I take very little, if any, pride in the fact that I’m what men fondly refer to
as a ‘stone fox’.  At this stage of my life, I’ve had plenty of experience
looking into the envious eyes of other girls (as a high school cheer leader and
Homecoming Queen) and women (as a successful model and owner of a chic women’s
clothing boutique) and the lustful eyes of men (and some women) as they seem to
delight in the package that my parents dubbed, "Tawnee", some twenty-three years
ago in San Diego, California.

This package, 5-feet tall, 95 lbs, shoulder-length, naturally blonde hair,
35-22-34, perpetually tanned, blue-eyed, dimpled (both sets of ‘cheeks’),
sensuous, and forever adventurous, was due to close the shop in five minutes and
looking forward to an evening of excitement.

I guess that everybody finds their pleasure in different ways. Who knows what
molds our sexual eccentricities or appetites?  Perhaps the shrinks but I’ve
always been immune to any curiosity as to why I am what I am.  Instead, I’ve
tried to learn to accept myself for what I am and to approach each day with an
attitude of new possibilities. New friends.  New experiences.

Little did I realize, this day, what a new experience awaited me.

As I watched the wall clock above the front entrance of my shop slowly tick away
the few remaining minutes between my musings and my release from the confinement
of work, I looked forward to another night of what I called, to myself, ‘The
Hunt’.

It went something like this.  Within thirty minutes, I would be out of the store,
into a taxi, across town to a Gay Bar, and pursuing my prey.  My object?  A
pre-operative transsexual male.

As I said, I had learned to live with myself, who I was, and what I liked.  I
liked fellatio - excuse the fancy word - giving head - sucking cock.  Call it
what you will.  I loved the feeling of a penis in my mouth.  I could literally
get off from the giving of intense sexual pleasure to the lucky recipient of my
experienced, very much practiced, artistry.

I loved everything about the act.  The gritty details, to include the obvious and
eventual culmination of my efforts in the form of a forbidden ‘libation’ as a
reward from my grateful ‘subject’.

What I didn’t like, was the typically aggressive attitude of the macho-type male
who would attempt to thwart my goal and proceed with his own agenda of coitus -
or, whatever.  For this reason, I had taken to picking up gay men in bars.  I
found that they were, as a rule, more than willing to acquiesce to my need for
control of the situation.  In a way, I guess that it was odd for me to find sex
between two males to be acceptable while at the same time finding lesbianism
almost repulsive, but that’s the way I’d always felt.

I had learned that by posing as a pre-op transsexual male, I could dupe my target
into believing that he was receiving his treat from another man - therefore a
turn-on for his homosexual mind-set. By selecting a pre-op for my subject, I was
able to enjoy his breasts, his smooth skin, and his (oft-times) attraction to
another beautiful pre-op (as far as he knew) to play with.  I was rather confused
when I tried to reconcile my aversion to lesbianism with my penchant for the
breasts and soft skin of this ‘special type of man’ but accepted the
contradiction and made the most of my unorthodox tastes.

The final touch, if you haven’t guessed by now, was the ‘bonus’ kick that I got
from revealing my gender after having provided my particular specialty.  I got a
perverse thrill out of my little scam; the look on my ‘victim’s’ face as he
realized that, ugh, he had just acceded to sex with a, gag, woman.

II

As I sipped on my vodka martini and looked over the rim of the chilled glass, I
saw him.  I could feel the familiar stirring in my loins as I contemplated where
we would be within the hour.  He was gorgeous and I was again struck with a
feeling that ‘this beauty can’t be a man’ as I marveled at the feminine aura
exuding from a dimpled, pixie-face, surrounded by short-cropped, brunette hair -
curled in a fifties-style flip.

He was immaculate; from his manicured and tastefully polished, long fingernails,
to the eyebrows, lashes, shadow, blush, lipstick, jewelry, clothing - you name it
- he had it together.

Catching my gaze, he left his place at the other end of the bar and walked
towards me with a smile on his womanly face.  As many times as I’d been in this
situation, the ritual never failed to arouse me.  The introductions, the small
talk, the swapping of make-up tips, all of the mundane trivialities that I’d
learned were typical to a conversation between two pre-op male transsexuals upon
such a meeting.

Thankfully, though, it wasn’t more than ten minutes before we’d completed this
little drama and were riding away from the bar, side-by-side, in the back seat of
a taxi, on our way to my apartment and a promised ‘glass of wine’.

As we rode in silence through the darkened streets of the city, I thought back
over the meeting ritual that I’d just run through.  His name was "Paula".  
Although he hadn’t explained it, I presumed that he had probably once been "Paul"
and had altered his name to conform to the transformation in his appearance.

He’d been receiving hormone injections for over a year and looked forward to
surgery within another year.  He felt that after his change was complete, he’d
probably continue to be bisexual, since he loved women and men - and, especially
(at least for now) other pre-op’s.

While we’d chatted in the busy bar, he’d feasted his eyes on my body as if he
would prefer literally feasting on my body.  I hoped that I’d be able to cool his
ardor sufficiently to effectuate my usual seduction and presumed that, as with
others like him in the past, I would have little or no problem.

III

Like most of the ‘boys’ that I’d brought to my rather lavishly appointed,
expensive apartment, this evening’s catch was no different in his reaction to my
digs.  He did the usual gawk, as I strode to the wet bar and fetched a bottle of
Dom Perignon from the fridge beneath.

Crystal flutes in one hand and an ice bucket in the other, I joined my companion
on the kid leather sectional which was arrayed in a half-moon shape perhaps ten
feet from the fireplace with its stone hearth.  Raising my glass in a toast, I
smiled as I said, "To our pleasure.".

"I’ll gladly drink to that."  Paula exuded an air of lust as he looked into my
eyes over the rim of his glass and quickly emptied it of its delicious contents.

When I saw him placing his glass on the marble-topped coffee table and turning in
my direction, I was glad for his sense of urgency as I was also anxious to get
down to business.

Paula’s lips were soft and his kiss hungry - his tongue insisting upon entrance
into my mouth as we embraced.  Impatient to feel his newly formed breasts, I
reached between us and began unbuttoning the buttons of his blouse.

Not content to wait for my fingers to do the job, he broke free from my grasp and
stood before me.  With a sexy look on his face and an impish smile, his fingers
quickly unbuttoned the blouse and pulled it free of his flared mini-skirt. 
Shrugging it from his shoulders, he allowed the blouse to fall to the floor
behind him. Braless, his womanly breasts were a sight to behold.

Cone-shaped and capped with tiny pink nipples in their centers, they beckoned my
lips and tongue with a siren’s song that I knew I would be unable to resist.

"I want to see your breasts, Tawnee.  Please take off your blouse too."

I rose from my sitting position on the sofa and stood facing Paula as I quickly
disrobed, dropping my blouse and lace, push-up bra onto the floor beside me. 
Having always enjoyed the sensation of my breasts making contact with my dates’,
I hastened to wrap my arms around Paula’s shoulders and was instantly struck by
the electricity caused by my nipples’ frictioning against his.

I could feel Paula squeezing the cheeks of my ass as we stood before the fire
kissing, our breasts pressed together, their nipples rock-hard from excitement.

As I felt Paula’s fingers stray from my butt and suddenly slide beneath the
waistband of my skirt, I reached to deter his attempts and was startled by the
strength of his arm as it simply brushed away my interfering hand and completed
its journey to my crotch in one, uninterrupted motion.

I guess that I had always known that, sooner or later, I would be caught by one
of my dates and prematurely revealed as a woman.  "I thought you were a pre-op,
Tawnee.  What’s this?"  His hand now cupping my pubes, the fingers stroking the
length between my labia.  I was somehow shamed by the wetness that was quickly
developing in my panties in response to his fondling.

"I’m sorry, Paula.  I tricked you.  I’d still like to suck you, though."

"If it’s all the same to you, Tawnee, I’ll do the sucking."

"But, I thought you were gay."

"What?  You think a gay man can’t pleasure a woman with his mouth?"

I was struck dumb by his question and surprised myself by standing mute as he
quickly finished undressing me and fell to his knees on the carpet before my nude
and suddenly wanting body.

The feeling of his mouth coming into contact with my vulva and quickly proceeding
to the nibbling and sucking of my clitoris that I loved so well (how did he
know?), soon had me in ecstasy.

In no time, it seemed, I’d reached an orgasm and Paula continued with his
ministrations.  Feeling weak in my knees, I suddenly crumpled onto the couch and
sat with my legs spread - Paula still busy between my spread thighs, quickly
bringing me to another peak with his gifted lips and tongue.

Pushing him away with a sign, I told him that I’d had enough and now wished to
take my turn.

"Before I let you pleasure me, Tawnee, I want some answers. Why’d you pose as a
man in the bar?  Why’d you not want me to know that you’re a woman?"

"I don’t know, Paula.  I know that I enjoy giving head and have also enjoyed the
added spice of mind-fucking a gay man by revealing afterwards that I’m really a
woman.  Somehow, I suppose, I think that I’ll make him go straight or something."

"It takes all kinds, I guess, Tawnee.  Do you want to do me now?"

"Oh, yes." "First, turn down the lights and get me another glass of champagne. 
My body’s not nearly as beautiful as yours and I’m self conscious when I’m
naked."

Turning out all of the lights in the room and returning to Paula’s side with a
fresh glass of wine in my hand, I was pleased to find he’d shed his clothes while
I was busy with the lights and now lay on his stomach in front of the fire.

"Give me the champagne, Tawnee and lick my ass while I drink it."

I had no problem with that.  Having long since learned that many gay men were
anally erotic, I’d had an abundance of practice and his predecessors had
benefited from my rimming talents.  Anticipating the intense pleasure that I knew
would be caused by my obeisance, I could feel a renewed heat between my thighs as
I knelt between his splayed legs and began a slow laving of his buttocks and the
divide between them, slowing down now and then to tease the asshole with my
pointed tongue.

"I want you to get me off now, Tawnee."

I didn’t answer his plea but merely grasped his hips and rolled him over to get
at his penis.  As he spread his legs and grasped my head gently with both hands
to draw me into the apex of his open thighs, I was there before I realized I’d
been had.

Confronted with the absence of a man’s genitalia and presented with a
clean-shaven pussy instead, I began to reflexively pull away.

"You promised, Tawnee.  Now, be a good girl and lick.  Believe me - try it,
you’ll like it."

In spite of everything that I’d felt before this eventful evening, I allowed my
face to be drawn into her softness and extended my tongue.  My advice, ladies? 
Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it!