The Illusion of Confusion

The Illusion of Confusion
With the Wish to be a Fish

I met him in our local bar. He said his name was Axel. He looked innocent enough. The typical married type. Fortysomething. Short, dark hair, with the same wiry curls across his forearms. He had one of those thick chests, and mustaches like Tom Selleck. And big. Tall. The thing is, I’m a sucker for tall, older men, and Axel Jacobs was 6’4", and a good 225 pounds. He said he used to play football. The guy could look like Goofy, as long as he is over 6’ 2", my knees get weak, and I’m willing to follow him back to Disneyland.

The corner bar where I met Axel, called the Birdcage, is a gay place. Not much of a place either. Brass bar. Pool table. Dance floor the size of a bathroom stall. And more colorful, screeching homosexuals than there are parakeets in a pet shop. Not exactly Moulin Rouge. Even though I’m not the only gender bender to venture into the Cage, because occasionally I perform on stage at some of the drag shows in town, the gay boys love me. Half the time they treat me like a sister. The other half like a mannequin. They’re always trying to dress me - which is a nice change of pace from the straight men who are always trying to undress me.

I only work three nights a week - doing shows - so most Saturdays, I go in, sit at the bar, chat with my friends, and then walk to the apartment over a drug store where I’m staying with two lesbians who let me sleep on their couch. I don’t drink (much), and no drugs other than pot and premarin. I just sit there chattering with the other birds. If they play Madonna, I’ll dance but that’s about it. If a straight man wanders in, you should see us. We all turn into vultures.

When Axel walked in I was sitting at the bar, gossiping with a queen named Charity Bizarre. Charity’s 6’2", and looks about as much like a woman as a plumber in their grandmother’s old house dress, but she makes me laugh. She can find something humorous in a heart attack.

We both saw Axel, way before he ever saw us. He stood a head taller than everyone else, and from across the bar he certainly looked attractive.

"I like the mustache," I whispered. As if he could hear us over the house music.

"A goatee would have been better," Charity said out of the corner of her mouth.

All right, so he was fortyish, and not dressed fashionably. He had on a white shirt and dress pants, like he’d just come from work. But that was okay. When men get too fashionable, they turn into faggots.

Eventually Axel saw me, and got that eager look.

"Looks like he’s here to collect the rent," Charity purred. She puffed a Newport Light and frowned down at me through the smoke. "God I hate you."

From doing the shows, I’ve learned a great deal about makeup, style, and attitude. From across the bar, later after a few drinks, Axel told me he swore I looked just like Shania Twain. That was music to my ears. I do two Shania numbers, Feels Like a Woman and Honey I’m Home. I’m tall and slender, and started out doing Cher impersonations. You Can Turn Back Time. You remember that one. Since Cher’s comeback Do You Believe hit, I’m thinking of doing her again. Anyway, I’m a straight man magnet. Or so my friends tell me.

Axel took up a position by a pole directly behind my bar stool. He stood there swallowing beer from a Bud bottle, looking me over. I flicked a finger at him and beckoned with a long nail. He leaned toward me.

"Are you lost?" I asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you don’t look like you belong in a gay bar."

"You’re right, I’m not gay," he said, looking around nervously. "I like girls. . . like you."

"Oh dear me, and what kind of a girl am I?" Movie star? School marm? Tramp?

Axel sat down beside me. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he liked what he saw. Nor was I wearing anything special. Just a pair of hiphugger jeans and a white halter top with my hair back in a ponytail. Definitely not diva attire.

"I don’t mean to be rude," he said, "but you are a boy, right?"

"Why no darling," Charity cut in, "she’s the illusion of confusion, with the wish to be a fish."

"And she’s a big ‘ole bull dyke," I said sourly. Charity didn’t like the sound of that, took the hint, and wandered off.

Axel looked at me, and forced out a laugh. "You look like a pretty woman, but you sort of sound like a man. A gay man."

Nothing like a slap on the cheek compliment. "Is that a problem?"

"No!" he said eagerly. "I adore and admire girls like you!"

We had a drink together, and then another. After which Axel tried to get me to go outside to his car. I knew what he wanted, and was prepared to give it to him, but not in a car. I will blow a guy almost anywhere, but not in a car. It’s so high school.

Eventually he went his way, and I pretty much figured I would never see him again, nor was I very concerned about the thought. Then the very next Thursday, there I was at the Cage, and in walks Axel. This time I’d just come from doing a show at the Pit, so I wore a black cocktail dress with rhinestone earrings, necklace, and bracelets, with my hair up in a French twist. Axel came up to me like we were at a family reunion. This time the conversation led up to something a little more specific.

"Let’s go get a room."

"I’m shocked," I said. "Do I really look like that kind of a girl?" Actually, it does rather bother me that trannies are all painted as sluts. A lot of us are, but just not all the time.

"It’ll be a nice motel room."

"No way, I’m not that type of girl." Translation: I’m that type of girl, once I’ve gotten to know you. I told Axel if he really wanted me to go anywhere with him, it should be to dinner.

Axel didn’t look happy. That’s the way it is with straight men. They’re quite willing to jump your bones, but unwilling to take you home to mama. In some regards, it’s really a blessing. Who wants in-laws anyway?

I looked at Axel over my glass, and said, "Men are like women in one regard. Give them what they want, and the next day, they don’t want you any more."

"That’s not true," he said as sincerely as he could, but his eyes were beady. That should have been my first clue.

The next Saturday Axel came back again looking for me.

This time he told me he was married. "For twenty years," he said. "We don’t have a sex life. We never did. It stopped when our second daughter was born eighteen years ago." He loved her, but it was the same old story with these guys. Every time the old prune wasn’t looking, Axel was jerking off into her nightie. I guess I was supposed to feel sorry for him.

"She’s so boring," he said. "Girls like you excite me. . . in a big way."

"How big?"

He flushed with delight. "Bigger all the time. Let’s go somewhere."

"Like where?"

"How about the Radisson?"

I’d never been to the Radisson. Most men were too cheap. I’d learned about sex in the $25/nite no-tell motels out on the Black Horse Pike.

Axel leaned an elbow on the bar. "I’ve got a good job. . . and lots of money. I own my own company."

Golddigger goosebumps rose up my arms. "Ooh! What kind of a company?" Microsoft? General Motors?

"I own a fleet of trash trucks," he said proudly. "Actually, we get rid of toxic wastes, mostly chemicals. It’s quite lucrative. No one knows how to get rid of the stuff. So a lot of wealthy corporations are willing to pay big bucks, for making their little problem disappear."

"So what do you do with the stuff? Sell it to Jose Cuervo?"

He laughed. "Great idea. No, really, we just dump it in the ocean."

"That’s terrible!" As if the Jersey shore isn’t scummy enough. Soon our jellyfish would be glowing orange.

"Yeah, well, but think about it. The oceans a big place. We’re just pissing in it really. At least, that’s what our researchers say."

Frowning, I slid my purse away from him on the bar, like he might be radioactive.

"If someone paid you a million dollars a month, you might feel differently."

"A million a month!" I could see myself doing a lot for that many pesos. In fact, I’d already done more than most wives did for their husbands, for quite a bit less.

"That’s not quite how much I make, not yet anyway, but at least we’ve established your values have a price. Every body’s got a price. Right?"

"You’re a dick head."

"So what’s yours?"

I was tempted to tell him $1,000 a night. That’s what my friend Lisa gets working johns for the Atlantic City casinos. I’d been living on the lesbians’ couch for two months, and really needed a place of my own. It was very tempting... I’d been down that road before, only the last time I’d gotten run over by a truck, or rather a truck driver, and told myself I’d never go that route again, no matter how desperate.

"Just because you’re a whore, don’t get the idea that we’re all that way."

"Oh, don’t get all moral on me. By the time we’re both dead, who really cares a rat’s ass why kind of shape the planet is in," he chuckled.

The man had me so mad, I farted, and left. That was it for Axel Hose that night. Although I was intrigued with both his body, especially his size, and now his money, if a man doesn’t have some goodness in his soul, he’s not the kind of guy to get serious with. I’m no angel, but at least I have respect for the truth. How can any rich man be honest? It’s a thorny problem.

The next Friday, the sight of Axel waiting for me, chatting away with Charity, irked me. So I ignored him. I walked right by him, to the opposite end of the bar. Even though I avoided eye contact, from a ripple in the smoke, I could feel his disappointment. He hopped off his stool, and chased after me. He followed me to my seat, then stood by patiently, while I chatted with my friend Mona. Mona Lot. Mona is Spanish, and she started saying shit about Axel in Cuban.

Not ready for Mona’s crap, I turned to face Axel, just to get away from her. "Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Southern Comfort and Coke?"

"You know what I like."

"So where were you running to? Aren’t you friends with Charity?" he said. "You couldn’t even stop to say hello?"

"I’m mad at you," I said, "for fucking up the environment."

"So how can I make it up to you? Let’s go get dinner. Do you like seafood? We’ll go to Bally’s, they’ve got a great seafood buffet."

"I’m never eating seafood again. Not after what you told me." Someone should feed him arsenic, and see how he liked it. "I’d really rather go to the mall." Did I say that!? Sometimes I don’t believe what comes out of my mouth.

"The mall? What for?"

"Don’t you just love to go shopping for sexy things?"

He looked at me funny, then smiled. "Yeah, I suppose, but I can’t say that I’ve ever done anything quite like that before."

"Maybe you should. Maybe if you bought that wife of yours a nice peek-a-boo bra, she’d get all excited and go down on you with ice cubes in her mouth."

Axel choked on his drink. "Wow! Now that sounds like an idea. Why don’t I take you to Victoria’s Secrets? You can pick out something to wear."

"For your wife?"

"No! For you." He lowered his voice. "I’d like to buy you something sexy. Then you can model it for me. Would you like that?"

Clothes are my Achilles heel. I agreed to meet Axel the following Friday night after work at the entrance, and we went into the mall together. At first he seemed a little shocked by my appearance. This was the first time he’d seen me without any makeup. No lipstick. No blush. With my hair back in a ponytail. In my androgynous attire: girl jeans, boy T-shirt, and clogs. At first it was as if he didn’t recognize me. He was so tall in his pair of cowboy boots, I felt positively petite next to him, still quite the femme. By the way Axel glanced over his shoulder, and kept his distance, I could tell he was not attracted to me this way. This hurt my feelings, but then again, you have to expect that treatment from straight men.

In Frederick’s of Hollywood Axel scored quite a few points. The credit cards were out, and the racks were just jumping with lingerie. Friday after work, the store was crowded. It must have been agony for him as I worked my way through every rack in the store. Right there in the aisle of ladies, I held up a red lace bustier with a garter belt and matching panty set, and measured it against my shape.

"What do you think?"

Axel shrugged. I could see he was fighting down a blush. He looked ready to hide behind a discount rack.

I laughed at him, and continued through hangers and hangers of cute outfits, blouses, and dresses. It was great. Axel was so afraid of opening his mouth, all I had to do was hold up an outfit, look at him, and if he nodded, I held onto it. I suppose I could have milked him for more, but I come from thrifty, peasant stock, so I stopped after finding two lingerie sets that I absolutely adored.

Ok, I pushed it a little. When the sales girl asked if I needed stockings to match, I didn’t even look at Axel, I just told her, "Of course!"

Then again, maybe I did go a bit too far. I could not help but pause at the "five pairs of panties for $5" table. Axel just shrugged, and so I started snatching up different colored panties, rose, black nylon, cream mesh. . .

All I had to do was sniff the air near the perfume counter, and Axel insisted I try the samplers till I found a fragrance that I liked. Ambush by Dana. . . mm. . . how perfect.

This was living! I was having so much fun, spending his money. It amazed me that such a rich, powerful man, could care so much what strangers thought. Especially, when most likely, if you could peek into their minds, they could care less what two people might be doing buying lingerie.

The sales girl behind the cash register, Nicole, was young and pretty, and cooed when she saw the sheer white chiffon robe that I’d picked out. I placed it on the counter with its matching white nylon teddy.

"That’s a very cute outfit."

"It reminds me of the type of thing a girl would wear on her wedding night," I said.

The girl waved her hand at me, "Makes you want to run off and get married, doesn’t it?" We laughed together. Axel wandered away, ducking behind a row of long-line bras.

Once we were out of the store and in the parking lot, Axel shook his head at me. "You are just too, too much."

"Do you like what I bought?"

"Of course! I can’t wait to see you in them. I just can’t get over how comfortable you are with your sexuality. It’s remarkable. Admirable really."

Axel drove us to the Radisson. I’d called there Wednesday, just ouf of curiosity to inquire on the room price. One hundred and fifty bucks. Axel made me wait in the car while he got the room. Okay, it wasn’t love, but who has time to wait for love? Sitting there in his new Mercedes, looking up at the lights, I felt pretty damn proud of myself. Axel was a menace to the environment, but I admit, I felt somewhat attracted to him, or at least his credit cards. No question.

There was also no question he did not want anyone to see us together. He made me enter through a side door, just to avoid any face to face contact with the bell boy and doorman. The boy-boy, gay thing, really had him spooked.

As soon as we got to the room, I was so eager to get out of my clothes, that I paid the room only a passing "ooh" and "aah." I couldn’t wait to get into some lipstick and powder. While Axel wandered about aimlessly looking in empty drawers, I disappeared into the bathroom to get changed. And I do mean changed!

I stepped out of my shoes, and stripped off my boy things, folding everything neatly on the vanity. For a chain, the Radisson has nice, large, clean facilities. It’s like staying at Trump’s. Stripping down to a pair of white panties, humming to myself, I stepped into a pair of white, 3" marabou heels, slid on my new white robe, and opened my makeup kit. Then I went to work.

Color brings a face alive. I love to paint. To experiment. It’s a chance to bring out the artist in my soul. I’ve been living as a woman half of my life, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever done my eyes exactly the same way twice. I love playing with different shading. Different combinations. Mauve. Taupe. Lilac.

There are certain rules. You always want to put something irridescent around your brows to draw attention to your eyes. Mascara and eye shadow add contrast and intensity. A great pair of eyes can draw as much attention as a pair of pouty nipples. I played with my brushes. Highlighted my cheekbones mocha. With each stroke of my lashes, I felt more and more. . . like singing.

Axel hovered outside the door. "Can I watch?"

"I don’t know, can you? You seemed awfully nervous in the mall. I thought you were going to run out and leave your credit card."

"I was nervous. Who knows, all I need to do is run into someone from church, or work. Wouldn’t that be cute?"

"Sweetie, unless you’ve got your trash men wearing garter belts while they’re riding the trucks, I don’t think you’re going to spot too many of them hovering around the $5 panty table. Stop worrying."

"I don’t know, I guess it’s silly to get so bent out of shape."

I puckered and did my lips. "The only one I’d be nervous about, is your wife."

"Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s out of town. Believe me, I planned this right."

"Well nothing happened, so relax."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Why don’t you see whats in that baby fridge? Maybe you can fix us both a cocktail."

"Good idea."

That gave me a chance to fluff out my hair. Axel returned with two icy clear drinks. He stood in the doorway watching me line my lips. I glanced at him in the mirror. His eyes seemed wider, like he’d just woken.

"Better?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"Good. All I have to do is put on my outfit and my jewelry, then I’m done. What do you want me to try on first? I hope they fit. You big baby. You should have let me try them on in the changing booth. It would have been fun. Where’s your sense of adventure?"

"Oh, I don’t know. . ." Men are so non-committal.

"Turn on some music, and relax. I’ll surprise you."

"Great. Sounds great." He left to fiddle with the radio. A jazz station played Coltrain.

With Axel out of the way, I was able to finish primping in peace. I decided upon the white teddy first. With it came a pair of fingerless, white, lace gloves. I put them on, as well as a pair of white thigh high stockings, and strutted out into the bedroom in my clear 4" mules.

Axel lay stretched out on the bed with his shirt unbuttoned, a glass of Absolute resting on his pot belly. I let the white chiffon shortie robe swirl around my shoulders as I breezed by.

"Hello!"

He gulped, sat up, and gasped, "Wow! You look delicious!"

I did a spin move in the center of the carpet in front of the TV. He was right! I felt entirely edible. In my ears I could hear Charity, Work it mommy!

"What is it with this music!? Sounds like a traffic jam." I bent over, quite purposely giving Axel a nice view of the white thong ridding up the crack of my ass.

I played with the dial. Steven Tyler and Aerosmith floated through the speakers singing, "Angel." It wasn’t "Dude Looks Like A Lady" but it was the next best thing to perfect, which is still pretty damn good. I danced around the room, glorying in my ability to be graceful in 4" heels. Years of dance lessons pay off during a time like that. For a minute, I was so in love with myself, I forgot Axel was even in the room.

When I opened my eyes and looked around, there was Axel with his pants open, and his cock in his hand. I like to think I’m pretty streetwise, but in truth, I can be a stupid bitch. Men like Axel still take me by surprise. Sure, I expected some intimacy, but you never really know what a guy is into. . . I really didn’t expect him to get sexual so fast. Where was the romance?

"Come here baby," he crooned.

I turned up the music, and danced away, to the other side of the double bed. "What did you have in mind, big boy?"

Actually, his penis was disappointing. Completely limp. Was it me? I looked at myself in the mirror. Could it possibly be me? Did he find me unattractive? The image that stared back at me looked young and fresh. How could he? Was he stupid? In my white teddy and mules, I felt like Marilyn Monroe posing in her white dress over an open air vent.

In the mirror behind me, I could see Axel, pounding his meat. It brought me down to realize: here I was, in a strange hotel room, with a man that I only knew by first name, watching him jerk off. Gosh, is this a new high, or a new low? It’s horrifying when you’re not sure!

"How old did you say you were?" Axel rasped.

I’d never told him. He’d never asked. "Don’t you remember? Twenty-four." And already lying about my age.

"Well, at least I don’t have to worry about you being a minor," he said.

"Or getting pregnant." Although I was smiling, suddenly I wanted to get the heck out of there, and go back to the Birdcage. As I tried to slip back into the bathroom to get changed, Axel grabbed my wrist.

"Where you running off to!? You’re always running away. Come here. Sit by me." His grip tightened.

"All right, you don’t have to get so forceful." Trying to have fun, I smiled, and sat beside him. I stared down at his penis. "Oh, it’s actually starting to get hard."

"What do you mean, actually?" He looked up at me in concern. "Didn’t you think you would excite me? Don’t you realize how appealing you are?"

He slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer on the bed. His free hand roamed up and down my legs, fingering my nylons like I was Liberace’s piano. He was fully hard now, standing straight up in his fist. For a big man, 6’4", his erection was maybe 4" long. Less than average. Not that I’m a size queen or anything (well, maybe a little), but my theory is that you can tell a lot about a man’s personality by the size of his penis. If it’s too small, it’s like the short guy that feels he’s got something to prove - if it’s too big, well, he’s cocky (okay, so it’s not exactly the theory of realitivity).

Axel ran his hand up between my thighs to the crotch of my panties. "Where do you think you’re going?" I asked.

His hand retreated immediately, with a jerk, as if I’d slapped him. "Does that bother you?"

"Don’t be such a pussy," I responded, taking his hand, and pulling it up higher on my inner thigh, "of course I like it." I stopped him right below my crotch. "But are you sure you really want to go there? I don’t want to scare you."

His eyes burned as if I’d fanned his fire. "Why? You didn’t go through the change already, did you?" He could not hide his disappointment.

I love it when men think I’m real fish.

So I let him touch me. I took Axel’s big hand, opened his meaty fingers, and urged him to rub his calloused palm back and forth across my special place.

He gulped as he rubbed me. "Gosh, you’re not even hard, and it’s. . . big!"

"That’s right honey," I said pushing him away, and standing up, "you don’t even want to get Ms. Suzie started. You might run away."

Laughing, I strutted into the bathroom to powder, and pee.

Axel sat there, stunned, pud in his palm, listening, as ten feet away, out of his view, I sat and pissed as long and as hard as Austin Powers coming out of a 25 year deep freeze.

In the mirror on the back of the bathroom door I watched him, leaning, trying to use the very same mirror to look between my legs while his fingers played the ukulele on his Johnson.

He realized he’d been busted, and blushed. "You don’t mind if I. . . watch, do you?"

"This is not exactly one of those private, special moments that I really enjoy sharing," I said, trying to both hide both my privates, and kick the door shut at the same time. Sitting, I felt at a disadvantage, so I did the unthinkable. I stopped what I was doing, squeezed off Ms. Suzie, stood up, lifted the toilet seat, and continued!

Axel meekly peeked inside, then shouldered up next to me, and pointed his pecker down at the bowl. The last time I’d been in this position was when I was four and I’d do it with my dad. There was an awkward moment drowned out by the sound of my stream.

He stood there, staring back and forth at our sex, measuring, comparing. . . judging, weighing. . . and it started getting freaky, because I could feel his frustration. Even in 4" mules, Axel was still 2" taller. He was stronger, heavier by a good 80 pounds, bigger... all except where it counted. Ms. Suzie was only 2" longer, for some bizarre reason, it made me more powerful... in spirit.

"Sort of makes you jealous, doesn’t it?" I said, stroking myself. Just to keep Axel’s dander down, just to "beat" him down, I pulled myself until Ms. Suzie began getting a little puffy. Right there, over the toilet bowl. "Nice, isn’t it?" I purred. Because of the hormones, I never really get hard enough to do anything too strenuous, but it was still quite a trick to pee with a 6" fluffer, and Axel knew it, and marvelled. "You can see why I never would want to get rid of Ms. Suzie."

Axel looked like he needed bypass surgury. His penis drooped like a boiled sack of cheese broccoli. I’d pushed him to the brink of his masculinity. "Y-you call her. . . Miss Suzie?"

"Yeah," I whispered. Inside, I laughed! I wanted to call his Mini Me, but didn’t dare. I admit, I’d teased men before, but never so cruelly. Then again, Axel scared me a little bit, so it seemed wise to show him who was boss. Yes, I may like to wear the skirts, but I’ll never deny that I’m still a male, and that my male side likes some sense of equality with whomever I’m with. If people don’t at least respect you, they treat you like a dish rag.

"Yes. . . Ms. Suzie likes to party. But she likes to play safe. We can play," I said softly, "but I don’t fuck around."

Axel looked at me as if hypnotized by a magic wand. "S-sure. . . sure baby, whatever you say."

Smiling to myself, thinking, this is too too easy, I began stripping off my white robe. I stuffed the robe in my overnight bag, and slid down the shoulder straps of my teddy, stripping it off, showing off my little hormone titties. I really could use some silicone in the hollow of my hips, but all in all, I have a pretty nice butt, or so I’ve been told. I’m lucky that I was a skinny kid, because I’ve always been nice and slender. Men see my belly and their eyeballs turn to cream.

Axel stood there, broccoli in hand, looking sort of foolish. In front of him, in the long, lovely bathroom mirror, I posed with my tush cocked for effect. My legs looked so lovely in their white hose, I didn’t want to take them off. But it was time to change outfits. On with the show!

"Why don’t you do it for me?" I said.

"What?" Axel asked dumbly.

"Slide down my nylons for me, will you. . . daddy?"

Axel closed the toilet lid and sat down, reeling, before he fell down.

I stepped out of my mules and pointed a toe daintily at him. "Take it off for me, will you. . ," again, I called him, "daddy."

As if trying to wake himself from a daze, Axel tugged at the toe of my booty like he was snapping a balloon.

"You start from the top," idiot. "Up here." I took his hand and placed it on my thigh. "That’s it," dummy. "Just pull them down gently," asshole. "Don’t give me any runners with your jagged nails," or I’ll slap you dickhead.

Completely under my spell, Axel helped me undress, and dress. Being young, and pretty, does have it’s advantages, so I thought. Admittedly, in those days I was hot, but too, too vain. It gets you in trouble.

I put on the red bustier, with the red panties, and a pair of black fishnet thigh highs. "Do the garters for me, will you. . . daddy?" I wanted to laugh each time I called him that. Fumbling helplessly with the snap, Axel looked so harmless. Like a red-faced Green Giant.

When I was dressed, back in my mules, and ready, I was feeling so powerful, so full of myself, so bold, I grabbed Axel’s dick, and urged him to stand, by tugging on his scrotum. He looked up at me, forehead wet with sweat. Pulling him by the penis, I lured him back out into the bedroom.

"Now it’s your turn to do a little striptease for me," I said. The Rolling Stones were bumping on the radio. "Get out of those shoes and pants."

Axel stumbled along behind me, totally powerless. "What are you doing to me!? What is it you want?"

That was a good question. After a moment’s thought, while I gave him time to get out of his pants and his boxers, I realized that all I wanted to do was give him a blow job, and go home. That would have suited me, just fine. And I expected it to work for Axel too. Little, did I know. . .

I plopped down on the bed, and took hold of his hips. "Aren’t you going to take off your socks?" I asked.

"No," he said. What a turn-off.

"Come here," I said looking up at him, batting my lashes, "and let me suck your cock."

A smile slid across Axel’s face as I licked his steaming broccoli. In no time at all, with a little oral stimulation, his pulse raced to his penis, and he began thrusting his hips back and forth quite lustily, driving his hard cock between my lips. This was all very well, and good, except that I got excited, and the sight of Ms. Suzie rising put a definite damper on Axel’s fun. He began to melt in my mouth.

"Let me do you," he whispered.

I tried wringing his meat, massaging it like I was trying to revive a heart patient. "That’s not my idea of how to have fun," I said. "Don’t you get the picture?" I asked, crossing my legs. "I’m the girl. You’re the boy. Remember?"

High above me Axel’s eyes flashed with a sudden bolt of lighting. "You bitch!" He shoved me back on the bed and threw himself on top of me. I tried to roll away from him, but he was too close. One hand held my shoulder pinned, while his free hand slapped my bare flank, hard!

"I think I know what you want." He climbed on top of me, rubbing his crotch against my legs, trying to get himself hard again.

"Not like this!" I gasped, trying to regain control.

Axel stopped spanking me, and instead encircled my throat with his forearm. Pressing his full 225 pounds on top of my slender frame, he pinned me to the bed like a fat, slimey WWF wrestler.

"Stop it! You’re choking me!"

Axel didn’t seem to hear. His cock was hard as a policeman’s .38, and stabbing me in the side like he meant to drill me a new belly button.

"Stop it!" I said more insistently. I tried to squirm away, but he held me locked tightly around the neck. The way he was gasping beside my ear, it was like he was having an epileptic fit.

His free hand pulled apart my ass cheeks. A stubby finger found my tiny opening, and jammed its way roughly inside, the way a person forces their finger inside an orange to pull it apart.

"Please!" I pleaded. "Not like this!" This was not only rape, the way he was choking me felt like murder. "Calm down!" Get a grip! "For Gods sake, at least use some oil!" Mercy!!

Mini Me found my entrance, and grunting, gasping like a dying man anxious to get in his last meal, Axel rammed his cock inside me. Four inches is plenty without lubrication. Quite enough.

Especially when the man is not gentle. I bit into the sheets, while Axel humped me like a speed freak.

The more excited he became, the more frantic. In his fury and desire, he had no idea how he was holding me, how his forearm was tightening around my windpipe, how desperately I was fighting for air. In his drunken rage Axel didn’t realize how close I felt to death, how I saw my life, my family, my parents, my sisters, passing before my eyes, and then the newspaper headline, the print on the obituary page: "Transsexual found dead in Radisson."

Ms. Elizabeth "Liz" Trailer. Only twenty-seven years old, in the prime of her full, young body, her last breath was snuffed out by an unknown, fat assailant with a little dick. The one time entertainer, and star, "Liz" Trailer, was raped, asphyxiated, then gang-banged by a group of crazed Mexican hotel porters.

At last I thought the bastard must have cum, because he began to wheeze, and slow down like he’d passed the finished line. I wiggled my hips, and his cock slipped free from my poor, sore hole.

"Daddy!" I pleaded, gasping for air. "Give me a break!"

Axel seemed to regain his sanity for a minute. He released his grip. Not entirely. He still held me close against his sweat stained, hairy body. So this is what it’s like to be romanced by Big Foot. His hips continued to rotate, thrusting his member against my smooth backside.

"Why don’t you just let me suck you off?" I whispered, trying for my cutest, sexiest, boop boop be doo voice.

Axel growled. He had that lifeless, sharkish, serial killer look in his eyes. He fumbled with my ankle, and flipped me over onto my back. I yelped, as he pried my legs apart. He knelt at the foot of the bed between my thighs, spreading me high and wide. In his own world, groaning uncontrollably, he mashed his hardening shaft over a very frightened Ms. Suzie. The fact that Ms. Suzie was now trying to crawl inside my kidneys, and Mini Me was swollen as red as a cherry popsicle, now that he was bigger, gave him back his masculinity, and he was like someone drunk with power. Even though I wasn’t happy about his style of foreplay, even though I was scared half out of my mind, deep down inside, I admit there was a part of me that thought women were supposed to be treated this way. So this is what it felt like to be a real female... to be tossed around, and stuffed like the Thanksgiving turkey.

Axel shoved his throbbing cock back inside me like an angry man swinging punches. Growling, and grunting with each thrust, he flipped my ankles over his shoulders, and leaned into it. The further he leaned forward, the higher my ass rose up off the bed to meet his beat and swallow his meat.

He never once looked at my face. Instead he stared down at where our flesh joined flesh. The harder he thrashed, Ms. Suzie jumped up and down like a bean bag on a trampoline. Axel was so excited his cock felt like a spinning, diamond plated, drill biting into my well.

Sweat dripped from his brow into my eyes, making me fear my mascara would run. He didn’t even realize his whole body was dripping. He moved like he was doing the Lambda, and for a minute, I was glad his manhood was no 10" Goliath like my old boyfriend Theo. Otherwise, he’d have killed me, stabbed me to death. I tried to bury my face in the cool pillows, not wanting Axel to think my squeals were of delight.

"You like it like this, don’t you? Don’t you?"

Axel took Ms. Suzie in his hand, and began shaking her, but it was like trying to revive the dead.

"Now it’s your turn," he said smugly. Pressing my feet all the way over my head, till my knees touched my ears, he fucked me harder still. At this angle, the way he touched my prostate, I wanted to sing an operetta!

At times like that, I’m so excited inside, Suzie is completely uninvolved. This seemed to suit Axel just fine. The way he slammed back and forth, the confidence he now exhibited, I could tell, he needed this, and that this was very, very good for him, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. To him, it was what makes a man a man.

And what makes me a woman, I suppose. Without ever even getting hard, my body twitched, and Ms. Suzie forced out dribbles of tapioca pudding into a tiny puddle in my naval.

The sight of my orgasm was just too much for Axel. He went into a frenzy, his moans rising in pitch until finally, like he was auditioning for a porno movie, he ripped out his erection and squirted his juices far and wide. Semen pattered like rain across the sheets, my tummy, Ms. Suzie, all the way to my chin. Afterwards, he slid his cock back inside me.

When he was finished his baby noises, sighing in contentment, Axel slumped down on top of me. Painfully, I slipped my ankles off his shoulders, and moaning in real agony, lowered my legs. Even though this had not been my choice, or preferred love-making position, I didn’t want the Jolly Green Giant to leave me just yet. I wrapped my thighs around his back, holding him close for just another minute.

Finally he slid over, face into a pillow. I could shift my hips if I wanted. The way he was laying, I could break free from his murderous grasp. Escape from his clutches.
But no.

I lay there quietly enjoying the moment, for this was my moment, the one thing I enjoy about being with any man. The few seconds after, before he begins thinking of his wife, and grabbing for his clothes. The few seconds where you are enwebbed his arms, his heart beating against yours, laying there with his legs entwined around yours, knowing you have satisfied him completely. That is my favorite part with any man. The part that almost makes all the sweating, the grunting, the pain, the shit, and the semen worth it all. Listening to Axel’s breathing slow, once again he seemed normal. His penis softened and slipped free, and I sighed in peace. Thank God it was over.

After about five minutes, without touching me, without a word, he got up off the bed and began dressing. I lay there watching him. There was no mistaking the mortification in his expression. He was once again a Catholic. A guilty, married, millionaire trash man.

"Do you want to use the phone to call your wife?" I said.

He scowled as he dressed. But said nothing. Now that he’d had me, it was like I’d said in the bar, he no longer needed me. So he treated me like the whore that I am. And disdained even to look at me - until the next time he felt the fever rise in his blood.

Once fully clothed, on the way out the door, almost like an afterthought he paused by the bed, and looked down at me. "Do you need money for a cab, or something?"

"Or something?" Where was my $1,000?

He put a twenty on the nightstand, and without so much as a good-bye, was gone.

I refused to say a word. Instead, I rolled over, and hugging the pillow began to drift to sleep, thinking I would sleep here for the night. It beat the lesbians mildew stained couch.