The relationship in this piece of erotica is trans man/trans woman. It’s relatively vanilla — there are references to both characters being interested in BDSM, but the main sex act depicted is strap-on sex. There are also a lot of references to the hanky code (this is a pretty good article about it if you’re unfamiliar), as well as intra-community jokes about common trans names.
“You know,” a woman with electric blue hair says, squinting at the scrap of cloth tied to to the left side of my belt, a coy smile on her face. “It’s really hard to tell what shade of pink that is. Want to just tell me?”
I take a breath, and my lungs fill with cold night air. For a moment, I’m not sure if she’s flirting or just trying to strike up conversation. There’s a handful of people surrounding us, in the section of paved-over back garden that’s become an impromptu house party smoking area. I know a few faces — people I’ve bumped into in queer rave playrooms or punk shows in squatted buildings — but no names to go with them. It’d be nice to know somebody aside from the friend-of-a-friend who invited me.
“It’s meant to be light pink,” I reply, and shuffle my weight from one leg to the other, leaning towards her. “But most of them apply, so I suppose it doesn’t matter much.”
She leans in closer too, mirroring my movement, and it’s between that and the fact her smile turns into a smirk that I know she’s not just trying to be cordial. I can smell her perfume — cherry and vanilla —, see the glimmer of highlighter across her cheeks. There’s just about enough light from the frosted windows of the kitchen that it catches a badge on her denim jacket, enough for me to just about read it — make hormones, not war.
“Cute,” she says, in a voice that tells me she’s not just talking about the handkerchief. “Good to know.”
I feel my cheeks turn a little warm and a smile pull at the corners of my mouth. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Bram.”
She arches an eyebrow.
“Bram as in Stoker?”
I shrug, nonchalant as I can fake it, and the fabric of my sleeveless shirt rubs against my shoulders only a little uncomfortably. “The Francis Ford Coppola film propelled me through puberty, what can I say. Had to steal the name when I transitioned.”
It’s only half a joke, but she laughs anyway, light and sweet.
“Well,” she says, eventually. “It’s good to meet you, Bram. I’m Lily — the one that just moved in to this place, not any of the million other Lily-s you probably know. No story there, except that it was going to be Lily or Alice.”
Lily takes another half-step forward, and the bare skin of her arm brushes against mine. It’s faded enough that it’s hard to tell — especially this far from the house’s lights — but I think I can see a heart shaped stick-and-poke tattoo.
“I was almost an Oliver, if that makes you feel better.”
She gives a mock grimace. “Oh no, not an Oliver. Next you’ll be telling me you’re considering a mullet. And for the record, I forbid you to get a mullet. The tousled shag thing is really working for you. Although it does make it far too tempting to get my hands on it and mess it up even more.”
Her eyes flicker between my hair and my lips during the last sentence, her smile turning a little softer. I realise my heart is already beating faster.
“You can,” I say, suddenly aware of how warm my cheeks are. “If you’d like.”
And Lily bats her eyelashes, as though she has no idea what it is she’s doing. She’s still pretending to be wry when she speaks, but she knows that we both know it’s pretence. Her voice is nearly a purr.
“Well, if you’re offering. My room’s on the top floor — how about we head up there. I can get my hands in that gorgeous looking hair of yours, and you can tell me which shades of pink apply.”
The walls of Lily’s room are painted a pale shade of landlord-off-white. But the prints and posters — exhibition postcards, show fliers for bands I’ve never heard of, messy misprinted risographs — stuck on almost every surface they can be stuck add pops of colour, pale and bright in equal measure. The overhead lightbulb fills the room with soft blue, and when Lily locks the door behind us, I notice a black spanking paddle balanced precariously on the edge of a flat-pack desk.
“Thought we might want a little privacy,” she says, and there’s something the catches in her voice and makes me wonder if she’s not a little more nervous than she wants to let on. A moment later though, and that something is gone, replaced “Don’t want somebody barging in on us if they’re looking for the loo down the hall.”
I don’t say anything in response, but I hum, gently. When Lily turns to face me, all I can think about is how close she is to me, how beautiful her dark brown eyes, how soft her skin would feel if I reached out to touch it. But Lily is the one who reaches out first. She lifts her hands — so slowly it’s easy to forget this isn’t a dream — and places the tips of her fingers gently against my hair.
My eyes meet hers and don’t move. I take a long, steady breath, and Lily takes one too, an almost-perfect mirror. After those two breaths, her hands are less gentle.
She doesn’t dig her hands in my curls, but her fingers slide their way in, soft and easy. She doesn’t pull my hair, rough and sharp, but she does clench around my roots and tug, softly. She doesn’t kiss me, but she leans forward, until her face is almost touching mine and I can feel her warm breath on my lips. My gaze drops from her eyes to her mouth, and for a moment that’s all I can think about, all I can look at. I’m captivated by that sharp, cruel cupid’s bow, even before it pulls into another smile.
“Well, that’s answered one of my questions. Don’t suppose you’d be interested in answering the other.”
Lily’s voice is low, a soft whisper, and it takes me a moment to realise what she’s saying. I look glance back up to meet her eyes, and they’re wide and kind and full of expectation.
“It’s meant to be light pink,” I say, unable to take my eyes off her. “But it could be dark pink, if you wanted. Or magenta. Mostly the light pink though.”
A hand moves from holding the roots of my hair to cupping my cheek, soft pad of its thumb brushing against the wiry edge hairs of my beard.
“Hm, I might take you up on all three of those. Right now though? The light pink’s the one I’m most interested in.”
My eyes drift shut instinctively, even before Lily leans forward to kiss me. She tastes of cigarette smoke and artificial cherry lipgloss and I want to keep kissing her forever. We kiss once, with closed lips and then once again with them open, her tongue in my mouth and mine in hers. With the third kiss, she pulls me towards her with the hand buried in my hair, until our bodies are pressed close together.
“I don’t have my strap with me,” I admit, once we’ve parted for air. “Didn’t expect anything to happen tonight, so didn’t bother putting it in my bag.”
There’s a moment’s pause, and then Lily lets out something between a laugh and a performative tut. “Shame on you. You should know to always be prepared. What am I to do now?”
I open my mouth to give her an answer, but she cuts me off before I say something earnest.
“It’s alright. I have one you can borrow, if you’re ok with that.”
The strap-on harness fits well, but it feels a little odd. I’m used to thick leather and buckles, and the soft fabric and velcro fastenings of the one Lily’s lending me is new. But it’s not too different. The blue silicone dildo — the perfect shade to match Lily’s hair — still curves out from my body the same way the dicks I normally wear do. It’s not completely new territory.
While I’ve been wrestling the harness on, Lily’s liberated herself of her boots and most of her clothes. Perched at the edge of the bed in her briefs and sports bra, she watches me intently as I move my hips slightly, trying to get a feel for how this combination of dick and harness moves with me, how the firm silicone base presses against my clit, all the ways in which I can get sensation from using it.
“Much as it breaks my heart to admit it,” Lily says, leaning forward. I try to pretend I don’t notice the under-bed wrist restraints that peak out from the duvet out at each corner. “You wear it better than me. Gloves and lube are in the bedside table. Condoms are too, if you want to put one on the toy.”
Before I do any of that, though, I step towards the bed. Kneeling in front of it, I gently rest a hand on the back of Lily’s head, just like she did to me minutes ago. There’s a moment of stillness, with us just looking at each other. In the silence, I can hear the party around us — faint music and muffled conversation — and I’m suddenly reminded that there’s a world that exists outside of the one we’re making in this room.
Lily’s tongue darts out to wet her lips.
“There’s also a wand in there. If you want to use it on me while you top me.”
My other hand finds its way to rest on her thigh, brushing my fingers against the soft sensitive skin.
“How quiet is it? People might hear.”
Lily turns her head, pressing her weight against the hand in her hair. “I don’t care if they hear.”
She might say she doesn’t care, but I can hear her hold a breath when I press a nitrile glove clad and lube covered finger against her hole and slowly press it inside. She’s lying back on the bed, blue hair splayed out around her like a halo, and I can see her chest rise and fall as I slowly curve my finger up towards her belly, pressing the soft pad of my finger against her prostate. One of her hands moves to cover her mouth, smothering the moan that comes from her lips. She looks at me through half lidded-eyes and steady, practiced breathing, and when I ask her if she’s alright she nods. When I ask her if she wants a second finger, she nods again.
Even through the nitrile glove, I can feel her body around me, warm and tight, and I think about what it would be like to press a third finger inside her, and then a fourth, and then maybe even my whole hand. My clit jolts at the idea, pressing against the firm base of my silicone cock, and I decide I’ll wear a red handkerchief next time I think I might see Lily. Just in case.
But that’s for the future. I know what Lily wants right now. I curl my fingers upwards inside of her again and start to gently rock them, my free hand reaching up to stroke Lily’s hair. The hand that was on her mouth moves slightly, and I start to be able to hear her properly, all soft whimpers and moans.
“Is this too much?” I ask, just in case. “Am I going too fast.”
Lily shakes her head.
She says I’m not going too fast, but I try to slow down anyway. When I pull my fingers out, it’s careful and controlled. And when I kneel between her legs, tip of my lubed-up cock just brushing against her hole, my movements are just as gentle and deliberate.
I’m slow, but Lily still takes a heavy breath as I start to push inside her. Even through the silicone, I can feel the firm resistance of tense muscle, pushing back against me. Or at least I can until she takes one last controlled, steady breath, and the tension vanishes all at once. My cock pushes inside her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I begin moving slowly, gently rocking my hips, grinding the pronounced head of the dildo against her prostate. Lily pulls her legs up, gripping tightly onto the soft, sensitive skin of her thighs until the skin turns a little pale under her grip.
Her fingers may be clenched, but her face isn’t. Lily looks up at me — hair pooled around her on the pillow — with a look that’s somehow peaceful and hungry at the same time. She’s blushing, a soft dusky pink, and when I lean down to give her a gently kiss, I can feel her cheeks are warm.
“You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile,” she whispers in my ear when I kiss her, in a tone of voice that tells me she doesn’t actually mind too much. “I’m a big girl. I can take some roughness.”
I chuckle, pressing my face to hers and giving her another kiss. “Yes Ma’am.”
I can’t decide my favourite way to fuck somebody. Sometimes I say my favourite way is drawn back, looking down at them from above, able to use the full draw strength of my hips and getting to watch as my silicone cock disappears inside their hole. Sometimes I say it’s still on top of them and face-to-face, but with our bodies pressed tightly together, being able to feel their warmth and sweat as I fuck, not having as much draw space with my hips but knowing even the smallest movements feel intense when I’m buried inside them.
With Lily, I start with the first. She holds her thighs back still, hips angled perfectly for me to be able to use all my strength to push my cock into her, pull back until it’s almost out, and then push back inside her again. I can feel sweat start to collect on my brow with each thrust, Lily is arching her hips towards me a little more each time, and between our bodies, her soft cock drips. She’s breathless, thighs starting to shake even before she lets go with one hand and reaches for the wand vibrator.
It’s powerful and low pitched, and when she presses it to the underside of her cock, I can feel the vibrations through my strap-on. Muted and shallow and not nearly pointed enough for me to get off with, but I can feel them all the same, and I let out a low moan. Lily’s eyes move from her own body — where they’ve been focused concentrating, trying to press the wand against her body in the perfect spot — and move up to look at mine. Her gaze starts at my cock — a gentle smile on her face as she sees the place where our bodies meet — curls around the soft dark hair on my chest, and finally looks up to meet my eyes.
“Come kiss me,” she says, in a voice that’s so soft it feels like a dream. “I want to feel your weight on top of my body when I come.”
The hard plastic handle of the wand presses into my belly uncomfortably, but I’m so wrapped up in Lily — in seeing her, in hearing her, in feeling her body against mine — that it’s the easiest thing in the world to forget. I still move my hips, but slowly now, gently rocking the curved toy against her prostate. My tongue is in her mouth and hers is on mine, and when she catches my lip between her teeth, she gives it a short, sharp bite. We’re touching in so many places that it doesn’t feel like there’s a clear way to tell where my body ends and hers begins any more. And when she comes — breath hitching and the legs she’s hooked around me to pull me closer shaking — I can almost feel it myself.
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