I had been cross-dressing for about a year when I met Monika. Getting out in public had been a painfully slow process, starting with a nerve-wracking trip to an all night convenience store at 4:40am one Sunday. Things picked up from there until I was willing to go pretty much anywhere after dark provided I could keep moving -- restaurants, bars, and movie theaters were still beyond me. I'd met a few women, most of them quite a few years older than me, after posting some pictures of myself to the internet.

I began shaving. Everywhere. Women seemed to like it, and I began getting blown much more frequently, whining and yelping like a frightened 11-year-old, begging for it to stop to have my partner look up at me and ask, "Does that hurt?" The best response to this, I discovered, was "Just a little." That drove women wild. They almost invariably let me cum in their mouth, when they let me cum at all. Sometimes, instead, I'd be milked for upwards of twenty minutes, for three days on end, before I finally pleaded for "my mommy's pussy" while in her mouth. Then she'd take my dick back to the one place it belonged.

I seldom let a woman fuck me. The problem with most of them was, once they had my ten inch dildo strapped to them, they were so enthralled by having a cock, they just wanted to play around with it, rubbing it on the small of my back, fucking the carpet, anything but putting it in my clinging, needy shitter that had been contracting in pulses on nothing for hours leading up to an almost invariably exasperatingly slow lead-in to a painful entry then unenthusiastic fuck. Why women don't understand that, "Deeper" means to pull out farther before pushing home rather than filling me then gyrating their hips, I'll never know.

Monika was different. She tuned me to E-flat, a plaintive keen. Bent over in the shower, nursing at her breasts, begging not to cum in her mouth. I'd been spoiled before with women, tending to find giving lovers. Until meeting Monika, I didn't understand how selfish the other older women had been when taking me. One evening, after screeching and spilling cum from between her fiddling fingers, grasping the edge of the kitchen table while our dinner guest smoked a cigarette and sipped her brandy, she asked me out.

We hadn't been out, strange to say. We had met at the post office when she snuck behind me and swatted my ass while I stood in line for a package I'd missed. When the clerk handed me my large plastic envelope, I asked if she'd like to watch me try it on. Nearly dark outside in the early winter, just as the post office was closing, I slid my panties off from beneath my skirt in the car and climbed over the parking brake onto her lap, straddling it with a leg on each side and kissing her fervently as I ground my dick into her stomach. "My clitty's all swollen, lover," I said, arching backward and letting her bury her head into my chest in a deep hug. "Fuck, Mommy, you want me. Don't you?" I slid my hand between my legs and hers to feel the damp fabric of her pants and rubbed her through the fabric as she panted, whispering the filthiest words I could think into her ear. I let her build for two or three minutes before giving her a hard squeeze to make sure she'd cum. Things just sort of evolved from there.

She had me dress well, my best. It was a hundred fifty dollar number with tulle above the bust and over the arms. The hemline fell less than halfway down my thighs and, that night, to avoid appearing cheap, I shortened my garter straps enough that only the flowery top of my black fishnet stockings showed through until you saw me sit, when you could see so far up my thigh that, whether you knew or not, you were staring at my rear end, plump in a 16, but outlined beautifully in silhouette by the tight fit around my lower back.

"You could have any man you want tonight," she told me as I did my makeup. "For sex. For whatever that's worth."

I smiled, understanding the cue. Monika had paid to have my hair done for my birthday a month before. More than shoulder length, we'd found a stylist that worked it beautifully into a rounded coif, curly at the ends that could be pulled back into a nondescript ponytail when I wasn't dressed. That night, I felt beautiful with wind tugging at my hair through my driver's side window, open a bit to let her cigarette smoke out. My crotch was warm and my stomach full or butterflies, stronger even than my first trip home from that convenience store when I felt as I imagined most women do when out in heels for the first time, only more potently.

I took Monika's hand and she gave it a squeeze as our heels clipped through the parking garage. "They don't have a clue," Monika laughed as we entered the crowd on the street.

"You' better not get me drunk tonight, sweets," I murmured in my public voice, soft and very high pitched in my head, but sounding deep for a woman.

"We'll see if you're worth it," she said with a grin, bumping playfully into me.

"I'm not that cheap," I said shrilly through a wide, clench-toothed smile.

Monika turned to wink at a man waiting at the crosswalk and muttered, "Bitch," when he ran his eyes down my torso and back up to my smiling face. I dropped the smile and shrugged with raised eyebrows as we darted across the alley behind him. "It's on the next block," she said.

"Good." I was struggling to keep my nerves in check so that my pumps didn't begin to slip on the sidewalk, something which invariably drew, "Learn to walk in heels, bitch," from one woman or another. The door to the hotel spun on its own and we stepped into a chamber of it, Monika's hand sliding down to my inner thigh. God, I loved that she'd do that in public where so many women were reluctant, even if I asked. "Fuck, I want me," I mewled as she withdrew her hand.

"That's my girl."

The hostess didn't blink as she when she walked us the "quiet booth in the back" that Monika asked for, nor did the waitress for our first three rounds. I was having the time of my life, learning the basics of flirting across the room as quickly as I could in the darkened bar.

"Pick me one," Monika purred rabidly.

I winked at the man I was staring at and turned my head. "That one over there," I said with a nod in the direction of an overweight, late middle-aged man in a neat suit.

"Fuck you," she said and stood. I watched her walk to the bar and lean over beside a man in his early forties with blond hair, slicked back in spikes. She reached out and touched his right hand and I saw the ring on it. Clenching my thighs together and blushing a bit, I smiled down at my drink, pleased as punch, as my grandmother used to say. Champagne punch.

I began to wonder if I should use the ladies room if needed and whether I would have the courage to when I saw Monkia's cigarettes on the table. I picked one out and lit it then traipsed effortlessly across the room in an ass-shimmy towards Monika's right. Leaning over the bar, I gazed hardly at her eyes, softly with a smile and unconscious wink at him and suddenly my ass fell out of me. I simply do not know another way to phrase it. I hadn't known what odd, coquettish thing I'd been planning but I simply said, "Join us," in a hush and tipped my head back to our table.

We put Paul between us, as he introduced himself, and it wasn't until halfway through our first drink that I saw the hard blink that let me know he'd caught on. I lowered my eyes, gently smiling, the ceiling fan grazing my hair, reminding me I was desirable until he put his hand on my leg. I felt dizzy with the options buzzing through my head until I didn't see the point of it or anything or any of them and slid under the table. Paul fiddled with his belt as I spread his thighs, waiting for him to begin to unzip, which he did but needed both hands for. I thrust them both firmly away as soon as the zipper was halfway down and tugged at his waistband. Fucking my mouth onto his already hard cock, my body flushed. I thought he was going to cum in my mouth when the damned thing swelled in a long pulse that, to my delight, didn't recede. Oh, God, I sucked it. Hard then soft, then nibbling, then licking and kissing and spitting and sucking, doing every wicked dirty thing a woman had ever done to me as best as I could remember. When it lay, half erect against his thigh, I wrapped my lips around it and very gently began to nurse, cradling his mighty cock as softly as I could in my tongue. He grew harder and harder as I heard Monika's voice above me, whispering words I instinctively blocked out. Paul began swatting the table and spurting again. I reach in and squeezed his balls and almost threw up. Fuck. "Swallow, swallow, swallow," was repeating in my head and I did as I was told, obeying my need to be a cocksucker.

"That's all," Paul croaked. "Please?"

"Oh God," I breathed, hoarsely and climbed back up in the booth, grabbing my drink in as restrained a rush as I could manage, the perfect fucking whore.

"Do your pants, Paul," Monika said when she saw the smile on my face.

"Try to walk," I growled, kicking him in the calf before standing to let him out.