Insert Title Here, A Romance
This isn’t TG Fiction, but it is a romance of sorts. I wrote this a few months ago after a very erotic dream, so I share it here with all of you.
Her hands danced over me as she moved to get a better angle of attack. I loved those hands. Sometimes hard and firm, demanding, authoritative, impossible to resist, and sometimes they were gentle, caressing, floating over me like a sensual hovercraft. She had a talent for guiding me where she needed me to be.
She rarely messed up, but there were some times when something happened and she lost me for a bit. But she always found her way back, touching and stroking.
Her demands were my order. She suggested by the slightest pressure HERE that I needed to move, and I responded as fast as I could. She was a master of control.
She never moved me simply to waste energy. There was always a purpose. It might be a purpose unknown to me, one that I couldn’t divine, but when her plans were revealed it was always a master stroke and I surged with joy when I became her instrument.
Oh, I was in love with her.
I couldn’t wait until she paid attention to me. Even when we weren’t sweating and cursing, putting forth energy and effort, panting and moaning I still loved her touches. There were times when she would hold me, cradle me in her arms, use that oil I loved so much, warmed to just the right temperature, and she would massage it into me. I could feel her love when she did that.
I craved her attention. It didn’t matter if she was using me to practice on, or if she was using me to actually gain a goal she had in mind, but her touch burned in my body like very few thing I could name.
I was shattered the day it all ended.
Inconsolable. Desolate. Broken past all repair. I couldn’t understand what happened. One moment, the thrills were going joyously up and down my shaft like normal, the next, darkness. I knew there was something wrong when I heard the first creaking of a sound, the first hint of more to come.
I prayed that the sound meant it wouldn’t end, and I worked hard to keep myself together enough to serve her once more.
But in the end, it was too much. One too many strikes in the wrong place, and I was torn up.
To be so fair to her, she knew the instant I broke that something was really wrong. She had counted on me to tell her and to make sure that I didn’t give under any but the most extreme pressure, but in the end, I failed her.
Lying on the ground, pieces of my heart scattered about, I knew the abject humiliation of failing to protect her, and failing to let her know when I was near my end. All that was left was to get the broom and sweep my splinters up, and toss me in the bin.
I prayed that her next bo would be as strong as I was and would love her as much as I did. I prayed that in my final collapse, I didn’t leave any shard of myself behind to injure her further. She didn’t deserve that. Her opponent had already given her a concussion by accident because of my failure.
If a staff could weep, I was surely crying now. I wish I still had sap to excrete like I used to. But I had a good life.
Just to give it away in case you don’t know what I’m talking about, a bo staff is a karate weapon used in a fight. It is that Bo talking in this story.
Mini-Biography: Joy is a transvestite who has been using her stories as a form of therapy. At this point she has no desire to undergo the full transition, but that might change some day. Read more about her story at My Story on this site. 
