The Wall

My name is Evelyn. A rather apt name might I say because Evelyn is one of those bi-gender names that can be either male or female. I am not sure that the term bi-gender exists, but I have made it so. My mother had a love affair with the writing of Evelyn Waugh before I was born, a male writer, and decided that I would share his name. In retrospect, she was rather astute, because I am quite effeminate. Standing five-foot-six-inches-tall and weighing one hundred and ten pounds, I usually bought my clothing from lady’s stores, because I just couldn’t stand being shown to the fuckin’ kiddies’ department, due to my size. I did not dress as a woman per se, well at least not outdoors, but in my home, I loved being a girl.

When friends and I got together we adored showing off our latest ensembles. I had never considered a transgender operation because that was simply too hectic for me. I was very happy with my penis and would simply hate it getting removed from my body. In the workplace, nevertheless, I always toned things down as much as possible. After work, well that’s was a whole different story and I never wore make-up to the office. It often crossed my mind that maybe I should show the girls at the company how makeup could get properly applied.

Fortunately, I only worked half days and being extremely gifted mathematically, I was allowed to do so by my employers. What I did in an hour at the office, took the morons at work, two days to complete.

At one p.m. each day, I was, therefore, able to escape to my fabulous home. The apartment I owned was a tribute to great taste. It was simply stunning! After lunch each afternoon my metamorphosis began, and within an hour I looked gorgeous. I loved my life and wouldn’t have it any other way. I have to admit that my sex-life was not exactly exemplary, but from time to time I did have the odd encounter. Inhabiting my own space, however, and on my own terms, made up for the lack of sexual activity. Being beholden to some domineering idiot simply didn’t enthuse me.

Well enough about me, now let’s get on with my story:

Across the road from my apartment, a new building was getting constructed. After a few months, the edifice was finally complete, and all that was left to do was the erection of the wall in front of the complex. On my way home on the first day after the wall was getting built, I observed two bricklayers eating during their lunch break. One was tall and lanky and the other, short and squat. As I passed by them, they made lewd comments about me.

Being well seasoned in that department, I normally allowed that sort of shit to go over my head. For some or other reason, however, they annoyed me and halfway across the road to my apartment, I turned back to confront them.

Walking back to where they were sitting, I uttered, “If your cocks are as big as your mouths, you can come to my apartment across the road and show me what you are made of. Oh, and just in case you have the guts to do so, my unit is number twenty-one.”

Swishing around, I minced across the road and triumphantly entered my apartment block.

I saw neither hide, nor hair of them, that afternoon. It was a silly retort quite honestly, but they seriously got up my nose. As I passed them the following day their heckling was a little less irritating. A short while later, as I was preparing my salad for lunch there was a knock at my door. Upon opening the door, ‘Tall & Lanky’ stood in my doorway. I was somewhat taken aback but asked what I could do for him.

Smiling, he told me that he had come to show me what he was made of. Aghast, I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” he replied.

Duane, (the oaf’s name, as I would later learn), was rather good-looking. He was a scruffy blue-collar individual, but handsome in a rough way. After he closed my front door behind him he moved toward me.

When I began slinking backward, he asked, “So where’s the bedroom, pretty-boy?”

Still speechless and completely gob-smacked, I pointed toward my room.

Taking me by my arm he unceremoniously frogmarched me in that direction and closed the door as we entered. He then removed his trainers and socks, before unbuttoning his overall. Once his overall got removed, he kicked the garment to the side, before finally removing his underpants.

Duane had a very good physique and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He had scant body hair with a light dusting of fuzz on his chest, and his garden path led to a fairly bushy genital region. This guy was not into trimming! He was, however, into tattoos and had a very impressive array of these all over his body. He also had nothing to cry about in the cock department. His dick was long and had an extremely pronounced right curve. As I stood like a deer caught in the headlights, he approached me.

After grabbing me, he pushed my head down on the edge of the bed with my right ear on the duvet. With my head caught in the vice-like clamp of his hands, his stiffening cock was shoved towards my mouth. When his knob began its invasion it was rock-hard, as he commenced prodding it further and further into my mouth, before the head of his knob started conquering my throat.

His actions weren’t manic, just firm. The curve of his cock worked wonderfully and soon he was balls-deep down my throat. Leisurely, he began pushing his dick, to and fro as my mouth and throat adjusted to his entry. Then, pulling his knob out he told me to take a deep breath, before reinserting his cock all the way again. Duane began counting as he firmly held my head. After getting to ten he could sense my need for fresh air. He then pulled his dick out and allowed me fresh air. Shortly, he began his next incursion.

“Let’s go for fifteen,” I heard him say before the counting again began. At fifteen he repeated his former ritual. The next benchmark now got set at twenty. Then twenty-five followed, after which thirty was demanded.

Realizing that thirty was my limit, he did not press me any further. After a further two thirties, he pulled my body up and with me seated on the edge of the bed pulled my blouse off. My top was then brusquely tossed to the side. Lifting and hurling me onto the bed, he then pulled my stockings and shoes off, before removing my slacks and panties. Next, after climbing on the bed he pushed me onto my right side, before lifting my left leg and wedging my right thigh between his knees. After gobbing on his right thumb he swiftly stuck it into my hole. Next, he commenced prodding and turning his thumb

“Now I’m going to show you what I’m made of, pretty-boy!” Duane lustfully growled.  

After Duane removed his thumb, he clasped his ample foreskin between his thumb and first finger, before inserting it into my hole. With the flap of his foreskin lodged in my hole, he created a sleeve for his dick to comfortably begin sliding into me. His entry wasn’t manic, but firm. After he had impaled me completely, I began to whimper like a bitch in heat. Duane now got into full stride as his hips commenced their grinding.

I had never seen a man move his hips like Duane. It was like watching a Salsa dance champion in full cry. His hips swayed as he milled his cock into me. The level of pleasure he was giving me was beyond anything I had ever experienced before.

As he ‘danced,’ he began mumbling, “Yeah, baby, so… Am I man enough for you?”

I also started intoning, “Yes, and fuck-me,” in harmony with him.

After a time, he turned me onto my left side and began a prostate massage of epic proportions. The curve of his dick was heaven sent.

The Salsa King’s prodding became more pronounced as he swayed in a dance of lust. With our horny utterances in full cry, I could no longer hold back. Without ever touching my cock, my dick began spewing cum feverishly. Capturing most of my sperm in his right hand, he then leaned forward and smeared it on my lips and into my mouth.

With his climax also fast approaching, I begged him to cum in my mouth. After pushing me flat on my back, he scurried up my body on his knees and erupted into my mouth. I swallowed like crazy as a waterfall of spunk flowed out of him.

Afterward, I contentedly suck on his knob, and also retracted his foreskin to search for any seed I may have missed.

Afraid of being late for work, he dressed quickly afterward. Before leaving he embraced me at the door and kissed me tenderly.

After our smooch, he exited instructed me to be naked and ready for him, the following day.

When he departed, I was in a trans-like state. All my former fantasies had just got flushed down the toilet. I hoped like hell that he would be back the following day, and began praying that the wall would take forever to complete.

Duane did visit the following day, and for the further week that the wall took to finish. Fortunately, I never had a scene with his squat and ugly partner who, thankfully, was averse to man-love. Goodness knows what ‘Squat’ made of his Duane’s lunchtime visits to my home.

Truthfully, I didn’t give a shit!

Long after the conclusion of the job, Duane continued popping in on Saturday mornings when his wife did her shopping. I was always very happy to oblige.