


F4: A Matter of Circumstance

by slyc_willie



Category: Transsexuals & Crossdressers
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2017-04-18 04:17:36
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/f4-a-matter-of-circumstance
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: A night of revelation for a transsexual prostitute.
Erotica Tags: Blowjob, Car Sex, Fawc, Gay Anal, Gay Oral, Hooker, Revelation,
Sting, Streetwalker, Twist
Average Rating: 4.47






        F4: A Matter of Circumstance


_(Author's note: This story is an entry into FAWC (Friendly Anonymous Writing
Challenge), a collaborative competition among Lit authors. FAWC is not an
official contest sponsored by Literotica, and there are no prizes given to the
winner. This FAWC was based around the theme of music, with four songs given
to choose from. The song that inspired this story was "Tomorrow We'll See" by
Sting.)_  
  
* * * *  
  
Neon reflections glistened on the street. The dive bars with their glowing
beer signs were minimally populated. That wasn't uncommon for a midweek night.
I typically stayed away from them, often crossing the street so as not to
arouse the attention of those within. I was more than passable for a woman,
but if any of those burly _caballeros_ discovered the truth, leers would turn
to jeers, quickly followed by punches or worse.  
  
I sighed. Eternally judged, that was me. Judged for who I was, what I was,
what I did with my life. My brother Jeff's words from years before still stung
in my ears, mainly because he echoed what everyone else in my family had long
been thinking:  
  
_"You're nothing but a cheap faggot, Joey. Just you being alive is an insult
to this family."_  
  
I shrugged off the memory. I had other things to think about. The pair of
heels I had purchased the day before took me past the door of _El Jalisco_.
Tejano music spilled out from within, carrying along with it a cloud of hazy
cigarette smoke and lost opportunities. I chanced a look within, seeing the
backs of three middle-aged men at the bar. I kept going.  
  
_Second pack_, I thought ruefully, tearing off the plastic wrapper on a pack
of Camels. The lighter flicked in my hand. I inhaled, still walking, blew out.
The street was dead, a frustrating truth for someone in my line of work. Like
any business, I needed customers.  
  
The tearing sound of tires across wet asphalt bade me look back. A minivan
slowed, driver within craning his neck to get a look at me. It only lasted a
second before he was gone, continuing down the road. I sucked on the
cigarette, staring at his rear window. I knew he would be back. They always
came back.  
  
Sure enough, after turning down a side street, the same van came rolling back.
Headlights flashed as the sedan hit a rough patch on the road. I cast looks
left and right, checking for the cops, but the coast was clear. Though the
heels were killing me, I managed to cross the street quickly enough, stepping
onto the sidewalk at a corner.  
  
The minivan approached, slowing again. This time I winked, smiled, waved my
hand. The man inside nodded with a nervous smile. Middle aged, white, a little
pudgy. I met a lot of those, looking for something risky -- or just risque --
on their way to their wives.  
  
He turned at the corner and stopped. The passenger-side window rolled down as
I approached. The van was clean; a good sign. "How you doing, honey?" I asked
playfully. Over the years, I had perfect my feminine voice, completing the
illusion that I was what these men wanted me to be.  
  
The man shrugged. "Good," he responded. "You busy?"  
  
I flashed my best catty smile. "You generous?"  
  
That was the code, the trick, that established our relationship right up
front. You want time with me, you gotta be ready to pay.  
  
His face flushed slightly. I figured a good quarter of the johns I met had
never picked up a girl off the street before. What they knew about the process
came from seedy movies and cheap erotica. This man was one of those.  
  
"Yeah, sure," he said.  
  
I popped open the door and stepped into the van. A quick check of the back
told me we were alone. Caution was important in my game; just a few days
before, another T-girl like me had been stabbed to death after picking up a
john.  
  
"You're pretty," he said awkwardly as I settled my tight butt on the seat. I
smiled and reached across between us, groping his crotch. That was the
standard move to make sure we weren't cops. He sucked in a breath.  
  
"You're sweet," I said, then pulled on my cigarette.  
  
Silence floated between us. He was nervous, unsure of how to ask for what he
wanted. So I made it easy on him.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Uh, Don."  
  
I blew smoke and stared at him. "Would you like me to suck your cock, Don?"  
  
He swallowed thickly, but smiled and expelled a broken laugh. "Yeah, uh . . .
yeah. I'd like that."  
  
_Of course you would_, I thought. _What man doesn't want a blowjob?_ "Fifty
bucks," I told him.  
  
His pudgy face grimaced. "Fifty?" he asked.  
  
I leaned close and squeezed his crotch once more. He was hard already. My lips
brushed his ear. He smelled like coffee and Tic-Tacs. "I'll be the sweetest
five minutes you'll ever have," I whispered.  
  
Don trembled. His erection was pushing against my hand through the khaki
slacks he wore. "O-okay," he responded.  
  
I told him where to go. Other than that, there wasn't much talking. We parked
beneath a tree at a park five minutes away. Soft radiance from a streetlamp
filtering through the leaves gave me just enough light to see what I was
doing. Don handed over the money. I unzipped his pants.  
  
He wasn't big --far from it -- and he smelled more than a little musky. He'd
probably spent all day and evening sitting at a desk somewhere, his crotch
leeching sweat into his boxers. I had smelled worse in the past, and still did
what I was paid to do.  
  
Don gasped as if he had never had his entire penis sucked before. Hands fell
to the back of my head, my back. He didn't push. He just needed some place to
put them. Maybe he liked feeling my head bouncing up and down against the palm
of his hand. Maybe he thought he was directing me.  
  
With my talent, it didn't take the poor man long at all to serve up his
frustration. He groaned, gasped, hissed and bucked as I sucked out every last
drop of fluid from his cock. The taste was bitter and sour. Not the most
savory load I had ever sampled, but not the worst.  
  
With his shuddering over, I sat up and turned to the window, finding the
toggle for the window. Semen splattered on the ground as I spat. The flavor
lingered in my mouth, but I had gum for that.  
  
"You can take me back now, honey," I told him.  
  
* * * *  
  
My first trick of the night was gracious enough to let me out at a gas
station. The employees inside knew who I was, what I was, even if they didn't
know the full truth. But they didn't care, and neither did I.  
  
In the bathroom, I checked my makeup, applied some lipstick where it had worn
off on Don's cock. I wondered if the man would think to clean himself before
returning to his wife. That gave me a chuckle.  
  
A woman stared back at me in the mirror. I was pretty damn convincing with my
long straight hair and artful application of makeup. I could stand right in
front of the judgmental members of my family and they wouldn't know who I was.
That thought gave me another chuckle.  
  
Back on the street, with a pair of twenties and a ten tucked inside the top of
my stockings, I ventured back along the pavement. Another cigarette dangled
from my fingers. Another car slowed as it passed. I gave a wink. The car
continued on.  
  
A check of the woman's watch on my wrist told me it was nearing midnight. It
wasn't my norm to stay out past then. I wanted to avoid the late-night thugs
and _pendejos_ who got high on weed before looking for a "bitch." But the
evening hadn't been kind. Half a Benjamin wasn't worth my night.  
  
A rude voice called from a passing low-rider. "Yo, mama, how 'bout a blow?"
Congratulatory laughter erupted from the heckler's friends. I responded with a
middle finger. They, too, continued on.  
  
A rumbling engine -- one of those big block hemis my asshole brother was fond
of -- caught my attention. A jacked-up truck with a crew cab appeared at a
corner just ahead, passenger window rolled down. All I saw was a hat and
sunglasses peering back at me. He was giving me _that_ look.  
  
_Hmm. I might be able to salvage a hundred bucks from tonight._  
  
Keeping my cool, I approached the idling monstrosity. A girl can't seem eager,
you know. Some of these guys were just enough of a shark to talk a price down.
So I continued to wear my indifferent, take-it-or-leave-it face.  
  
"What you up to, honey?" I asked.  
  
The face, from what I could see, was handsome. He seemed slender, like me. I
wasn't too put off by the glasses and hat. A lot of johns did that, as if
afraid someone they knew was going to see them picking up a streetwalker. Or
maybe it just helped them pretend they were turning into someone else for the
sake of the deed. Distancing themselves. They'd go home, take off the hat,
take a shower, and I never happened.  
  
I couldn't care less. As far as I was concerned, _they_ never happened. I just
magically acquired a wad of twenties during a casual walk down the street.  
  
He studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "Get in." His voice was scratchy
and rough. It sounded fake, like that of an amateur actor portraying a chain
smoker.  
  
_Man of few words_, I thought. I liked that. I hated the talkers, who went on
and on about their wives, rationalizing why they wanted to pay some stranger
to suck them off. On the other hand were the silent ones, who never said
anything. They were just creepy. But the ones in the middle, they suited me
just fine. A little chit-chat, whip it out, blow your load and I'm done. On to
the next.  
  
Once I was in the cab of the truck, Mr. Quiet started driving. He seemed to
know where to go. This was nothing new to him.  
  
"What's your name?" I asked him.  
  
He didn't answer. He put his hand on my leg, fingers creeping up my inner
thigh. I covered it with my own. "You don't wanna go there, baby," I said.
"Wrong time of the month."  
  
For most guys, that was enough to keep them from grabbing a pussy that wasn't
there. But Mr. Quiet just chuckled. "Don't give me that. You're a tranny. I
want the whole package."  
  
I was impressed. I had only been outed once before, and nearly got stabbed as
a result. But this guy was actually looking for a T-girl. Fine with me.  
  
So I let his hand wander. "Gonna cost more than fifty," I told him.  
  
"I'll give you twin Benjamins," he said. Fingers traveled under my skirt,
touching my tucked-under cock.  
  
_Two hundred bucks? Sold to Mr. Quiet!_ My night was looking up. "Up front," I
told him.  
  
He nodded and kept driving, taking his hand back. "I got condoms and lube," he
said. "Like I said, I want the whole package."  
  
The prospect gave me a tingle. It had been a while since I bottomed. To be
honest, I was getting a little antsy. Okay, so I normally like my men beefier
than Mr. Quiet. But I had a feeling we were going to have some fun. When it
came down to it, with my line of work, looks didn't matter as much as
intention.  
  
He pulled the truck into an industrial park and drove around to the back.
There was ample light provided by harsh light poles, but no vehicles parked
nearby. The result was an enticing contrast between high profile and low risk.
If someone came driving around the corner of the building, we would have time
to get dressed.  
  
_I wonder how many other girls he's brought here_, I wondered, then pushed the
thought from my mind. Despite growing excitement, I had to remain the
professional.  
  
Mr. Quiet put the truck in park and eased back. "Wanna see what you got," he
said.  
  
I raised my hand and rubbed the tips of my fingers together.  
  
I think he scowled under his flat black glasses. But then he reached into his
pocket and came up with a nicely thick wad. One, two, three, four . . . he
counted off the fifties and handed them over. Into my stocking they went.  
  
With the niceties over, I hitched up the skirt, splayed my legs as wide as the
seat would allow. A tug on the black nylon covering my crotch and out popped
my cock, already swelling. Mr. Quiet seemed to approve. He reached over for a
grope, then a stroke. I sat back and let him have his fun.  
  
"Nice dick," he remarked, then took his hand away. He shifted, working his
belt, the button on his jeans, the zipper. "Check out mine," he said, lifting
up and shoving the denim down. His cock was thick, stiff and long. Impressive,
I had to admit.  
  
I reached, feeling the warm tube of erect flesh filling my hand. He was shaved
silky-smooth. Not a hair anywhere. My other hand went under his balls,
fondling them. Mr. Quiet parted his legs.  
  
"Suck it."  
  
I didn't hesitate. Leaning over, I held his cock at the base and swirled my
tongue around the tip. Slowly, teasingly, I took the length of him into my
mouth. Inch after inch slid over my tongue, to the back of my throat. I
inhaled through my nose, held it, pushed down. His cock stretched my
esophagus.  
  
Mr. Quiet grunted, pushed up. His balls pressed against my nose. I closed my
mouth around the base and suckled like a lamb at mama's teat. But it wasn't
long before my lungs began to protest.  
  
Sliding up, I swallowed a mouthful of thick spit and regained my breath. Mr.
Quiet's hand pressed at the back of my head. I went down once more, allowing
him to use me, if only just this bit. His cock popped back into my throat. He
groaned again. Obviously, my trick was an admirer of deepthroat.  
  
I bobbed up and down, holding my breath until I felt my eyes leaking. Sliding
up, I slipped my mouth from his dick and stroked it. I didn't look to his
face. Guys like him, I knew, wanted to stay as anonymous as possible. That was
fine. The only things about him that interested me were his money and his
cock.  
  
Mr. Quiet let me jack him for a bit. He squirmed with the way my fingers
squeezed and massaged the head. I'd been told before -- many times -- that my
hands were just as good as my mouth. Sometimes, I'd get a guy off that way,
and they never complained.  
  
He slapped a hand onto my wrist. "Don't make me cum yet," he grumbled. He sat
up, turned in the seat. "Show me that ass."  
  
I got on my knees. My skirt was already bunched up around my waist. All I had
to do was pull my panties to the side. Like Mr. Quiet, I was smooth as silk
all over. Judging from the murmurs he made, he approved. His hands slapped to
my ass, pulling the cheeks apart. I felt my anus gape slightly.  
  
"Yeah. Nice. Stay like that."  
  
I turned my head, watching him as he produced a foil package and a small
bottle. "Like my ass, baby?" I cooed. "Wanna fuck it?"  
  
He gave a grunt. Despite his stoicism, he was turned on, I knew. Hell, so was
I. I watched him take out the condom and roll it down his cock. Then he popped
open the lube.  
  
"Might wanna loosen me up, first," I suggested.  
  
Mr. Quiet stroked his latex-wrapped dick, then positioned himself on his
knees. The truck rocked a bit. He squeezed some slippery stuff on his fingers.
I bit my lip with anticipation.  
  
Thumb and forefinger of one hand spread my sphincter open. I felt the nudging
of two fingers against my tight man hole. I pushed back, and he pushed in. My
tunnel opened up to let him in. Oh, deliciousness!  
  
But he only fingered me for a few seconds before climbing over the console to
get behind me. I was pressed against the back of the seat. His stiff cock
probed around my anus, slipping back and forth. Then he found the mark and
barged in. Oh, the heat! I whimpered as the girth of his penis stretched my
hole and filled my bowels. He pushed in, then pulled back, then pushed in some
more. Finally, his hips were against my ass. I felt his taut balls against my
own.  
  
"Fuck me."  
  
I wasn't sure who said it. I didn't care. I hadn't had a proper fucking in
months. Just days on end with anonymous cocks spewing anonymous fluid across
my tongue. No thought to my desires, my needs. But that dry spell of personal
relief was coming to an end. I was getting fucked, and fucked well.  
  
Mr. Quiet gripped and squeezed my hips as he pounded into me. He was a hard
and deep man, which suited me just fine. He liked to pull back until just the
tip of his cock remained inside me, then shove the whole thick throbbing mass
back in. It just so happened that I liked that, too.  
  
My own cock was throbbing with the need for attention. I reached down and
grabbed it, stroking madly. My body trembled with each deep plunge of the john
inside me. My prostate tingled. Each thrust made me think I was about to cum
at any moment.  
  
But then he pulled out, leaving me gaping and wondering.  
  
"Turn over," he growled.  
  
Eagerly, I brought up my legs, flipped around, then lifted and fanned them
wide. My cock jutted up from beneath my flat belly. His cock pushed back
against my hole. Mr. Quiet curled my legs back until my knees touched my
chest. I gibbered in bliss as he resumed fucking me. Automatically, I stroked
my cock with both hands, jacking furiously up and down. I was going to cum. I
wanted to cum.  
  
"Do it," he grunted, still plowing into me. "Shoot it off."  
  
I managed to lift my head, just seconds before I erupted. The hat, the
glasses, they hid everything from me. But his movements told me all I wanted
to know, and all that mattered.  
  
Whimpering gasps were all I let out. Held firmly in both hands, my cock
sprayed thick droplets of cum that fell onto my stomach, my hands, my upper
thighs. I thrashed and moaned, giving in to the sensations. I didn't want them
to end.  
  
And then he was jerking his cock free from my ass with all the forceful acumen
of a sexual professional. As if a camera somewhere had been all along
recording our coupling, he rose up, leaning over me. His tense cock jutted
toward my face. One hand held it while the other ripped off the sticky condom
with a loud _snap_! Still in my orgasmic daze, I stared at the shiny head of
his dick, at the widening slit.  
  
Thick white fluid poured out, splattering my face, my neck, my chest. A few
warm, bittersweet globs fell onto my tongue. He jerked and stroked, sending
all of his seed onto me. I think I laughed, or at least giggled. He pushed his
cock into my mouth. I didn't much like the taste of the spermicide, but his
cum was strangely welcome. I sucked the last of it from him. He shivered in
bliss over me. His thick shaft twitched between my lips.  
  
Finally, Mr. Quiet pulled his cock from my mouth and fell onto his back in the
driver's seat. Neither of us spoke as we regained our composure. My fall from
orgasmic grace to brutal reality came quicker than I would have hoped. Sitting
up, I looked about the truck's cab.  
  
"Got a towel?" I asked.  
  
He jerked a thumb behind him, indicating the back seat. I looked, and found a
neatly-folded terrycloth. Thankful for such small considerations, I wiped up
the spunk from my body and face.  
  
"That was," he began, then forcibly cleared his throat. His voice changed as
he spoke again. "That was fucking great."  
  
I smiled. "Glad you liked it, baby," I said, then stopped. No, it was more
like I froze. Like it was one of those old science fiction movies in which
some kind of alien paralysis ray put everyone in stasis. I froze because of
his voice. It sounded eerily, frighteningly familiar.  
  
My eyes wandered over his face. The chin, the lips were suddenly familiar. He
was panting as he recovered, and half out of it. My hand came up and touched
the sunglasses, then pulled them down.  
  
I was sure I gasped then. I had to have.  
  
"Hey!" he exclaimed, jerking back. "Hands off! What the fuck!"  
  
I recoiled, falling into the passenger seat. I looked down at my feet as I
straightened my clothes. I was dumbfounded by the revelation. Why hadn't I
seen it sooner? How could I not have known?  
  
The drive back was done in silence. It gave me time to put things in
perspective. By the time I stepped from the truck an onto my familiar street,
the delicious irony of the entire situation had come full circle.  
  
"You got a number?" he asked the back of my head.  
  
I didn't turn to look at him. "You already have it, Jeff," I said pointedly. I
used my "real" voice, the one he would recognize. Then I shut the door and
started walking. I didn't look back. I didn't need to. The reality of the
startled look on his face would never match the image in my mind.  

The chuckle that formed in my throat turned into a loud, harsh, maniacal laugh
that reverberated off the buildings around me. I could just make out the
screech of tires as my one and only brother, the man who had just fucked me,
peeled out. I imagined him desperate to leave this part of town and return to
his wife and children. He would want to put this entire episode behind him and
pretend it had never happened.  
  
_I think I'll call him tomorrow_, I thought wickedly. _I'll ask him how he's
been, what he's been up to. He'll be rude and play ignorant, of course, but
we'll both know the truth. And that's what's important._  
  
I lit up another cigarette, inhaling deeply, then headed back to my little
apartment only a few blocks away.  
  
_Tomorrow . . . yes, tomorrow we'll see . . . ._




End file.

