tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersLattés and Logic Pt. 01

Lattés and Logic Pt. 01

byLostOnTheRoad©

I was feeling pretty good about myself, and I have to say, I looked pretty good too. I had just come from yoga, and as I stood in line at the Bar Italia, I felt I had a glow. The stretching had released all the right endorphins, I was thin and Rubenesque in all the right places, and my ensemble was cute with the right amount of sexy. Now I was going to treat myself to an iced London Fog latté, and possibly something sweet. I squatted down to go through the display case, and decided the last cranberry scone had my name on it. An interesting turn of phrase as it turned out, as my name would soon come into play.

My friend Nancy was the barista. I liked to tease her and call her "Naughty Nancy". She was a beautiful dyke with a strong jaw line, and had recently taken to wearing a purple mohawk without gel, so it tended to flop over. That was OK though, because watching her slender finger pull a strand of hair across her full eyebrows was positively erotic. She started working about the same time that I started coming to Bar Italia, and eventually, on the days like Today when Daddy let me freelance, we had gotten together and played. She had taught me things with her tongue that I've since passed on to others.

"Hey double N" I said with a smirk, "I'll have my usual and that last cranberry scone."

"Hey sweetie! Phfft! You can just stow that talk sister. Of the two of us, we both know who the real naughty one is," she said, smirking right back at me. "Dayum! Girl you are looking fucking hot! I think I'm going to coin a new term for you: Sinoccent."

I had worked hard at my look for the day. It started with white leather lace up ankle boots, with 3 inch heels. Then moved on to light pink, cotton blend yoga pants, with a bright pink two inch elastic waist. But my favourite part was my new vest. It was thick white leather. There was an inch of space between it and the waistband of the yoga pants. The lower six inches fastened around my 22" tummy with four golden buttons, a la Sgt. Pepper. Then it flared dramatically to (barely) contain my 36EE's, with the opening widening out into a high, single collar. The plunging front and the lack of sleeves left little to the imagination. Wide gold bracelets, large gold hoop earrings, my platinum hair and pink gloss finished it off. I did a little turn to show it off for her.

"That is definitely you babe," she said. "I especially like the "Wonder Woman" bracelets. But it appears I'm not your only admirer," she said as she nodded behind me. A 6'1" dark haired man slid out of the closest booth and approached the counter. He kind of looked like an young Josh Brolin.

"She speaks the truth. That outfit could make a good dog break his leash," he said. "Nancy I know, but maybe I can take a guess at your name?"

"Maybe," I said, "but wouldn't it be better if you told me yours before you start?"

"I'm Bruce", he said, pulling my hand to his mouth for a light kiss.

"Enchanté. OK monsieur Bruce," I giggled, "Guess away."

Bruce said, "Well I think I might have a bit of an advantage. I couldn't help but stare when you came in, and as you went down in front of the dessert case, I saw the top of a tattoo slip into view. Is "Sassy" your name or attitude?"

Nancy guffawed out loud and almost burned herself with the Earl Grey. I shot her a look and she ducked her head and went to get my scone. Bruce looked a little embarrassed.

"Too cheesy?" he said.

"Um, a little bit, but that's not why Nancy is laughing. You misread from over there in the booth. Just ignore her. My name is Sarina."

"Pleased to meet you Sarina," he said, now shaking my hand. "I'm Bruce," he said.

"I know," I said, "We had already established that"

He was off his game now, and blushed a little bit. "Riiight, right...we did. Well how about this? You let me pay, we head over to a booth, and we discuss names over lattés?"

"That sounds lovely Bruce," I said with a smile. Nancy took our orders and we headed towards a back corner. As Nancy left, she gave me an enquiring look and nodded towards the bouncer Leon in the corner. I nodded subtly as Bruce and I settled in. You never know.

"So what's your last name Bruce?" I asked.

"Tanner. Bruce Tanner. And yours?"

"It's actually just Sarina, I changed my name a couple of years ago and decided to just be Sarina."

I expected him to ask what my last name had been, but he surprised me by moving on. "Well Sarina suits you" he said, getting some of his confidence back, "An elegant name for an elegant lady. I'm curious though. By Nancy's reaction, I obviously hit on something when I guessed about the tattoo. I don't want to bring things to a halt once more, but would I be pushing it too much if I asked about the tattoo again?"

"No, it's OK," I said, "I'm not embarrassed of my "Tramp Stamp" as it were. But it is a little...let's say...controversial. It kind of freaks some guys out a bit. Maybe we should get to know each other a bit better?"

He gave a wry laugh. "Controversial huh? Well, it can't be that bad, you're obviously a quality person. Everybody has their regrets in life. If you aren't embarrassed by it, I'm sure I can handle it Sarina. I'm feeling a bit crass now for asking, so I'll let you make the decision."

I took a sip of my latté and looked across into his eyes. He had kind eyes. Decision made. "You only glimpsed the top line. My tattoo says "Sissy Princess Cum Slut"."

I watched a range of expressions roll across Bruce's face. I could see that his clutch was slipping as he tried to process what I had said.

I glanced over to Leon, and he slid off his stool and started to wander over. Leon was 6'8" and when he wasn't here, believe it or not, he made his living excavating archeological sites. By hand. Certain sites couldn't allow machinery, but still needed the bulk of the dirt removed before they could get down to the trowels and brushes. I called him Dozer as a term of affection. He was 300 pounds of mean and muscle, but surprisingly intelligent. 99% of fights with bouncers are over before they start just from the intimidation factor, and bouncing is actually just a tedious stream of drunk gunslingers. That was true with Leon too, but I had also seen the 1%. Once you made it to the 1% stage, patience and sympathy were done and he wasn't going to stop after he put you down. You were going to be made an example of, and literally be beaten to within an inch of your life. I didn't know if Leon had actually killed anyone. I did know that Master had used him to settle a few matters, and I was loaned out as payment. I also helped take care of the cops who had kept the pulpy and broken 1% off the police rolls. Leon had a horse cock, and his sex life was spotty as he had a hard time finding a woman who got him and could handle his monster. He had a soft spot for me though, as my pussy could take everything he could give. I loved feeling his rough hands on my ass, lifting me on and off of his piston. When it comes to tits, they say anything more than a handful is wasted. Leon's ginormous hands fit my ass cheeks just perfectly.

Leon arrived just as Bruce's mind re-engaged.

"Everything OK here Sarina? Who is this?"

"Leon, this is Bruce," I said.

Leon leaned his hairy knuckles (Ooooh God, stop thinking about them..) on the table, and his head swivelled around like a tank turret. "Everything OK here...Bruce? You seem like you might be having a bit of a mind fart." He spat out the last word.

"Uh, no, I think I'm good. Sarina just told me something that threw me off a bit, but we're good"

"See that it stays that way, she's a nice lady...Bruce. By the way, I've got a pretty good idea what she told you Brucie. Don't be one of these guys who goes on vacation to France, then complains that he can't seem to get a good American cheeseburger. If you don't want crêpe suzettes, don't go to France, n'est-ce pas? That's French for know what I mean...Bruce?"

"I think so Mr. Leon."

"Good then." He leaned over, "Sarina baby, I'll be right over there if Brucie's cheese slips off his cracker, OK?"

I kissed his cheek and gave his ear lobe a lick. "Thanks Dozer honey, appreciate it".

"That man has the largest hands I've ever seen."

"You should see a beer bottle in his mitt, it's pretty comical," I laughed. There was a pause. "How are you coming along with my little thunderbolt?" I asked.

"I kind of went through about 10 stages of incredulity. Even now I kind of can't believe it, but you have no reason to lie about something like that. I certainly don't want to bring Mr. Leon back over here, but I am curiou..."

"...ask me anything you want. One of the best things I've ever done is quit having secrets. They gnaw at your soul."

"OK, so let's come back to that first word later, and instead start with the second one. Princess. Princess I can understand, you certainly look like a Princess."

"I am definitely a girlie girl. I love jewelry, and pink clothes, and mani-pedis, and just being pampered in general. I am a Princess."

"Now," he said, "the last two kind of go together in a sense..."

I interjected, "Not necessarily. I know plenty of girls who are sluts, but don't necessarily like cum."

Bruce shook his head. "I can't believe I'm actually sitting here arguing the fine points of this with you, it's so bizarre, you seem like such a..."

"...nice girl?" I said as I smiled at him.

"Yeah!" he said.

"But I AM a nice girl!" I replied. "The two don't have to be mutually exclusive. I discovered that I love cum. I love the taste of it. I love the texture of it. I love the smell of it. The smell of fresh semen triggers something in my animal brain. When I taste that first drop of pre-cum, something insatiable awakens in me. I can't get enough. And that awakening engages my libido for other things, where I want more and more...".

"Yeah but..."

"Listen, do you like sex?" I asked him.

"What?!" he sputtered.

"It's a simple question," I said. "DO - YOU - LIKE - SEX?"

"Well of course I do. Who doesn't like sex?"

"Who indeed," I said, "Don't worry, I don't think any less of you."

"WHAT?!" he said again.

"Wow, that's two exclamation points in 10 seconds," I giggled. "We all like sex. It's wired into us. But we're raised in this rather prudish society where we are taught that enjoying sex is somehow bad. It took some doing, but I managed, with the help of a special man, to throw away that traditional view and all of the guilt and hangups that come with it. I love cum and fucking. How does one get cum? By having lots of sex. If that makes me a slut, then I'm a proud slut. Proud enough to have it tattooed above the hole of my ass. Much as I hate labels, I consider my stamp more of a "declaration of principals" if you will."

"Wow," he said. "That's going to take a few to set in."

"Think of it this way," I said. "Are you religious?"

"I was raised Protestant, but I really haven't gone to church in 20 years. I suppose I'm more of an Atheist at this point. I can't stand people that just disavow science, and whether something turns out good or bad, they just say God did it. I hope that doesn't offend you?" he said.

"Not at all," I replied. "I'm pretty good at reading people, and I was pretty sure you would reply in exactly that manner. But don't you see that you've made my argument? When it comes to religion, you're much farther down the path of rejecting precepts and embracing logic. Is it so hard to do the same when it comes to sex? It's the same age old guilt we're programmed with from birth."

"I see your point, I do. But even if I could throw my preconceptions aside, we're still going to eventually come back to word number one."

"Yep. That's a killer," I said. "But I meant what I said earlier. Ask me anything." I reached across the table and grabbed his hand and massaged it. "There's nothing you can ask that I haven't already asked myself, and in my case it took quite a bit larger commitment than you're going to need," I said with a smile.

"Well," he said, stepping off the cliff, "are you a man?"

"I was born a man," I said.

"Do you have a penis?" he asked.

"Yes I do. I've taken hormones to the point where my "wedding tackle" is quite small now, but I still have my penis, yes."

"Ha! Wedding tackle, I like that expression!" he laughed.

"It's good that you can still laugh. I like your laugh," I said, squeezing his hand.

"You never wanted to go all the way and have a sex change?"

"No, I never did. Again, it's one of those weird dichotomies. I couldn't wait to have surgery to get these babies..." I jiggled my chest back and forth, "...but the thought of hacking off my "clitty-cock" and sewing a hole in there just turns me off. There's also the matter of my Master not wanting to go that way. And yes, I said Master, just to head off your next question."

"Sissy. Master. Riiiight. Man, this is bending my melon. I guess I'll just keep going. You're intelligent, and you've spent the afternoon arguing logic with me. But now, you tell me that you're a slave, that you have a Master. How can you argue logic while at the same time giving up your freedom? Or should I assume that Master means something else?"

"No, it pretty much means what you think it does, but I don't really think of myself as a slave," I said.

He raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug as if to say "What the fuck?"

"It's hard to explain," I said.

"I can believe that. THAT I believe," he said.

I kept rubbing his hands, trying to come up with the right analogy.

"Have you ever heard the native Americans say that they don't own the land, but rather they belong to the land? Try to think of it like that. I belong to my Master. Or...think about how Alcoholics Anonymous works. AA people accept that they are helpless before alcohol, and submit themselves to a higher power. That's how it is with my Master. He introduced me to this life, and much like you, I was initially kind of messed up. But he was patient, I worked through it, and eventually I just took myself out of the equation. Again, like you, I think religion is ridiculous. But I now totally understand when people talk about "just letting go" and accepting Jesus into their lives. I just came around to the idea that my life before Master kind of sucked, and that he wants what's best for me, even if I don't necessarily see the big picture. Once I let go and embraced my "Sissiness", my life has been incredible."

Bruce just stared at me. Then he started speaking in a monotone, "Shave your head, give me your worldly possessions, I am the path..." as he broke into a grin.

"Oh you!!" I said as I laughed and snatched my hands away.

"Sarina, you've given me so many things to think about, some of them conflicting, that even if this did go somewhere, my head is spinning so much that I don't think I would even be ABLE to get it up..."

I just looked at him slyly and said in a low purr, "Trust Sarina baby, getting it up is not going to be a problem. I'm going to bleed you dry."

He had a considering look on his face.

"Look," I said, "do you think I'm sexy? Are you still attracted to me?"

"God yes!" he shouted. Dozer came up off his stool and I signalled him back down. "You're practically sex-on-a-stick. I find you so exotic, which is just re-enforcing all of the conflicts in me"

"Do you like blow jobs?" I asked.

"Um, sure," he said.

"That didn't sound very convincing," I scowled. "Admit to me, yourself and the universe that you like blow jobs."

"Ye-Yes. I do."

"Say it out loud to me. Repeat these words to me: "I like blow jobs"."

"I like blow jobs," he muttered.

"Louder!" I said.

"I like blowjobs!"

I locked eyes with him as I slipped below the skirted table of the booth.

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