Preachers Daughter Chapter 19 Preacher and Preach
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Finding Each Other free porn video
Finding Each Other
By Cassandra Morgan
It was a 20-minute drive from my apartment to the Rainbow Room. Still, it
felt as if it had taken all of my life to get there.
I pulled into the corner of the parking lot, and the neon lights were
bold in their pink-and-light blue letters. Even at a distance, the sound
of music pulsated. The whole scene seemed to beckon me. Still, I sat in
my car and looked on.
Looking over the steering wheel, I could see the maroon colors on my
fingernails. I exited slowly, but first I adjusted my rear view mirror to
check my makeup for, oh, the 50th time or so. The bangs from my wig
spilled over my forehead. My eyeliner was holding, but I needed work on
my lipstick.
This is it, I thought. This was my moment, the moment I had anticipated
for most of my life. I watched as other people -- some couples, some
loners -- entered the bar.
Finally, I summoned the courage, and I stepped out of my car. My senses
were alive. I could smell my perfume. I could feel the hem of my dress
tickle my thighs. I could see the blue heels below my dress. I felt my
bra, and the restrictions of the straps. I was acutely aware of what I
was wearing -- a blue sundress with a swirling pattern, a brunette wig,
dancing earrings. Toto, I wasn't in Kansas anymore.
Just one drink, I thought. I'd have just one drink, and then I'd go home,
and I'd congratulate myself on my courage. I'd keep to myself. I wouldn't
exchange in smalltalk. I'd just have my daiquiri and I would leave. Hell,
I wasn't here to find a husband, was I? I giggled nervously.
This was the first time I had been out dressed. Oh, I had done it it a
thousand times at home. I had even had a boyfriend for a time. But to
walk into a strange bar in a dress takes a unique brand of courage. To
hear those heels clack on the pavement, and to know they were leading me
somewhere, was exhilarating. Coming out they call it, and it felt that
way. I was unleashed.
I dug into my purse to come up with the $20 they were charging as a cover
fee. The bouncer smiled at me. "Welcome to the Rainbow Room," he said.
"You'll feel at home here."
I grinned at his promise, but I suspected I wore the look of a hunted
rabbit. Did I look like a man in a dress? Could you tell I was a freak?
Was I more than just another queer in the parade? My hand was shaking. My
mouth was dry. There was a throbbing in my head.
I entered the room and it looked ... like a bar. There were men and women
chatting, drinking, dancing. If you looked closer, some of the women
looked a little larger than you might expect, a little rougher. Some
passed better than others. But this was my kind of place, a transgender
bar where all judgment was left at the door. The point wasn't to be with
someone. It was merely to be.
I moved across the room, squeezing past this man and that woman and that
... whatever. I slid onto a stool at the bar. I got the bartender's
attention, and I ordered. I braved for a judgment that never came.
"Welcome, pretty lady," he said, graciously. He placed the drink in front
of me. "Have you been here before?"
I shook my head. "I've never been anywhere before," I said quietly.
"Then this one is on the house," he said. "I'm Gregory. I'm in charge
around here."
"Nice to meet you, Greg," I said.
"Gregory, please," he said. "Gregory. You'll find this to be a friendly
place. Our girls are mostly regulars. Our guys, too. We don't care what
you do or who you are or who you take home. We're all friends here."
I smiled. "Sounds like a place I need," I said.
"Pretty girl like you? You'll get along great," he said. "If anyone fucks
with you, you let me know."
"My hero," I said.
"Nah," he said. "But I happen to know Scott, the bouncer. He'll be your
hero. He's a hero of all the girls."
"Captain America?"
"Batman."
I giggled. I turned in my seat. Across the way, there was a pool table
where two women -- trans? -- where shooting eight-ball. There was a small
dance floor where two guys were kissing. I sipped my drink. It was good.
"How long has the Rainbow Room been open?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Twelve, thirteen years," he said. "The puritans want to
close us down, but they'd have to get their elders off the dance floor
first. No one likes trans girls as much as the Rotarians."
I grinned. Gregory was called to the opposite side of the bar. I sat
alone, watching the crowd A tall black woman. A pudgy red-head. Two
brunettes. Were they all like me? Were they all here to embrace a
lifestyle that had teased them and beckoned their entire lives?
I looked at the men. There was a very, very tall man. A basketball
player? There was a black sailor. There was a man with gray hair at his
temples. Someone's daddy complex, I thought.
God ,why had I been so reluctant to come here? It was perfect. It was
home.
I crossed my leg, and I felt my hose on my right leg rub across my left.
This was how a bar was supposed to feel, made of heavy oak with tables
that had enough space to them. The music was loud, and festive.
A young man -- younger than me -- slid onto the stool next to me.
"You're the prettiest girl here," he said.
"That's not true, but as pickup lines go, it isn't bad," I laughed.
"No, I mean it. I'm Benny," he said.
"I'm Da... Daisy," I said.
"Hello, Daisy," Benny said. "Good song."
"Yes. I like Clapton," I said. "We used to be a thing. He used to call me
Layla."
"Lucky Eric," he said. "But I could believe it. Can I buy you a drink?"
"Are you old enough to buy drinks?" I said.
"Ouch," he said.
"It's okay," I said. "I like Junior Achievement."
He grinned. "I have lot s of merit badges," he said.
"Yeah? Got one in knot tying?"
"You're funny," he said. "A lot of you girls are dreary They don't laugh
enough.."
"The world beats us up, Benny," I said. "There isn't much to laugh at ...
besides men."
"Ouch again," he said. "You want to dance?"
"That would be nice," I said. I handed my purse to Gregory, who put it
behind the bar. I started to kick off my heels, but at the last minute, I
decided to keep them on and dance in them. You can never tell when
someone is checking out your legs.
Benny was nice. It wasn't a romantic coupling for either of us. But it
was two people twisting the night away. He was funny. Too young for me,
but funny.
And me? Suddenly, I had a lot to smile about.
* *
I can't say this with any scientific authority, but when trans women
dance, the move we use the most is the spin. It kicks up our skirt, and
it flashes our legs, and it feels completely feminine. There is something
about dancing en femme and feeling your hair fly across your face,
feeling your breast implants bounce, feeling your earrings whip.
It was the first time I had been to the Rainbow Room, and already I loved
it. It felt, well, like my living room (my second-favorite place to
dance). I spun around the dance floor, and I laid back my head and
laughed at the joy of the moment.
Benny had disappeared by now -- early bedtime? -- and he had been replaced
by a well-built black man named Lucious, who'd danced a little closer to
me, and then moved behind me. He put his large hands on my hips, and we
moved to the sounds. I liked those hands on me. Big. Strong. Warm. I
glanced back over my shoulder at him and smiled.
Around them, other couples danced as if no one was watching ... or as if
everyone was. The transgender women in the place danced with their
partners -- some men, some women, some fellow trans -- in the dim light of
the bar. Every now and them, one partner would steal a kiss from another.
No one paid much attention; it was simply the mood at the Rainbow Room.
When the music faded, Lucious returned to the table where we were
sitting. I went to the restroom to touch up my makeup. I glanced into the
mirror, trying to see any signs of aging. Finally, I smiled and walked
out of the restroom.
Lucious was talking to a black woman with a shaved head when I emerged. I
grinned and waved, then retreated to the bar. I squeezed in between a man
and a woman, nabbing an empty stool. I ordered another daiquiri and
smiled when I remembered I was only going to be here long enough for one.
Hell, I might close the joint down.
The man next to me was busy hitting on a blonde next to him. I turned to
the woman to my right and lifted my glass. "To peace, love and
understanding," I said.
"Elvis Costello? I love him." She grinned and lifted her wine.
"Hi," I said. "I'm Daisy. I run guns to Ethiopia."
"I'm Vanessa," she said. "I sell heroin to the Vatican."
We both giggled. "Actually, I work for a law office," she said. "Miller
and Muldoon. We allow criminals to go free."
I laughed. "I work in ad sales," I said. "I make up malarkey that lies
and says our hamburgers are better than the other guy's."
She clinked glasses with me. "Let's be Thelma and Louise," she said. "We
can steal a car and drive off a cliff."
"Where does the Brad Pitt character come into the conversation?" I said.
"I'd rather be with Angelina," she said.
"Oh," I said. "I see."
She shrugged. "Takes all kinds," she said.
"It's okay," I said. "I listen to Melissa Etheridge."
She grinned. "Yeah. All of us lesbos stick together."
"You always like girls?" I asked.
"Pretty much," she said. "I started this dressing stuff because of my ex-
wife. She liked me in her panties. Eventually, I liked me there, too. I'm
one of the fantasies -- a feminized man."
"Every girl's dream," I said. "We all want someone to force us into
dresses. 'Eek. I'm horrified you're in a dress. Now wear this gown.' "
She giggled. "I was kind of like that," Vanessa said. "But to tell you
the truth, it didn't take a lot of forcing. God, I loved the clothes from
the first flipping night."
"I loved them from the age of three," I said.
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. My mother couldn't keep me out of my sister's stuff. Every
Halloween, I was in a dress. Every tea party my sister had. I used to
wear the dresses of those Disney princesses. I think my mother gave up on
me when she caught me and James in bed together."
"Uh-oh."
"Yeah. She walked in just as I was going down on him. Oops."
She laughed. "So you've always like guys?"
"Love them," I said. "I love their facial hair. I love their muscles. I
love being overwhelmed in bed. I love their , uh..."
"Dicks?" she said chuckling.
"Yeah," I said.
"Girls are prettier," she said. "They smell better. They kiss nicer."
"I imagine that's true. But the raw sex of it seems to favor guys."
"One and done," she said. "A guy screws you, and he's over."
She frowned. "You need better guys," I said.
"You need softer women," she said.
We clinked glasses again.
* *
The following day was Saturday, and Vanessa and I met for lunch. I was
wearing a red skirt and a cream-colored top. She was wearing a yellow
dress. We air-kissed each other, then followed the waitress to our table.
She looked at my skirt "Full time?" Vanessa asked.
"No, afraid not," I said. "I'm gathering my courage."
"I'm out," she said. "Eight months now."
"You win," I said.
"I lost," she said. "My job. My wife."
"You have to be who you are," I said.
"True that," Vanessa said.
I ordered a BLT. She had a grilled cheese. And we got lost in
conversation.
We talked about 'The Danish Girl,' and the times the writers ran from the
truth. We talked about our favorite TG movies: mine was Boy Meets Girl,
hers was Carla. We talked about Trump and his silly wall. We talked about
the women's soccer team. We talked about Dumbo, and whether he could be
president. We talked about Springsteen's new CD.
I found that I didn't think of Vanessa as a trans woman. She was just a
woman. She was my friend. She was smart, and she had a good laugh, and
she was pretty enough to make. you cry. She was one of those women who
touched your arm as she talked.
After a while, Vanessa had a wicked smile on her face. She started
talking about toys. She said she had a vibrator she named "Wonder Woman."
She had handcuffs. She had a buttplug.
That was interesting, because I had just bought a small butt plug myself.
I had a cock cage -- it helped control me when I was dressed. Last
Halloween, I had bought a cheerleader's outfit.
"It's only sex," Vanessa said. "It's about feeling better. Nothing dirty
about it."
I nodded. "Can I borrow Wonder Woman?"
"Wonder Woman is a one-woman woman," she said. "She loves me."
"I think she's only using you for sex," I said.
"Fine by me," she said.
We decided we would find dates and go out that night. Maybe a late
dinner. Maybe a drink at the Rainbow Room.
As we left, I called Lucious. Barbara, his bald paramour, was out of
town. I hated to be the one calling for a date, but he said he'd be
delighted to go to dinner with me. He decided to pick me up at 7:30.
We met Vanessa and her date -- a tall, professional-looking woman named
Tara -- at Yarbrough's, a steak house on the West Side of Cincinnati. She
looked stunning in a purple dress. I was wearing a white dress with blue
flowers and a blonde wig.
Once again, we had a lovely time. We talked about a local story where a
cop had been caught planting evidence in the cars of people he would pull
over. We compared Madonna and Lady GaGa. We talked about being trans in a
vanilla world.
Lucious was as sweet as he could be. He's a large man, and as such, he's
a treat to dance with. He kissed me on the dance floor, the confident
move of a man who knew he was going to get lucky that night. Vanessa and
Tara, meanwhile, seemed to meld together. It's funny. We had a staring
competition: Did an interracial couple get as much attention as two women
together? It seemed like a close competition. We kissed on the dance
floor to give the onlookers something to stare at.
We went for drinks to the Rainbow Room. Gregory was working, and he set
the four us up in a booth.
We finally said goodnight at midnight. Vanessa kissed me -- on the lips
this time -- before taking her girlfriend home for, as she said, "wild
screaming sex." I took Lucious to my place.
He kissed me again when we were there, and I dragged him to the bedroom.
I touched him through his pants -- he was gifted, okay -- and we went at it
tooth and tongue. His cock was strong, slightly curved to the left,
circumcised, dark. I shifted in the bed to get better access, and I
gently kissed it on the head. He was too big to be taken all at once, but
I licked sufficiently, and I sucked him slowly, dragging my lips across
his shaft, until he came in a flood. He had a strong taste, warm and
salty. God, I loved cocks.
Finally, he collapsed. We lay there, softly touching each other. Finally,
he began to stir again. He rolled me on my side, then spooned me from the
rear. He was long, and he was hard, and he was tender.
But when I closed my eyes, I imagined it was Vanessa.
* *
It happens quickly. Casual friends become good friends, and good friends
become best friends, and best friends become a part of you. It was that
way with Vanessa and I. We leaned on each other. We told each other about
our partners, about our sexual adventures, about our deepest wishes and
thoughts. We called each other to talk about clothes, about shoes, about
hair. We ate together. We went to the movies together. We hung out at
bars together.
We were as close as sisters. We were on the telephone to each other
constantly. We were sending each other internet messages. I'd send her a
picture of a handsome guy, naked, and she'd send me one of a gorgeous
girl, naked.
I had broken up with Lucious -- he preferred black, bald women evidently --
but Vanessa was still dating Tara, who wanted to marry her. But Vanessa
kept putting her off.
Still, she talked a lot about their sex. Evidently, Vanessa liked to peg
Tara -- either with her own penis or, when it wouldn't stand up, with a
dildo. She liked to spank her. She liked to talk dirty to her. The thing
is, when Vanessa talked about it, she did so in a funny manner, as if it
was all a big giggle. She was raw, earthy, free.
Soon afterward, Vanessa began to compare Tara with me. Had I ever been
pegged like her? Had I ever been spanked? Had I ever been made to wear a
wedding dress? I hadn't done any of those things, but with Vanessa, I'd
consider it.
One night, when we were watching TV, Vanessa turned to me.
"Why do you like guys?" she said.
"This again? I like their penises pressing my rear. I like to blow them.
I like to be held down. I like balls. Why do you like girls?"
"They're tasty. They're soft.They smell like flowers in the spring."
I looked at her. "I'm soft. I smell nice."
She smiled. "Yes, you do. And I have a dick."
"I remember."
"So should we date?"
"Why would you want a cow like me?"
"I'm serious. We get along great. I'm enough of a man for you, and you're
enough of a woman for me. It would be the great compromise."
"You'd steal my panties."
"You'd give them to me."
"Do you think we'd spoil what we have?"
"That's the risk, isn't it?" she said. "Anytime you put more at stake,
you have more to lose. But there are times I just want to kiss every lip
on your face."
"Two. I have two."
"Well, I'd want to kiss both of them. I think we'd be good for a while."
I thought about it. "Three months," I said.
"Three months?"
"We date for three months. From now until Christmas. And then we break up
and go back to being friends. No conversation. That way, no one gets
hurt. You can go back to getting a face full of pussy, and I can choke on
a dick. Deal?"
She thought about it. "Deal," she said. "Now kiss me."
I inched closer to her. I kissed her softly on her lips. It was
wonderful, soft and sweet and sensual.She closed her eyes and kissed me
back.
I ran my fingertips over her breasts. She touched mine, but mine were
fake, and it didn't elicit the same moan. But then I felt her fingers
under my skirt, gently tracing the outline of my dick in panties. I
cupped her butt, and she shifted to open herself up. I touched her penis
and gently stroked it through her underwear.
We lay that way for a long time, gently touching each other, softly
kissing each other. Neither one of us were in a hurry. Finally, she put
her hands on my shoulders and pushed me downward. Her penis was standing
up, erect. I breathed on it, then kissed it as softly a butterfly
whisper. She wasn't large, but she was sweet, and I loved the taste of
her cock in my mouth.
We were all things to each other. We were gay, and we were lesbian, and
we were man and we were woman, and were yin and we were yang, and we were
alpha and we were beta. We were skin and nerves and breath and lips. We
were each other, trying on the skin of our partner, trying to suck and
lick and fuck and share. It was the most beautiful night of my life.
I was hers.
She was mine.
And nothing else mattered.
* *
The gentle, hungry first days of a new relationship are delicious. I
couldn't get enough of Vanessa, and she couldn't get enough of me. I
would jokingly call her Van, her old guy name. She would jokingly call me
Davie.
But we knew who each other was, and we learned what each other desired.
Both of us ignored that three month deadline. It was just silly talk,
after all. We loved art galleries. We went to concerts. We watched
naughty movies.
We played some, too, if you want to know. Vanessa still liked to peg her
partners. I was used to being in a cock cage. She tied me up. We had see
in public.
We would dress up as female superheroes -- Wonder Woman and Captain
Marvel, the Black Widow and Catwoman. We would dress as Pocahontas and
the Little Mermaid. I would be a secretary and she would be my female
boss. She would be the principal and I would be a scolded teacher. She
would be an experienced stripper and I would be a beginner. And, yes,
eventually, we got down to Mistress (her) and maid (me). Oh, it wasn't
serious. But it was fun to spend a weekend playing a role.
"Are you happy?" I asked her one night.
"Delirious," she said. "You?"
"Absolutely."
"My dick isn't big enough for you." she said.
"It's fine," I said. "All I can handle. But my boobs aren't nice enough
for you."
"Your boobs are fine. Both of them. Even though the left one doesn't like
me as much as the right one does."
I giggled. "You are so much my man," I said. "I love you."
"And you're my perfect woman," she said. "Who cares that you have a pee-
wee."
"Sweetie, it's called a cock."
"Oh, no," Vanessa said. "I've seen lots of cocks. That's a pee-wee."
I slapped her on the arm. "Bitch."
"Hey, that's Mistress Bitch," she said.
"Yes Ma'am," I said.
"I think I'll have Eggs Benedict tomorrow, maid," she said. "Try not to
break the yolk."
"Seriously?"
"Well, I like Eggs Benedict," she said.
"As you wish," I said.
We went on that way. The thing is, I loved her, and I trusted her. And
I'll say this: If Vanessa ever found a role she liked, Mistress and Maid
or stripper and beginner, I was down with it. She was my goddess. I would
have done anything for her.
We met each other's parents. I'm not sure Vanessa's mother really bought
that her daughter was transexual. I don't know if my mother thought I
could survive without a real man. But we convinced them that our love was
real, and eventually, we were welcomed into each other's homes for
holidays. I don't know how much thought either of our moms gave that we
had each other's dicks in our mouths most nights, but that's part of it
isn't it.
One night, out of the blue (pink?) Vanessa asked me to marry her. Of
course I said yes. We started making wedding plans. I wanted to wear the
white dress, and Vanessa wanted to wear the white dress. So, we thought,
what the hell, and we both wore the white dresses. My own breasts had
grown out by then, and my hair along with it. In all humility, I was a
pretty bride. So was my wife
We decided to have our reception at the Rainbow Room. Gregory was there.
And Benny. And Lucious. Even Tara.
We exchanged rings, and we exchanged keys for our chastity belts. We had
marching ankle shackles.
She kissed me. When she stopped, I had her name. I was gay and lesbian
and man and woman and lover and wife and husband and sissy and servant
and whatever other label you wanted to attach. And I was complete.
We fight some. We're a normal couple. But we make masterpieces of our
love sessions. I never got tired of kissing her, or touching her, or
holding her. All of my parts fit with all of hers.
And the rest, as they say, is in the photo album.
Copyright (c) Cassandra Morgan 2019
Jeannie
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Preachers Daughter Chapter 18 Preacher and Preach
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Preachers Daughter Chapter 18 Preacher and Preach
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