Inflection free porn video

Inflection by Dawna Tompson July 2020 Rated R A man reflects on the long path he's travelled in coming to grips with a lifetime of perverse TG sexual fantasies. --- The soft sunlight streaming in the window gently woke him from his slumber. He was awake but left his eyes closed to extend the pleasant feeling of the dream he had just left. It was a good omen, a sure sign, he felt, of a day that seemed to have great promise. He lifted his hand and pulled at his long dark hair trying to brush away a few annoying strands that had fallen across his face. He shifted slightly in bed so that his soft thighs slid together just enough to give a slight tug to his clitoris. He felt a soft but persistent surge of tingles that spread upward along his groin and lower abdomen. "Oh," he sighed softly. His hand drifted downward with the intent of finding a comforting tug on his erect nipple with perhaps an added soft caress around his dark areola. As he moved his hand it bumped into a muscular arm wrapped around his chest. "Yes," he thought, "last night was wonderful. Making love as a woman to a wonderful guy. Wow! I've come a long way." He reflected on how hard he had worked to achieve this state. For many years, starting around puberty, he had been plagued with an ardent desire to become a woman. At first, he was certain he was a transsexual but the descriptions and narratives he had read about them never seemed to quite match up with the way he felt inside. He was left puzzled and alone. He didn't think that he had been born a woman with the wrong body. Such a woman would demand a more complete feminine expression. "I know I am not a transsexual." Though it excited him to imagine what it would be like to become one. "But then, what exactly am I?" On more reflective days he tried moving inward searching, perhaps, for the mysterious woman inside, Freud called it the Anima, that might be driving his mammoth need. "I just want to possess her fully and revel from inside her body for a while. But who and where is she?" "No," he concluded, "I don't think she exists." He wanted to be a woman for sure, but only on his terms, not those of some long-dead Viennese psychiatrist. The idea of inhabiting a woman's body for a time excited him in a way Freud would have never been able to explain. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." He mused. He tried dressing up as a woman, but the image of himself in drag never came close to the ideal beauty he needed to become. "It's kind of gross anyway, I mean, I look like a man in a dress and then, once I'm done, it's suddenly so embarrassing to see myself in the mirror dressed like that." He couldn't count the number of times he'd bought woman's clothes, put them on in the privacy of his own bedroom, and then disgustedly threw them away after wearing them only once. He considered altering himself physically, maybe through hormones or surgery. "Perhaps the right doctor could give me what I need." But he was never able to convince himself that it would be the right path for him. "Maybe I don't have the courage of my convictions." He scolded himself. It seemed like the thought of becoming a woman only existed to fuel his sexual impulses, nothing else. "Ah, having sex as a woman whenever I feel the need, now that would be ideal. But then I'd want to be able to slip back into being a man again once my urgent sexual needs were met." Indeed, each time he completed his solitary task he was embarrassed of his fantasy and he rushed to realign his thinking back to normal again. "What is normal?" he pondered. "I wonder, was I ever was normal? A normal man wouldn't have fantasies like these, would he?" Still, he took some comfort in the thought that everyone around him saw him as a normal guy. To the extent that he interacted with other men at all he thought he mostly fit in with them, though he admitted that he was puzzled by their near universal interest in competitive sports. He had trouble making friends and once in the while he felt socially awkward. "To be fair, it's more like I feel awkward almost all the time," he admitted. A few times he haltingly tried to date women. He even had a girlfriend for a while, though the relationship never went very far. "The only real ongoing relationship I have is with my fantasy woman." He satisfied himself as best he could through masturbation. "It's better than nothing, besides I can be any woman I want to be inside my head for a few minutes, even if it's not a physical reality." He recognized that the term Cross-Dreamer applied to him. There was also a fancy name for this condition: Autogynephilia. But putting a name to it didn't really help much. Nor did the fact that he might have shared this state with many other men. "There must be other guys who share this fantasy," he reasoned, "if not, then why would there be so much tranny pornography on the internet?" He recalled walking alone on a beach staring at a full moon and thinking, "Who cares what it is called or who else has it? How am I going supposed deal with it?" If he had expected enlightenment to come from that faraway celestial body he was surely disappointed. It was the sexual excitement he craved, and he found fantasizing that he was dressed as a woman, mistaken for a woman, parts of his body were physiologically female, or he had somehow magically become a fully formed anatomical woman, sent his mind and body reeling. Once it surfaced, there seemed to be only one way to address it. Still, he had always felt confused after achieving a self-induced sexual climax. "Maybe confusion isn't the right word," he mused. "I think shame might be a better word choice. Once I jerk off, all I want to do is return to my male self as quickly as possible." Life went on in his solitary world. "I'm okay being alone, but imagining myself as a woman ensures that I'll never have to feel lonely. " He took solace in his books and prowled bookstores for new or interesting books on science, his one love that lay apart from sexual fantasies. One day, he stumbled across a old book on a dusty back shelf in a used bookstore. "Fobredan Alchemy, The Magik of Anwealda," proclaimed the book's title. "Alchemy?" he thought. "Isn't that supposed to be a way to turn lead into gold? I thought that modern physics had long ago squashed such superstitious beliefs." Still, he flipped through a few pages and then, on a whim, purchased the heavy tome. The book sat untouched on his bookshelf for several months collecting more dust. Late one night, while searching for another book, the alchemical text seemed to leap off the bookshelf. He caught it in mid- fall before it hit the ground. He sat down and began to read the page that had opened before him. The book had fallen open at the start of a new chapter. "Alchemy as Personal Transformation." "Hmmm. What is this book trying to say?" He flipped to the beginning and started to read it more closely. Ten pages in he declared, "This stuff is nonsense, beyond those first few words I can't make heads or tails out of anything this book is saying." Yet something urged him to keep reading. He struggled through, more than once making up his mind to abandon the nearly indecipherable text. Yet something always seemed to keep bringing bring him back to the book. The words hinted that there was something here for him. Something he needed to understand and master. "Something transformational?" he mused, chuckling at his own sarcastic sense of humor. He read on, sometimes taking days to wade through just a few pages of text. "Maybe it's showing me a way to transform my thinking into something that won't torture me so." Though as soon as he formed the thought he wanted to recall it. Torture wasn't the right word for indeed his only real source of well-being emanated from his sexual fantasies. "But there must be a way to control these thoughts and transform them into something more useful." Maybe that's what the book is about. Finally, halfway through the book it dawned on him. "Personal transformation wasn't about adjusting his mental state. "This is a book that is describing the relationship between subatomic energy fields and personal consciousness. It's not about turning lead into gold or a book full of psycho-babble. It's confusing and written in an odd and nearly unfathomable vernacular, but it's really a physics textbook. The real intent of the book is to show the way to create a physical manifestation of anything I need and desire using the power of my own consciousness. The real trick is in understanding what I really desire and what I really need. Once that's clear then it's just a matter of following the written steps to manifest it in the real word. This is about the creation and assembly of real physical substances using the immense nothingness of the universe as a framework!" Indeed, if the entire universe began as an infinitesimal sub-atomic spark, then why wouldn't it be possible to create physical objects within that universe from the very same vacuum? He began to practice the exercises outlined in the book. "At the very least, it's a way to divert attention from my annoying sexual needs," he thought. It took nearly a year of concentrated study, filled with frustrations and failure, before he made his first amazing breakthrough. He needed a pencil and he couldn't find one handy. He stopped, visualized a sharp number two yellow pencil in his mind, assembled the correct frequencies to make it manifest, weaved and compressed the dancing frequencies until they coalesced into the form he had visualized, and then opened his eyes. On his desk lay a sharpened number 2 pencil! He picked it up, rapped it on the desk, pressed his finger into the pencil's point and exclaimed "Ouch" when it nearly broke his skin. He positioned the pencil over a blank paper and wrote out the word, "Success!" This initial success was soon followed by a colossal failure. It was natural, he thought, to try to create money. But he could not muster a single dollar bill or even a penny. A few minutes of contemplation explained why. He had no real need for money and only a minuscule desire to have more. "So stupid of me, of course I cannot create money." With practice came other successes. The size or composition of the object seemed to make no difference. Kitchen utensils, a new pair of shoes, a lounge chair, a mend to the tear in his favorite shirt. All manifest so long as he needed and desired the object and he followed the correct procedure to bring it into physical existence. "What else do I desire?" Well, the answer was self-evident. But did he really need it? "I think this is something important, I really need to experience being a woman, at least for a little while. I have no idea where this need came from, but it's now a deep seated need that's an intrinsic part of me," he proclaimed, hoping that the universe would agree. He tried an experiment. He imagined his feet becoming small, delicate and feminine. When he opened his eyes he found attached to the end of his legs, small woman's feet with well-manicured toes painted bright red. They fit nicely into a pair of women's size six pumps he also created for the occasion. Once he finished admiring his new feet and he'd modeled the shoes he panicked. "What if I am stuck with these feet forever, what if I cannot get them back? That was something I didn't think about." He closed his eyes, configured the correct visuals, activated the necessary frequencies and, when he reopened his eyes, his feet had returned to normal. "Holy shit!" He became excited. "Geez, this could be my ticket, I can use this if I can trust that I can always get back to the way I was." He sat down to think. "Could it be that I could finally realize my lifetime need? Is it possible that I can actually become a beautiful woman, spend some time, and then return to my male self?" Yet he hesitated. "Maybe I just got lucky. Next time I might get stuck. It just seems to be too big a leap into the unknown." He set the entire project aside. He wrestled with himself. "I mustn't use this power that way. It could be dangerous. Maybe I don't deserve to have it. I'd be going against nature." "Nature created both men and women. It doesn't matter how I present myself. I need it, I want it, it's a deep, deep desire. Forgoing the power to turn into the best version of myself would be a unconscionable waste." In the end he was unable to ignore the the vastness of his new power. He decided to move forward, but promised himself to go slow. He performed a series of confidence building exercises. He started simple by imagining he had long beautiful hair. When he opened his eyes he found full tresses that fell down well below his shoulders. A little more meditation and he was able to conjure rollers, hairspray, a curling iron, conditioners, and body formulas. He played all afternoon learning to roll, comb, brush, and fluff his long beautiful sexy hair. "This is exciting, and if the worst happens and I can't get back I can always cut it off." But after his customary solitary affair with a wad of tissue he had no trouble changing back to his former self. He proceeded in baby steps. He sensitized his breasts and enlarged his nipples a bit, just enough to provide a tingle when he pulled gently on them. He did so with the idea that it wouldn't be noticeable if he could not get them back to normal again. But he had no trouble returning them to their original form. He next imagined his legs and feet were as beautiful as the model on TV that demonstrated that new woman's shaver. Again he reasoned, "If I can't get back no one would see that my legs are feminine. I always wear long pants anyway." When he opened his eyes, his legs were exactly how he imagined them. He even shaved them smooth with the same amazing shaver he'd seen on TV. As usual, once he reached the peak of his new fantasy he was overwhelmed with an urgency to get back. And again, he had no trouble doing so. No matter how he changed his physical appearance it seemed he could maintain it for as long has he wished and then return to his original physical form. "Geez, this is like a dream come true!" It didn't take long before he was exploring a variety of feminine forms. He found that becoming a female for a short time was exactly what he needed. "No more angst and shame, no more worries about his compulsion. He could satisfy his every need just by imagining a female form. He soon learned how to self-pleasure his new anatomy. So when a sexual urge sprouted he could, in the privacy of his own apartment, turn himself into a woman and then meet his needs. Once his deed was complete he was always able to return easily and reliably. And yet, he felt compelled to go further. "What would it be like to go out in public as a woman?" His excitement grew at the thought of going out disguised as a beautiful woman. "Well, it would be a pretty realistic disguise, wouldn't it?" he chuckled. The first time seemed like a disappointment. Everyone treated him exactly how he appeared, as a beautiful woman. He went into woman's public bathroom expecting. . . what, he didn't know, but it wasn't much different than visiting the men's room. He shopped at a woman's apparel store and was treated no differently than any other customer. "Can I help you find something ma'am?" Asked the store clerk. "Would you like to try this on?" "Well, what was I expecting?" He discovered a few subtle differences though. People smiled at him a lot more. And even when he didn't feel ready to interact with others as a woman he found himself smiling back. Doors were literally opened for him. Men often turned and stared as he tossed his wide hips back and forth while walking through the local shopping mall. Even though he felt as if he were play-acting the part of a woman he still enjoyed the admiring stares. Another strange difference was that many women were friendly and gracious toward him. "Gee, I like your blouse, it fits you so well," some matron might remark. "Where did you get it?" Or on another occasion, "Your hair is so pretty, I wish mine looked as good." This was new and different. He tried to imagine how a man would respond to another telling him he liked his shirt or that he had nice hair. And yet it didn't seem all that remarkable among women. He learned that to smile and simply say, "Thank you," was the easiest and best response. He eventually became comfortable enough in a woman's body to consider realizing a bit more of his fantasy. He wasn't naturally attracted to men but he considered his options. He was repulsed by the idea of a lesbian encounter. So it would have to be men. He had long since gotten over his revulsion to men in his fantasies. Usually, they were just a mechanical aid for his mental encounter anyway so he didn't need to consider them as much more than penis with a formless body attached. The real world seemed much different and much more challenging. "Could I ever find a man I was willing to bed just so I can experience having sex as a woman?" He asked himself. He wasn't sure how to proceed. However, he soon realized that he really didn't have make a conscious decision about how to approach finding a man. He had always been afraid of talking to women and did so only hesitantly. Yet many of the men he encountered when he went out as woman were friendly. Very friendly. So it wasn't too difficult to find a willing man. It was another matter to build up enough courage to have any physical contact with one. He was in a grocery store when it first happened. He had intended to just pick up a few items at the store while dressed in a simple tight knit top and fitted jeans, just to try out a new appearance. "No need to sweat it, it should be a milk run," he declared, smirking at his own stupid humor. He had a handful of groceries, enough that he should have gotten a cart or basket. As luck would have it he dropped the bundle just as he approached the checkout line. A young clerk rushed to help. He cringed a bit now thinking back on the incident. He had returned the favor by jumping into the back seat of the clerk's Camaro during his lunch break. Immediately after the encounter he rushed home and quickly restored himself. "What was I thinking?" But the memory of the event stayed fresh in his mind. Despite the cramped conditions and the shortness of the encounter he found that his woman's body was not repulsed at all by the boy. He was quite hard and, as he took him in, he found his lifetime fantasy had been realized. He reached a climax in the car and cried out loud enough that the boy had pressed his hand over his mouth momentarily to quiet him. It was the first time he had sex as a woman. "The honest truth is that it was the first time I ever had sex with anyone." At first he felt shame at what he'd done. "Oh, I'm a homosexual! I touched another man's penis! A man with a woman's body is still man. Right? That's queer. Isn't it?" He considered that there was no one he knew who could answer that particular question as it applied to him. He wavered. "Wait a second," he countered, "it was normal heterosexual sex. I was a fully formed biological and anatomically correct woman. Why shouldn't I be free to have sex with a man?" The thought seemed comforting and after a while he warmed up to the notion that his actions were in no way queer. "Besides, I liked stroking his hard rod until he was about to burst and then guiding it inside my juicy hole." "It was really great, and it was so easy to bag him." He laughed again at his own dry humor. "Bagging a grocery clerk, Ha! Ha!" It wasn't long before he was realizing his fantasies in a very real way. And he was doing so at an almost frantic pace. He changed bodies to suit his most current fantasy and then went out to troll for men, sometimes several times a week. He found it was an easy thing to do. Sit at the bar, wait for a man to strike up a conversation, pretend to be interested in him, (he didn't even have to say much, just look interested, nod occasionally, and pretend to hang onto his every word), and before the last call he was accompanying him home. At one point he noticed, after a long stint trolling at a local bar in various different bodies, that the place was twice as crowded as when he first started coming in. Apparently, the word was out that it was easy to pick up beautiful women at this bar. "Well, it is," he thought, "though I'm the one that fostered the majority of those pickups." After satisfying his needs, he would always fein sleep until his partner dozed off. He'd then sneak out of bed, quickly dress, and catch an Uber ride home. "No point in going any further, I want sex but I'm just not interested in anything more. It's easier on both of us this way." This became pretty routine and it seemed like his dream had finally come true. It really was satisfying being a woman just long enough to have sex and then coming home and getting back into his comfortable male body. Yet sometimes his experiences as a woman were different than he expected. One day he was standing at an ATM machine about to put his card into the slot. A man cut him off, practically pushing him aside, and he began his own transaction. "Hey!" exclaimed a man's voice from behind him. "You can't treat the young lady like that!" He was flustered at first. He didn't immediately recognize the young lady in question was himself. The belligerent man stopped and turned toward the man. "Who are you to be telling me what to do? She's too slow and stupid to..." "Hey fuck you, you prick!" He stood frozen while the two engaged in an escalation of words. He began to get frightened. It seemed that they might come to blows. Eventually, the belligerent man stomped off. His shining knight courteously asked him to step forward to the machine. He noticed that his hands were shaking as he clumsily inserted the card into the machine's slot. The machine rejected his pin and returned the card. Flustered, he began to sob as he turned and tried to blurt out thanks to the man for coming to his defense. Later, he consoled himself, "Oh, I was just playing the part of a damsel in distress, ... wasn't I?" But he was truly puzzled by the unfamiliar mix of emotions; frustration, fear, gratitude, and confusion; that had bubbled up during the encounter. He was filled with doubt. "Maybe it wasn't just play-acting. I think I really did feel something. It was new and unusual. And it's unsettling that I didn't seem to be able to control it. It just swept over me." Even more unsettling were the tears that welled up in his eyes as he re-lived the incident. "What's that all about?" It dawned on him that the new life he had created was really not much different than before. "Oh, the sex is nice and it's certainly better than my solitary exercise in salami slapping." But something seemed to be missing. "I expected more, I guess." The next night he tried something different. He was certain there would be another protest tonight downtown. He didn't have a well developed social conscious nor any real political leanings, but hey, it might be fun to go watch it and besides, maybe there would be some friendly men around. He went through his routine to change into a woman. He had a vision of a beauty in mind that he lifted from a Mexican novella on the Spanish language channel. Somehow his concentration failed him. When he opened his eyes what he saw in the mirror was not the image he had intended. An olive skinned girl with long straight black hair and large brown eyes stared back. "She's cute enough, in her own way, but not the knockout starlet I had in mind." He thought she looked a bit Hispanic or maybe someone with a mixed heritage. "A little bit of Native American too, I think, especially the cheeks and the nose." He shrugged. "Well, I'll go with it. Anyway, she looks to me like the kind of girl who might show up at a protest, so maybe it will be a good fit for tonight." He took the subway downtown and was soon mingling with protesters, counter-protesters, media reporters, casual observers, tourists, and a bevy of armed police. He seemed to blend in without anyone taking undo notice. "I'm just another young person in this mix of souls." No one paid any particular attention to him. He drifted toward the edges of the crowd to get a better view of the protest. The crowd was moving forward and chanting. The riot police with their billy clubs and plastic shields responded by forming a tight line spanning the width of the street. Things looked like they might go out of control. News reporters scurried to try to get close to what looked alike an impending clash. Something caught his eye and he turned. A few feet away he saw a man eyeing the crowd. Something about him seemed familiar. After a moment he recognized it. "He's alone in this crowd, standing at the edges. He's afraid to get too involved. He's just like me." The man turned toward him and their eyes met momentarily, though he quickly glanced away. He felt compelled to somehow acknowledge the man but couldn't think of a way to do so. Finally, he blurted out, "Are you going to join in the fray or stand back and watch?" The man turned, smiled a bit and shrugged his shoulders. What followed was the best night yet that he had ever spent as a woman. They began to converse about the rioters, why they had come to watch, and what they expected. At one point as they walked along the man casually placed his hand on his shoulder to gently guide him through a throng of bystanders. Tingles shot through his body. "Over the past few months I've had physical contact with a lot of men, but I think this was the first time I was ever tenderly touched by anyone." Their eyes met again but this time they both lingered, each looking deep into the other's eyes. An odd thought popped into his head unannounced. "He's so dreamy!" He shook his head a little in disbelief. "What was that? He said to himself loud enough for his companion to hear. "What did you say?" "Oh, nothing, I thought I stepped on something. Let's keep walking." He looked down at his feet and quickened the pace. As he did he became aware that his heart was pounding in his chest. The night ended and they parted without exchanging numbers or making any future plans. "See ya!" he called. "Yeah, I'll see you around." His voice trailed off and his shoulders slumped a bit. He knew what had happened for he's seen it in himself many times. "I think he's attracted to me but he's too shy to do anything about it." He went home alone and sat in his easy chair for an hour or so seeming unwilling to change back into his male image. Finally, well after midnight, he closed his eyes, activated the familiar frequencies, and spun them until they formed the familiar shape of his male body. He expected that his thoughts would also return to normal but was surprised to discover he was still thinking about the encounter as he fell into a deep dreamless sleep. The unrest in the city was certain to continue for another night so he decided to go back downtown again. "Maybe I'll run into someone interesting," he told himself, trying desperately to avoid admitting who that interesting someone might be. He began to prepare for his transformation back into the same woman's body he had inhabited the previous night. "Oh my gosh, what if I can't reconstruct her? Let's see, do I even have a solid idea of what she looks like? I didn't pay enough attention last night. I've never tried to recreate the same body before. Oh, I hope this works." His concerns were calmed when he opened his eyes, looked in the mirror, and found the same dark-hair girl with her large dark-brown eyes staring back at him. "Whew! She looks about the same as I remember her." He hopped off the subway, quickly climbed the steps to the street, and briskly walked the few blocks to the teeming square where the protesters were gathering for tonight's march. He anxiously scanned the crowd, looking for that one familiar face he wanted to see. No luck. Then he hit on a better idea. He turned to search the bystanders at the edge of the crowd. "If he is the person I think he is then he won't be in the middle of the crowd, he'll be on the edge." Sure enough. He found him standing at the base of a metal barricade the police had erected to control the march. He called out to him and he waved back. As he stumbled his way through the people gathered to watch the march he was flooded with emotions that were totally new to him. He felt anticipation, relief, closeness, and excitement. "I don't have time to sort them all out," he told himself. "I'll think about it later, right now, I just want to experience the moment!" As he approached, the man lifted his arm hesitantly, offering what might have been the beginning of a handshake or maybe a half-wave. He ignored the outstretched arm and instead rushed close. Surprised, and perhaps a little embarrassed, the man wrapped his right arm partly around him in a gentle half embrace. It was such a welcome gesture of acceptance that he couldn't help but close his left arm around his torso, raise his open right hand, and press it softly against his chest. Looking up at the towering figure holding him he confided, "I was hoping I'd see you again." "Yeah, me too," he replied, trying to fein a casual response. Before long the protest march turned ugly. A rock was thrown from somewhere deep within throng. The police responded roughly. They waded into the crowd swinging billy clubs wildly and cuffing and dragging others toward waiting vans. Tear gas soon covered the streets and many of the protesters turned and fled the stinging cloud. In an instant they were engulfed by a surge of humanity. A tear gas canister flew by as rocks and bottles arched in the opposite direction. A cop pushed the man standing next to them to the ground and another kicked at him. People began running, shielding themselves with makeshift bandannas or covering themselves with their shirts. He caught a whiff of the gas and he started to cough. Tears streamed down his face. He bent over to try to catch his breath and as he did so someone pushed him to the ground. He struggled for a moment to get up until two strong arms lifted him up and carried him to a calm side street. "He picked me up as if I were nothing," he observed admiringly. "Whew, that was close. Here, let me wipe some of those tears away from your eyes." He dabbed at them gently. He gazed up at the figure that had just pulled him from the crowd. He was still teary-eyed though the tears from the gas had changed into tears of relief. He sobbed quietly as he tried without much success to compose himself. Still, he beamed with pride at the man who had pulled him from danger. "Another shining knight has come to rescue me again!" "That was really something. Are you alright?" "Yes," he was now regaining his composure a bit, "it was quite a gas." He was rewarded with a hearty laugh. "He gets my silly humor too." "Do you want to find somewhere a little quieter?" He asked. He nodded in agreement. They met again the next day then several more times over the next few weeks. Each time he felt something stir inside. A cacophony of new emotions spilled upon him. "I really had no idea. As a man the strongest emotion I ever experienced was anger or maybe frustration. This is so much different." One of the strongest feelings came over him while they walked in the park. They passed over an arched wooden bridge and leaned over together to watch the swans paddle silently under it. As they looked up their eyes met and he came close. They kissed for the first time as the full moon rose up over the horizon. "It's so... what?" The word romantic sprang into his mind. The word had never meant much to him before, yet here he was in the arms of a man in what could only be described as a near-perfect romantic setting. "It's new, it's exciting, it's ... wonderful!" Several weeks went by before he invited him to his apartment. It was clean, neat, and tidy. He inspected the bookshelf wondering what it might reveal. He was amazed to find the same video games and not a few of the same book titles as he had in his own apartment. "We are so much alike." The books on the shelf were arranged alphabetically by author. "The same way I keep my own books." He was starting to crave more than just the physical form of a woman. Their friendship had ignited a need for something more. "I really enjoy being around him. When I am I feel very different. It's something new, exciting, and something I very much need. He seems to fill me with something I didn't even know I was missing." At times he grew frustrated at the slow progress of their relationship. "Sometimes, I wish he didn't hold back so much." Yet he understood him, he needed to allow him to move at his own pace. He tried to be encouraging without rushing him. "He needs to go slow," he told himself. Most nights they sat and watched TV or played video games. Sometimes they just sat quietly, each in their own space. "Spending time alone together." He called it. Finally, last night after dinner at his place, he had casually mentioned, "You could hang around tonight if you wanted to. I mean it would be okay with me." "Spend the night?" "Sure, I mean you don't have to but it would be okay with me." He quickly appended, "But only if you want to." He felt a surge of excitement and without realizing it he rushed into his arms and folded up into them. "Yes, yes, of course I'll stay." And so it was that he found himself in bed with the soft morning sunlight peaking above the cityscape and streaming into the bedroom window. He turned a bit and snuggled closer as he gently stroked the hairy arm wrapped around his torso. "I'm sure he'll be awake soon so I want to treasure these quiet moments alone with his warm body next to mine." He could feel a morning hard-on pressing against his lower back. "He'll soon wake up and this moment will pass." A warm rhythmic breath brushed lightly near his neck. "It feels so good to be like this. It's so much different than just a few weeks ago." It occurred to him that he had been wrong about his alchemy text. It wasn't just a physics book. "Sure I became facile in reshaping my physical world, but it was my emotional terrain that has been totally transformed. I started from a bleak moonscape of anger and confusion and now I have developed a rich tapestry of emotions. Sometimes I feel like I'm now an artist painting with emotions instead of oils. I'm human now." He closed his eyes and a hypnogogic image formed before him. "It looks kind of like a graph, a cubic if I'm not mistaken." A spinning dot slid along the trace coming up from below. It moved up and around the concave portion and then stopped at the graph's origin. "That's where the graph turns from concave to convex," he observed. "The inflection point." The dot remained for a moment poised on the origin and then slowly slid along the curve entering the convex portion of the plot. "That dot must still slide a long way," she thought, "but I think I'll stick around for a while and see where it takes me."