The Sudanese Seductress Part 2
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The Sudanese Seductress
I was living in the Melbourne suburb of Endeavor Hills - for the simple
reason that it was where I could afford to buy a property. It is
reasonably scenic and you can get to The Dandenong Ranges and The
Mornington Peninsula fairly easy. The Monash Freeway and the Eastlink are
nearby, although the traffic on the Monash can be frightful during the
rush-hour period.
Although it had a number of large supermarkets - Coles and Woolworths
and so forth - I had taken to buying some items from a smaller, more
local convenience store as it was closer to where I was living.
Endeavour Hills, along with Dandenong, Noble Park and other nearby
suburbs, has a large Muslim and Sudanese population. The store I used
seemed to be owned by a Sudanese family and, naturally, employed Sudanese
people - mainly women - and served predominantly Sudanese people.
When I first went there, people looked at me as I was the only White
person in the shop. However, the girl on the checkout seemed pleased
enough to serve me and take my money.
This girl was a rather impressive creature. She was very tall and had
'black' skin. When I say black, I don't just mean that she was a Black
woman; I mean her skin was like coal - really jet black - and shiny under
the fluorescent lamps. In certain lights it seemed blue-black. She also
wore bright red lipstick on that day and had, what I assumed, to be a wig
with red and orange in it.
She was quite attractive to look at - once you got over her height and
very black skin - and she tried hard to be nice to me. So I responded in
kind. I was only there with her for a few minutes, but felt it was worth
going back again just to see and speak to her.
Over the next week I saw her every couple of days as I went in for
something; indeed, I made small purchases; necessitating many visits. She
seemed to appreciate my calling and always tried to serve me. I think the
other staff in the shop left her to me and gossiped about me in their
native languages.
As I spent more time interacting with her, I found that she was not quite
how she first seemed. She was still nice and friendly and still
attractive - indeed, she seemed to make herself look even prettier in
expectation of serving me - but, I noticed things about her. Her voice,
whilst not 'rough' certainly was not very feminine, although she tried
hard to speak softer to me. Also, her features seemed to be not truly
feminine. She wore high-collar blouses, which I guessed might be used for
covering something she didn't want to show. She called herself Whitney.
However, I liked her enough to slip her a note one afternoon. It read.
Dear Whitney,
I hope you don't mind this note, but I can't stop thinking about you. You
have been very nice to me over the last week or so and have made me look
forward to visiting the store and being served by you.
I think you are truly beautiful woman and I'd like to ask you out on a
date.
I'll be in the store in a day or so. Or, if you wish, here is my number.
If you have a boyfriend, then I apologise and ask for your forgiveness.
Let me know it this is the case.
Yours, Bruce
I slipped this note serendipitously with the money. Her long fingers with
bright pink nails took it and smiled at me. She slipped it to the side of
the till. Our fingers lingered slightly as she gave me the change and
then I left.
Whitney went home that evening in a daze. She had scanned the note
briefly and was shocked and surprised by its contents. She sat on a bench
in the park reading it over and over. It was so unexpected, yet, at the
same time, she should have expected it. She had been nice to him and he
to her, and she had responded by making herself look prettier. He had
sought her ought and she had not resisted....Her body wanted him and
yet...
She got to her feet and noticed her legs itched. She scratched at them
through the opaque, black tights. 'I couldn't have shaved them properly
last time,' she mused. 'I'd better do them properly when I get in.'
The next day it poured the rain. It was a summer thunderstorm of epic
proportions and the road was swilling with water. As I neared a bus stop,
I noticed Whitney waiting and getting soaked from the spray. I pulled
over and lowered the window.
"Whitney!" I called. "Would you like a lift?"
Startled but pleased, she hurried over and climbed in; her long legs
appeared; filling the front footwell. She slipped her wet shoes off her
feet. She had large, fairly slender, feet, but they looked sexy in the
black nylon. Sexy enough to kiss and suck...
"Thanks! I was getting very wet! Sorry I didn't reply to your note last
night. I wanted time to think," Whitney blurted out before I had a chance
to say anything else.
"That's alright," I replied.
"It's not that you're not a nice man. It is me - I have issues," Whitney
began, "that could cause difficulties for you and me."
"What sorts of issues?" I asked curiously.
"Well, I'm very tall and very black for one thing!"
"That is irrelevant," I decided to tell her a little bit about me. "I've
dated Black women before. None as dark as you, but still Black African
ladies."
"Oh! What happened?" Whitney was interested.
"Well, with a couple of them, it didn't work out. But the third; we were
going to get married but she was killed."
"Oh! How awful!" Whitney exclaimed.
"Yes it was. So, being black and tall doesn't worry me."
"I can see that. There is something else, but I am afraid to say it."
"Well, when you feel ready to, you can tell me. Now, where do you live?"
She told me and I continued until we reached her unit.
"Look, would you like to go out for dinner?" I asked.
Whitney looked at me. It had been a long time since she had been invited
to dinner. 'Maybe she could tell him then?' she thought.
"OK, I'd like that. Anywhere is fine."
"Would you like tonight?" I hoped, since it was middle of the week, it
would be quieter
"OK. At what time?"
"Say seven or eight? I'm not sure where to go."
Whitney was silent for a minute, then said. "That's where I live. Would
you like to come in? We can have a look together."
We went inside her unit - small but neat and tidy. She offered me a drink
and we sat looking at the various restaurants on the internet. We found
one we liked the look off and I booked a table for seven-thirty. We
chatted for a few minutes then I left and told her I'd be round to pick
her up.
At seven, I called round and she met me at the door.
"You look lovely!" I said.
"Thanks. I didn't know what to wear, but I wanted to look nice for you."
There was some nervousness and sadness in her voice, as well as pleasure
at the compliment.
She had a blue dress and high-heeled shoes and, as a contrast, a kind of
fawn-coloured stockings. The heels made her taller still, but I felt good
with her.
We went and had dinner. She didn't drink much and neither did I. However,
she seemed preoccupied with something during the evening. She was nearly
in tears when we left and she broke down and sobbed hysterically in the
car on the way home.
I pulled into a car park near a nature reserve and let her control
herself. Finally she recovered enough to begin.
"It has been a lovely evening and I'm thrilled you asked me out, but we
can't see each other again."
"Why?" I was disappointed.
"Because I'm a man!" Whitney exclaimed with some passion.
So there it was. The girl of my dreams was a man.
"I guessed you were," I replied as evenly as possible.
"You did?" Whitney seemed astonished.
"There were things I noticed. Are you a transvestite or transsexual?"
"A transsexual. I'm undergoing gender reassignment. I have boobies but
still a penis." Whitney paused before curiously asking, "What sorts of
things did you notice?"
"Well your voice sometimes is not that feminine, although it is not too
bad. Also, your Adam's Apple is more noticeable - I guess that is why you
wear high-collar blouses to work - as well as your hands being bigger
than would be expected with a normal female, as well as your feet being
large for a woman."
"Are these things really that noticeable?" She sounded worried.
"Look, it doesn't matter to me. I wouldn't have asked you out if it did."
"I don't know what to say. I mean, I've loved the attentions you have
given me - it has made me feel special - but I'm worried. You can't enter
me yet - unless you want to take me up my bum! - although when I've
completed the transformation, you can!" She paused before continuing.
"Have you actually been with someone like me before?"
"No. I've only dated girls."
"You said you were going to marry a girl. What happened, or is it too
personal to discuss?"
"No, you can know about it. Some years ago, I was in a relationship with
a Black woman from Zimbabwe. She was a nurse at The Alfred. She was
attractive and friendly, although her figure was different to yours. We
went out together for a couple of years, and then decided to get married.
She wanted a traditional wedding in Zimbabwe as well as a Church wedding
here. Well, she went out with her mother and aunt a week before I could
get out there.
"For some reason, she wanted to go to some village or other for something.
The bus was late and broke down and rather than stay with the bus, she
decided to wake the few miles to the village, because she knew one of her
cousins was there.
"Well, some guys came along and grabbed her. They were drunk and on drugs.
They bundled her into the car and drove off. They spent the next 24 hours
raping and torturing her out in the bush somewhere, using her panties as
a gag to keep her quiet. Finally, when the effects of drink and drugs had
worn off, they realised what they had done and couldn't allow her to
live, so strangled her as she whimpered and begged for mercy, naked and
bleeding in the dirt.
"By the time I got there, the wedding had been turned to a funeral. They
had a quick trial as some of the men had confessed. They explained in
great detail what they had done and were sent to prison.
"After I got back home, I couldn't think about other girls for a bit. I've
not dated a girl since."
Whitney was crying as I told her the tale.
"That's terrible! I'm so sorry for you!"
We were holding hands at that point; Whitney had slipped her hand in mine
during my story. After Whitney has recovered slightly, she kissed me. It
was a soft, gentle yet very meaningful kiss. Our lips lingered and
responded with a bit more passion, then we parted. Her red lipstick
leaving a trace on my lips.
"Thank you," I whispered to her.
We sat in silence for a while holding hands, then I asked her about her
about her transition from male to female.
"I knew in my teens I was different. As I got older I found I couldn't
stop myself dressing-up and shaving myself. About three years ago I went
and started gender reassignment. It is tough - particularly at first -
but is getting easier now. I still need sexual relief at times; although
it is getting less. People called me a sissy and things like that. It was
- and is - hurtful to be called that, when your body needs to be
different."
"I'm sorry about that. I don't consider you a sissy. I know that some men
like to dress as a woman and be punished whilst so dressed. Living your
life as a woman and undertaking gender reassignment is not sissy."
"Thank you for your understanding. You can see my reluctance to come out
with you."
"I understand it." I paused before continuing; hoping what I said next
might help her. "I still masturbate and have done since I was about ten!"
"Really?!"
"Yes. If it helps you, I wear tights whilst I do it; although I don't
shave my legs or paint my nails. I don't look as good as you do!"
"Wow! You put your hand inside the tights and bring yourself off?"
"No. I lie face down on the bed and rub myself up and down."
"Really? I've never done it that way. Is it nice?" Whitney seemed
genuinely interested.
"Yes. When I was with Charity - the girl who was murdered - she liked to
watch me do it. Sometimes, she'd tie me up and make me cum several times.
I liked to kiss her feet, so she'd sometimes make me kiss them when I was
masturbating. Then, I'd get to tie her up and use her as I wanted."
"I've never done any of that!" Whitney looked at me before continuing.
"Is that what you'd like to do with me?"
"Yes. To tell you the truth, I've fantasized about you a few times. At
first, when I thought you were a girl, I used you as such. Then, when I
realised you could be a man, I changed the fantasy slightly - using your
penis instead of your vagina."
"I've thought about you doing things to me too," Whitney replied.
"Although I've never been tied-up, I have fantasied about you tying me up
and using me."
"Once I fantasied that you tied me to the bed and forced me to suck your
penis, masturbating me into a plastic bag whilst you did so!" I felt I
had to tell her.
"Seriously?" Whitney was astounded.
"Yes. I also fantasized that you had a red ribbon bound around the base
of your penis."
"That sounds pretty!" Whitney exclaimed. "I think I can fulfil that for
you! By the way; you can call my penis a shecock," Whitney paused before
continuing. "Would you like to do these things with me? I'm very clean -
I don't have AIDS and stuff like that - and I keep my body nice. I shave
regularly so there are no hairs on my legs. My boobs are small though -
it takes a few years to get nice breasts - and they won't get very big.
Maybe I'll have breast enhancements for you."
"I wouldn't worry about that yet. I'd like to do things with you, yes."
"Would you like to do anything now?"
"It is getting late now, and I - and you - have to work tomorrow, but
tomorrow is Friday. I'd really like to do something then. You can come to
mine or I can come to yours."
"I'd like that too - can I come to your house?"
"Yes. Now, don't play with yourself tonight. Save yourself for tomorrow!"
"I won't, I promise."
"If you can, wear the same dress you are wearing now - although you'll
probably need a change of clothes after I'm done with you!"
"Sounds good! I'll make sure I have some fresh clothes." She paused
before continuing. "Will I be stopping the night?" Her tone was playful
and flirty.
"It isn't obligatory, but I expect we will be sleeping together."
With that we kissed and I drove her home, occasionally stroking her
nylon-clad legs.
"You are making me hard!" whispered Whitney.
"Sorry! I couldn't resist your legs!"
"They are yours any time you like! I'll make sure they are shaved
properly, although the hormones I'm taking have just about removed the
hairs."
"Good! Well see you tomorrow at seven."
We kissed again and she got out. I waited until Whitney had got in the
house and turned the lights on before leaving for home.
All the way home I was perplexed by my actions. Until meeting Whitney,
I'd never conceived of wanting to date a transsexual. Now I had not only
dated one, but kissed her, touched her legs and talked about tying her up
and sucking her shecock.
Whitney, too, was having these thoughts as she got ready for bed. She
pondered whether it was right for her to have encouraged me in such a
way, but decided that, as she had been honest about her gender; then she
had nothing to fear. It would have been different if we had got into bed
and I had pulled her knickers down only to find an erect shecock staring
at me, she mused.
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- 24.03.2022
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