LauraTVMaid
12-27-2007, 04:22 AM
I'm always weary of chat room hookups. For one, I don't "chat" much, and two, I'm still rather closeted when it comes to my fascination with women's clothing and playing the woman's role in sex. I don't share that often. I try to mask it as best I can, but the urges are tremendous at times. I go to chat probably twice a year. So when I do, I try to make it count.
I found myself surfing one night back in December. It was cold out, not much to do, so I figured I would give into my urges to dress up in girls clothes and talk on the internet. It's always a rush to "shop" your fem booty around to local guys looking to get laid. It's also so pleasant to shave your legs and underarms in the winter, slip into hose and panties and a bra, doll your face up, and sit around chatting with would-be suitors. I'm relegated to gay sites, and I wish there was a network strong enough to support tranny chatters and hookups exclusively, but I don't know of one. (If you do, please let me know!) A lot of gay guys however are turned off by girly boys, so surfing is a little more scarce. The waves can be lame. Sometimes I don't reveal that I'm into being treated like a girl until later in the conversation, so that maybe I can seduce them with my typing charm before they get turned off by a boy in panties and make-up.
I looked tirelessly through the guys, one by one. I ignore advances from guys that are really into themselves, because they waste time. I look for guys who like to impress whomever they are talking to. You know, guys who act like they are interested in you, and most importantly, are interested in digging around in your back side. When you like to be the girl, you enjoy pursuit, but it’s got to be in a manner that is not psychotic. Remember, it is often the tranny who feels psychotic, with my painted face and shaved body, decked out in satin and lace, pantyhose and a dress, the last thing I need is for someone to scare me. I’m a nervous little bitch as it is! Part of the excitement is that feeling of potential domination. The feeling that you could excite a man to full erection, have him fuck you silly, and let him release all over you, all because of you and your sweet back pussy.
I had been on for several hours surfing when a guy popped up to chat. His name was “Harry & Company”. Harry described himself as 6 feet 3 inches, 190 pounds, 35 years old, brown eyes and hair, and you guessed it, very hairy.
“How are you, Ashley?” said Harry.
“Fine, thanks” I said, “just a little bored.”
“Why so bored?” asked Harry.
I had been drinking while typing and fantasizing so I was a little loose at the lip with him,
“Because I’ve been on here for what seems like all night and no one wants to fuck!” I typed. I didn’t even know if I wanted to fuck at the time, but wanted to feel him out.
“I might want to fuck, sweetie,” said Harry. “What are your stats?” asked Harry.
I thought it would be funny to give girl measurements so I spouted back, “36-26-36, but the first 36 is fake!”
“I see,” said Harry, “little girl is feeling all alone, huh?”
“You bet,” I replied, “ I need a man to settle me down, because everything between my legs is going crazy right now.”
That wasn’t just a line. When I’m in full makeup and girls clothes, I am a hormonal freak show. I am so fucking aroused. I feel so much more vulnerable to sex, but in a good way. I love to feel like a slut. I love to spread my legs and rub on my crotch and asshole.
“What are you wearing?” said Harry.
“Black satin panties and bra, black hose, a black dress and makeup” I said.
Harry didn’t reply right away. I thought I had turned him off.
“Harry?” I asked. “Harry?”
No reply for a few minutes, then finally an answer.
“You just got me hard, you little slut!” typed Harry. I felt my pulse increase.
“You just got my dick rock hard, you little bitch. Why’d you go and do that?” typed Harry. My heart was racing. I could barely type the response,
“Because I want to fuck and suck your cock until it rains cum all over my rosy red cheeks” I typed, all the while rubbing my satin crotch with my free hand.
“Do you like girls, too?” Harry asked.
“Of course I do, I love them. I love being around them. I love their bodies, their smell, their hair. I wish I had a body like a girl. I wish my life was like a girls. I want to be a girl,” I said.
“Call me right now,” Harry said, and gave me his phone number online. I was trembling. A lot of times I talk a mean game when it comes to being with men, but I chicken out sometimes as well. If I don’t feel right about the guy, then I start to feel nervous. I didn’t call right away and I got another message from Harry on the chat board.
“Call me right fucking now, you sweet little bitch,” said Harry.
I took Harry’s number and called right away. I was nervous about what could transpire in the near future, I also knew that when a man snaps at you like Harry did on the message board, calling me a sweet bitch, then it makes you kind of subservient and quick to dial.
I made another martini and called Harry. (By the way, when you get off so hard on dressing up and acting like a girl, then even seeing your lipstick on a martini glass gets you horny)
“Hello,” said Harry, “Is this my sweet bitch?”
“Hi, how are you?” I said, in my best girl voice, which is essentially just a really gay man sound.
“It is my sweet bitch,” said Harry, panting over the phone so I could hear him.
“Yes, it’s your bitch,” I said, “are you my stud?”
“Oh, I’m your stud, alright, “said Harry, “I’m the stud that’ll make you feel like the sweet little thing you wished you were,” he said.
I had a lump in my throat. I wanted to replace that lump with Harry’s cock.
“My wife and I would like to see you, sweet bitch,” Harry said, “we want to play with your body. I think you should come over right now,” said Harry, breathing heavy all the while. I think you should come over and get dicked, you little slut,” said Harry. I could feel my heart pumping fiercely, right through my bra, making my fake tits pump with every breath.
“Where do you live?” I gasped, by now totally encapsulated by this chance encounter that I might be so lucky to be a part of.
Harry lived about 5 miles from my house. We made plans to come over and Harry started quizzing me about how I liked it.
“How do you want me to be waiting for you, bitch?” asked Harry, “Do you want me clothed or nude? Do you want me to leave the door open so you can let yourself into our bedroom, or do you want me to meet you at the door, like a true little bitch girl?” said Harry. Of course, I chose the true little bitch girl option.
I found myself surfing one night back in December. It was cold out, not much to do, so I figured I would give into my urges to dress up in girls clothes and talk on the internet. It's always a rush to "shop" your fem booty around to local guys looking to get laid. It's also so pleasant to shave your legs and underarms in the winter, slip into hose and panties and a bra, doll your face up, and sit around chatting with would-be suitors. I'm relegated to gay sites, and I wish there was a network strong enough to support tranny chatters and hookups exclusively, but I don't know of one. (If you do, please let me know!) A lot of gay guys however are turned off by girly boys, so surfing is a little more scarce. The waves can be lame. Sometimes I don't reveal that I'm into being treated like a girl until later in the conversation, so that maybe I can seduce them with my typing charm before they get turned off by a boy in panties and make-up.
I looked tirelessly through the guys, one by one. I ignore advances from guys that are really into themselves, because they waste time. I look for guys who like to impress whomever they are talking to. You know, guys who act like they are interested in you, and most importantly, are interested in digging around in your back side. When you like to be the girl, you enjoy pursuit, but it’s got to be in a manner that is not psychotic. Remember, it is often the tranny who feels psychotic, with my painted face and shaved body, decked out in satin and lace, pantyhose and a dress, the last thing I need is for someone to scare me. I’m a nervous little bitch as it is! Part of the excitement is that feeling of potential domination. The feeling that you could excite a man to full erection, have him fuck you silly, and let him release all over you, all because of you and your sweet back pussy.
I had been on for several hours surfing when a guy popped up to chat. His name was “Harry & Company”. Harry described himself as 6 feet 3 inches, 190 pounds, 35 years old, brown eyes and hair, and you guessed it, very hairy.
“How are you, Ashley?” said Harry.
“Fine, thanks” I said, “just a little bored.”
“Why so bored?” asked Harry.
I had been drinking while typing and fantasizing so I was a little loose at the lip with him,
“Because I’ve been on here for what seems like all night and no one wants to fuck!” I typed. I didn’t even know if I wanted to fuck at the time, but wanted to feel him out.
“I might want to fuck, sweetie,” said Harry. “What are your stats?” asked Harry.
I thought it would be funny to give girl measurements so I spouted back, “36-26-36, but the first 36 is fake!”
“I see,” said Harry, “little girl is feeling all alone, huh?”
“You bet,” I replied, “ I need a man to settle me down, because everything between my legs is going crazy right now.”
That wasn’t just a line. When I’m in full makeup and girls clothes, I am a hormonal freak show. I am so fucking aroused. I feel so much more vulnerable to sex, but in a good way. I love to feel like a slut. I love to spread my legs and rub on my crotch and asshole.
“What are you wearing?” said Harry.
“Black satin panties and bra, black hose, a black dress and makeup” I said.
Harry didn’t reply right away. I thought I had turned him off.
“Harry?” I asked. “Harry?”
No reply for a few minutes, then finally an answer.
“You just got me hard, you little slut!” typed Harry. I felt my pulse increase.
“You just got my dick rock hard, you little bitch. Why’d you go and do that?” typed Harry. My heart was racing. I could barely type the response,
“Because I want to fuck and suck your cock until it rains cum all over my rosy red cheeks” I typed, all the while rubbing my satin crotch with my free hand.
“Do you like girls, too?” Harry asked.
“Of course I do, I love them. I love being around them. I love their bodies, their smell, their hair. I wish I had a body like a girl. I wish my life was like a girls. I want to be a girl,” I said.
“Call me right now,” Harry said, and gave me his phone number online. I was trembling. A lot of times I talk a mean game when it comes to being with men, but I chicken out sometimes as well. If I don’t feel right about the guy, then I start to feel nervous. I didn’t call right away and I got another message from Harry on the chat board.
“Call me right fucking now, you sweet little bitch,” said Harry.
I took Harry’s number and called right away. I was nervous about what could transpire in the near future, I also knew that when a man snaps at you like Harry did on the message board, calling me a sweet bitch, then it makes you kind of subservient and quick to dial.
I made another martini and called Harry. (By the way, when you get off so hard on dressing up and acting like a girl, then even seeing your lipstick on a martini glass gets you horny)
“Hello,” said Harry, “Is this my sweet bitch?”
“Hi, how are you?” I said, in my best girl voice, which is essentially just a really gay man sound.
“It is my sweet bitch,” said Harry, panting over the phone so I could hear him.
“Yes, it’s your bitch,” I said, “are you my stud?”
“Oh, I’m your stud, alright, “said Harry, “I’m the stud that’ll make you feel like the sweet little thing you wished you were,” he said.
I had a lump in my throat. I wanted to replace that lump with Harry’s cock.
“My wife and I would like to see you, sweet bitch,” Harry said, “we want to play with your body. I think you should come over right now,” said Harry, breathing heavy all the while. I think you should come over and get dicked, you little slut,” said Harry. I could feel my heart pumping fiercely, right through my bra, making my fake tits pump with every breath.
“Where do you live?” I gasped, by now totally encapsulated by this chance encounter that I might be so lucky to be a part of.
Harry lived about 5 miles from my house. We made plans to come over and Harry started quizzing me about how I liked it.
“How do you want me to be waiting for you, bitch?” asked Harry, “Do you want me clothed or nude? Do you want me to leave the door open so you can let yourself into our bedroom, or do you want me to meet you at the door, like a true little bitch girl?” said Harry. Of course, I chose the true little bitch girl option.