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THE MOST PROFOUND MOMENT By Katharine Sexkitten She was dying. Her name was Gail. She was my Aunt. My Dad's brother's wife. I'd known her all my life. Truth be told, she'd always been my favorite relative, my parents and siblings notwithstanding of course. More truth be told, there were times when she was my favorite relative, period. They'd moved her to a hospice. The end wasn't far off. Multiple phone calls from multiple family members more or less guilted me into taking a few days off work and making the trip to see her. As everyone reminded me, over and over again, she had never been shy about saying that I was her favorite nephew. She always had told me that. Every time there was a get-together, be it Christmases or weddings or funerals or special dinners, she would always hold me tight, my head on her bosom, feeling her heartbeat, her arms wrapped around me, softly kissing me on the forehead and whispering that I was her favorite. I was her sweetheart. My wife was, as I anticipated, completely put off by me suddenly leaving, even for a few days. Who would clean the house? Who would make her meals? She was insanely busy at work, you know, and she couldn't do all those things AND continue to climb the corporate ladder she was on. She made it sound like my favorite Aunt in the whole world was dying just to piss her off. Just to make HER life difficult. Sadly, that was more or less how she treated me these last few years. I booked a room in a crappy motel near the facility, and made the six hour drive. Visiting hours had closed by the time I got there, so they couldn't let me in to see her. The two staff members at the front desk were sympathetic to my story, but rules were rules. One of them, a tall man with an easy smile and bright twinkly eyes gazed down at me and asked if I was Chrissie, her "favorite" nephew. I replied that I was. That made him look at me differently. I almost felt like I was being examined. But the smile never left his face, and it was beaming and genuine, so I didn't take offense. I just noted how he was looking at me. Studying me. Perhaps even appraising me. "She's always talking about you. Chrissie this, and Chrissie that. You are her favorite. Her word." "Yeah," I said, shrugging, "she's called me that my whole life. I always figured she said that to all her nieces and nephews and grandkids. But turns out it was just me." His name was William, and he offered to escort me back to my car, and give me directions to the motel I had booked. He was very tall. My top of my head barely came up to his chin, probably only to his Adam's apple. His voice was smooth, and deep, and had enough of a breathy quality as to make it seem like the most romantic and sensual of warm fires, burning in a fireplace inside a warm cabin on the lake when the rains come up. Safe, and energized, and strong. He mentioned some others in my family who had been by, or might be by to visit Gail. As we walked he was looking down at me with a ferocity that I found intriguing. He was studying my every movement, my every word. He was making me feel as if I was the most important person in the world, and that he'd rather be in the parking lot chatting with me than doing anything else. And when I'd pointed out where my car was, he'd laid his hand on my back and guided me gently on the sidewalk, wordlessly suggesting he knew the fastest way to get there. My marriage was not a great one. Not even a very good one. It was mostly one-sided, I suppose. But I'd made the commitment, by saying "I do", because I did love her at first and because she did like to have sex at first, which I'd not had a lot of my life, and we did have fun at first, although I'd never been able to make her cum with my five inch cock. Never. With my mouth, sure, my fingers, yes. Toys, of course. But never with my cock. Then slowly the amount of sex, and the quality of it, dried up. She had no interest in it anymore. I had enough for both of us, but she was a busy career woman and trying to deal with her stressful climb up the corporate ladder and her periods of depression and her issues with Mommy. I was trying to deal with my issues too, but mine were completely different than hers. My issues were, in no particular order, a life-long obsession with women's lingerie, which for many years was limited to mere voyeurism but in my early teens morphed into actually wearing panties and bras and stockings and heels in my room, when no one was home, my life-long obsession with masturbation, which included eating my own cum after every orgasm and learning to prolong my sessions by edging myself for hours, slowly and sensuously fucking myself with a variety of dildos and butt plugs I'd bought over the years, and my life-long feelings of desire for homosexual acts, all of them deemed taboo by societies standards, but which made me tingle with anticipation and joy. And my gay feelings were always always always manifested with me as the more feminine of the two, the more meeker, the more beta, the more seductive, the one wearing the sexiest of clothes, the bottom, the one doing all the cocksucking and cum-swallowing, and the one getting her pretty little rose of an asshole (or pussy, as I've always called it) filled with the most manly, virile, uninhibited and passionate cocks that she can find. The perfect fantasy life. A feminine cross-dressing slutty sexy sensual seductress, who only felt right when her entire being was dedicated to orgasms. But just a fantasy, to this point. The next morning I shaved and showered and dressed, a button-up shirt and sweater over top, pleated slacks cut tight at my waist, dark socks and dress shoes. Like any other day, underneath I had on thigh-high stockings, black and fishnet and yummy, and a pair of panties, also in black, from VS. Not quite a thong, the back strip still felt delicious nestled in the crack of my very pert buttocks. Then I made the drive to see Gail. William beamed at me as I walked through the front doors. His smile made me almost giddy with joy, and I realized I was swinging my hips a little more than I should be while in "male" mode. He came around the reception area and shook my hand mightily, with his other hand on my shoulder, caressing me languidly, a far more intimate male greeting, as if we'd known each other for years and were the very best of friends. I had to stare up at him, such was our height difference, and I found that act to be feminine and liberating and at the same time completely natural, as if this is how life should be, that I was the smaller of the two, the beta, the more feminine one. And out of nowhere, as I stared into his glorious grey-blue eyes, I was taken with the desire to have him kiss me, for him to sweep me up in his manly arms, pressing himself to me, needing me, desiring me, lusting for me, longing for me, and softly placing his lips on mine, his sweet breath on my cheek, his tongue gently prying my mouth open and then dancing inside with my tongue, tasting me, relishing me, taking me. I came back to reality as he escorted me to her door, into her private room. The same one the world over. A bed, a small dresser, a few personal items. There were a few pictures here and there, all of them family, of course. I was in several of them. And I noticed a common denominator. She was always hugging me, usually with my head crushed against her breasts, my delighted smile evident, hers even more so. And the honest truth is I always loved being next to her breasts. They were the center of my universe. She was, I would guess, about a 36-C. Not gigantic or odd, especially on her smaller frame, but big enough to be an obvious asset. And I would always hear her heartbeat faster after I arrived. I could hear her breath quicken. And no matter which side of my head was up, I could always see her nipples harden. Always. For many years, my most profound moments. Sensually. And sexually, I suppose. She was in bed, the top raised up so she was sort of sitting, on about a 45 degree angle. She was awake, and writing something in a book. Her hands looked frail. She looked worse. I hadn't seen her for a long time, but was still shocked and so saddened to see her this way. Then her laser-like eyes came to mine, followed by her beaming smile, and I lost it. I started crying as I ran to her bedside, and she threw her book and pen to the side and opened her arms and enveloped me to her bosom once again, the same as always. And like always, she was whispering in my ear, in that voice that was both loving and direct, both gentle and strong, both charming and lethal. "Oh my Chrissie, my sweet child, it's so wonderful to see you again...my angel, my baby...I've missed you all these years, Chrissie...my darling...yes, baby, cry...let it all out...I'm here for you, sweetie....my sweet Chrissie..." We kept that up for a long time, magnificent minute after minute after minute. We were both in a good place, the place we both loved to be. I was being held to her breasts again, she was rocking me slightly, making me feel loved and safe and protected, whispering soothing and comforting words into my ears, her heart beating faster, her breath moving faster, her left nipple ragingly hard and erect just inches from my mouth, easily almost visible through the nightgown she was wearing. When our crying was done she let me go and I pulled a chair up to sit next to her bed. She held my hands in hers. I asked her how she was. She laughed and said she was dying. But it was alright. We started talking about family members. She brought me up to date on a few cousins and their kids and I brought her up to speed on my art career, my paintings, which while not in huge demand did occasionally sell. From time to time. "You make me so proud!" she smiled, "you always were the delicate, artistic type." I lied a little bit when she asked about my wife. I said we were great, that married life suited me, and that we had no plans for kids. She watched me for a while, saying nothing. It made me nervous. Finally, she spoke. "Chrissie, do you remember what I did in my professional life? For all those years?" Of course I did. "You were a family counselor." "I was a registered family therapist, as well as a registered psychologist. I spent many years in the area of family care, yes, but I was also a skilled practitioner in individual therapy. I was quite good at it too. I seemed, from the outset, to be able to sense when people were hiding things. And I was always pretty good at getting them to talk about those issues, those parts of themselves that they didn't want to admit. To me, or to themselves." I nodded. That all sounded like her. "So why don't you and I skip the bullcrap and get down to the nitty gritty, okay?" I was shocked. "What do you mean?" "I'm dying here, kiddo," she sighed, "so I haven't got a lot of time. Which means I won't delicately pull the information out of you. I can't delve into your psyche in a slow, methodical way that brings clarity to you through gentle stages. I have to just ask some serious questions, and I need serious answers. Can you do that for me, sweetie?" "I'll try." I gulped. I wasn't sure what was ahead, but it sounded worrisome. She looked at me, part sad and part steely-determined and part loving and part angry and part delirious with joy. "How long have you been married?" "Twenty four years, next month." "Are you happy?" "You already asked me that," I said, with as unassuming a smile as I could muster, "and I said yes." Then her face got very stern. "Don't lie to me, Chrissie. Don't you dare lie to your dying aunt." Tears started to well up in my eyes. She spoke again, stressing every syllable slowly and loudly. "ARE YOU HAPPY?" My stomach felt sick. My nervous system was throbbing. I didn't want to tell a lie, not to her. But on the other hand, I didn't want anyone to find out my true feelings. They embarrassed me. They were not what society expected of me. They were considered wrong, morally, by so many people. And while I knew that there were others who had gone through the same things their whole lives and only found happiness by letting go of all those walls, I just could never do it. It seemed too hard. Too exhausting. But I didn't want to lie. Not to her. Both of my cheeks became wet with tears, as they silently slid down. I garnered all the courage I had, to admit something I'd never told anyone. "No." She squeezed my hands in hers. She was trying to tell me it was alright. To admit the truth, and to go through the emotions of admitting it. "She doesn't appreciate you, does she?" "No." "You do most or all of the housework, I assume?" I nodded. "The cooking, the cleaning, all of it?" I nodded. "That career of hers is much more important?" I nodded. "Does she show her appreciation for all that you do for her?" More tears ran down my cheeks. I said nothing. "There's my answer." I nodded. "And all you've ever wanted, your whole life, was to be loved. Isn't that right?" "How do you mean?" "Sweetie," she said, her voice softening, "your entire life has been one of giving. You were a giving child, always helping your mother in the kitchen, always taking care of your younger brother and sister, doing things for your father when you could. And they were both lovely people and they showed you how much they loved you, often. Hugs, cuddles, kisses, affection. You never wanted for any of that, did you?" I smiled. "No, not at all. They were the best." She nodded. "And you were always the first one to fill Nana's teacup, or glass of sherry. You loved to sing and dance and tell silly little jokes and lighten up everyone's mood. You were a little ray of sunshine, and then you grew up into a bigger ray of sunshine as a teenager. Good grades, very artistic, you loved painting and acting in school plays, and you sang in those musicals. You have always been a giving person. And all that you ever wanted was love. And affection. I nodded. "So when was the last time your wife hugged you?" I started crying again. "When was the last time she held you, comforted you, made you feel safe and warm and loved?" My crying got heavier. "When was the last time you made love?" I was sobbing, like a child. She just kept holding my hands, watching me go through my pain. No judgement or opinion, just accompaniment. After a short time, she squeezed my hands again, drawing my focus back to her. "How long has it been since you've made love with a woman, Chrissie?" It took all my energy to contain my shaking body and my racing emotions. I was simply trying to keep myself from losing it. From falling over that cliff. The one that showed me who I truly was. "How long, Chrissie?" Finally, I had to say something. So I told her the truth. "Fifteen years." She said nothing. She just looked at me, for a really long time. Studying me, I thought at first. Then I thought maybe she was trying to figure out the best, or least confrontational, way of telling me something. "I have my Masters in Clinical Psychology. I taught for years at University. I had a thriving practice for decades. What that means," she stressed, "is that I know my stuff. Right?" I nodded. "Chrissie, I have to ask you one more question. It may lead to others, depending on your answer, but it may stop at one. Do you understand?" I nodded. And waited. "Do you still wear women's lingerie?" My mouth was open, in complete shock. How could she...? "Your mother knew, sweetie. She told me. It's okay. Mother's always know." I had gone my whole life convincing myself that NO ONE knew. Of my love for lingerie. Of my love for cross-dressing. Of my perversions. "But..." "No, sweetie, let me finish." The tears were slowing down again. "My clinical observation, which is to say my professional opinion is that you, my sweet Chrissie, are a..." I waited. I'd never been more nervous in my entire life. "A what?" "A sissy." My shock was palpable. I physically reeled back, my nostrils flaring and my breath exploding out of me. "A WHAT?" Her demeanour didn't change. "Chrissie, you are a sissy." "I AM NOT!" She slapped one of my hands. "Don't you raise your voice with me!" I slumped in my chair. In one second she could take all the wind out of my sails. "I'm sorry." "Apology accepted." "But I'm not a sissy, Aunt Gail. Why would you think so? I mean, look at me. I'm a man." "No," she said, "you are a sissy. And before I go any further, let me just reinforce here that begin a sissy is not something to be ashamed of. It's something to be treasured! Do you understand?" I shook my head. I didn't understand. Well, not entirely. "Chrissie, you are a sissy. You are the best of both worlds, sweetie. I've known it forever. I've seen it in you from the day you were born. You are part male, yes. That's true, Chrissie. In body only, though. But you are also part female too. Inside, you are a woman. Creative, emotional, giving, healing, uplifting, always bringing pleasure to others while asking only for love and affection in return. And a woman who loves her sexy lingerie." I was shocked. I couldn't begin to understand why she would say any of that. I'd kept everything hidden from everybody forever. Hadn't I? "What are you saying?" I gasped, tears welling up in my eyes. "Sweetie, you're a sissy. You always have been a sissy, and you always will be a sissy, and it's about time you stopped pretending otherwise, and live the rest of your life as you truly should. Dressed in the finest feminine garments, a shaved smooth body, perfumed and made up to perfection, with flowing beautiful hair and bright nail polish and jangly jewelry and gorgeous high heels, making men wilt with your sexual power." My tears were flowing again, my shame to a level I'd never known before, and I began to pull myself away from her. Her words hurt me that much. Or at least, having someone else besides me say it scared me so much. How could she know? She pulled me back to her, resting my head on her bosom again. "Chrissie, my sweet sissy gurl," she cooed into my ear, "your momma told me all about how you liked to wear her panties, and her bras, and her stockings. She knew, sweetie. Of course she did. Mothers always know their children, especially their favorites. And she didn't want to inhibit you from being who you were meant to be, so she allowed it to happen without ever mentioning it and perhaps traumatizing you. She let you be yourself. She saw all the cum-stained socks and towels, and panties that you had. She knew sweetie, and she told me all about it. And she knew I sensed you were a sissy from the beginning. I had told her often." My breathing was returning to normal, as was my heartrate. And my tears had stopped again. "Are you mad I called you a sissy?" I shook my head. I could never be mad at this woman. And, I realized, I could never get mad at what was the obvious truth. "Tell me something, sweetie. Did your wife stop having sex with you because you couldn't please her? Didn't you make her cum? Didn't you please her? You've always been a pleaser, someone who lived to make other people happy. Didn't you satisfy her in bed? I answered honestly. "I could always make her cum with my mouth, and my fingers. But never with my cock." Have you strayed from your loveless marriage with other women? Never. Have you strayed with men? I hesitated. She noticed it. "Don't you lie to me, Chrissie. Don't lie to a dying woman." So I told her. Of my desires. All of them. And how I kept those desires inside me, burning, until I was thirty. Then I couldn't stand it any longer. Then I began to chat with other men, on a phone sex site. I loved it. But despite many offers, I never met with anyone. Then the World Wide Web came along, and I began chatting with people from all over the world, first in text and limited pics, and then of course in live-streaming video. How I would dress up while she was at work and I was supposedly painting and go on cam and masturbate myself, and fuck myself, with other horny men and gurls all over the world. I told her how I was addicted to it, as surely as I was addicted to the taste and texture of cum. How I ate it every chance I could, every time I came. I told her how I'd created profiles for myself at a bunch of different websites...Fetlife, Squirt, Doublelist and before that Craigslist and before that Biancas. For almost twenty years I'd been very active online. Masturbating, for countless endless hours and days on end. And learning how to deep throat with a dildo, and how to take it my all the way in my asspussy. But I'd never had the guts to meet anyone in person. Ever. To my shame. She nodded, non-judgemental again. "Are you wearing something now? Yes. I said it, and she smiled. "Good gurl." How long had it been since someone held me, and comforted me? I couldn't remember. She whispered the word "shameful". "Do you enjoy inserting things into your anus?" Yes. A lot. She nodded again, and then reached over to her bedside table, picking up a remote of some kind, and thumbed a big red button. A second later, a voice came out of a speaker in the wall, above her bed. "Gail? How can I help you?" It was him. I could tell from the tone of his voice. "William," my aunt said, "when is your next break?" He answered right away. "I can take a break now. Why?" "Come to my room." "Yes ma'am," he said, and then the slightly tinny speaker noise cut off. "Chrissie," she said, grabbing my attention again, "take off your boring boy clothes." I went back into shock. "Here? Now?" She smiled at me and nodded, and pointed at the bathroom beside her bed. "Go in there, and take off everything that isn't feminine. There's some lipstick and things on the shelf above the sink. Use them. Do something with your hair. And then don't come out until I tell you to. Alright?" Her tone was so soothing that I just instantly did it. I walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and began stripping. Moments later, William came through the suite door. All six foot three of him. I heard him say "hi" to Gail, and then he asked if everything was alright. "It's perfect, William," I heard her say. Then their conversation became muffled to me. My body was almost in spasms of shaking, my nervousness nearly crippling me. I stood in panties and thigh-highs, my hairless pale-skinned body shining in the light; my hair brushed back, my lips a dark rose-red. I wondered how long I'd have to stand there, how long it might take until my nervous system went into overload and I collapsed of a massive heart attack. The muffled conversation continued for a few minutes. Agonizing. Then she called out to me. "Chrissie! Please come out now!" I had to take the deepest of breaths. I was about to expose myself in this intimate way to the one human being I treasured the most and another who I was already attracted to, but who knew nothing about me, or my delicate fetish. My heart felt like it would burst out of my ribcage while I watched, my last dying thought as I fell to the ground that everyone in the world would find out I'd died while cross-dressing. Wearing panties. Like a sissy. "Chrissie!" I went out. Her words, and her tone, made me act. Such was her effect on me, my entire life. I watched his eyes as I appeared. They went wide with shock, with surprise, with immediate nervous reaction to stimuli. But there was nothing there to indicate fear, or dislike, or loathing, or animosity, or revulsion. His shock looked like someone on Christmas morning who had just opened up the one and only thing they'd ever really wanted, their entire life, and never thought they'd ever actually get. My hands behind my back, my posture as feminine as I could make it, I just stood there. Not breathing. Waiting. Anticipating. He smiled. A single tear came out of both my eyes and slid silently down my cheeks. He immediately moved closer, and as he did he looked at all of me, slowly, and seductively. The smile beaming from his face was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. "William, meet my Chrissie," Gail said. "Chrissie, say hello to William." I allowed myself to smile, a nervous one at that, and found the strength to whisper out a hello. He moved closer still and whispered, "hello to you as well, Chrissie." Gail started talking again. "Chrissie, I've come to know William so well in my few weeks here, and I know that he is a wonderful, passionate, loving man, just looking for a romantic sensual feminine creature to share his life with. William is someone who has never found his true romantic soulmate, never truly found joy in his sexual relationships, but a man who will live to cuddle and hold and kiss you softly and wrap you in his masculine arms and protect and savor and love and make love to you and make love with you. Your perfect lover. Would you agree with that assessment, William?" Without looking at her, without taking his eyes off mine, he moved closer to me still and said "Yes, Gail." "And William," she continued, "I know Chrissie too. She is my favorite niece. I love her with all my heart, and I know her better than anyone. She is a sissy. A wonderful feminine sexual romantic sissy. Yes, born in a slightly male body, but filled with a feminine spirit. A woman's spirit mixed with a man's never-ending sex drive. And she is a giving, loving gurl, someone longing to spend her entire existence caring for and being cared for by a handsome romantic passionate man, someone to hold her in his arms and make her feel safe and loved and protected and desired and sexy and wanted. And someone who will make love to her, make love with her. Someone to fuck her, at every available opportunity. Would you agree with that, my sweet Chrissie?" I couldn't look away from his eyes at that point if there was a gun pointed at my head. He was piercing me with those eyes, pulling me in like a tractor beam, filling me with hope and elation and joy and the realization that true sensual passion was just one step away now, so close I could feel his body heat, and smell his musk, both of which made me go very hard in my panties. "Oh yes, Auntie Gail, yes!" "So," she said, her voice full of satisfaction, "Chrissie, why don't you properly say hello to William. Like someone seeing the love of her life again, after missing him so much?" "Okay," I giggled, and made the final step. The most profound moment. Ever. I walked into his arms, which came up and wrapped around my body, while my arms went up and over his shoulders, around the back of his head, which was slowly moving lower towards mine. And I was raising up on my tippy-toes. And I whispered, "Hello my darling William," just as my painted lips met his, as our bodies joined, as he enveloped me in his strength and masculinity. We moulded. We became as one. The entire world, including my precious Gail, disappeared, completely vanishing in my consciousness. There was only him. His lips on mine, trembling yet insistent. Moving with his growing passion. Moving me to move my lips with his. Both of us switching our heads from side to side without planning it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. But our lips never leaving the others. Sometimes softly tasting each other, sometimes passionately taking from each other. His tongue slowly coming out, gently pushing at my lips, inviting me to open them, to feel his ardor. His body, warm and solid and strong, his chest heaving up and down with his breath, great blasts from his lungs in and out of his nostrils, next to mine, feathering the skin of my cheek with his desire. His arms, wrapped around me, holding me, protecting me, caressing me, and possessing me. His hands, and his long thick fingers kneading the skin of my lower back, slowly caressing me with soothing circles, dipping lower each time, finally moving over top of my panties to openly grope my ass cheeks, gripping them, teasing them, opening them, inflaming them, owning them. The moans and murmurs coming from us were the sweetest symphony ever composed. His voice a deep baritone, husky and throaty at times, but always strong and masculine. My voice in its whispery best. High in my register. Soft, alluring. As he increased the pressure of his hands on my ass, he was pulling me to his body even more, squeezing out any possible point of separation between us. My body adapted to his, every inch of skin trying to touch him somehow. To feel him. The most profound moment. Ever. It was like my entire life up to that point had been playing in little league baseball, and all of a sudden I was standing in the middle of Yankee Stadium, in the majors. The biggest paradigm shift of my life, of my existence. Of my soul. What I'd known about eroticism and sensuality and passion before this was nothing, and I mean NOTHING, compared to where I was at that moment. And the baseball analogy is a good one, because I could feel against my belly something about the size of a Louisville Slugger, and I knew three things without a doubt: one, that it was the biggest cock I'd ever seen, two, that I was the cause of it, and three, that I was going to suck it until he came in my mouth, and then I was going to somehow get him hard again and beg him to fuck me. So I began pushing him, with my body, my lips never leaving his, his tongue never leaving my mouth, and managed to get us towards the bed, where Gail had without bidding pulled her legs up to her chest, giving us as much room as she could, and then I manoeuvered him to sit on one side, near the foot. My hands left his hair, which I'd been running my fingers through, and began unbuttoning his shirt. He just continued to make love to my ass with his hands. I got his shirt open, and pushed it off his shoulders, so he had to let go of me momentarily and we both sighed in disappointment. Then his shirt was on the floor and his hands were back where they should be, on my ass. Then I allowed my lips to leave his. His eyes bore into mine, exciting me and compelling me to continue. I dipped my head and attached my mouth to his right nipple. His groan of delight filled me with elation. Then I moved lower, and his hands had to let me go. I dropped sensuously to my knees, as my fingers moved to his belt, undoing it, and then his zipper, sliding it down, and then I wordlessly bade him to sit up slightly while I pulled his pants and briefs to the floor, slipping them off him. My Aunt Gail whispered, "Oh my." I looked up his strong legs, running my hands with my eyes, and then over his massive thighs, and then finally to their nexus, the magnificent cock standing before me. And I knew what Gail was talking about! Reaching out with both hands, I gripped that cock with my right while softly closing my left around his humungous ball sac. Two gigantic eggs in my hand, which I knew I'd be adoring soon. The head of his cock, which was cut and which had a much more purplish hue than his shaft, was glistening with precum. It was everywhere, and I could see more flowing out of his slit. My mouth watered. I'd spent my whole life licking up my own precum, delighting in its texture and sweetness and tanginess and tartness, and there was nothing stopping me now. I stuck my tongue out and lapped all around his cockhead, trying to coat my tongue in his essence, trying to bathe my taste buds in his masculinity, before loudly swallowing what I'd collected. Heaven. Then I went to work. I had played with dildos for years, and watched more porn than quite possibly anyone else in the world, so I had a pretty good idea of what I thought a world-class blow job should be like. And I gave it to him. Sucking, slurping, licking, tasting, suckling, vacuuming, kissing, swallowing. In various and completely spur-of-the-moment patterns. I could hear his breathing ramp up. I could hear his moans, increasing slowly in volume each time. I could feel his hands come up and move to the back of my head, not pressuring me, but connecting with me. I could feel his body stiffening, his thighs closing slowly, gently squeezing me into him. And after a few minutes, with an animalist grunt, he cried out "CHRISSIE!", tensed his fingers in my hair, and shot a gallon or two of cum into my awaiting mouth. Glorious, magnificent, majestic, transcendent cum, creamy and syrupy and voluminous, filling my mouth, making me swallow lest I drown, soaring on wings of ecstasy tasting his jism, feeling it slide down my throat into my tummy. Then another blast from his cock, even more cum for me to savor, to cherish, to treasure. Four big ropes, and three small ones. I swallowed every single drop. Without exception. I had never been happier in my entire life. The most profound moment. Ever. When I could draw no more from his penis, I rose on my stockinged feet, making me almost as tall as he. And at that moment, I looked down briefly to discover that I had cum in my panties when he was cumming. There was gooey white cum leaking out of the edges of my panties, and what looked like a small lake of it trapped inside my panties. He opened his eyes and saw me, reaching to pull me to him, his mouth on mine again, his tongue dancing into me, tasting what few molecules of his own cum there might still have been in my mouth. He ground himself into me, and I returned it. And he was hard again. Just like that. I'd thought it the stuff of porn movies only. But it wasn't. This magnificent man had just emptied his balls into me, and whereas for sure I would not be able to go again for at least an hour or two, he was rigid. Like steel. Wrapped in velvet. Hard as rock. Tumescent. And maybe even bigger than before. Suddenly he grabbed me, stood up, spun us both, and deposited me on my back onto the bottom half of the bed. I was on a slight diagonal, so my head was a little closer to Aunt Gail than my ass, which was right on the edge of the mattress. She reached out and softly stroked my head, running her bony frail fingers through my hair. My arms were around his neck again, and as I lay down he bent with me, our lips never leaving each other. With one hand holding me, his other moved lower, slipping under my panties and pulling out a great big glob of my cum, which he brought up and shoved between our joined lips. We both partook of the cum, sharing it back and forth in our tongue kiss. Then he reached back down and took another big glob of cum, but this time we didn't taste it. This time he ran his hand down between my legs, slipping the strip of my G-string to one side and firmly planting his gooey finger right on my rosebud. Our moaning was non-stop now, into each other's mouths, as his thick digit pressed forward, the cum lubricating his way into me. I opened up for him. I wanted it. I needed it. My entire life depended on having him inside me. First one finger. Then he got more of my cum and slid two fingers in me. Back and forth, up and down. Then more cum, and three fingers. Both of us were breathing heavier, in lust and in anticipation. Finally he pulled his fingers out. I felt empty. My lips never left his, my tongue never stopping its dance with his, but my bum tried moving towards where his fingers just were. And then I felt it. His cockhead, coated in a combination of a little after-cum and some new precum, touched my asshole. The crinkly skin of my ring fairly leapt open, and with the greatest of ease his mammoth cockhead slid into me, thick and throbbing and possessive and virile and the textbook definition of manly. The most profound moment. EVER. There was no pain, but there was some itsy-bitsy discomfort. This wasn't my first rodeo with things in my ass-pussy, and any trepidation I might have had about the discomfort went away in a micro-second because I knew it would be but moments for the splendour to begin. Which it did. He began making love to me. Each forward thrust respectfully small, allowing me to open up inside for him, each little bit at a time, each retraction bringing the most delicate "mmmmmmm" from me, one of slight disappointment mixed with enormous glee because of course it would bring with it another thrust forward. One follows the other. It took some time, but after a few minutes of him rocking back and forth into me, which were the very best of my life to that point, I felt him bottom out inside me, his cock fully in me, his manhood taking me, his masculinity encompassing me, his passion inflaming me. His kisses were harder now, his breathing heavier, his belly rubbing my little penis, my little clitty, making it hard again. And then he began to fuck me. There's no other way to describe it. His passion took over; his animal instinct to rut came through, his desire to bury himself in my pussy consuming his existence. His strokes became harder, and faster. Soon enough he was just out-and-out pounding me, the bed shaking, our moans thundering through the room, my legs wrapped around his hips, taking him, worshipping him, loving him, accompanying him on his journey to sexual bliss. There was only his cock in my universe, nothing else. My being was floating on a river of sexuality and lust. For the first time in my life, I was my true self. He fucked me and fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. He'd just cum, of course, so he lasted a very long time. I came twice, two corkers that made me almost black out, my cum seeping out of my little clitty and oozing all over my belly, running wherever gravity would take it. The pounding became an earthquake, never-ending and more and more powerful. My asscheeks would shimmy and quiver every time his body hit mine, every time he tried to get even more of himself inside my channel. A human being never tried so hard, in the history of humanity, to get inside someone else like he did. And he was big, and thick. The most magnificent example of penis I'd ever seen, porn or otherwise. I didn't feel split in two, like I'd read in countless porn stories on the net. I felt like I weighed about ten pounds more than I did before because I had that much meat in me. Male meat. Sex meat. The only meat I'd ever need again. Ever. When he came, I knew it. Aunt Gail knew it. It's possible everyone on the floor of the hospice knew it. His mouth finally left mine, my eyes opening for the first time in a long time, seeing the sweat flowing off his shoulders, off his cheekbones, off his forehead. His eyes, on mine, until the most sublime of evacuations happened inside him, forcing his lids closed tight, his roar from deep within his lungs, his cock buried to the absolute hilt inside me, and then the sensations of feeling his second load of cum being released in my intestines. Which made me cum, again. And that, on a day of surprises, was the biggest. Him cumming in me, having just fucked me up the ass like a stallion, all while wearing my panties and thigh-high stockings, on my back, his cum in my tummy and now his cum in my pussy. THE MOST PROFOUND MOMENT. EVER. My Aunt Gail passed two days later. I'd spent both of them with William, at his apartment. I phoned my wife and told her that I was staying for the funeral. William consoled me. I consoled him. He'd taken a week off work, so our mutual consoling was mostly done in his bed. Sometimes we made love. Sometimes he fucked me. Sometimes he fucked me so hard I saw stars. I never went back to my marriage. Or my job. Some lawyers fees and time led to a divorce decree. To this day I am William's wife. One year ago, on the first anniversary of her passing, we were married. In front of a few friends, I promised to love him, to honor him, to obey him, to be his lawful wedded wife. In private, I promised him to be his slut. His sissy slut. His sexy sissy feminine CD slut, anywhere anyhow anytime. And I fulfill that promise. Every day. THE MOST PROFOUND MOMENT. EVER.