Fantasy, Anal and Erotica

I sat on the bed, and viewed the marvel before me, close enough to reach out and touch. A sweet oval face, framed by long blonde hair. Long blonde eyelashes too, around massive pale blue eyes, sparking with life and personality. A button nose. Thick, pink, kissable lips. Moving down, a slender neck, high collarbones, and oh, such breasts! Large – maybe the size of grapefruit – and perfectly shaped, hanging deliciously from a pale chest.

Further down, a smooth belly, tapered to a narrow waist, with the slightest wisps of the longest golden locks poking out to either side. Then wide, flared, feminine hips.

And just at the meeting of long, lithe, shapely legs, a proud, erect penis, mirroring mine a few feet away from it. Hanging just below the engorged member, the unmistakeable wrinkled skin of a scrotum, slightly distended by the testicles it contained.

I looked back up, from those male genitals, across the perfect feminine body, to those shining eyes. I saw the hope and fear at war there, the desperation, the entreaty. And I made my decision.


I had just come back from a holiday with family. It had been a great time, but really busy. We had been out all day seeing sights and taking in the attractions of our destination, coming home late, so I hadn’t had much time for anything else… and besides, with family around, you don’t think about the other stuff.

So I hadn’t really noticed, but I had actually been dry for a good week or so, and now that those distractions were gone, I had spent the entire journey back feeling pretty fucking horny.

With no obvious partner around, and not really having the liberty to find one, I had intended to satisfy myself over an evening in front of my computer and a couple of well-chosen porn streams. I had even gotten a bit of a head start, discreetly browsing my favoured sites on my phone as I rode the train and then the bus home. Building the anticipation and then letting it slip back can really up the final climax.

But then, just as I was settling into my desk chair, pants off and my finger hovering over the play button on the first vid, I heard a ping. It was a message from one of my friends, inviting me to the pub.

I tried to say I was busy, but my heart wasn’t in it. They were all there, and I hadn’t seen them in a while. They knew I had the rest of the week off, so I didn’t have any urgent business (so to speak). Besides, a bit more anticipation would only increase the buzz even more.

It turned out to be the kind of night where people bring their friends. There must have been a dozen of us in total. One guy had brought his girlfriend – who we had met a couple of times before, admittedly – and she had brought someone new, a friend called Hermy. Hermione, I presumed – she looked about 23 or 24, so probably the daughter of a Harry Potter early adopter.

And she was gorgeous. She looked like a fashion model, in a long dress that flowed and fluttered in folds around her body. You could tell all the attention was on her, especially the guys. Maybe it was my sex-starved condition, but I found myself focused especially on her. I tried not to stare, and hoped to god she wouldn’t notice – I couldn’t bear her finding me creepy or intense.

She didn’t say much though, and didn’t seem that interested in our usual subjects of conversation. She dropped in the occasional comment, but seemed mostly content to sit passively, like a classical painting by a Renaissance or Pre-Raphaelite master, and listen.

I was on the verge of giving up – I could barely admit to myself that I was trying, with a girl so far out of my league – but I gave it one last go. I asked what she was drinking. She said it was a gin & tonic.

I happen to know a bit about gin, so I asked what kind. Before I knew it, we were in deep conversation about the different types of gin, different mixers, and garnishes that suit them best. We went to the bar together, and came back to sit together with our G&Ts, chosen for interest and experiment as well as taste. The next pair, we shared. I tried not to think about her full pink lips on my glass, about sharing saliva by proxy.

The conversation moved on to more subjects, and we seemed amazingly in tune. Others tried to step in and contribute, but although she was polite, it seemed Hermy only had eyes for me, and they soon gave up. I tried to ignore the jealous looks I was getting as they made their excuses and went home – smugness is not my style.

The only exception was Mike, my best friend, a gold-standard wingman, and camp as Christmas. Hermy noticed my rainbow keychain and asked me about it. I said I considered myself an ‘ally’, and had been to a few Pride events over the years. That was when Mike chipped in to talk about the times we had gone to them together. Pretty soon the three of us were enthusiastically sharing stories of partying and the outrageous things we’d seen there. Gay clubs, drag and burlesque shows… We spent a while discussing RuPaul’s latest series and assessing the contestants -I had not followed it closely, but I knew enough to take part, and ask just the right questions.

Mike casually dropped in (he’s always been far smoother at that kind of thing than me) that guys had propositioned me, and he had ‘had to’ distract their attention to himself. So she knew I was open-minded but not gay. It couldn’t have been better.

As the expert wingman he is, Mike also knew how to read a room. Having established that the ice was well and truly broken, he made his excuses and stood to go, dropping me a sly wink as he left the two of us alone in our corner of the bar.

We kept drinking, and talking. We moved closer together. Her thigh almost brushed mine, and her hand touched mine when she wanted to emphasize a point. It was intoxicating. SHE was intoxicating.

I learned more about her. She knew Kate and Farron from university. She was visiting them while in town for a work event. She lived in a town fairly close, but had taken a room at a hotel because it was more convenient for the work event. She worked for a charity that advocated on LGBTQ+ issues, although her role was really just administrative.

Hold on, I thought. She goes to gay clubs, watches Drag Race, and works for an LGBTQ+ charity. Does that mean she is a lesbian? With regret, I began preparing to set aside any amorous intentions and shift gear to a more friendly Platonic interaction. After all, the last thing I wanted was to distress her by imposing on her when she wasn’t interested, and I could still enjoy her company on a purely social level.

But no, she *was* interested. It was clear in the way she smiled at me, the way she leaned towards me, the thousand little signs that, against all the odds, this beautiful girl wanted me as much as I wanted her. We had a connection. Or so it seemed to me.

Last orders came and went. Closing time came, and we went out together into the warm summer night. We turned to face each other, so close that I could feel her breath on my face.

It was now or never. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, I leaned forward and placed my lips on hers…

She did not pull away. She did the opposite. Her lips parted, locked with mine. I was kissing the most beautiful girl I had ever seen! She tasted of sweet lip gloss and the last gin we had shared, underlaid by that delicate, unmistakeable feminine musk.

I made to bring her closer, to press her body against mine, but she pulled away, and I thought for one sickening moment that I had blown it! But then she smiled a smile that shone like daylight. “My hotel room is very near here,” she said. “Do you… want to come up?”

YES! Yes yes yes! “Sure, why not,” was what came out of my mouth.

Despite my stupid coolness, her dainty fingers intertwined with mine, and she led me forward.


No sooner had her hotel room door closed than she was in my arms again, our tongues battling eagerly. It was a small room, dominated by one double bed – the kind of room you could find in a thousand chain hotels across the country – but I was not focused on the décor.

Before I knew it, our clothes were on the floor and we were down to underwear. She wore a nice off-white bra, a pleasing balance between lacy and practical. More concealing than most bras, it still could not hide how perfect her breasts were. Her panties were slightly odd though – opaque and wide, they covered her entire pelvic area, almost like bloomers, if they had been a bit baggier. Still, I wasn’t complaining: having this angel in her underwear, in my arms was a dream, and things were only progressing in one direction from here.

Then she pulled away again. She pushed me down so I was sitting on the bed. All of a sudden, there was doubt in here eyes. Trepidation. Was she not as eager as I had thought?

I had to say it. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t respect myself as a man if I didn’t. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I told her gently. “If you are having second thoughts, we can call a stop to this right now. I’ll leave. I…”

She interrupted me with a delicate, gentle finger on my lips. “It’s not that,” she said, shaking her head, her golden mane weaving back and forth behind her. “Well, not exactly. There is something I want to show you. That I have to show you. Something I don’t think you have realized until now. I think I can trust you – this is between us now.”

She turned her back. “Once I am done, if you want to go, I won’t stop you. I just…” she trailed off, then heaved a massive sigh, tinged with inexplicable sorrow. She reached behind her, and I saw those dainty fingers undoing the clasp of her bra.

Of course! I thought. She must have breast implants. I should have known those tits were too great to be true. And some people could be self-conscious about that kind of thing. It explained everything. Well, I was not picky about something like this, and the surgeon had clearly done a great job, from what I had seen so far.

But the bra fell to the floor, and she stayed there, facing away from me. Then she heaved another sigh, with a little catch in it that I could not identify, and bent down. Her thumbs went under the waistband of her big pants, and pushed down. I pushed down my own boxer shorts, and my engorged cock sprang free.

Then she turned. And I was greeted with the most exquisite, supreme display of womanhood… except for the undeniable organs of manhood between her legs, where a vagina should be.

She waited there, controlling her impatience with effort and deep breaths that lifted and lowered those perfect breasts, while my mind span like a washer-dryer.

Her – his? – cock was a little smaller than mine, both shorter and thinner, but it was still undeniably a penis. As often happens, it was a darker shade than the skin around it. I could see the purple traceries of veins running up the surface. A few traces of hair could be seen on the scrotum, but the whole pubic area around it had been shaven clean and smooth. It pointed upwards at around a 70-degree angle, signalling her arousal. His arousal.

I had been on the internet. I had seen porn, and drag shows and the like. It had always seemed to me that, when you saw a transvestite or drag artist, no matter how convincing, you could almost always refocus and ‘see’ the maleness in the shape of their face and body. I tried that for a moment with Hermy. But no matter how I looked, I could only see pure femininity. There was not a trace anywhere in her of masculine traits, except that genitalia. But then again, how would I know? Maybe there are loads of them, wandering around with their reproductive organs hidden, as we all do. Maybe the truly authentic ones online are reserved for the premium rate sites that I never bothered investigating because I didn’t think I was interested. Or maybe they all have too much sense and dignity to do porn, as one does.

All I knew for sure was what I had in front of me. And she was all woman. With a cock.

And the strange thing was that it didn’t look out of place. I cannot explain it, but with this one woman and only her, the phallus and testicles protruding between those wide womanly hips, above those long, smooth, shapely legs, it just seemed the most natural thing in the world. Natural and… beautiful.

I don’t know how long we were like that, facing each other, motionless but for our breath. Seconds, certainly. But too many seconds. The beginning of a little tremble ran across her succulent lips, and her blue eyes shone a little brighter with a build-up of moisture. The erection was beginning to fade a little, droop to more like 50 degrees. She took a deeper breath, and I thought I detected the hint of a shudder in it.

“You can g-” she began, but I was already moving. I stood, and closed the distance between us. I lifted my hand. My palm brushed her cheek, went to the nape of her neck, and pulled her towards me. I kissed her. Kissed him. It didn’t matter any more.

I pressed my mouth against Hermy’s, harder than before, forcefully conveying my approval. Two pairs of arms went around two bodies. Full, supple, rounded mammaries met a male chest. Two bellies, one smooth and toned, the other lightly haired, made contact. Two penises touched, and slid across each other, nestled side by side between the two stomachs. Two moans of satisfaction vibrated across each other through two pairs of lips, locked passionately together.

We maintained contact as we fell together onto the bed. Every moment in which I could feel the touch of that warm skin was a blessing. My hand went down, and encircled the member, which was already rapidly engorging back to its full size and turgidity. I did not know what I was doing, only that it felt right, and must be right as long as it pleased this wonderful creature. From the response of the body entangled with mine, I knew that it did please them. Warm, slender fingers wrapped around my own penis. We moved our hands in time.

Acting on a further impulse, I separated our faces slightly. I stared into stunning blue eyes. “You are perfect,” I said, and separated further, but only so that I could kiss her neck. Then her breasts, swirling my tongue around each delicious brown areola in turn. A part of my brain noted in passing that there was no trace of surgical scars – this flesh, this glorious flesh, was all natural. Then down to her stomach. My tongue probed the indent of her navel, and she gave a little giggle.

Then I moved further, and there it was, inches from my eyes, framed against the gentle pink valley of her cleavage. I thought I would hesitate, but I did not. My lips enveloped the bulbous end, my tongue swirled the skin around the glans, and I was rewarded with a high, long, feminine groan.

I was actually doing it! I was sucking a cock!

I had asked myself about my sexuality. Of course I had. If you haven’t, ever, then I have sour news for you, pal: you are repressing something. Back when I was a teenager, I had forced myself to honestly consider the question. And especially later, when I made gay friends, and went to gay clubs with them, and got propositioned by guys. A couple of times I had even reciprocated a bit, just to try it out, although I had never taken it further than a long kiss and embrace.

I had thought about male bodies, and female bodies, pressed myself against each, and I knew which of them turned me on. Sexuality isn’t a matter of choice; I am what I am, and what I am is pretty much straight.

Of course, I don’t believe people are 100% straight. Or at least, very few people. It’s a spectrum. It takes a real super-hetero not to look at the hunks of the day – for my generation, it was the likes of Brad Pitt and George Clooney – and feel a tingle that is more than just a recognition of objective beauty. But I thought of myself as maybe 90% or 95%, and confident enough about it not to feel challenged or threatened by other people expressing their own sexuality in front of me.

Well, let me tell you, as a result of that night, I have moved myself along the spectrum a few pegs. Notches. You know what I mean.

There was no doubt, I was fully sexually aroused by this situation and this woman (or whatever she was). And it was not ‘despite’ her girl-cock. It was because, just like it was because of her womanly hips, and slim waist, and round breasts, and long golden hair, and great big blue eyes, and the feminine scent that wafted about her.

She shifted back a bit, and I followed her, latching back onto that proud phallus like a baby seeking its mother’s nipple. She had her legs bent at the knees, trailing off the side of the bed, and sat up with her tits gyrating just above my head, but she turned to lie on her side, swinging her legs up to the other side. Her penis rotated in my mouth.

She kept moving back, inch by inch, and I followed her, resting my hands on the bed, then my knees. I had to stay close to this beautiful creature and her aura of raging eroticism.

Then suddenly she span, pivoting around the unmoving centre of my suckling mouth on her erect shaft. Grabbing at my legs, she pulled herself forward, and enveloped my own cock-head in her own pink, pouting, kissable lips. The sensation was amazing. Before I had even realized it, we were 69ing! Lying on our sides, each with our heads bobbing on each other’s penises.

I can’t say I have a great deal of experience in licking pussy, although I am no novice either. I have always tried to give as much pleasure as I would ask for, but I am not a mind-reader, and always feared that I was not doing it in quite the way she would have wanted.

With Hermy, it was different. She had a cock and balls, just like I did. I know what gets me off, so I just had to reproduce that on her, and surely it would have the same effect, right?

It did, judging by the sounds she was making. As I alternated between bobbing on the end of her cock and trying to open my throat to take her deep inside, she kept up a constant stream of porn-star sighs, gasps and moans. When she groaned in particular, the rumble vibrated her throat, giving my penis the most incredible sensations.

And here’s a funny thing: her dick tasted just like a pussy! Maybe all dicks do – I don’t have the experience to know. Perhaps all our secretions and pheromones are the same, whether we are male or female… or anything in between. All I know is that it was wonderful.

We lay there for some minutes, revelling in each other’s bodies – my hands around her slender waist, my head between her smooth, toned legs, suckling on her rigid, womanly-tasting penis.

Then, as I was starting to build to an incredible climax, she rolled over to rest on top of me and swung her leg over. Surprised, I heard the pop as her schlong left the pursing seal of my lips. Now she was resting beside me. She moved over to hold my face in her hands, and kissed me on the lips. Her eyes looked deep into mine, shining with pure sincerity and devotion. And then she said something that made my heart cartwheel.

“I want you inside me.”

Those five words, in her high, girlish voice. I had not known until just now, but those were the five words that I wanted to hear most in the world.

But there was a problem. “I can’t,” I said. You don’t have… the equipment, you know? I’ve just been down there, I saw!”

She smiled a lascivious smile, and hugged me. Then she whispered into my ear, “I have another hole.”

Was she saying what I thought? I leaned back, and looked into her face again. She took my hand, and put it between her legs. Singling out my middle finger, she brought it down, past her hanging girl-scrotum, to the pale brown pucker of her butthole. She nodded, giving me a stunning, cheeky smile.

The surprised delight must have shown on her face, because she giggled, then hurried excitedly out of bed to the bathroom.

This was incredible! The most beautiful woman I had ever seen – possibly the most beautiful woman ever to have existed – was going to let me have anal sex with her. She wanted me to! She had asked me to!

She came back, holding a bottle of some clear liquid. In her excitement, her step had a bounce to it that had both her breasts and cock jiggling mesmerizingly.

I looked at the bottle. “Lube?” I asked.

She nodded, that cheeky smile showing again.

“You carry a bottle of lube with you when you travel?”

She looked at me reproachfully, but with a teasing smile underlying it that made clear she was joking. “You carry a couple of condoms in your wallet all the time, right?”

I smiled wryly and nodded.

“So do I?” she whispered again. “Lube and condoms both. We live in hope. And I am so glad I do. Now lie on your back.”

I did as I was told.

First she squirted out a generous dollop of lubricant into her palm, and applied it to my cock. The initial coolness soon changed as the gel was warmed between her hand and my penis. If it had softened at all in her absence, her gentle ministrations restored it to steel-rod rigidity. Just her soft hand lightly polishing my genitals was bliss in itself, but that paled into insignificance when I knew what was to come.

Once a layer of lubricant was thoroughly spread all over my groin, she reached between her legs and applied some of the remainder on her hand to her butthole. I saw her eyes widen fractionally and the cutest little squeak emerge from her lips as she slipped the very end of a slick finger into her pucker. Then she lifted one shapely leg high, and straddled me.

A naked feminine dream was towering over me, her angelic face framed in the cleavage between her glorious breasts. “Are you ready?” she asked.

I nodded emphatically. What could I possibly say that would express how incredibly goddamn ready I was?!

The idiotic glee of my expression must have made it clear, because she chuckled happily, her breasts and cock jiggling with the convulsions of laughter. Then she began to lower herself.

She reached down behind her to take my penis in hand and guide it to the sweet entrance of her poop chute. I grasped her cock in one hand and nestled her balls in the other, fondling them gently. She moaned her approval. Should I tell her that I was partly doing it so that I could lift her genitals out of the way and watch as I entered her? Maybe she would be fine with it… but better not to risk puncturing the moment, I thought.

It took a couple of attempts to get lined up. Lube is designed to be slippery, of course, and that goes in every direction, not just the ones you intend. Besides, an anus isn’t really biologically designed for big thick things to enter it – quite the opposite, in fact.

But where there’s a will, there’s a way. On the third try, my bulbous cock-head nestled into the groove of her café-au-lait pucker. Then Hermy took a deep breath, and pushed down again. I felt the resistance hold, then give way with an almost audible pop, as the sphincter passed the girth of my bell-end and squeezed tightly below it. She continued to press her weight down, and I watched with amazement as my shaft slowly disappeared into her butthole.

I looked up. Her mouth and eyes were wider than I had seen them yet, screaming silently towards the ceiling in rapturous delight. At first, I thought she had orgasmed then and there, but no, she was just revelling in this rare and special sensation. I stared, trying to fix the sight of that glorious expression in my memory forever, just in case cold reality re-manifested and prevented me from ever repeating this wonderful act.

Then she looked down on me, placed her splayed hands – one still quite slippery with the remaining lube – on my bare chest, and began to raise and lower her pelvis in the rhythmic motions of passionate, sensual intercourse.

With her on top, she would have complete control of the pace, and I could understand that. Anal sex, when done wrong, can be very painful – she had to be sure the angle going in was right. The fact that it gave me a great show of the most intimate – literal – lap dance while her sphincter massaged my cock was just a wonderful bonus. For a hole that isn’t biologically designed to take an erect penis into it though, man, it fits so perfectly! It was so tight and snug and warm, it felt like every millimetre of my manhood was being caressed, from the bifurcated tip to the base when she bottomed out, her ballsack coming to rest momentarily on my lower belly.

And in my turn, I returned the favour as best I could, matching her rhythm as I jerked her cock. It was slightly different to masturbating myself – the angle was different, for a start, and I did not have the feeling to guide me either, but I know what makes me horny, and reproduced that for her. The way she throbbed in my fist made it clear that I was doing it right, even if her moans and sighs and occasional exclamations (“Oh yeah!” “Fuck yes!” “Yeah baby, that’s good!”) were not enough.

Every now and then I reached up with my free hand to squeeze one of those glorious breasts, or cup her neck so I could sit up and take a perfect, nub-hard nipple in my mouth, or plant a passionate kiss on those gorgeous, full lips that met mine with hungry eagerness.

Mostly though, I just lay back, my wrist working away while an angel bounced on my cock. Not a bad life, is it?

The only sad thing is that it was over too soon. I felt my orgasm building, and I warned her, “I’m cumming soon.”

“Me too,” she replied. “Jerk my cock faster!”

I picked up the pace, bringing both hands in to give her genitals as much stimulation as possible. She in turn increased the rate and volume of her dirty talk. “Oh yeah, that’s it. Jerk your girl’s big cock. My butthole feels so good, full of your hard penis. We’re gonna come together, baby!”

It was getting me closer and closer. I knew what I wanted, but I was afraid to ruin the moment, so I hesitated, and finally I could put it off no longer. “I’m going to cum inside you, baby!” I almost shouted.

“YES!” she cried back. “CUM in my arse! Fill my arse with your sexy hot spunk!”

It was all the encouragement I needed. I orgasmed like a goddamn volcano, emptying my testes deep into her rectum. I anointed that luscious anus with floods of my precious, warm white seed. As I did, waves of delight rolled over me.

And while my body was still tense, she leaned back, pushing her entire weight down on my geysering cock. “Oh my God, I can feel it!” she cried, her voice a full octave higher than before. “It’s so warm, I’m so full- I’m cumming! AAAAAHHHH!”

Nobody has a pretty orgasm face. Nobody. I guess that in terms of evolution, if your partner hasn’t been convinced of your attractiveness by that point, either it is much too late or it never mattered in the first place. Everybody looks dumb and grimacey when they orgasm.

Except her.

She looked even more heavenly than before. Her eyes were wider than ever, her face flushed prettily, her mouth gaping. Every muscle screamed her ecstasy. A literal angel, of the host of heaven itself, radiant with divinity. Glory hallelujah!

Her ecstasy was so hypnotic that I had forgotten that I was still masturbating her cock, unable to feel her orgasm building. So when she came, it went everywhere. Gobbets spurted up onto her tits and neck, down her toned belly, and also all over my chest and stomach. A drop landed on my cheek, and another on my forehead. As I let go, the phallus oozed a bit more, slowly losing its rigidity, until it came to rest, pooling ejaculate into my navel.

Hermy had been very energetic throughout, building up a sweat that I had tasted when I kissed the smooth skin of her face and her hard, luscious nipples. Even I, mostly lying there, had exercised enough to be breathing heavily. She was gasping, her breasts rising and falling hypnotically as her chest swelled. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but it felt like a golden eternity.

Then she looked down at me, and fixed me with her dazzling smile. She planted her hands on my shoulders and lifted herself up. My steadily shrinking penis emerged inch by inch, with an almost audible ‘pop’ at the end and, like an upturned bottle when the cork is removed, a gush of white creamy liquid spurted out. She had moved forward as she lifted, so my semen gushed onto my belly, mixing together in my navel with hers in a small pool of shared ejaculate. The flow slackened quickly, until one last stubborn string of viscous ooze connected her now-closed, gooey pucker to my jizz-coated stomach.

Her beautiful eyes left mine to look down at the creamy post-orgasmic mess, and then returned to meet my gaze. Suddenly, her expression changed. The happy smile took on a twist of mischief that almost made me gasp with desire. Then she lifted her leg, leapt off me, and bent down to my belly. Her bright pink tongue emerged from her full, gorgeous lips and made a long stroke of my skin. She was licking up our cum!

She worked at it for several minutes, her head bobbing industriously. She briefly popped the head of my cock into her mouth to lick off the residue there, but she mostly left my penis alone; it rose obediently out of the way as her ministrations took effect on my body, occasionally brushing her cheek as she passed by.

She was thorough, catching every drop that had not already dribbled off me and onto the bedclothes. Twice, she turned to me, opening her mouth so that I could see all the man-mayonnaise she had collected, then slowly, deliberately swallowed. Just the fact that we had ejaculated more than two entire mouthfuls of semen was a thought that brought a real thrill.

Having harvested everything on my belly, she worked her way up my chest. Her cheeks now had a slick residue of mixed bodily juices. Then her hot mouth travelled up my neck, kissed off the drop on my cheek and the one on my forehead, and finally came to rest, an inch from my own lips, where she hesitated.

Again, I made the decision for her. I rose up and our mouths met. It did not have the urgency of previous kisses; it was more tender, even comfortable. I tasted the salty tang of sperm in her mouth. I turned her cheeks to either side to return the service, licking each one in turn and ingesting the remainder of our shared love juice. There was still some on her own body, but it would do for now.

“I’ve never done that before,” she said quietly, “licking up cum like that. Did you like it?”

“I think it was the single sexiest thing I have ever seen,” I replied. “It’s hard for me to judge though, because at least the half-dozen sexiest things I have ever seen have all happened in the last hour or so.”

She giggled prettily, then settled in to lay down beside me, her head resting on my shoulder. Our arms went around each other. Her now-limp cock draped across my thigh – I noticed that, purely by accident, our penises were now pointing directly at each other, the heads a mere inch apart.

I love a good, comfortable post-coital cuddle. In some ways, it is as nice as the actual fucking, albeit in very different ways. Having just let each other into your most intimate inner sanctums, the fading orgasmic glow becomes a feeling of profound shared peace. Try it. It’s bliss.

It does give you time to think, though. I had known I was sex-starved, having not orgasmed the entire time I had been on holiday. Was I sure that this glorious night had not just been an overdrive of lust, making me desperate for any kind of sex? Even kinds I never would have considered before? Had I done something crazy, solely due to blue balls? Lord knows, I have had a case or two over the years of letting my libido run away with me, and then regretting it as soon as the deed was done.

I looked down at the body pressed against mine, resting peacefully in companionable silence. Now I had gotten my end away, surely those raging hormones and endorphins should have settled down a bit, leaving my perceptions clearer.

And yet, the beauty was still there, undiminished. The hips, the breasts, all perfectly proportioned. The cheekbones, jawline, defined and chiselled. The long golden eyelashes, smooth blonde hair, thin delicate eyebrows. The long, toned legs wrapped around one of mine. All exactly according to my picture of feminine beauty. There was no doubt about it. It wasn’t just my cock thinking for me. She really was an absolute stunner.

So why wasn’t the one blemish, the major deviation from normal female anatomy, putting me off? We’ve all seen the somewhat dated comedies with that moment, where Ace Ventura or Frank Drebin is confronted with the sexy “woman’s” male junk and reacts with horror and revulsion. Am I some kind of deviant? A sissy boy? A pervert? Well then, call me a pervert, I thought. As long as it was between me and a consenting adult, I didn’t care what anyone thought. I just couldn’t imagine how anyone could look at what I was looking at and not love it.

We lay there a while longer, listening to the sound of our own breath, and then she gave a deep sigh that pressed her naked breasts into my side. “Okay,” she said, without lifting her head from my chest or turning to look at me. “It’s time for the questions.”

“What questions?” I asked, surprised.

“You will have questions, I know you will. I’m… different. Let’s get it all out of the way right now. You’ve already seen my greatest secret, so I am an open book to you. I just don’t want those uncertainties, those questions, to sit there between us, festering and growing because you aren’t sure you can ask them. So I am declaring a moratorium: all the questions now, stupid or otherwise, and then you’ll know who I am and what we should be together.”

I nodded. It made sense. And that part at the end about ‘being together’ made my spirit soar a bit. “Alright,” I replied, “but the same goes for you. Ask me anything. Perhaps we should take turns?”

I felt her cheek move as she smiled. “I’d like that,” she said, “but you first, while my nerve holds.”

I pulled her tighter into my embrace. “Very well then. First stupid question: are you a man or a woman?”

“I am a woman,” she replied firmly but quietly, her voice exuding cast-iron certainty. “I have a penis, but I am a woman. I have always known that, deep in my soul.”

She hesitated for a moment, before continuing. “I tried for a short while, living as a boy, when I was in school. I was fourteen years old, and my parents moved me to a new school so I could have a clean start.

“I hated it. It was awful. It wasn’t just the physical discomfort either. My breasts were growing, and I strapped them down tight, making excuses in gym class changing rooms about an ongoing back problem. I was sore and aching all the time I wore that strapping, but I could have endured it if it had made me feel like I was fitting in. It didn’t. I was never like them, no matter how I tried to be. I was so depressed. I felt like a fraud, constantly.”

Her voice lowered as she continued. “I lasted six months. My parents pulled me out of school in February when they found out I was self-harming – nothing that left any permanent scars, thank god. They home-schooled me for a few months, and I endured the disguise for a couple of weeks so I could sit end-of-year exams. Then I moved schools again and went back to being a girl for my GCSEs.”

I stroked her golden hair, trying to ease her trauma in any way I could, although I knew it was futile. “Hermy,” I said gently. “… Hermione?” I tried experimentally.

“It’s Hermia,” she replied.

“Nothing to do with JK Rowling then.”

“We don’t speak that name,” she said sternly. “Not any more. I take her behaviour these days personally.”

“Fair point,” I agreed.

Then I had a thought that stopped me mentally in my tracks. “Hermia?” I tried to keep the incredulity out of my voice. “As in Hermes? And Aphrodite?”

“Aphrodite is my middle name.” She sounded a little embarrassed.

I could have laughed, but I knew it would be a really bad idea at that moment. “That’s a little on-the-nose, isn’t it? Being named after Herm-Aphrodite?”

Hermia sighed deeply again, and shifted against me. Her forehead was now touching my jawline. “Mum and dad meant well,” she said, a little defensively. “I think they really wanted me to make peace with my body, to find a way of being happy with who I am. In fact, I know they did. They told me they didn’t want me to live in denial of anything about myself. And I suppose it worked. I know who I am, what I am, and I accept it. I just hope other people can too, even if it seems unlikely sometimes.”

“They knew right from the start?”

She nodded, her forehead brushing my cheek. “It showed up on scans. You know, ultrasound and stuff? I don’t fully understand it really – I’m not a doctor or anything. The kit is all in there, somewhere inside my body, but sorta dormant: I don’t ovulate or menstruate. There are probably a couple of scientific papers all about me in medical journals somewhere. Anyway, I don’t know what their first reaction was, but by the time I was born, it seems my parents were ready to raise their little dickgirl.”

The sardonic way she said that last word made it clear she was not happy with it, and I made a mental note never to use it with her. She had clearly been through a lot of hurt in her life, and I meant to make sure none of it ever came from me.

“At least it solves one mystery,” I said. “I wondered if you were an angel. But Hermes and Aphrodite? You aren’t an angel. You’re a goddess!”

She lifted her head and playfully whacked my forearm, but the warmth in her eyes told me I had said the right thing. Her lips on mine confirmed it.

“So how about you?” she asked. “My turn for a stupid question: are you gay?”

“I didn’t think so,” I replied. “For sure, it’s still your feminine body and look that turn me on. But I can’t deny, so does your cock and balls. Maybe I am not homosexual, heterosexual or bisexual. Maybe I am just Hermiasexual. Whatever it is you are, that’s what I want.

“If I had to pick a category though? What are those initials… LGBT?”

“LGBTQIA+,” she said. “Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transexual, Queer, Intersex, Asexual, and a few other smaller groups that have been accepted into the movement. Remember where I work?”

“Well there we go then. That’s what I am. My sexuality is on the spectrum but doesn’t fit into any of those other categories, so I guess it’s Q. I am a queer man.”

“And obviously I am intersex,” she added.

“He was a Q. She was an I. Can I make it any more obvious!” I quipped.

It was not a very funny joke, but she laughed with what seemed genuine delight, and I found myself laughing too. Perhaps it was our elation at having found each other.

Then her face turned serious again. “Are you… Am I…” she hesitated, a note of vulnerability entering her voice that made me want to fight the world in her defence. It was not her turn, but I stayed quiet to hear what she would say.

“Am I… big enough for you?” she asked finally. “I- I’ve seen things on the internet. Hentai. They call it ‘futanari’. When you are looking for any kind of representation for someone like me online, you are bound to end up finding stuff like that. And some of them are massive. Huge breasts. Huge cocks, like as thick as their waists, and two or three feet long. I thought maybe when guys are into women with penises, they like…”

“No!” I replied emphatically, partly to reassure her and partly out of honesty. “I told you: you are perfect.” I put my free hand on her flaccid cock, and used the other to turn her cheek so my lips could meet hers. “Perfect: adjective,” I said, my eyes an inch from hers. “Bearing the greatest possible similarity to Hermia Aphrodite Corfield.”

That made her smile again.

“Seriously though,” I continued, “those images don’t do it for me. I think maybe that is one reason I was so sure I wasn’t interested. What you have seems so much more natural, and appealing. I love a sexy, feminine, well-proportioned body. Like yours.

“In fact,” I continued again, “you look a lot like a model. Have you ever done modelling?”

“I did a bit, when I was younger,” she replied, “back in my very early teens. I did it for a couple of years. I had an agent who seemed like the best in the business. He knew everyone, every step was planned out. He kept me moving in a constant program of clothes catalogues, adverts, and the like. It seemed as if my life was set.

“Then one day, after a late shoot with a magazine, he drove me back to his house instead of home. It was a great big place, like a mansion, in the middle of nowhere. He got me in his bedroom, and told me to take off my clothes. Looking back, it is so obvious what was going on, but I was young and naïve, only 13 years old. He told me he had to check something, make sure I was ready, before moving on with the next stage of my career, and I just… believed him.

“But it all changed when I took off my knickers. Suddenly he changed, from looking at me with hunger in his eyes, to screaming at me. “Get out! Get the fuck out!” The rage in his voice, the horror… I thought I must be the worst creature in the entire world, to make him suddenly so scared and angry.

“I left there in such a hurry that I forgot my purse and my phone, so I had to walk. That walk was probably the worst hour and three quarters of my life.

“The next day, I tried to call him, but he had blocked my number. I couldn’t contact him in any way. Worse, nobody else in the industry was answering my calls. I kept calling round, looking for another agent, but got nowhere. It wasn’t until months later that one of them took pity on me and told me: he had blacklisted me. He hadn’t told anyone why, but the message was clear that I was bad news. They assumed it was probably drugs, but it didn’t really matter. I was out.”

“That’s horrible,” I said comfortingly. “But hey, at least you didn’t get fucked by him. He probably does it all the time: picks up a pretty girl, grooms her, and eventually has his way with her. In fact, imagine not being worried that any of them will out you as a paedo, but being shit-scared of getting outed for this.”

“That occurred to me too,” she said. “Somehow, that made it worse. Like being intimate with me had that much more stigma than even child molestation.”

“That guy was a total creep,” I insisted. “Who gives a fuck what a pervert like him thinks.”

“I know.” She smiled, but it was a fragile smile. “I realized that eventually, but it did set me back years in mental health.”

“Do you think that is why you tried to pass as a boy for a while?” I asked.

She pursed her full, rosy lips in thought. “You know, I never thought about that, but yes. That incident happened when I was 13, and it was only a few months later, at 14, that I changed schools and identities. I must have still been feeling the effects from that awful night.

“He got his eventually, at least. Some of his victims came forward during the MeToo campaign. I may not be able to work in the fashion industry any more, but neither can he. His career is over. And at least I don’t really want to, now. I had the chance to get back into it, but I decided it isn’t really for me. I like my job, and I like the people I work with.”

“Do they know about… this?”

“My boss does,” she said. “They have a pro-LGBTQ+ hiring policy, so I put it on my CV. I think the rest of them have the impression that I am non-normative in some way, but I don’t talk about it, and they are fine with that. It’s really a great team, lovely and supportive.”

“They probably think you are lesbian,” I offered.

“Yes, that or asexual.”

“I am glad you aren’t asexual!” I said, laying my hand on her cock, which twitched a little in response.

“So am I!” she replied. “It’s difficult to find partners, but I really enjoy fucking.”

The dirty talk was starting to bring my libido back into play. I partly blame that for my next incautious question. “Have you ever tried it with a woman? I mean, you have the equipment…”

“Once,” was her response. “Like I said before, I’ve been to a lot of gay clubs, where I feel free to express myself without judgement. I get a lot of attention from the girls there, though. They are nicer than some guys, so I don’t usually have to worry about turning them down, but it is tempting sometimes.

“There was this girl; short hair, slim build, walking cliché in some ways. You get that sometimes, especially with the ones who have recently come out – they feel like they need to play up to their new identity. But this woman wasn’t a newbie. She had experience, and she was pushing my buttons. I’d had a few drinks, and thought, fuck it, why not?

“We got back to hers, and when I showed her what I had down there, she didn’t hide her delight. But I was sobering up, and realizing I wasn’t sure I was feeling it.”

“But you did it,” I prompted when she hesitated.

“Yes. My body wasn’t responding at first, which is a big clue for me. But you know how it is, when someone fiddles with your knob enough, it’s going to stand up, and she was really enthusiastic. She was so nice too, she really seemed determined that I should enjoy it as well, and it was clearly an absolute dream come true for her. So I just… went along with it.”

Despite myself, the thought of Hermia fucking a girl’s willing pussy was turning me on. My dick was starting to rise. She saw it, and as her hand wrapped around my shaft, the tone of her voice changed slightly. She was making the most of it now – not lying or embellishing, but emphasizing the details in ways she knew would get me going.

“I sat down on the sofa, and she straddled me, guiding my cock right into her cunt. She moaned with pleasure as she bore down, and her nipples brushed against mine. Her breasts were small, but mine are much bigger. She rode me for ages, so that I didn’t have a choice but to keep entering her, and the friction kept me hard. I wasn’t aroused, not really, but she was in heaven, and seeing someone totally having the time of her life right in front of me like that… I think it was kinda worth it anyway.

“She came really loudly, screaming and howling, all girlish glee; lovely to hear, but a turn-off for me that meant I wasn’t anywhere near orgasming at the same time. Then she hugged me, and said she had to thank me. She moved around, and took my hard cock in her mouth, still slick from her own juices.

I was fully hard again now, and I had started jacking her, so she was too. “Did that work?” I asked, my voice gruff with need. “Did that turn you on?”

“A little bit,” she replied. “She seemed determined that I should cum as well. It was so sweet. So I imagined she was a slim guy, and that helped. She wanted me to enter her again, hoping I could finish inside her, so I pushed her onto the rug, on hands and knees, and slid my cock into her from behind.

“When I looked down at her, all I could see was her back. With a bit of effort, I could imagine she was male. I ejaculated eventually, but it was really difficult, and it wasn’t a proper orgasm. Not like I had with you. I had to screw up my eyes, and imagine a guy was there. I wish a guy had been there. I wish you had been there.”

Her lips met mine again, hungrily this time. Our fists were now pumping out a regular tempo on each other’s cocks, bringing them back towards full engorgement.

“I wish I’d been there too,” I said. “But it would definitely have made the mood different. There aren’t many situations that aren’t fundamentally changed by adding in a guy wanking in the corner.”

She laughed again, that wide-mouthed, full, open laugh. I felt the vibration of her voice where her chest met mine.

Then she looked down at our proud members, standing erect and ready. And she asked the question that needed no answer: “D’you want to go again?”

I answered anyway. “Sure, but this time, you do me.”

She gasped and sat up suddenly, her eyes wide in astonishment. “Nobody has ever let me do that!” she almost whispered.

Some people will tell you that the most beautiful sight in the whole universe is a beautiful woman. They are wrong. The most beautiful sight in the whole universe is a beautiful woman in a moment of surprised delight. My heart seemed to swell to three times its normal size, and my guts turned to syrup. At that instant, if I had thought that my blood could keep that rapturous expression on her face for a little longer, I would have started tearing at my wrists with my own teeth.

“Then it’s long past time that they did,” I insisted. “You deserve it.”

She jumped up excitedly on the bed, towering over me like an adorable colossus, her dick bouncing up and down between her legs. “Oh my god, this is going to be amazing! I love you so much!” Again, my heart did a 360 at those words. “Now get comfortable, while I… Where did I put that lube?”

She hopped off the bed, searching around for the bottle of lubricant, which seemed to have been knocked off the bedside table at some point in our sexual gyrations.

“I love you too,” I said, and she looked up to reward me with another of those laser-guided, rocket-propelled, armour-piercing radiant smiles.

The lube bottle turned out to have rolled under the bed, so I was treated to the delicious sight of her pert buttocks in the air as she reached for it. Then we arranged ourselves for what was to come. I hung off the edge of the bed, on my back, a pillow under my head and another under the small of my back, lifting my pelvis for easier access. She stood on the ground – it was quite a high bed – between my spread legs and held the bottle in front of her, her palm in front of the nozzle to receive a dollop.

“Let me do that,” I offered, taking the bottle from her. I pressed the top to pour some into my hand. More than I had intended: some sprayed over onto my belly.

She stifled a giggle. “I’d offer to take it back, but you have the lube, so go ahead.” She pushed her hips forward, bringing her hard dick into my reach.

I transferred some of the clear gel to my other palm, then wrapped both hands around my lover’s rigid member. For a moment, it felt weird – what was I doing? – and I almost receded a bit into self-consciousness, but then I looked back up to her beautiful face, enhanced by an expression of excited eagerness, and all doubt fled.

She gave a long, deep sigh as the lubricant did its job, my meat-filled fists gliding up and down, applying an even layer from summit to base. A small dollop remained at the very tip, and she dipped her thumb in it to rub around the pucker of my waiting bumhole.

She lined up her shaft. “I am going to go slow,” she said. “Having your rectum stretched out can be painful if you do it wrong. Tell me at once if it is hurting and I will slow down, change the angle, make sure this is as pleasurable for both of us as possible.” She bent down and fixed my lips in a passionate kiss, then rose again. “I think we are going to enjoy this a lot!”

Then she moved forward. Her bulbous cockhead met my sphincter, pressed, and entered. She was inside me! A long, deep moan escaped her lips.

She was only a couple of inches in when she stopped, withdrawing part of the way. Then she pressed forward again, going deeper the second time. She repeated this several times, steadily feeding me her meat as my back passage progressively opened up. Within a couple of minutes she was all the way inside me, her scrotum resting on the curve of my arse.

Then she placed both her hands on my dick, which was standing proud and erect. “I am going to start pumping now, baby. Remember, says so at once if anything feels wrong.”

“It feels amazing, honey,” I replied. “Go right ahead.”

And so she did. She was still going slow, setting up a rhythm which matched that of her hands, moving with deliberate, passionate strokes. I suddenly realized with astonishment: this was not just sordid, lustful buttfucking. She was making love to my rectum. And it was wonderful.

I had not expected this. My only intentions in the offer had been a combination of courtesy in returning the favour, and hope that it would encourage this glorious creature to see me again. I had only hoped that it would not be too uncomfortable, a small price to pay for a chance at such elevated company.

But I did not have to endure – it was joy. Her sultry hips brushing back and forth against my inner thighs. The indescribable warm feeling inside, and a stretching and expanding that made it seem like I could feel every vein and contour of her fairly small but perfect penis. Each entry accompanied by another deep sigh or moan of erotic satisfaction in her gorgeous feminine timbre. Her warm, supple hands on my cock, teasing out the maximum stimulation, playing my organ like a musical instrument to the rhythm of her thrusts. The sight of an unparalleled beauty looming above me, perfect breasts heaving, lips wide in an expression of rapture, perfect smooth skin glistening with just the slightest hint of sweat. Even that added to the experience: at that moment, hers was not a sour stink of stale sweat, but the musky, natural aroma of vigorous womanhood. Every sense – touch, sight, hearing, smell, taste – was filled with the most delightful, erotic sensations imaginable.

Maybe she really is a goddess, I thought. Maybe she lied to me, poured honey in my ear with supernatural effectiveness. Perhaps she really was the god Hermaphrodite, come down from Mount Olympus to mess around and play games with humans, the way they so often did in those old Greek legends. Maybe her divine powers had infiltrated my mind, penetrating as softly and sweetly as her penis was penetrating my anus.

Even if it was so, I still couldn’t bring myself to regret being caught in such a gorgeous trap. Whatever followed this glorious night, be it abandonment by someone who had gotten their rocks off using my body, a genuine connection with a wonderful woman, or the divine retribution of the ancient Greek supreme powers, it would all be worth it for these endless moments of perfect intimacy.

Endless it seemed, in the most wonderful way, because she was taking her time. Our first lovemaking had been frantic, eager, full of the raw animalistic energy of desire. We had both been driven by our visceral, passionate need for each other, and for orgasm.

Now though, it was not about need, it was about want. Hermia moved slowly, so that we could savour every sensation of our deep, intimate coupling. The pleasure of the experience was not just in the pushing towards ejaculation – although that was definitely a part – but also the skin on skin, the sights and smells, the joy of taking every pleasure in the body of another, and in your own body too. By not forcing the pace, we shared equally in the bliss of connection.

It might have been minutes or hours we kept at it, my arse receiving her throbbing rod again and again as her hands caressed my own manhood. Having spent our seed earlier, we did not feel the bodily pressure toward imminent release again yet. However, such stimulation of the genitals must lead somewhere. The body instinctively craves procreation, and rewards us with conscious pleasure so that it can lead there. Slowly, Hermia’s hips and hands began to increase in speed.

“Oh, baby,” she purred, “your arse feels so hot, so tight. My cock loves it so much.”

“And my arse wants your cock, babe,” I found myself replying. “It wants everything you can give it.”

A few more thrusts entered and withdrew, faster each time. It was amazing, but I was starting to feel my muscles protest a little at being stretched in such unaccustomed ways.

“I want…” she said as she pushed forward. “I want… I want…”

“What do you want, my darling,” I asked, even though I knew there could be only one answer. “Tell me what you want!” I heard the intensity of emotion in my voice.

“I want… I want!… I want!…”

“What do you want? What do you want?!” I matched her rhythm, so that we chorused the word “want” as one, a combined growl of lust.

The thrusts grew faster and faster, as our words did too. Soon, we were just repeating “Want! Want! Want!” together, as her fists pumped, her hips pistoned and my anal cavity welcomed her rapid penal invasion.

I was on the brink, and I knew she was too. I pulled her down, devouring her lips with mine as we returned to the intensity of before. “TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!” I shouted.

“I WANT TO CUM IN YOUR BUTTHOLE!” she roared back.

“DO IT!” I growled, grabbing her hips. “Fill my arse with your spunk.”

That pushed her over the edge. With a thrust more powerful than any before, she pushed her cock deep into my anus. I felt it pulsate as it pumped semen deep into my bowels. The warmth seemed to spread as my anal cavity overfilled with sperm, and it squeezed out around her penis. My bumcrack became warm and sticky with the excess.

At the same time, my own cock was spasming, spraying white goo onto her rapidly moving fingers. I felt the orgasmic bliss flow through my body, simultaneously tensing and relaxing every muscle.

She threw back her head, her back arched in the ecstasy of release, then she slumped forwards. The ends of her golden locks trailed and matted through globules of jizz that had sprayed onto my belly. She gave another few thrusts, making deliciously obscene squelching noises as her still-rigid member pushed through the flow of slippery seed. Then her hips came to rest against mine and stopped.

But her hands kept moving. Seemingly not content with the ejaculate I had released, she kept jerking my cock, milking it for every drop of precious semen. The ongoing stimulation extended my orgasm, and I found my penis still pulsing to release more. The movement of her hands also smeared it out, coating her fingers, her palms, everything from the wrists down, in a layer of my slippery cum.

Finally relaxing, she withdrew her slimy member and, losing balance, she fell back onto her bum on the (thankfully clean) hotel carpet. She giggled a bit, then we fell silent for a few moments, catching our breath.

After that pause, she moved forward again, crawling on hands and knees. “Your arse looks incredibly sexy with cum leaking out of it like that,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I replied. “I enjoyed it too. And next time, it will be in a position where you aren’t doing all the work. That’s only fair, after me just lying here twice while you make all the effort.”

“You’ll want to do it again?”

“Any time.” I tried to sit up to look at her, but winced as my body protested. “Except perhaps right now.”

“Oh no, I hurt you?!” she cried in dismay, jumping up to take me in her arms.

“It’s nothing, I’m just not used to some of these muscles getting this kind of workout,” I reassured her. “I fully intend to get lots of muscle training in with you.” I put my own arms around her, and we kissed.

“You’ll probably want to take a shower,” Hermia suggested after a long, comfortable phase of enjoying each others’ soft lips. “I can wait for mine until you are done, if you want.”

I counter-offered, “Or we could shower together…”


That was three years ago. We are getting married next year. It would have been sooner, but we had to get some details cleared up around her legal gender, which turned out to be a mess in the documents. We are talking about adopting, although I suppose we could go the surrogate route. One from each of us, by the same surrogate mother, seems like too nice a balance not to explore.

If someone had told me that I would spend the rest of my life regularly sucking cock or getting fucked, before taking a load of semen in my mouth or ass, I probably would have punched them, or at least asked why they were so determined to insult me. But when it is with an absolute goddess like Hermia, let me tell you, that really stops being a problem fast.

My friends don’t understand how I managed to bag such a gorgeous girl. I haven’t told them – it really isn’t any of their business. I just tell them to keep an open mind, and leave it at that. I think they have probably concluded that it’s the fact that I absolutely and openly worship her that’s allowed me to punch far above my weight, which is true enough. Not literal goddess worship, I hasten to add. I may have speculated briefly about her divinity a couple of times, but there isn’t an altar in our house, and there isn’t going to be… unless maybe she decides that would be sexy, for a bit of a bedroom game.

So is that the message here? That love comes in many different forms, and you’ll miss out if you close yourself off to any of them? Or is it that bigotry is not an attractive trait, and you will lose more from it than just the partners you are rejecting? Maybe it’s that life is strange, and will take you in unexpected directions. Or maybe it’s just that dickgirls (sorry Hermia) are fucking hot!

All I know is that, if things ever go wrong between Hermia and I – I mean, surely she’s got to realize at some point that there are far more attractive guys than me out there who also aren’t bothered by unexpected items in the package area… Well anyway, if that were to happen, I would be looking for love on a much wider spectrum than before. I think my next partner would probably be a ‘normal’ woman, but if not, that will never be any kind of deal-breaker for me again.


Well there we go, there’s my story. I hope you ‘enjoy’ reading ti as much as I ‘enjoyed’ writing it.

I might come back and revisit this subject area some time in the future, except have Hermaphrodite as a genuine ancient Greek deity, coming down from Mount Olympus to mess with the lives and libidos of 21st century humans. I fancy the narrative contour map could be fairly similar, but very different in tone. We’ll see.