The talk

You know, when I started my transition, I swore up and down I was still into girls, and it wasn’t going to change. Then I met Max, and suddenly I found my inner flirt.

For example, I know that the boy has a serious foot fetish, and so yesterday went out and get a super pedicure, and then wore the highest heels of my life, with thigh high stockings thrown in for good measure.

I sat down on the couch, bend over to loosen up the straps on the heels, giving him a good glimpse at my developing cleavage at the same time. I complained about the shoes, and next thing I know he is offering a foot massage.

He’s got the kind of eyes a girl could get lost in, and I said yes without even thinking about it. Up go my legs, dam he is strong.

Oh, my, that felt nice. All my tension melted away in seconds. He could do this for money, no problem.

Then I realized he was kissing my toes. Now that was a new feeling. I was drifting on a sea of pleasure.

Next I had a realization; "Uh oh. He is headed upward toward uncharted territory, and my pleasure box is still shaped like a boy’s. Got to stop him, but I am a puddle. Think, girl, think!"

“Max” I manage. “Wait. I have to tell you . . . I . . . I was born a boy, I am not yet a full girl.”

There was silence.

I thought, "He’s got to be hurt. He is going to hate me, hurt me. Worse, he's stopped kissing me."

“Say something, please.” I beg. I tried to move, to read his expression.

He pulled up, looked me in the eyes.

“Are you having a blond moment?” He asked. “You told me weeks ago.”

“Oh”

“Carry on then.”

And boy, did he ever.