Andy's POV
Her words hung in the air like a spark:
"Fuck me."
I froze.
Just for a second—but it was enough. My breath caught in my throat, the heat between us stalling under the weight of something cold and familiar.
That phrase—those exact words—ripped open a memory I hadn't expected to face tonight. Amaya. My first real love. High school. Her whisper was almost identical, but the moment that followed had broken something in me. I'd pulled away. She thought I was rejecting her. Maybe I was. But more than anything, I was rejecting myself.
I couldn't give her what she wanted. Not the way she wanted it.
She walked out angry. Hurt. Confused.
And I never got the chance to explain. That I looked like a man on the outside, but wasn't one where it counted—for most people, anyway. I had no dick. Just skin. Just scars. Just confusion I had to carry in silence.
But tonight was different.
Kimberly knew. She knew, and still, she was here. Wanting me. Asking for me.
Her body beneath mine was like a living flame—soft, open, and trembling with need. But it wasn't just lust in her eyes . It was trust. It was truth.
I looked down at her, the way her chest rose and fell, the way her thighs shifted, inviting, already glistening with want. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel shame. I felt power. Desire. Permission.
I had no dick.
Just a vagina, like other women. Like the body I was born with, no matter how much I've shaped it to look the way I feel inside. I wasn't the man they expected when they said "fuck me." I knew that. I'd known it all my life.
But somehow, tonight… Kimberly made me forget that shame.
She already knew. She wasn't here for a fantasy. She was here for me.
And when she whispered "Don't stop, babe," it didn't sound like a demand—it sounded like trust. Like permission. Like she wanted me, as I was, not as someone I was pretending to be.
I moved down between her thighs, my chest tight with emotion, my body burning with hunger. Her scent, her warmth, the way she opened up for me—it all pulled me in deeper.
I kissed her softly at first. Then deeper. My tongue slid over her clit, gentle and teasing. Her moans were soft at first, then fuller, rawer, like she was letting go.
I gripped her thighs and went slow, savoring her taste, her reactions, the way she writhed and gasped every time I flicked my tongue just right. Her fingers threaded into my hair, holding me there, her body trembling under the weight of her need.
I moaned into her, letting her feel the vibration, letting her know how badly I wanted her to fall apart under me.
And god, she was beautiful like this—eyes half-closed, lips parted, back arching. Her whole body was a prayer I was willing to answer.
I may not have a dick, I thought, but I have everything I need to love her right.
Her breath hitched.
"Andy—" she whispered, her voice high and shaky, like she was close. "Don't stop. I'm gonna…"
I didn't stop. I went harder, faster, holding her still, my tongue focused on her clit now, circling, licking, worshipping. Her thighs clenched around my head, her whole body tightening.
And then she cried out—a sharp, beautiful sound—as she came.
Her orgasm rolled through her, shaking her, breaking her open in the most perfect way.
I didn't stop right away. I kissed her through it, gentle now, soft licks as she trembled and gasped, riding the waves of pleasure I was honored to give her.
When I finally looked up, her eyes were glassy, lips parted, her chest rising and falling fast.
I crawled up beside her and brushed the hair from her face, unsure of what she'd say. Unsure if that look in her eyes was joy… or something else.
But then she smiled. And pulled me into her arms.
And just like that, I knew—I was enough.
She pulled me into her arms, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself melt into someone's embrace. No pretending. No bracing for rejection. Just… breathing.
Her skin was still warm, her body soft against mine, her heartbeat slowly returning to normal under my cheek.
For a moment, we just laid there, tangled together in silence, nothing but the sound of our breathing filling the room. The soft light of the lamp painted her face in gold, and when I looked up at her, she was already looking at me.
No judgment.
No confusion.
Just warmth.
"You okay?" she asked softly, brushing her fingers through my hair.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. "Yeah… yeah, I think I am."
She smiled and leaned forward to kiss me—slow, lingering, full of something deeper than lust. "You were amazing," she whispered against my lips.
My chest tightened. "Even though…"
"Even because," she cut in gently, her hand resting over my heart. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Andy. I knew who you were when I walked in. I still chose you. And I'd choose you again."
God, those words.
They hit deeper than anything else tonight. Deeper than the kisses, the moans, the heat. Deeper than her body beneath mine. Because that—being chosen, seen, accepted—was something I had never been sure I'd find.
I blinked quickly, trying to stop the tears from forming. "You have no idea how much that means."
She smiled, pulling the blanket over us as she snuggled closer. "I think I do."
I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, letting her warmth soak into every part of me I used to hide. Maybe I wasn't a man by definition. Maybe I never would be, at least not in the way people expect. But tonight, with her, I felt like someone—not broken, not pretending. Just real. Loved.
"I like this," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"What?" she murmured sleepily.
"This. Us. Like this. No masks."
She nodded against my chest. "Me too."
And in the quiet safety of that room, with the weight of the world outside and her heartbeat against mine, I finally let go.
Andy's POV
Lying there, her head on my chest and her fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns across my skin, I realized something had shifted. Not just between us—but inside me.
This wasn't just sex. It wasn't even just about love. It was about truth. About being seen and not shrinking. About touching someone and not hiding what your hands are made of.
I'd spent so much of my life fearing that if someone got too close, they'd see the parts of me I was taught to be ashamed of—and walk away. But Kimberly didn't flinch. She didn't hesitate. She didn't try to change me.
She chose me as is.
And that… that changed everything.
For the first time, I didn't feel like I had to earn love by performing some version of masculinity I couldn't sustain. I could just be. And that was enough.
I looked down at her, her lashes fluttering as she drifted somewhere between sleep and softness, her mouth curled into a faint smile. She looked at peace.
"Kim," I whispered.
She stirred, eyes barely opening. "Hmm?"
"I don't think I've ever let someone see me like this before. Not really."
She lifted her head slightly, meeting my gaze. "I'm honored."
My throat tightened. "Do you think this changes things… between us?"
She reached up and gently cupped my face. "Of course it does," she said. "But not in a bad way. You let me in tonight. And I let you in too. That's not something you just forget."
I nodded, blinking past the tears I wasn't expecting.
She snuggled closer again. "This isn't just a one-night thing, Andy. At least not for me."
It wasn't for me either. And I think we both knew that.
---
Kimberly's POV
I lay in his arms, still feeling the echo of his touch between my thighs, but it wasn't the sex that lingered—it was the vulnerability. The way he looked at me like I could break him. The way I let him in even though I wasn't sure what to expect.
I didn't think I'd be falling for someone like him. And yet here I was—seen, held, and still wanting more.
Tonight didn't just feel like heat or lust. It felt like the beginning of something real.
Something worth holding onto.