Swiping Right for Susan

I very nearly swept left.

I mean, she was gorgeous. Better than gorgeous, quite honestly. She had the body: curves and boobs, legs and rump. She had a very pretty face, and a beautiful smile - a real light-up-the-room beamer, a genuine smile. I was drawn to her, and I don't mind admitting it. And that's exactly what I was looking for: a connection, an attraction, something real.

Her Tinder profile listed her name as 'Susan'. "Well hello Susan," said I.

After looking over her photos on my Tinder app, I clicked to read the 'fine print', the short description Tinder users get to put up in order to state their case, their likes or dislikes, so on and so forth - and that was what gave me pause. "Straight up," she wrote, "I am trans gender. I was born male and I'm pre-op, though I've had my boobs done. If me being TG is a problem for you, go on and swipe left. If not, swipe right, and when you message me write the words 'I KNOW YOU'RE TG' so we don't have to have the awkward conversation. Toodles!"

I will admit to being more than a little crestfallen. I mean, browsing through Tinder, reviewing the lady-folk anonymously, swiping right on the 'yays' and swiping left on the 'nays' is a fairly vacuous way to pass the time. What with Tinder girls being, shall we say, of a certain renown - the easily-bedded renown, to be specific, the Tinder dating app having become famous as a meeting place for one night stands - it's fair to say that at the end of the day, what I wanted first and foremost was a nice warm place to park my cock.

Bearing this in mind, perhaps you'll forgive me for admitting my very first thought was "sorry love - I'm just too fond of the vaginas!" And I was all set to swipe left - my thumb was on the screen and everything - but I heard my housemates calling out from the kitchen that dinner was ready, and so I dropped my phone and headed off for some nosh.

While I ate, I thought about Susan. And I thought about her. And I thought about her some more; the housemates and I were having pasta, and I was offered a glass of red wine, which has always been helpful in the thinking of deep thoughts.

There were two lines of thought competing in my mind. The first line, which was becoming louder and sounding better as the night wore on, went along the lines of 'she's awful pretty. Great body. And that smile, man. That smile...' While the second line of thought was a reflection of my initial reaction: 'yeah boy, she's pretty all right. But she's got a cock. Could you handle that?'

I wasn't sure if I could. I had nothing against her, nor against trans-gendered persons in general. I thought it was great that people unhappy in their bodies, unhappy with their gender could change their lives for the better, to assume the identities they'd be most comfortable in. I've always been a big believer in personal freedom and self-determination, and if a guy decided he wanted to live his life as a lady, I was in full support. All power to them.

But then, I'd always considered myself very strongly heterosexual; I'd never dabbled in a bit of fun with the man-folk, never even fantasised about it. But then again, Susan wasn't a man, nor in the strictest of strict terms could one say she was truly a woman. Would she feel enough like a woman to me that the small matter of a cock hanging between her legs wouldn't matter?

I had no idea. But equally so, I was becoming less and less sure that I really wanted to walk away from this possibility that was Susan on Tinder - a possibility which was becoming more and more intriguing...

"Ah, fuck it," I eventually said to myself - and I swept right.

And wouldn't you know it? Seems our Susan had already found my profile, for as soon as I swept right I received notification letting me know that she had swept right too!

"Oho," crowed I. "Seems I'm a hit with the ladyboys as well as the ladies, then."

Upon reflection though, I found myself feeling a little bad for applying that particular epithet. Dubbing our Susan a mere 'ladyboy' seemed a trifle brusque, derogatory somehow. Without knowing her - or even knowing if she'd even really be interested in talking to me - somehow I was already coming to the realisation that I ought to think of her as a woman, and nothing less. She wanted to be a woman; she'd clearly committed enough to the lifestyle to go and get her boobs done, and she had enough of that curvy, soft-skinned feminine look about her body to suggest she was well along the course of the hormonal supplements I had heard the trans-gendered folk were often prescribed. I could already tell that the 'ladyboy' sobriquet - or anything of its ilk - would be as inappropriate as it would be unwelcome.

But never mind that: it was time to reach out. Having swiped right on Susan, and what with Susan having swept right on me prior, I was clear to send her a message and try my luck. I don't know what other guys do when they're trying to score through Tinder, though I suspected quite a many of them probably tried their cheesiest pick-up lines, to the certain exasperation of the lovely ladies out there; and so I wrote my standard greeting:

'Hey there Susan. How's your evening going?'

A few minutes passed, and I found myself disappointed to have not earned a reply. Something finally clicked in my memory, and I very nearly slapped myself.

'Whoops!' I typed. 'Nearly forgot the mandatory I KNOW YOU'RE TG. Gotta get that out of the way nice and early, hey?'

A response from Susan came back good and quick, to my immense relief. 'Lol,' she wrote in reply. 'Thank god for that! I really wasn't in the mood for another awkward conversation.'

'You get a lot of right-swipers not reading the fine print, then?' I wrote.

'With depressing regularity,' she assured me. 'I'm glad you read the fine print though. I was really hoping to hear those magic words from you,' she added, with a winky-faced emoticon for added effect.

I found myself beaming hugely. 'Aww, thanks Susan,' I wrote.

'Most welcome, Marcus,' she replied. 'So you're sure me being TG isn't a deal breaker?'

I wondered how to put it most succinctly. 'Honestly: I was drawn to the person first, gender second,' I wrote, realising as I wrote that every word was the absolute truth of it. 'Didn't hurt that you're a drop-dead stunner to boot,' I added, with my own sly winky-face to boot.

'Uh oh. He's a smooth one!' she fired back at me.

'Girl, if you think I'm smooth on Tinder, you should meet me in person.'

'Is that an invitation?' flashed up on my screen, and I could hear her coquettish tone even as I read it.

'You betcha. Got any plans this evening?'

'Name a time and place,' she invited.

I named the time - an hour from now - and the nearest pub seemed as good a place as any. She agreed, and fifty-five minutes later I found myself waiting by the door, dressed to impress and filled to the brim with equal parts excitement and trepidation.

What was I doing? Was I sure I could do this? 'But she's got a cock,' my doubts whispered in the back of my mind. 'She's not a full woman. Are you really sure you're up for it? You've never been with a guy. You've never even been interested.'

Well, I wasn't hurting anybody, I reasoned. If she or if I didn't get the feeling, we'd just have a few drinks and a few laughs and bid each other a good night, as I'd done many a time before with newly-met friends via Tinder. And if I got the feeling, well... again, as I'd done once or twice before with newly-met Tinder types, I'd work my charms, try my best, and perhaps go put another notch on the old totem pole, if you follow me.

Bang on the hour, I looked up the street and I saw her. And I liked what I saw. She was of a good height: five eight without heels maybe, coming to five ten in a very nice pair of heels, same height as me. Perfect kissing height, I couldn't help but notice. And the rest was just as per her profile pics: damn fine curves, tending to slim but very pleasingly feminine, draped in a form-fitting evening dress of a tasteful shade of orange. Blonde hair of shoulder length, framing a face that was round and pretty, soft and, of course, perfectly hairless. And as she saw me and recognised me from my own Tinder profile, there came that smile - and already I knew.

I had the feeling. She may have had a cock, but cock be damned: she was my kind of girl.

"Evening Susan," I greeted, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek.

"Marcus," she replied - and even her voice was sexy, not too deep, soft and feminine just like the rest of her.

"Shall we enter the premises?" I suggested, offering her the crook of my elbow.

"Let's shall," she beamed, and I took her arm in mine as we walked on in and obtained drinks.

"Well," I said, after we took a tall table in a corner of the busy pub. "You're gorgeous!"

She laughed, a delightful sound to be sure. "You sound relieved!" she grinned, to which I laughed too. "Now let me guess what you're gonna say next: you never would have guessed I was a guy. Right?"

I blinked. "Well, it's the truth," I allowed. "I never would have guessed. But I wasn't actually planning on saying it - bit of a foot-in-mouth kind of thing to say to a lady," I reckoned.

She seemed well pleased by my response. "Good to hear," she confirmed.

"So then," I went on after a goodly swig of beer. "Can I run through all the other questions you must always get asked?"

"Sure," she allowed, still in good humour.

"Alright then. So when did you decide to start living as a woman?"

"Eight years ago," said Susan, after a swig of beer of her own. "As soon as I finished high school. I mean, I'd known for years that I was unhappy living as a man. But I had an image in high school: you know, the popular guy, the over-achiever, good with the chicks and everything."

"Ah. The guy all us other guys hated," I chipped in.

"Exactly!" she grinned. "That was me. And as much as I wanted to live as a woman back then, I wasn't ready to rock the boat, you know? I didn't want to call any attention to myself. I just wanted to live my life and finish school without being looked at, talked about or laughed at. So I waited."

"Fair enough," I nodded. "How about your family? Supportive?"

"Mixed bag," she shrugged. "Dad was upset when I told him, he's never really looked me in the eye since I started living this life. Mum's been good, though I know she's not happy that I'll never provide grandkids. My kid brother was weirded out at first, especially while he was still back at my old high school; I think he was mostly worried about his friends finding out and teasing him about it, though me moving interstate helped avoid that. Once he started University things got easier between us, he's even introduced me to his friends as his sister. And my older sister's been the best. I confided in her when I was sixteen, she was the first person I told, and she was always so great about it, so supportive. Still is," she beamed. "She's got kids now, they all call me Aunty Susan."

"Aww, that's awesome," I smiled. "Any old mates from school, or old girlfriends find out?"

She smiled a little ruefully. "It's hard to stay anonymous in these days of Facebook," she observed. "I tried to avoid my old circles, basically cut everyone off and made new friends in a new state. But word got back. I'm the talk of our little country hick town, apparently," she smirked.

"Well, you've gotta give the townsfolk something to gab about," said I.

"Oh yes," Susan giggled. "And that I did, very much so."

"So you used to date the girls in school," I began. "But now you seem somewhat interested in the guys...?"

"Mmm, maybe somewhat," she allowed, though the spark in her eye gave lie to her heavy understatement. "Truth be told, I always crushed on my mates. But I went with the chicks to keep up appearances. And to learn all their little lady-like habits," she added, conspiratorially.

"Oh did you now?" I said, feigning mild outrage on the behalf of all the ladies our Susan had hoodwinked. "Well Susan, aren't you a bit of a snake in the grass?"

She burst out laughing at that, guffawing hugely, and it was with a start that I realised I had possibly dropped an inadvertent clanger. "Oh Marcus," she gasped between belly-laughs, and she had to clutch my bicep in an apparent effort to remain standing. "Oh man! I have never heard it put so eloquently! Oh wow."

And as she regathered her composure, I realised her laughter was genuine, and I was greatly relieved that she hadn't taken my unwitting slippage as an affront. "You liked that one, then?" said I, deciding to take ownership of the grass-bound snake jape.

She turned that gorgeous smile on me, and it struck me hard. God damn but she was beautiful. She had such a warmth to her, such a real genuine air: she was beautiful, inside and out, nether regions be damned.

All of a sudden, I knew it for sure. Any lingering doubt vanished on the breeze, washed away by Susan's beautiful, engaging smile. This girl was for me. I wanted her, and I wanted her bad.

My desires must have shown in my eyes. I saw recognition flash across her face, I knew she knew that I was feeling it; her smile didn't falter, in fact it grew bigger. And before I knew it, I was kissing her.

And it was right. It felt right, I felt right, not a shred of it felt wrong. That little nagging voice of doubt was gone; so far as I was concerned, I was kissing a woman, and it was the very height of awesomeness.

Presently the kiss was done, and we both stepped back to regard each other. "Umm. Wow," was all she had to say.

"I know," I had to agree.

"Do you always kiss your dates before you even finish your first schooner?" she teased.

"Umm, well, no," I assured her. "I promise, I am not usually such a damned hussy."

She laughed again - and man, how I loved to hear that laughter, how I wanted to hear more. "Well then, I must be having quite an effect on you," she said, in a marvellously breathy tone that was simply sexy as fuck.

I had to bite my lip in an effort to retain control. "That's damning it with the faintest of faint praise, my dear," I assured her.

I was all set to dive in and kiss her again, but she stopped me: she laid a hand on my chest, she scooched on over with a serious look in her eye, and she pressed her pelvis hard up against mine.

And I felt it. It was there. She must have had it strapped down against her leg so as not to create a bulge in her form-fitting dress, but as she crammed up tight against me I could feel it: she had a long, warm, hard cock. It was pressed unmistakably against my thigh.

And she saw that it gave me pause. "Marcus," she murmured. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

I admit, I wasn't completely sure. I didn't want to be unsure at all. I wanted her, I wanted her bad.

"Marcus," she said again. "Have you ever fooled around with a guy?"

"No, never," I admitted. "But then," I went on to add, "I don't feel like I'm fooling around with a guy now."

"Well, that's nice," she began. "It's lovely that you've bought into my gender identity, Marcus. It's just... I've been hurt before," she told me, looking me in the eye. "So I need to know, I need us both to be sure. Is this..." and she ground her cock harder into me, pressing it against me even as she let the desire flare in her beautiful blue-green eyes, "...going to be a problem?"

As I saw the desire in her eyes, I knew. She wanted me. She was hot for me, she wanted me. Her cock was hard for me; I'd kissed her, I'd fanned the flames of her arousal, and she was hard for me. Knowing that I had done this, I had turned on this beautiful breathtaking creature, was an intense turn-on for me too. And it made me want her all the more.

"It won't be a problem," I promised her. "Just so long as this..." and I rolled my own hips, and her eyes widened as I pressed the length and breadth of my own throbbing arousal against her belly, "...isn't a problem either."

It was now her turn to bite her lip. "Oh damn," she relented. "I guess there's only one last problem to solve..."

"Hmm?"

"Whose place is closer - yours or mine?" It turned out she lived ten minutes away, and my place was five, so we bundled into a taxi and headed for mine.

Now I'm not usually one for public displays of affection, but I don't mind admitting the taxi driver may well have had quite a show in his rear-view mirror: clothes were retained, but hands went everywhere. Her boobs felt commendably real - again, one might never have guessed, ha ha - and her skin was so soft and so smooth; between lengthy sessions of drinking up her sweet kisses, I kept exploring the long graceful sweep of her neck with my lips, kissing her all the way down to the point of her shoulder and back up to the hollow beneath her jaw, which seemed to set her especially a-quiver.

After getting to my place and giving the driver far more cash than was required, we hurried through the door and spared my housemates a very hasty greeting as I led her by the hand to my bedroom. "So," I said, sweeping my hand across the ten-by-fifteen foot expanse of real estate. "Care for the grand tour?"

"Sure," she giggled.

"Well, first and last stop: the bed!" And I half-dragged, half-threw her down onto the bed with me, earning yet another fine bout of laughter which I was almost sorry to smother with kisses.

Our clothes were a hindrance, so we set about de-hindering ourselves. My finest shirt was gone, followed by my belt; she reached back, making her boobs pooch out wondrously as she unzipped herself, and then she lifted her dress up over her head. She didn't need a bra - her boobs had that fine perkiness about them that surgical augmentation was famous for - but she did have a couple of pasties on; with a poked-out tongue for the huge grin they inspired on me, she peeled them off and flung them away, baring a fine pair of small pointed nipples.

We were both on our knees in my bed, naked to the waist. My eyes ran up and down her form hungrily, followed by my hands: her neck so graceful, so womanly; her breasts warm, round and soft; her sides slim and curving, her hips petite; her butt, just perfectly so...

And down in the crotch of her tight black boy-shorts, the bulge most commonly associated with manhood.

She saw my eyes linger there, my hands pausing about her hips. She found my eyes; I smiled, kissed her gently, reverently, conveying as much of my appreciation and affection and attraction as I was able through my lips locked on hers, even as I let my hand drift down the trimness of her tummy and onto the warm, hard bulge of her cock.

Her breasts rose suddenly as her breath caught, and I could feel the surge of her horniness. She moaned into my mouth as I worked my fingers along and around her cock, stroking it through the sheer fine material of her netherwear; rough and greedy, she defeated the button and fly of my jeans, pushing them and my briefs down and unleashing my own long hard rod.

"Mmm..." we both moaned as she and I stroked at each other's cocks. I shuffled to help her push the last of my clothing away, and she did the same as I slipped her boyshorts down her long, smooth, shapely legs. We both hung back a moment to regard each other: me with my strong shoulders, flat stomach and generous body hair, my cock arcing upwards, my bulging purple head threatening to skewer my navel; her with her beautiful feminine body, boobs to next Tuesday, hips and curves, skin so soft and womanly without a hair out of place, and her own cock slightly smaller than mine, jutting out perpendicular to her body, a single drop of pre-come dangling off her own streamlined knob.

Without hesitation, I bundled back into her, pressing hard into her embrace. Her cock was pressed hard up against mine, and it thrilled me greatly. It wasn't the alien appendage I had feared it might be - it was her, a part of her, and it was as beautiful as the rest of her. It wasn't even that it didn't bother me; I loved it. I loved her cock. And I wanted to let it show.