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 actually exists, but I have made it so. My mother had a love affair with the writing of Evelyn Waugh when 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 tall and weighing one hundred and ten pounds, I usually buy my clothing from ladies stores, because I just cannot stand being shown to the fucking kiddies department, due my size. I do not dress as a woman per se, well at least not outdoors, but in my home, I love being a girl.

When friends and I get together we love showing off our latest ensembles. I have never considered a transgender operation because that’s simply too hectic for me. I am very happy with my penis and would simply hate it being removed from my body. In the workplace, nevertheless, I always tone it down as much as possible. After work, well that’s a whole different story. I do not wear make-up to the office. Maybe I should show the girls at the company how it should be applied properly. Fortunately, I only work half days and being extremely gifted mathematically, I am allowed to do so by my employers. What I do in an hour at the office, takes the morons at work two days to complete.

At one p.m. each day, I am therefore able to escape to my fabulous home. The apartment I own is a tribute to great taste. It is simply stunning! After lunch each afternoon my metamorphosis begins and within an hour I am totally gorgeous. I just love my life and wouldn’t have it any other way. I have to admit that my sex-life is not exactly exemplary, but from time to time I do have the odd encounter. Inhabiting my own space, however, on my own terms, makes up for the lack of sexual activity. Being beholden to some domineering idiot simply doesn’t excite me.

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

Across the road from my apartment, a new building was being constructed. After a few months, the edifice was finally complete, and all that was left to be done was the erection of the wall in front of the complex. On my way home on the first day the wall was being 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 they made lewd comments about me.

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

Walking up 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… it’s unit 21.”

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

Naturally, I saw neither hide nor hair of them that afternoon. It was a silly retort quite honestly, but they really 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 it, 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?” was his reply.

Duane, (the oaf’s name, as I would later learn), was actually quite 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 backwards, he asked, “So where’s the bedroom, pretty-boy?”

Still speechless and totally 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 removed the socks and trainers before unbuttoning his overall. Once his overall was 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. 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 oral invasion it was rock-hard and 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 setting the next benchmark at twenty. Then twenty-five followed, after which thirty was demanded.

Realising 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, 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, and commenced prodding and turning his thumb

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

When 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 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.

I had never seen a man move his hips like this. It was like watching a Salsa dance champion in full cry. His hips swayed as he ground his cock into me. The level of pleasure he was giving me was beyond anything I had ever experienced before. As he danced he mumbled, “Yeah, baby, so… am I man enough for you?”

I also started uttering my own, ‘yes, and fuck-me’s,’ 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 lent forward and smeared it on my lips and into my mouth.

With his own climax fast approaching, I begged him to cum in my mouth. 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, also retracting his foreskin to search for any seed I may have missed.

Almost late for work, he dressed quickly afterward. Before leaving he embraced me at the door and kissed me tenderly. As he exited he told me to be naked and ready for him the following day.

After he left I was in an almost trans-like state. All my former fantasies had just been 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 partner who was apparently not into man-love. Goodness knows what he made of his Duane’s lunchtime visits to my home. Truthfully, I didn’t give a shit!

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


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