The girl next door (1 of 5)
story by TV
I've known Mark for over a 4 months now. He lives next door to me in a brand new apartment building near the center of town. I moved there just after leaving home at age twenty-one. I had been desperately waiting to be of legal age so I could get off on my own, away from the prying eyes of my mother who knew how special her sweet child was and who had kept a careful watch over me to keep me with her doing what she wanted me to do, not what I needed to do. Oh God, how wonderful it feels to be all alone to pursue my special interests in private!
Anyway, Mark, (who is in his mid-thirties and looks very successful in that tanned, well to do, sleek, urban way), never really noticed me I don't think, though I couldn't take my eyes off of him whenever I chanced to catch a glimpse of his slim, lithe body and his lean, handsome face surrounded by dark wavy hair. Every time I could, I would try to get behind him so I could gaze at his tiny little butt and daydream about how hard and muscled it must get when he was clenching it under a lover's pair of hands. I knew almost nothing about him other than he was a bachelor and lived next door to me and drove an expensive and very sexy car. I wanted to know more, much more but couldn't think of any way to get closer to him.
One day about two weeks after moving in, I was in the laundry room getting one of my loads out of the drier and folding the clothes when he walked in with his stuff, which he proceeded to put into a washing machine. I was struck dumb and must have seemed like a silly young twit to him the first time we met there in the laundry room. He smiled pleasantly and said "hello" and all I could do was mumble a brief "hi" and go back to my laundry, hoping desperately that he wouldn't see what was in my basket. I was shaken however. I had never reacted so physically or as emotionally to meeting anyone before in my life. Maybe it was the room and its heat. Maybe I was feeling a bit faint from the lack of fresh air. But my heart was beating fast, my legs were shaking and my breath felt like it was stuck in my throat. Yet, try as I might to deny the truth, I couldn't get over what I had just seen: His eyes were sooooooo green and his hands looked so masculine and strong yet he handled his laundry with such a soft touch. I nearly swooned at the thought of his touch on my soft, hot, feverish skin.
He asked me how long the cycle ran and when I told him about an hour he said "Damn!" I guessed that he must have had an appointment or something and told him that I needed to stay for my load and that I would be happy to watch his stuff. When he left I sighed a huge sigh of relief for he hadn't seen what was in my basket and as I proceeded to finish his laundry for him I couldn't help but notice the extremely masculine taste he had in clothing. At least in everything but one: He seemed to wear only silk boxer shorts and not just in blacks and other dark colors. He had some in bright gem tones of green and blue and there was even a red pair. I wondered if beneath his very male exterior he might not be a sensualist but I quickly put the thought out of my mind and finished up and left.
After that brief encounter, we never really spoke much to each other. Though he did thank me for finishing his laundry, our conversation was limited to just the usual small talk of "Hi, how're you doing?" But if I used to notice him in the past since I looked into his eyes I've had this really big "thing" for him ever since. Nice looking athletic body. Flat tummy. Well defined muscles. Tight ass. Sweet, sexy smile and deeply green, deliciously cool eyes. YUMMY!!!! There was also something else there... a certain animal-like detachment, an inner strength, almost cruel in its honest brutality. If it sent shivers of submissive lust through me, I could only imagine his effect on women. I figured he'd have his pick of women; that they'd be spreading their legs for him after one glance. He undoubtedly has loads of girlfriends and probably thought of me as a sissy, faggot, weakling. Yet, I never saw him with any women and certainly I couldn't hear any sounds of love making or squeals of delight from an orgasmic woman coming through the walls. Of course his private life was none of my business.... But I am so nosey that I make it my business to know as much as I can about the men I desire.
I learned at a very early age how to pick up my men on the street or in dark parking lots near gay bars whose reputations are spread by word of mouth when my mother took me out of the house to work with her. I had a special appeal to many men with very special needs since I was clearly underage but had an insatiable hunger and need to be used by older men. And mom knew it and encouraged me and taught me almost everything I know about getting what I wanted from men who needed what I offered.
I would hang around the parking lots of gay bars or openly walk our town's special street and wait to be picked up and used. Older men love tender sweet morsels like me and I learned early how to use them to my own advantage. How do you think I could afford this fancy apartment and all the nice things inside? Certainly not just on my secretary's salary. Every town has a certain kind of bar where people like me go to find the type of men who are interested in soft little sweet things to use for their pleasure. And after a few years I thought I could read the differences in those kinds of guys pretty well. It became easy to tell the insensitive, macho, dominant types from the soft, weak, submissives.
My special talent was looking like their daughters or their daughter's "bad" girlfriends. I learned a lot about men who wanted to fuck minors and even more about men who wanted the illusion of being with a hot little underage girl but needed the hard, hot action of being mounted from behind and fucked till their assholes couldn't close anymore around hard, hot cocks. I ought to tell you I'm a tg: A transvestite, crossdresser, trannie, ladyboy..... whatever you want to call it. I'm a girlboy. Completely transgendered and thankful for it. That means I have a boy's body and equipment but a girl's thoughts, emotions, desires, needs and lusts. And I like to look and act like a sexy little girl relishing a girl's right to dress properly and primly (which I never do) or like a wanton, wicked little bit of girly fluff (which is my natural taste in clothes).
But you wouldn't know it to look at me unless you knew what the telltale signs are to look for. Oh sure I looked very gay but I don't wear my tgirlness openly on my shoulder. Like most of us tgirls I have learned to hide my true self, as tg's are generally reviled by all segments of society, even gay society. And so I am forced to live a lie most of the time. The straights laugh at us as if we were freaks and the gays look down their noses at us thinking that we just aren't brave enough to admit we are gay. If you looked at me closely, you'd catch it all though. The slightly singsongish voice, the slender waist, the hairstyle, the unisex almost feminine clothes, the soft, totally hairless skin, the shaped eyebrows, the longish, beautifully manicured nails, the little wiggle in my butt when I walk.
I try to behave as straight as possible in public though I know I'm not very convincing. What I am can't be denied and in private I am surrounded by soft femininity. My apartment is painted in soft yellows and pinks. My drapes are all made of the sheerest chiffon with the most delicate ruffled fringes and I have very thick off white carpeting. My bedroom is dominated by a large white canopied bed covered in satin and fluffy pillows with lace pillow covers. My vanity is littered with my makeup and perfume bottles. I have my hair rollers and hairspray and curling iron right there within easy reach. And my closets are overflowing with lingerie, dresses, stilettos, thigh high boots, skirts, shortie-shorts, halter tops, cropped tops, ruffled blouses, sheers and tank tops...... You see I am a clothes horse of the worst kind. And what I was terrified Mark might see that day in the laundry were all of the panties, bras, corsets and body stockings I had just finished folding up. In case you are wondering my girl name is Gina and my last name is Rose.
Mark probably thought of me as quite aloof and unfriendly. I could tell by the very distant way he would greet me afterwards. But that has changed. See recently, I had this pleasant accident of sorts. What was it? Well, Mark found out about my little secret. And I found out secrets that Mark has been keeping too. It would be boring if I told you in brief, wouldn't it?
"Oh, fuck!" I thought. If this boy were a girl I'd be all over her. I was kind of upset with myself (and scared) as I have never in my life reacted to another male the way I reacted when I met that slight little effeminate looking boy who lives next door.
What was going on? I couldn't stop thinking about him. I would have completely ignored him except for the fact that I noticed his eyes and skin the moment I looked up to see him when I entered the laundry room. Soft, smooth, honey brown skin and the biggest doe eyes I'd ever seen on a man with incredibly long eyelashes. The way he looked at me... like a deer caught in headlights, as if he were about to cry was haunting me. And then there were his hands: Long slender fingers, soft to the point where it was clear they'd never done a lick of hard work in their entire life and those finger nails were longer and better maintained than a lot of the women I date. I can't stop imagining his tapered fingers wrapped around my rock-hard cock, stroking it till I cum all over his face. Shit! I've turned into a fucking faggot. I've got to snap out of this.
But what really got me to thinking I guess was what I saw him trying to hide in his laundry basket. It was full of soft, silky, lacy, delicate women's lingerie all perfectly folded and all in the latest styles and fashion.... Thongs and padded push up type bras where the cups stay up and shaped, and satin paneled corsets and silk chemises and slips and I'm sure that I even saw an unbelievably sexy spaghetti strap, lace-bodiced, long flowing black satin nightgown. I mean, what was an unmarried boy doing with stuff like that? At least I don't think he is married. Maybe he has a girlfriend who leaves her things there but I don't think so. He looks too gay. I know it's wrong to judge people by their looks or mannerisms and I've been around long enough to know that a lot of women like their men to be soft and weak. And I have to admit that I don't know much about gays but I just got this feeling that he is one. On top of that, I have never once heard a woman's voice come through the wall that separates our apartments so, I don't even think he has a girlfriend. Were all those sexy things his?
What was getting to me was the image of him dressed in those gorgeous little wispy bits of clothing. You see, I have an unbelievable fetish for women's lingerie and sexy clothing. It's something that started way, way back in childhood when I saw my neighbor in her bedroom from my room every night. Her husband always seemed to like watching her give a strip tease show and I loved watching through their open curtain. I always wondered if she knew she left her curtains open and that her window faced mine. My guess is that she did and she knew exactly the effect her hot shows had on her little neighbor boy cuz of the way she would smile at me when I saw her in the neighborhood..... as if she knew I had to wank off while watching her. What she probably didn't know was that it was me who kept stealing her satin and silky panties and slips from the clothes line. I stole them so I could wrap my cock in them while I jacked off at the sight of her through their window. The slippery, satiny feel of her lingerie on my hard little cock was such a huge turn on and just knowing that they were hers and had been on her gorgeous body next to her sweet pussy turned me on to the point of making me cum practically before I even touched my tool.
My love of sexy feminine lingerie is such that even today I only date girls with extravagant taste in women's clothing. I have this theory you see. I've figured out that you can tell a woman's attitude towards sex by the clothes she wears and ESPECIALLY by the shoes she wears. The sexier the clothes and the higher and more impractical the heels, the more you know she dresses for men.... You know.... She's picked her clothes with the thought of getting men all worked up and hot for her and then being undressed by some hot stud like me who can't keep his hands off her and wants only to nail her with his hard cock. Those are the kind of girls I date. In fact, if they don't wear super short dresses with minimum 3" heels and stockings then I don't even look at them.
So what in the world was I doing fantasizing about this boy next door all dressed up as a girl? And why did the thought make my cock rock hard and make me want to take it out of my pants and jack it till I cum? Was I becoming a fag? God, what a horrible thought. Poofs, queers, sissies, faggots, butt-fuckers... whatever you want to call them.... I was the type of guy who NEVER ever thought about gay men without feeling sorry for them because of the pleasure of soft sweet pussy that they were missing. And then the thought of them humping each other doggie-style.... I mean, it really just kind of disgusted me.
Yet here I was walking around my apartment thinking about the little soft effeminate boy next door all made up and dressed as a hot sexy girl, being so thoughtful and sweet as to offer to do my laundry and then folding it all perfectly and delivering it to my front door when I had to rush off. How ironic that the meeting I had to get to was to meet Nancy at her place where she got down on her knees to blow me like I've never been blown before. I couldn't believe it when I came all over her face that I was thinking of that boy's big brown eyes and his fat, pouty lips and his long dark eyelashes and imagining what those fat soft lips and wet mouth would feel like wrapped around my huge cock instead of Nancy's. I have to admit that like all of the women I date, she was starting to bore me..... badly.
And yet, I don't even know his name. I mean I've seen it on his buzzer and I think he introduced himself to me in the laundry.... maybe not.... can't remember.... but for the life of me, if he did give me his name, I can't remember it now.
All I know right now is that something changed in me when I saw him and now I'm scared. I mean, here I am all alone in my apartment when I should have Nancy or Sophie or Sherry with me to fuck and make me happy and what am I doing? Well, I'm not calling one of my babes. I'm sitting on my sofa with the drapes drawn, nursing my third martini and dreaming about doing it to girlyboy next door.
"Oh fuck, I need another drink." And wouldn't I be totally ostracized and laughed at by all of my colleagues and friends if they could see me as I got up and made sure I didn't trip on the hem of the purple satin nightgown that one of my ex-girlfriends had left at my place and which I love to wear when I need to jack off.... as it is so easy then for me to reach down and wrap its soft silky fabric around my member and jack myself through the fabric so that when I explode, the fabric collects all my cum and absorbs it and I don't have a big mess to wipe up.
I had put it on and I was getting plastered cuz I knew I wanted to fuck that boygirl next door and I knew it was perverted and not right and I just couldn't bring myself to actually act on my impulse and I knew deep down that if I stepped over that line I would never get back. So I was going to spend a lonely night alone jacking off into Sophie's sexy nightgown instead.
Story posted by TV
on Sunday, April 25, 2004 @ 22:30:50 PDT
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