head again, gently and lovingly. I took his beautiful cock out of my mouth, and looked him directly in the eyes.

"Thank you."

"No, sweet angel," he whispered, "thank you."

I sat back, and began undoing the buttons of my boring man shirt. Yes, it was silky, but it was still a shirt designed for a masculine human, and I wasn't in that group right then. And maybe not ever again, I realized.

When I had the shirt unbuttoned, I threw it off my shoulders, and let it fall to the ground. Now Dave could see all of me. My hairless body, my milky-white skin, a few freckles strewn here and there, my rosy-red nipples, now as hard as rocks, my flat belly, my hairless cock and balls inside my sexy panties, my legs wrapped in silky stockings, the silver pumps on my feet.

I stood, and beckoned him to join me. As he rose to his full height, I looked at this naked man straight in the eyes and said the only thing that could be said. The only thing I wanted to say.

"David, take me to your bed right now and make love to me."

He enfolded me in his arms, and kissed me again. Our tongues immediately began their dance of discovery in the others' mouth, as he tasted the traces of his own cum on my tongue. Each of us was moaning as we kissed, our hands caressing each other over and over.

Then he picked me up, like Clark Gable picked up Vivian Leigh in Gone with the Wind, and he carried me into his condo, through the living room, down the hall, and into the master bedroom. There I was, my arms around his neck, his left arm under my shoulders, his right arm under my knees, my head buried in the crook of his neck, my lips kissing the soft skin over and again. There was a mirror on the back of his bedroom door, which he kicked shut with his right foot, and as the door swung shut I was rewarded with the sight of the two of us.

A tanned naked masculine man, his large majestic penis hanging down from his recent orgasm, but not flaccid, and perhaps even getting hard again, carrying a feminine creature with panties and stockings and glittery silver high heels. And for the first time ever in my life, I felt the most enormous pride in being that feminine creature. I felt joy and pride and glee and elation and I wanted to shout it from the rooftops that I was here and now becoming who I was meant to be.

He placed me on top of the covers, but didn't let me go. He lay beside me, slowly convincing me to turn slightly so I was on my left side, as was he, and he immediately spooned in behind me. The heat of his skin was intoxicating, and I snuggled back into him as hard as I could. My head was resting on his left forearm, almost at his shoulder, which allowed him to bend at the elbow and he began caressing my upper body, paying particular attention to my nipples. OH MY GOD YUM!!! When his fingers clamped onto my right nipple, I sighed out loud and whispered "Oh David, yes!" His right hand was caressing my right thigh and hip and bum cheek, and his groin was pressed into me, where I could feel that his cock was indeed getting turgid again. BECAUSE OF ME!

His head was near mine, and he was spreading little soft kisses all over my neck and shoulders and cheek and earlobe. I felt like he was trying to cover me in kisses, cover me in love. I wanted it. I wanted it more than I've ever wanted anything else in my entire life. I needed it. I yearned for it. I ached for it. It was nirvana, heaven, rapture, and bliss all rolled into one.

And when he wasn't kissing me, he was whispering into my ear. Sweet nothings. He called me his angel of love, several times. He asked me what I was feeling, and I gasped on about how I now realized that I was on a journey, my erotic journey of life, free to be whom and what I wanted, and free to show the world what true love and true passion is. He whispered that there was a certain percentage of people on the planet, and always had been, that were simply sensual people, who had capacities for pleasure giving and taking that were beyond the norm, beyond the bland existence that occupied the masses, and beyond what most people could even comprehend when it came to joy. These sensual people, he said, were the true visionaries of this world, the true messiahs, the real gods, because they transcend the ins and outs of daily boring life and its' minutiae and exist on levels of consciousness that soar above all others. He told me that I was a rarity, a singularity, and that rather than hide it or inhibit it that I should let my trueness shine, let my passion become my prime directive, let my sexuality take me and whoever I chose to play with to heights of sensuality heretofore unseen. He told me I was a leader. A leader of lust. He reminded me that many in our world would try to shame me, to condemn me, to scorn me, or to shun me. But that I must never allow anyone to dim my light. He said I shone like a beacon, and he made me promise him that I would never stop being that beaming ray of love. He sensed that I was going through a metamorphosis, a blossoming, like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon of normality, and becoming the truest example of beauty. One sentence in particular struck me, and he said it twice.

"You are a goddess, Kelly. A goddess of love."

I noticed a tear running down my cheekbone at the same time that he raised my right leg up, bending it at my hip, giving him access to what lay between my legs. He used his left arm, which my head was still laying on, to pull my right leg back, my knee almost to my chest. Then, after he gently moved my panties to one side, he began slowly and sensuously rubbing one of his fingers up and down my bum crack, paying close and particular attention to my hole. When the pad of his big finger would slip into the opening of my anus, I felt yet a new level of joy. Of belonging. Of passion.

I heard the snap of the bottletop, and then felt the coolness of some lube as he poured it out. Some of it missed my crack and landed on my ass cheek, and it felt brisk like a refreshing breeze on a hot summer's day. His big finger scooped up everything, and he gently began working that gel into my ass. YUM! With a slight increase in pressure, his finger easily slid as far as it could into me. I'D DONE IT! After all those years, and all those porn magazines, I actually had something inside me! Now of course I'd read thousands of porn stories over the years during my literal tens of thousands of hours of masturbating, and my brain made note of and expected to feel some discomfort, or outright pain, but nothing of the sort happened. He slid into me with ease, and I welcomed it. I expanded inside to fit him. His finger was big, and instead of anything negative all I felt was pleasure. Again, as with everything else I'd done and felt in the last few hours, this new sensation washed over me and made me feel wonderful, and cherished, and whole.

It made me feel like how I was supposed to feel.

His first finger gently and slowly moved back and forth, in and out, as he languidly finger fucked me. And when I realized those words in my head, that I was indeed being "fucked", and that I was now experiencing something that many of the people I knew in my daily life would consider dirty' or evil' or `blasphemous', my heart soared even higher. MY FIRST FUCK! In a night of firsts, this one was the best so far!

It was my calling, I realized.

A second finger was added to the first, along with another generous dollop of lube. Now both fingers languorously sawed in and out of my ass, and I was moving my ass back to meet them, arching my back. I was voluntarily trying to get more inside me. Deep down I immediately understood that my body wanted to be filled this way. I wanted and needed and desired to be taken like this. My channel was opening up naturally. There was no shock, no pain, no uncomfortable feeling. Just joy.

His whispering in my ear continued. He asked me if I'd ever had anything in my pussy, and I honestly said no. He said he was a little bit surprised, since I seemed to be so naturally accommodating the intrusion of his fingers, and I sighed joyfully and whispered back that it just felt "so right" to me, which made him reply that it proved his point. That I was a goddess of love. Then I thought about his use of the word pussy, and how that would traditionally describe a woman's' sexuality. And while my subconscious brain knew I wasn't a woman, it also instantly recognized that I did indeed have a pussy. That his fingers were in my pussy, my hole, the place that was made by nature for one thing – to take cock. To be fucked. To be made love to. To be filled again and again over and over with cock, with hard iron-like penises. And then it hit me that the natural extension of those activities would be for my pussy to be filled with cum as well. Lots of it. Loads and loads of cum. And I knew I wanted it. More than everything on earth, I wanted it. To be filled to the brim with the essence of masculinity, with the symbol of sexuality and love, the erect penis, taking me to heights of pleasure unparalleled and then filling me with its natural explosive liquid expression. Cum. Baby batter. Semen. Goo. I didn't care what anyone might call it, I knew then in that instant that I wanted it, and that no matter what happened to me for the rest of my life, I would spend the rest of my life taking cock, and taking cum.

More lube was added, and then he whispered that he was going to slip a small dildo into me. To get me ready. I didn't ask for what, since I could feel his hard on poking into the back of my thighs. He was ramrod straight up horny again, and I was the cause of it. YUM YUM! I felt the bed move a little bit, as he reached to somewhere I couldn't see and opened a drawer behind us. Then I heard the lube bottle being cracked open again, and then the dildo did indeed slide into me. And so generous was his use of lube to that point, because in one movement he seated the whole thing inside my pussy. I could feel the bulbous end up against the outside of my pussy, up against that ring. All the way inside me, and it felt so right. So real. So natural. So wanted and so desired and so intrinsically perfect. It wasn't as long as his cock, but it did have an interesting girth to it that I thought might be close to his, and again, there was no discomfort or pain.

Only joy.

Slowly back and forth, in and out, the dildo moved at his bidding, my insides conforming to its shape and moulding to it. Feeling every inch of it, learning every speck of surface against my insides, my channel expanding naturally as he pushed the dildo inside me, and then contracting again as he slipped it back. Still he kissed my neck and ear and cheekbone and occasionally my lips and mouth when I turned my head to the right. His face would beam down at me, a look of total and utter bliss and amazement registering. There was no mistaking it. He was having a good time, and I hoped and prayed it was the best moment in his life. Ever.

I was of course having the absolute best time of my life. Bar none.

For several minutes he cooed romantic and wonderful words into my ear between kisses, and continued to open me with the dildo. After a while, and to my disappointment, he slid the dildo completely out of me, and I moaned the word "no"until he promised me something bigger and better would replace it, and then he coated his fingers in lube again and with determination slid three fingers bunched up together into me, opening me more than I'd ever been and making me hornier than I'd ever been. I started whispering, mostly to myself, two words, over and over again. "Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me."

His laugh was throaty, and very masculine.

"Not quite yet my darling. You're close to ready. Just a few more moments getting you open, and then you'll have your most important first. Your most sensual first. The most amazing first of your life."

I turned to kiss him, and we swapped tongues for a few moments, as his three fingers worked in and out of me, with purpose but also with love. Then he broke the kiss, and looked me in the eyes, a fierce look on his face.

"So Kelly," he whispered, obviously delighted at the feminine oohs and gasps I was making as he stretched my pussy more and more with his three big fingers. "You had your first dance with another man, your first kiss with another man, you sucked your first cock and swallowed your first cum straight from the tap," he continued, and my ooohs and gasps became louder, enflamed by his words, "is there any other first you've been dreaming of your whole life that I can help you with?"

His smile bordered on sassy. He was so proud of turning me loose, helping me become the sexy feminine vixen I was so obviously becoming. He was practically bragging about my sucking his cock, as he put additional stress on those syllables, but if he thought I'd be bashful or ashamed or embarrassed about it, he was totally wrong. I didn't blush. I grinned, loud and proud.

"Oh yes David," I replied, staring boldly into his hazel eyes, "I need that first cock inside me. Inside me, inside my pussy. Please, baby. I need you to make love to me, to fill me with your cock. I need you to fuck me, slowly and sensuously at first, and then, as our passion increases, faster and faster, until you're fucking me so deeply that we are connected on levels no other two people have ever achieved. I need to take the final steps of my journey. I need you to take me to my promised land. Please, baby. Please."

And then three things happened. Two of those things were expected, although their exact timing wasn't set in stone. And one thing was an epiphany of the most wonderful and yet highly unexpected variety.

The two expected things were this: his three fingers slid out of my pussy, and then were immediately replaced by his glorious cock. All the way inside me, in one gigantic push, which I felt with every fibre of my being and which made me understand things about parts of my body that I had never known existed. His entire cock, which I later measured at just a smidge or two below eight solid inches, was no longer of the mortal world. It was sheathed inside me, connecting me to him in the most intimate and spiritual of ways. We were as one. Joined, body and soul. His essence, every last square inch of it, was seated in me. Touching me in places that had never experienced such an intrusion, and yet were instantly and brazenly accepting his manhood, moulding to his manhood, embracing his manhood, worshipping his manhood, loving his manhood.

The unexpected thing that happened was as the last inch of cock seated itself inside me, and with neither of us at that moment touching my genitals at all, I shouted out "OH MY GOD THIS MAKES ME COMPLETE!" and then orgasmed, harder and more powerfully than I had ever done before. My cum went everywhere. Up my torso, onto his arm which my head was resting on. Onto my chin, all over one of my nipples.

And at that moment of cumming, that instant of orgasmic and spiritual enlightenment, I saw what I can only describe as the face of my personal god. She looked like me, and I instantly knew her to be me, and she was radiating more joy than ever seen before. Nirvana. Sexual and sensual nirvana. A level of consciousness I'd never seen, and yet knew that I would be achieving time and again throughout the remainder of my life. My entire existence, as obvious to me at that moment than at any other, shone through my ecstasy.

My life as it had been changed forever, right there and then.

As I began to come down from my orgasmic high, and my breathing started to return to erotic gasps, and with his entire cock right down to the root still buried deep with me, he began whispering to me again.

"Kelly, I'm all in you. All of me, inside you. Every rock-hard inch of my cock is in your pussy. Filling your pussy. Owning your pussy. All my cock, buried in you. Feel the power of it. The power we both have. Feel every inch of me, every curve, every bump."

I moaned, "OH YES!"

"I'm a part of you now. My cock is inside you to the max, to the hilt, sweet baby. Every ounce of my energy is joined with you, inside your sweet pussy hole."

"God yes, David," I gasped, "I LOVE IT! I'm so full of cock, baby. I'm so fucking full of cock. Your cock. Your magnificent cock, inside me, home at last, home again. I feel like a piece of me has been missing my entire life and now it's been returned to me. Returned into me! OH GOD I AM SO HAPPY, SO FULL, SO FULL OF COCK AND SO COMPLETE!"

He made love to me that way, spooning on our sides, for almost twenty minutes. His bedside alarm clock was on the nightstand I was pointed towards while on my side, and I saw the time when he started, and I saw the time when he came inside me. When he came inside me, screaming my name. Some of the time he fucked me slowly and gently, rocking his hips and making me grind down on his groin. Sometimes his passion erupted and his fucking became animalistic, and fast and furious and intense. Ebb and flow. Kisses between the both of us from time to time, whenever one or both of us needed to slake that particular thirst. Twice during those twenty minutes I came again, but these were mini and mellow cums, compared to the first one. And both were accompanied with cum, of course, but less and less. The last orgasm was more of a dribble than a river. But each time he would slip his fingers into the cum and bring it to my lips for me to suck off. To savor. To cherish. All of which I did gladly, willingly, passionately, and lovingly.

The whole time, he never let go of me, and he constantly whispered his thoughts, as I did mine. We were both very vocal. He kept telling me that mine was the greatest pussy in the universe. I told him that his cock was my talisman, my sanctuary, my greatest love and my drug of choice. I begged him to make me overdose on him. His efforts in that regard were sincere and heartfelt.

At one point I noticed some of my cum on his forearm, near my head, from my earlier explosion. As soon as I saw it, my mouth watered, and I leaned over and began licking it up. I heard his throaty giggle about me, his deep baritone voice gently falling down on me. "Good gurl," he murmured.

I giggled, loud and boisterous. "God yes, I feel like a gurl! I feel so feminine, so fulfilled, so filled with cock! I feel like I'm a woman, but better!"

"Yes, Kelly, you are a woman but better," he replied, grinding his cock into me with a wiggle in his hips that touched something inside me every time that made my entire body tremble like a volcanic eruption, and at the same time made me think that I might have to pee soon. "And you've already got such a pretty girly name!"

I let that thought bounce around in my cock-addled brain for a moment or two and then made my decision. "No baby, no. I don't want a name that could be for a boy or a girl. I want a woman's name. A feminine name. A sultry sex-kitten name."

He withdrew almost all the way out of my pussy before urgently slamming back into me, back into the max. Back into the depths of me, where I wanted it. Fully seated.

"Like what? Do you have a name in mind? A name I can scream out when I'm cumming inside you, coating your insides with my essence?"

I knew in an instant.

"Katharine. With a K."

"Mmmmmmm," he murmured, "a sexy name for sure. Katharine the sex-kitten!"

I giggled. "Katharine Sexkitten. My new name. My true name! I adore it!"

We went silent for a minute or two, both of us just floating along on our magic carpet ride of carnal pleasure. I was living on a plane of existence I'd never known about, my consciousness spiraling and flowing and swooping through the cosmos of pleasure. Waves of joy, waves of passion, waves of indescribable titillation, heretofore unknown levels of sensory awareness. Every cell in my body was alive and awake and falling over the edge of their potential to feel good. I was over the moon and lost in space with pleasure. It was all so new for me, and yet it all felt so right.

And then it got so much better. His fucking started to get more intense, his breathing began to quicken, his thrusts banging into me, making my whole body shake, my whole body inside and out turning to a quivering mass of pure unadulterated pleasure. I could feel his sweaty chest up against my back, the moisture on his thighs against my ass and upper thighs. He was working hard. Both of his arms encompassed me now, holding me as close to him as he could, slamming his magnificent cock into me as far as he could, trying to find anyway to get even more inside me. His gasping breaths were now hot and heavy in my ear, and getting faster by the second.

We were both gasping and grunting, when he moaned out, "Katharine with a K, I'm going to cum soon. I'm going to cum as far inside your pussy as I can. I'm going to coat the inside of your body with my cum, baby!"

I turned my head to his, looked him in the eyes as we were rutting away, and screamed "YES! DO IT! CUM IN ME!"

He made the most striking noises as he got to the top of his sexual Mount Everest. Multiple different kinds of moans and gasps and throat vibrations all mixed together in an erotic symphony practically shouted into my ears. To me, it was the song of the angels.

And then, perfection.

He screamed. "KATHARINE!!!!!!"

My song. My journey.

With all his might, he rammed that magnificent cock into me, using every ounce of his energy to be inside me as much as possible. Like he was trying to give me the fuck of my life. Which it was, of course. But to give me the fuck that started me off on my true life.

He came. And came and came. He drained himself in me, and I swear I could feel every single shot, every delicious pulse, every blast of his soul. His arms held me so hard I couldn't move, not that I wanted to. I could feel his heartbeat with my back pressed against his chest, and it was the most intense sexual metronome for me. My pussy was clutching and grabbing at his entire shaft in waves, milking him, all without me thinking about it. It was just my nature, my intrinsic process, that which I was born to do. My journey.

After he came in me, we were exhausted. He simply pulled the comforter up from the foot of the bed and covered us and we both began to fall to a peaceful sleep. His cock was still in my pussy, and I was damned if I was going to let it go. Not when it completed me like that.

As we fell into our slumber, he quietly asked, "Well Katharine with a K, what's next on your journey? What's the next first for you?"

I sighed, the happiest one of my life. "David, my love, I don't know. But I do know that this journey of mine is the most sensual and spiritual level of existence imaginable. And I'm going to keep doing this forever!"

My sensual journey had brought me to places undreamed of. I'd climbed mountains unknown, and seen vistas my previous consciousness couldn't even imagine. I was at one with the universe. I was the universe, in many ways. I was at once as old as the ages, and yet still just barely nineteen. I knew my destiny. I knew my raison d'etre. I knew, as much as I knew anything, that whatever experiences other people had, mine were to be different, mine were to be exceptional.

My experiences would be the stuff of sensuality. Miracles of the soul.

And I'll tell you about more of them in the next chapter.

Kisses,

Katharine Sexkitten