You Can Always Say No Ch. 03
Keywords: No, Ch., You, Can, Always, Say, 03,
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It was my distinct pleasure to take my lunch Tuesday at "Dante's", an elegant little "trattoria" in the mall. Faye was right on time. I saw her approaching across the courtyard and marveled at the fluid motion of those fantastic hips and tush. I wasn't the only one admiring her strut. Every male eye in the place was fixed raptly on that poetry in motion, clad within the confines of a red and black print rayon dress with long, pointed sleeves, sweetheart neckline, and a tight skirt ending four inches above the knee. As before, the dress appeared sprayed-on and left nothing to the imagination. She was obviously braless and, as the boys say, 'her headlights were on'. On this day, she had opted for full-fashioned stockings with French heel, reinforced toe and full back seam, ending in black patent ankle-strap sandals with five inch heels. I just shook my head in amazement, watching her approach; hips undulating smoothly, breasts jiggling, head held high and a dazzling smile on her painted lips. Let the naysayers take their best shot at her personal sense of style; this woman "had it together".
We hugged, air-kissed, and settled into our chairs. While we waited for our lunch to be served, we sipped wine and got to know one another better. I had been inaccurate in my assessment of her on one point; she was an "Emmy"-award-winning makeup artist (two times); she had only been "nominated "for an Oscar. As I suspected, she was on the wrong side of forty, but only just. I complimented her on her youthful visage and sense of style, avowing she put me to shame. I commented I wanted to grow up to be just like her, causing her to beam proudly. " "
I filled her in on the details of my weekend with 'Angie' over Chianti and eggplant parmesan. I tried hard not to fixate on Faye's magnificent long, curving fingernails and the way they wrapped so enticingly around the stem of her wineglass. I had a sudden vision of Angie, with nails like that wrapped around a man's erect cock, which she was sucking enthusiastically. I shivered with excitement at that mental image. I noted Faye shifting in her chair, rubbing her thighs together, as I related the incident in the parking lot after we left her. She almost choked on a swallow of wine, followed by peals of laughter, when I mentioned the security camera.
"I know most of the guys in Security," she admitted. "You are absolutely right. By now, everyone will have at least seen it, if not made a copy of it. Talk about "Girls Gone Wild"!" "You will be lucky if it doesn't wind up on YouTube."
My face fell.
"I hadn't thought of that," I stated with a little trepidation. "That would be death for my career."
"Don't worry," Faye reassured me, squeezing my hand. "They're mostly good guys. If the recording sees the light of day at all, your face – and Angie's, if it is at all visible – will be digitally erased. Leave that to me; I will personally attend to it."
I knew I liked this woman!
Perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was the growing sense of closeness I felt with this stunning siren. I shared with her the most intimate details of my weekend. Upon arriving at home, Angie and I had rutted like minks. This was my first real taste of sex with what Suzi had referred to as a "special girl" – and I couldn't get enough! We made it in every room in the house, in positions I had never considered before. Faye enjoyed another moment of sexual tension as I described Saturday night, when I popped Angie's 'cherry' with an eight-inch strap-on.
"How did she… take it?" Faye inquired, her excitement apparent.
"All… the… way," I smirked.
I described how Angie had cum spontaneously as I fucked her, without any physical contact to her 'clit'. Words couldn't begin to describe the sense of empowerment I had felt, taking my lover as a woman is taken, bringing her to an orgasm, then scooping up her cum in my hand and feeding it to her. The slut had gobbled down every last drop greedily.
At this point, Faye's eyes were slightly glazed.
"Faye," I asked candidly, "how did you do it?"
"Do what?" she replied, genuinely puzzled.
"When I met you Saturday, I had only the vaguest idea what I wanted with my sissy. I didn't even have a name for his femme side. When I saw you through the store window, I suddenly knew I wanted her to be just like you. Talking to you here, now, only convinces me more."
"Thank you, Faye replied, deeply moved. "That is the nicest compliment you have paid me yet."
"When I introduced myself," I continued, "you had all the answers, seemingly before I even asked the questions. You came up with the perfect name for her – Angela – so effortlessly, as though you had been contemplating it all your life."
"I have," Faye remarked quietly. "Angela was my daughter's name."
""Was"?"
"Yes," Faye responded, her eyes glistening. "She was my little angel, my gift from God; one thing in my life I really got "right. "She died shortly before her first birthday. "SIDS". They told me she didn't suffer."
It was like a body blow. I snatched up her hands in mine, kissed them, then clutched them to my cheek.
"I am "so sorry"," I offered sincerely. "That had to have been devastating."
"It was," she sighed, "but that was a long time ago; more than sixteen years."
"My God," I uttered, shaken. "You were two years younger than I am now; about the same age as my Alan."
"Your husband is younger than you?" Faye inquired, intrigued.
I shrugged my shoulders a little bit.
"It's only a number," I replied. "In light of our evolving relationship, that knowledge gives me a subtle psychological edge."
"But both of you look so much younger," Faye commented, "Alan especially. He looks like a teenager."
I smiled coyly and winked.
"The miracles of modern Medicine," I confessed, fishing the clinic's business card out of my purse and offering it to her. "I can't imagine what you went through, losing Angela like that. My husband could; he lost his parents to a drunk driver when he was six and was raised by an aunt. I know I would be crushed if I ever lost Alan. How did you cope?"
I can't say I have ever gotten "over "it," the introspective blonde explained, "but I have gotten "past "it. As for having all the answers, no, I don't. I "do "have a lot of previous experience with feminine men; I told you that already."
"So you did."
The waiter unobtrusively removed our luncheon dishes. I ordered another carafe of Chianti, refreshing our glasses when it arrived. We were just getting warmed up.
"I love sex with masculine, well-muscled men," Faye confided. "I love cock. I love being taken, used like the slut I am. I'm just not particularly enthralled with what that cock is attached to after I'm done with it. If I could just, somehow, wave my magic wand and turn the guy into a pizza and six-pack…."
I had to laugh.
"I know exactly what you mean," I agreed. "I feel the same way; at least, I did before I met Alan."
"But he is not exactly an Adonis, now is he?" Faye countered.
"No," I chuckled, "he isn't – and "Vive l' difference"!"
"Amen," Faye confirmed, clinking glasses. "I "adore" sissies. Nothing gives me a bigger emotional lift than finding a really cute girly man and transforming him into the softest, sweetest, sexiest, femmiest sissy he can possibly be. I "ooze" over the really good ones. That is why I stay so closely involved with the Drag/Tranny scene. Sooner or later, I'll meet 'Missy Right'."
"I have," I replied, trying not to sound boastful, "and I am in sheer bliss. Sometimes, though, I wish I had…more."
Faye raised one eyebrow questioningly.
"More?"
"Yes," I confirmed, blushing a bit. My eyes dropped to admire Faye's lush, womanly curves.
"I told you," I murmured. "I would love 'Angie' to be just like you."
"A "slut"?" Fay teased, smiling coyly.
"Yes," I admitted guiltily. "What can I say? I am discovering I "adore" sluts!"
"No "wonder" we get along so well," Faye enthused.
"I have to ask," I began hesitantly. "If Angie was… I mean, more like you, doesn't that mean her… I mean, she wouldn't be able to…"
Faye took my hand in hers and gazed tenderly in my eyes.
"Not necessarily," she comforted. "As you pointed out, the miracles of modern Medicine are capable of exactly that; miracles. Realistically, yes; if you were to make Angie 'just like me', she "would "be soft, squishy… harmless down there. It's a question of what is important to you. I love my sissies soft and squishy; the femmier, the better. If Angie is as talented with her tongue "and "as responsive in her femmy pussy as you attest, then with the right toys, there is no limit to the pleasure you two can enjoy. If you decide, later on, you need something more from time to time, remember; attractive women like us can get cock anywhere."
"I won't cheat on my husband," I avowed tersely, shuddering. "My mother did that. She succumbed to the charms of some smooth-talking little shit who convinced her she was 'better than all that'. Dad caught them one day; in my parents' marital bed. It almost destroyed our family. For all that, her lover dropped her flat; never called her again. In the end, my parents stayed together, but it was only for us kids. "They" were never the same. I can't remember a time when I saw my father even "touch" my mother."
My companion squeezed my hand tenderly.
"I am not advocating you "cheat"," Faye explained softly. "That is as repugnant to me as it is to you. It isn't 'cheating' if you "share." That is what a loving, caring relationship is all about; sharing your hopes, dreams and desires freely. You have needs; your partner has needs. If the two of you can be open and honest with each other, holding nothing back, the fulfillment of those needs should be a joy for you both."
This sexy talk was going right to my pussy. It was my turn to rub my thighs together.
"I still can't get over how good Angie looked on Saturday," I mused.
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Keywords: No, Ch., You, Can, Always, Say, 03,