"Doctor, just come right out and say it. I survived a mutilating accident, and I think I can cope with just about anything you can tell me. Out with it!"
"All right then, Jerry. We have the option of reconstructing you as a functional female. As a woman, that is. The state of the art for that type of surgery is actually quite advanced. We could create a vagina between your legs -- quite an artistic one, in fact -- one almost indistinguishable from those women are endowed with by nature. Using the latest techniques, we could almost guarantee you some degree of sensation down there. In other words, you could have sexual congress, and possibly even enjoy it . . . depending on your psychological adjustment to your new state, that is."
"Doctor, I- , well, I don't know. I did, out of curiosity, try it with a man once or twice, and . . . I just don't know. I'll need time, time to think . . . "
In fact, Jerry had tried it with men once or twice. Maybe even a few times more. Before hooking up with Carole, his first grand passion, he had gone through what he thought of as his "experimental" phase. For a period of several years, he had occasionally had encounters with men when he got horny enough in between girlfriends. He had discovered the exotic pleasures of anal sex, even letting himself be persuaded to take the passive role more often than not. The sensations were intense, sometimes frighteningly so. But, dammit, he liked women! Much more than men, actually. Waking up next to a warm, soft, feminine body was so comforting. . . . There was something emotionally fulfilling in holding a warm, soft female body in my arms. Never again to have that. Never! Never?
As a surgically-created woman, an artificial damsel, wouldn't that give me entry into that secret female world closed to men? Wouldn't it open new possibilities for meeting and, yes, even loving women? Might lesbian love be as satisfying as what I had experienced in my life as a man, holding a woman in my arms? Was I courageous -- ballsy? -- enough to find out?
"Doctor, let's say we explore that option a bit further. . . . "
All told, it took six months.
Jeri Morgan didn't know quite what to make of her new body. She had breasts. Boobs! One of the effects of the estrogen implants was making breasts sprout. They weren't huge pendulous affairs by any means, but they had a pleasing compact conical shape, and the nipples were exquisitely sensitive.
Her hips were accumulating a bit of padding. Getting quite nicely rounded. Speaking of round, her ass was definitely on the plush side now. What a difference a few hormones made. Aided and abetted by a little judicious plastic surgery, of course.
The face wasn't bad, either. Depilation and minor fixups gave her a darkly exotic androgynous look. Rather fashionable, actually. Going to the bathroom took some getting used to. Couldn't take a leak standing up any more. Not without dribbling all over her thighs, anyway. Had to remember which direction to wipe. More attention to hygiene was necessary. Not to mention fumbling with undergarments and assorted feminine paraphernalia.
Don't forget the pussy! The artificial vagina. The tunnel of love. A surgically-excavated cunt dividing the junction of her legs. Visually, it was hard to tell it from the real thing. Hey, for all practical purposes, it was the real thing. And, it was plenty deep and elastic enough to accomodate a penis. Or so the doctor had promised.
The usual techniques for a male-to-female sex change operation involved using the skin of the penis as a lining for the newly-built vagina. In this particular instance, it was unfortunately not an option. Instead, they had chosen the risker procedure of using a section of the rectosigmoid colon. When this type of operation worked, it resulted in a deep and self-lubricating vagina. It had worked just fine.
She had tried the cunt out. Field-tested her new orifice with a penis-sized dildo. It was mildly painful at first and sore for a couple of hours after. Now, though, it was starting to feel all right. Felt quite nice, in fact.
She had no particular desire to test her female equipment with a man. This whole thing was all too new to her. At the moment she felt more comfortable around other women. They were so soft and gentle . . . and accepting.
She met Charlotte in the Leotard Lounge. It was a women-only bar, a lesbian hangout actually. Char was a big girl, almost her own size, and a bit on the butch side. Black leather and a commanding manner. Imperious almost. Classy, though. She took me home. After the first couple of drinks I was feeling warm and fuzzy, floating free, disconnected from my surroundings. I needed a safe place to be. Char had warm and comforting arms.
Her bed was warm and comforting. As was her body. She had an athletic build, with small breasts. The nipples tasted good. A little salty maybe, but delicious. Back when I was a man I'd be getting damn hard right about now. Nothing there to get hard now. But the magic was still there. Something strange was happening. Heat. Desire? Yes.
She sucked on my clit. Oh yes, now I had one. A fully-functional one. That surgeon was good. Damn good. It felt strange. A bit like getting a bj back when I was still a man. It left me with a warm glow. And wanting more.
She took me. She took me like a man takes a woman. She wore a black leather harness with a dildo. She did me. Did me good. Fucked me. Fucked my pussy, then she wanted to fuck my ass. It's been so long since I've had my ass filled.
Jeri got the urge. She just had to try it. Had to! What would it be like with a man? With a flesh-and-blood penis filling her pussy?
She met Larry at the Leisure Suit Lounge. It was a cross between a bar and a nightclub, and a trendy singles hangout. Lar was a small guy, about a head shorter than her, and his idea of sartorial excellence was a polyester suit. But he oozed self-confidence and he was a smooth talker. He took me home. After the first couple of drinks I was feeling warm and fuzzy, floating free, disconnected from my surroundings. I needed a safe place to be. Larry had warm and comforting arms. His cock felt warm and comforting inside me.
We did it doggie style. I was on my hands and knees, and he entered me from behind. Darned if that didn't conjure up old ghosts, memories of the times a man had fucked me in the ass . . . back when I had still been a man. Larry must read my mind. He stroked my ass cheeks and I felt a fingertip tentatively enter my hole, my other hole. He asked if I wanted his cock there. Yes, I said yes.
What did that make her, Jeri wondered. A bisexual transsexual? Or maybe some kind of strange unclassifiable creature. Definitely a square peg with a round hole.
Being female and wealthy opened many doors.
The first time Jeri found herself naked in the women's dressing room of an upscale health club, she nearly froze in embarrassment. But dammit, she had nothing to be ashamed of. Her body was just as good as any of the other women there and better than most. And that's where she met Ilana, which was the start of a roller coaster month-long affair. Then, the husband became interested. He was athletic and adventurous, but had bad breath and an inflated opinion of himself.
Jet-setting around Europe was fun for a few months. Then it became tedious. The nude beaches in St. Rouleax and Mersennes overlapped in a monotonous montage of soaking up sun and insincere flirtation. The super-exclusive ski resort on Mont Noir was just one more boring interlude. Never mind that she met and seduced first the Grand Duke of Liechtenbourg, then, in succession the Grand Duchess, various minor counts and countesses, and assorted petty nobility and their hangers-on. In bed they were interchangeable, and their lovemaking was no more skilled than the average barroom pickup. It was all so drearily predictable.
On a sudden whim Jeri financed and acted in an X-rated video. Her male co-star really did have an foot-long penis, just as advertised. She found out that it actually was possible to "bottom out" that pliable pussy of hers that she was so proud of. Never mind. Her bottom was still bottomless, and there was a huge audience for back-door action. The video earned her another million-plus in pocket change.
She posed nude for the critically acclaimed blind artist, Maslov-Orlinsky, and the painting ended up adorning the living room wall of a fast food franchising billionaire. She modeled for the Zerap
h catalog and her underwear-clad rear view graced the glass-topped coffee tables of a million homes. Her spread-eagled centerfold spread in MenzDreamz magazine played a feature role in the masturbation fantasies of an entire generation of adolescent males.
She played tourist in 200 countries in the space of a few months. She firewalked in Tonga Tonga. She snowmobiled the Ross Ice Shelf off Antarctica. She made love hooked up to an oxygen tank in a tent atop Everest during a driving blizzard. She made love in a bathyscaphe at the bottom of the Mindanao Trench, 35,000 feet beneath a raging Pacific typhoon. She made love floating in zero gravity on the International Space Station. She joined eight different religious cults simultaneously and shaved her head. She rollerskated from San Francisco to Sheboygan, Wisconsin in a single frenzied week. She stayed overnight in a haunted house. She broke the world record for goldfish swallowing.
She became a patron of the arts and underwrote the world's largest "truck stop art" museum in Grand Island, Nebraska. She sponsored the first ever debutante ball in Turkey Neck, West Virginia. She established a scholarship fund for gifted-but-wayward youth in Brooklyn, New York. She was active in fundraising for a dozen prominent charities. She funded the Department of Perpetual Motion Studies and endowed a chair for Ufology at the Yarmouth Institute of Applied Science. She sat on the boards of eight grant committees at various Ivy League universities. Her name gradually became synonymous with "High Culture and the humanities."
Three years later, Jeri got a call from Dr. Smedley.
"I have some really wonderful news, Jerry, or is it Jeri now? We've made tremendous progress in reconstructive surgery. It's now possible to rebuild a completely functional male organ. In other words, we can give you back a penis capable of full sensation and even erection. We could also regenerate a new set of testicles for you using genetically reengineered stem cells. So, when can we schedule you for an appointment?"
There was silence for a few moments. Then Jeri burst out laughing.
"Doctor, thank you for your concern. More than that, thank you for all you've done for me. I think I'll pass on the appointment, though. I have no particular desire to change back into a man. I'm too busy having fun as a woman."
* * *
PLUNDER
Her eyes tracked the server's tight little butt as he strode away with the order. That was one of the attractions of this place, the handsome young studs who waited tables . . . and their unusual uniforms. Domino masks covered their eyes (conjuring up thoughts of The Lone Ranger). They wore formal tuxedos, complete with cummerbund and top hat, but the pants were form-fitting -- very much so -- and the entire seat was cut away to expose the buttocks. Naked, finely-muscled buttocks. A very suggestive rear view.
Eileen had a sudden desire to summon him back and ask him upstairs. But no, the evening was still young and there were so many others to choose from. The rooms at the top of the stairs cost $500 per hour, not counting a tip for the chosen escort. But, damn, he had buns to die for. Maybe later . . .
Half an hour later they were upstairs in the small room. Jason was lying on the narrow bed, facedown. He still wore his mask, but nothing else. From the crack of his hind cheeks there protruded a slim rubber hose leading to an old-fashioned red rubber enema bag suspended from a rusty coat hook. Eileen needed him immaculate both outside and in for what she had in mind. Even the simple act of inserting the nozzle into him had left her flushed and excited.
Girl, this better be worth it, she thought as she buckled on her harness, then secured the oversize gleaming chrome-plated dildo in the retaining ring. This little evening outing at the Plunder Club was going to plunder her savings for more than she could afford. Quite a bit more.
I deserve life's little pleasures. Damned if I don't! Haven't I had to fight for everything as long as I can remember?
I was the first one in the family ever to attend college. Years of grunt work as a typist, receptionist, secretary, and general office slave. Got my first real break when the VP of production chose me as his assistant. I'm finally pulling down a halfway decent wage, but at what cost? Working long hours, going to night school to get my grad degree, giving up any pretense of a social life.
Relationships? No time. Romance? That exists only in pulp novels and the movies. Sex? Empty-headed idiots clumsily pawing my body. Now it's my turn. This one's for me.
The gurgle of the commode in the adjoining bathroom signaled that Jason had finished flushing away the enema solution and various other contents of his bowels. Good -- nice and neat. Squeaky clean right where it counted. Eileen was very much into strapons and anal sex, but she just hated the little surprises -- the messes and the stenches -- that all too often accompanied it.
She remembered the first time. Her initiation into anal. It was the summer after graduation, and she had just turned 18. She was working as a camp counselor. On a dare from one of her friends, she had impulsively jumped into a shower stall with the director. He was hung like a horse, according to rumor. "He'll screw anything on two legs," they said. Eileen had to have him.
He just laughed, and took her arm. She let him turn her around and bend her over. "Reach back and spread your cheeks," he said. What? "Spread 'em, little girl. I can get pussy any time. It's your ass I want."
This wasn't quite what she had in mind, but . . . she had fantasized about that sort of thing. Those of her girlfriends who had tried it either found it disgustingly dirty or raved about how utterly fantastic it was.
"Come on, baby. I know what I'm doing. You'll enjoy it as much as I will, maybe even more. I'm not gonna force you, but make up your mind. Either open up your ass for me or get the hell out of here."
She had to choose. Now. She hesitated, then bent over.
It stung a little going in. He had "lubed" himself up with soap, and it felt like a rather large cucumber sliding in and out of her. In and out of her rear passage. It was actually starting to arouse her by the time he came. He scrubbed her back and helped towel her dry. Very considerate.
Later, she had a bout of diarrhea. The soap must have irritated her gut. And yet the memory of it haunted her. . . .
His eyes widened momentarily as he entered the room. She already had on her equipment belt and her tool was ready and waiting. Most clients liked kisses, caresses, and a little foreplay before the going got hot and heavy. This woman obviously didn't need any preliminaries.
She pointed at the bed. Bend over, her abrupt hand motion indicated. Talking wasn't part of the protocol here, and it just got in the way of the action anyhow.
He had already lubed himself as part of the bathroom routine, but she wanted to make doubly sure. Or maybe she just needed an excuse to grope around inside his butthole. No matter. This was included in the basic services the clients paid for. He bent over the bed.
She liked it hard and brutal. Her grunts punctuated the silence as she slammed in and out of him. Small, involuntary farts escaped from her, unnoticed in her excitement. Trained to fully relax his sphincter ring muscles, he still felt the stretch and friction as she plowed his ass (damn, that was some heavy metal she had on). Despite his professional detachment, it was turning him on. He felt his dick slowly hardening beneath him.
She screamed in triumph as she collapsed atop his muscular back. (The rooms were more or less soundproof.) The sweat from her bare breasts mingled with his own. She held on tight to his hips for a moment more, then withdrew out of him with a sound like a vacuum seal being popped. He rolled over, and she giggled as she saw his erection. She grasped it hard in her fist and pulled it toward her.
An open-palm gesture informed her that this was an extra-cost service. She shrugged and pulled two fifties out of the leather pocketbook on the nightstand. A slight shake of the head from him and she fished out another fifty. That got her a nod and a smile. It was her turn to bend over.
He touched her pussy. It was sopping wet. She raised her right fist and pumped it. Into her then, doggy style. His training included delaying ejaculation, and twenty m
inutes later he was still hard inside her. A synchronized clit massage had brought her three orgasms, but she craved something more. Craved it badly.
She slapped his flank twice, indicating he should pull out. He complied. Reaching behind herself, she inserted an index finger into the crack between her buttocks. No mistaking that message. He held up three fingers. That would cost another three hundred (ouch!). She ransacked the pocketbook and somehow managed to scrape it together. Beans and canned spaghetti for the rest of the month, but fuck that. (No, fuck me! Now! In the ass, you beautiful stud.)
Eileen smiled as she drifted off to sleep in her own bed later that night. She had a pleasant ache in her loins . . . and elsewhere. Over a thousand dollars poorer but with memories no one could ever take away from her -- memories of bare flesh and white-hot explosive sex.
Six months later she was back at the club. Her finances were once more healthy enough to plunder, and she wanted to plunder Jason again. She needed him. He had haunted her dreams and intruded into her daytime thoughts.
The evening dragged on, and still no Jason. Masked as the servers were, she would have recognized his bare behind in an instant. There was a feast of deliciously naked male buttocks out there, but none belonging to him. Where was he?
The Syntax of Seduction Page 42