The Genie free porn video

THE GENIE By Katharine Sexkitten It was my parents' fiftieth wedding celebration. They'd decided to take all their kids, and grandkids, and some nieces and nephews and cousins on a trip. We all piled into an airplane and flew to Mexico. A beach- side resort. There was twenty-three of us. We all got along pretty well, actually. So that part of the trip was cool. But I was by myself. Divorced, with nothing on the go, and nothing since my divorce, which was almost ten years past. I was a thirty-nine year old homely single guy. So while my brothers and sister and their respective families stayed in beautiful beachfront townhouses, as the only single person on the trip I was given one half of a small duplex right at the end of the beach, a few minutes walk from the rest of my family. And on the day we arrived, when I moved in, I found some stuff from people who had stayed before. There were a couple of soft-core porn videos, a pair of nail clippers, and a man's comb, in the living room. In the bedroom dresser, I discovered some used men's black dress socks, which were smelly, some bright yellow board shorts with a waist size of a small whale, and an opened box of condoms, with three left. Drawers further up the tall-boy revealed some loose panty liners, one used pair of pantyhose with a giant run in them, three folded panties as if straight out of the luggage, and a bikini. The top was for a small- breasted woman, and neon lime green. The bottom was the same color, a small piece of fabric with strings on four corners, presumably for tying up over the hips. In the closet there was a filmy, gauzy wrap-around dress on a hangar, a small pair of grit-covered beach sandals, too small to be a man's, and a discarded pair of black stiletto-heeled pumps, one of which had a broken strap that went around the lower leg, just under the ankle. The toe was so narrow in the shoes that I wondered if it didn't hurt to wear them. I was going to throw it all out, but then realized I didn't need that much space for the amount of clothes I'd brought. So I left them. In case they came back, I reasoned, or the resort asked me for them. Being physically separated from my family was okay with me. I mean, I'd spend lots of time with people during the day and evening, but I liked the idea of a buffer. I'd become used to being alone, and comfortable with my own company, since my divorce. We were all from a long line of pasty-white Irish immigrants, but of everyone, I was the palest. And the gingerest. If that's even a word. Fine red hair, sky blue eyes, and hairless from my eyebrows down, except for a sparse wisp of pubic hair above my equipment. Which, according to my ex-wife, wasn't much. Anyway, there was tons of things to do, and tons of relatives to hang with, so for the first few days life was busy. Being that I am so pale and so ginger, I more or less had to wear a wide-brimmed hat all day long, and cover up from the intensity of the sun all the time. I put lots of sunscreen on. But at night, usually after the small fireworks show the resort put on, after I?d left the family around the beach fire and wandered to my place, I was comfortable enough where I could take clothes off. I could enjoy the beach, the sand between my toes, the wind coming off the water skimming over my smooth legs, my smooth chest, whipping my hair around. I could wear a little speedo that I?d bought years ago, one my ex thought looked ridiculous on me. "You?ve got nothing to advertise!" she?d said. On our fourth night, before the fireworks began, I?d bade goodnight to everyone and headed home. I stubbed my toe. I was almost at the end of the beach, where the thick vegetation of jungle, or forest, came right to the water. I was just about to turn around, and head back up the few dozen yards to my door, when my big toe hit something, and it hurt, of course. I jumped back and hopped on my good foot and grunted out a strangled "shit!", not wanting anyone up the beach to hear me. Adrenaline kicked in and endorphins kicked in and a minute or so later the annoyance of the pain was mostly gone, except for the dull throb in my toe that I knew would hang on for hours. I looked down, to see what it was I?d kicked, to dig it up and throw it away, so no one else was as unlucky as I was. It looked big. I dipped my toe in the ocean, to cool it down, and then hopped back on my good leg to the lump in the sand. With my fingers I started brushing, the top stuff fluffy and easy to move, but just under the surface where it was damp the task proved harder. I had to dig the edges of my fingertips in, here and there. Sand went up under my nails. I knew I?d be scrubbing them out when I got home. As I dug, I could see a roundness to its shape. I kept digging and pulling. Finally, I could see what it was. It was a bottle of some sort, a narrow top curving to a fatter middle section, and then curving back narrower at the bottom. It looked like it was made out of clay. It looked fragile. I blew some breath on it, and rubbed some of the stuck-on sand off. Most of it was painted a dull white, but there was a band around the fat middle that was a deep blue, with an almost Mediteranean quality. Greek, or Italian, or maybe Egyptian. I kept blowing breath on it, and rubbing sand off. Until it started glowing, from the inside. Then I dropped it, immediately, and took three hobbles backwards, on my good foot. The glowing got brighter. It was the warmest colour of orange, a shade instantly soothing and calming. Then it got brighter again. Then a mist started forming all around, white smoke starting out small and billowing outward again and again, until it was a ball of thick haze as big as a semi-truck in front of me. And then the smoke dispelled, as if a giant wind had come along and pushed it away, just like that. Standing there was a man. He was huge. Easily six-five or more, and probably between two-fifty and three hundred pounds. Massive, and built like a statue. His skin was a golden dark tan, his eyes a deep fiery brown, he had chiseled cheekbones and a strong jawline and full lips, his hair was dark as night and flowing behind him, almost as if nature had a wind machine aimed at his head. The thing is, though, he was dressed like a genie. I mean, he had pointy-toed shoes that curled up back around, and he was wearing harem pants. They had thick banded hems at the ankles and hips, but in between the material was sheer, and see-through. His upper body was bare, and while he wasn?t as big as Arnie in his prime, he was unbelievably built. A huge hairless chest, with two dark brown nipples each the size of a quarter, a six or eight pack set of abs, his arms were almost Popeye-sized. And his skin shone, as if he?d been oiled down for some sort of competition. And he smelled amazing! Even standing feet apart, he had an odor I could easily detect. He smelled like an open-air spice market, with deep rich tangy tones mixed in along earthy sweet other tastes. I was immediately attracted to his smell. Then, I had to look back down, because of my first vision of him. From then on I was overwhelmed and in awe of something significant. Something I was ashamed to say I?d noticed right off. Immediately. His penis. It was, like the rest of him, large. Larger and thicker than I?d ever personally seen before. It hung down, and to his left, and it glistened on the tip of his huge bell-shaped uncut helmet. His balls were large as well, squeezed in behind. I?d seen men naked before, in my life, obviously. In school locker rooms, growing up, and the community center gyms I?d worked out in from time to time as an adult. And in porn, of course. And it was at that exact moment that my life and all its? experiences flashed by in a microsecond and I analyzed and realized that my so- called ?idle curiosity? about erections in the past was, in fact, a great big dishonest-to-myself lie. Standing there, looking at this man, I just knew and accepted the truth, my new reality, in a heartbeat, which was that I?d actually studied penises, envied them, admired them, been in awe of them, wondered what hard-ons that size would feel like, for the woman, what it would feel like to kiss one and rub one and suck it into your mouth, and what it would feel like deep down in your soul when a big manly monster entered you. He just looked at me, and smiled. I didn?t know what to do. Finally, he spoke, in the deepest richest voice I?ve ever heard. "Master," he said, "I am Genie." I stared at him, incredulously. Seriously? "I thought Genies were women," I said. His smile became brighter. "Genie is always the physical embodiment of the ultimate example of beauty, and sexual attraction." Then his smile got bigger. "Of whoever rubs the bottle." His words stunned me. Then I started to think that maybe he was just a crazy person. A local lunatic, who enjoyed traumatizing the tourists. "That can?t be right," I replied, "since you don?t look anything like Halle Berry." Genie just stood there and stared at me, his eyes almost whimsical. "Master, I can grant you three wishes." I was about to speak, when he interrupted. "Though there are some limitations," he added. "Really?" I asked, quite surprised. I decided to play along with his ruse. And truth be told, I?d never heard of limitations, in all the tales and legends. "Like what?" He fixed me in his stare, but I didn?t feel threatened. I felt warm, and loved. "You cannot use a wish to ask for more wishes." I nodded. "Okay, that makes sense, I guess." "You cannot ask for world peace. It cannot be done, even by Genie. You cannot ask for all the money in the world, nor can you ask for a plague or disease to be inflicted on anyone. Genie can only grant personal wishes, things that actually matter, that come from the heart. And, you must understand, some wishes take time. Genie can make many things happen, but most wishes are changes, and some changes only occur slowly." My toe was feeling better, but the rest of me was weirded out. His schtick was good, I?ll give him that. He was a good actor. He made me feel like he believed every word he was saying, that it was all true. But Momma didn?t raise no dummy. "Okay," I said, irreverently, "for my first wish, I would like..." And then for some bizarre reason it just came into my mind so I finished with, "...a large Oh-So-Orange milkshake from Wally?s Diner." They had the best shakes, in my opinion. And everybody else?s opinion was irrelevant. Genie held out his hand, palm up, towards me, and then nodded. "It is done." And then my mouth just about dropped into the sand, right next to some of the skin from my toe. A large orange milkshake appeared in his palm. And the big glass was the same unique model that Wally?s always used, one that had a gigantic "W" in the middle, etched into the glass, that must have been manufactured and bought by the hundreds back in the fifties. Stereotypical soda fountain glassware. In his palm. With a straw. Cool, and frosty. He nodded at me, and I stepped forward automatically and took it from him. HOLYFUCKINGSHITHOLYFUCKINGSHITHOLYFUCKINGSHITHOLYFUCKINGSHIT! My brain went numb. My nervous system stopped working. I just stood there, gaping at him, this mountain of a man, who had stepped back and folded his arms across his massive chest. What was that thing he was saying, about the physical embodiment? The glass was bitter cold in my hands, and I reached my lips to the straw and ventured a sip. As soon as the first drops of liquid hit my taste buds, I knew it was a genuine Wally?s shake. Nobody else had the same formula that they did. I looked up at him, in the most abject of realizations. He nodded slightly, and smiled even more. "Now," he whispered, in a voice deep and smooth and husky and alive, "now, you believe Genie?" My mind raced for alternatives. There had to be something. A trick? My brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and cousins all got together and hired this guy, and knew that I?d ask for an orange shake because everyone in our hometown knows I love them? But then, how did it just appear in his hand? Was this brutally handsome man with the porn star-sized penis a magician as well? I couldn?t find a good alternative reason. So it had to be true. I nodded at him. "Yes," I said, reverently, "I believe." "And what is your second wish?" I paused, and enjoyed my shake. I wanted to think about this one. I wanted to make sure that I gave him something that was personal, but that there was no way he could easily conjure out of mid-air, even if he was the next Copperfield, or Houdini. But what came to my mind was this very trip I was on. "The thing is, Genie, my parents paid a lot of money to take the whole family on this vacation. They?ve been retired for a few years, and I know they have their investments and their nest egg, and all, but I wish, I wish that somehow they could get all their money back, maybe as an anniversary gift from the travel agent or something like that?" Genie?s smile disappeared. Genie?s big penis twitched in his harem pants, and started rising. I noticed it. He looked at me, seriously. Then he whispered, "You have a beautiful soul, to think of them first." He closed his eyes, and after a second or two he nodded. Then he opened his eyes, and looked at me. "It is done. They will find out tomorrow." I sucked down the last of my milkshake, and smiled from ear to ear. My parents would be so surprised, and so happy. If it came to be true. And the ludicrous part was, I knew I was accepting something that my rational mind swore didn?t exist, i.e. Genies, but it didn?t matter. I believed him. "And your third wish," he whispered, "Master?" I thought about it. What did I want? Genie had said it had to be something personal, from the soul. What did my soul want? I looked at Genie. He stood there, a delighted anticipatory look on his face. He seemed to be curious as to my wish, and yet somehow knowing what I would ask for at the same time. My eyes scanned up and down his body. His perfect body. Muscles on muscles. Tanned and toned and strong and virile and masculine beyond anything I?d ever seen before. Physical perfection. As if the biggest computer in the world scanned all the artistic output of humanity for eternity and came up with the pure definition of masculinity. Sexual godliness. I looked at my body, in contrast, smaller, paler, and tinier in every way. I looked back at him again. Then I knew. "I want to be sexy, " I blurted out. "I want to be sexy, so sexy that," I paused, understanding the significance of speaking truths I didn?t know existed until that point, "so sexy that I get laid every day." Genie nodded. "I want," I said, continuing, "to be one of those people who just radiate sexual energy, who exude it out of their pores. I want to be sexually confident, sexually liberated, and sexually active, more than I?ve ever imagined possible before." Then I just stood there, waiting. I had never been so truthful in my entire life. To myself. After years of being a nice guy, and after my failed marriage where nothing even remotely sexual happened much, I was shaking inside from the truth. That?s what I wanted. To be sexual. Genie also just stood there, looking at me, peering through me, seeing the real me, the real person I wanted to be, after years of nothing and loneliness. My ex-wife always said I lacked passion, and that I was awkward in bed. At that moment, I came to that realization, that what I wanted more than anything was to be the kind of person who attracted others, and who had the bravery to follow through on my desires. Finally, a wry smile came on his face. He slowly closed his eyes, and then slowly nodded. His eyes opened. "It is done." Then the big cloud of smoke that brought Genie to me appeared again, and then it disappeared again, taking him and the bottle away. I looked up and down the beach, in the moonlight, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. I was alone. Which made me sad, actually. I missed looking at him. I made my way back to my place. Walking in, I turned on one lamp in the living room, which bathed the entire main floor in a warm, amber light. My mind went over the strangeness of my encounter with the Genie. Was it real? It sure seemed like it. The milkshake was real. Or was it? Was I going crazy, as in totally insane? Was I imagining things? Was I so desperately pathetically lonely that I could create the vision, and could it be so life-like that it convinced me it was real? But the shake was real! I?d never tasted anything so real before in my whole life. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was the same. I hadn?t changed. My wish to be sexually attractive was real, and yet even though Genie said it was done, I still looked exactly the same. Then I remembered his words. Yes, he had said some things take time, but there should have been some difference already, shouldn?t there? Then the most insane thought entered my head. I thought about the bikini, upstairs in my dresser. Why, I don`t know. But there was no denying where my thoughts were at. The bikini. And the panties. And the flimsy, sheer quality of the material of the wrap- around dress, still hanging in the closet, with the sexy heels. There was no more thinking after that. It was remarkable. I actually said it out loud that I had no idea why I was doing this, but that nothing had ever felt so right before. I walked upstairs, and stripped the rest of my clothes off. I reached into the top drawer and pulled both bikini pieces out, the bra and the panties. Lime green, and tiny. A soft, clingy fabric. It felt smooth and satiny and sexy on my fingertips. I somehow knew it would feel even better on my body. The bra felt amazing. After tying the halter around my neck, I easily moved the fabric so my slightly bulging man-boobs slipped inside. I turned to a mirror and gasped at myself. The color glowed against the whiteness of my skin, and looked delicious to me, and best of all, I had a fantastic figure! My breasts were small, sure, but they were there! I had cleavage, and my little trooper down below became instantly stiff and throbbing. Which made putting the bottoms on awkwardly interesting. As the fabric slid up my legs, I worried I might cum. I was that close. Without even touching myself. The experience was exquisite. Then, as I moved the fabric between my legs, cupping my little balls and dick and lightly cupping part of both my bum cheeks at the back, I tied it all up. OHMYGOD! My heart was pounding in my chest, I could hear it. The blood it was pumping all around me was swooshing in my veins. I could hear that too. I stared at myself in the mirror. Bikini top and bottom, pale white skin under neon lime-green fabric. Hairless everywhere, my legs looked fabulous. I turned to and fro, and posed, my lower back seemingly naturally curving, sticking my ass out. I was really turning myself on! I went to bed alone. I?d spent hours wandering around my place, in the bikini. I even dared to walk out on my little deck, and then onto the sand. There was no one around, so I walked out to the shoreline, and allowed the flowing tide to wash my feet. I couldn?t get over how brazen I was. Wearing a woman?s bikini, nearly naked, and obviously excited, on the beach in Mexico, my entire family just up the way. Alive. Never moreso. I went to sleep that night after masturbating to two of the biggest cums I?ve ever had in my life. Wearing nothing but panties, pulled to the side. One of the three pairs left over, by someone I couldn?t thank enough. Soft, and satiny. Purple. My belly was positively swamped in white sticky cum. I?d never cum twice in repetition before, in my entire life. I?d never felt so sexy. The next morning, I woke up a little late, and had to shower and dress quickly and race up the beach to have breakfast with my family. I threw some big oversized board shorts over different panties, and a big t- shirt. The sun was still low, and I figured I wouldn?t run too much of a risk of burning yet. I grabbed my big bottle of sunblock too. When I got there, everybody was laughing and buzzing and excited. I asked a sister-in-law what all the commotion was about, and she almost screamed in joy that the travel agent had notified mom and dad earlier this morning that the cost of the entire trip had been refunded to them by the travel agent, as an anniversary present. I dropped the cup of coffee I had in my hands. Everybody looked at me, and the noise I?d made. "Say that again?" I asked. So she did. Mom and Dad had a phone call bright and early this morning, from the travel agent. For being such good frequent customers over the years, and because it was a very special occasion, they were comping the cost for the entire trip back. Genie said it was done. For the rest of the day, I was a zombie. All I could think about, all I could see, was Genie. His body, his muscles. His amazing penis. "It is done," he?d said, and it happened! Just like the milkshake, what he had promised had come true. My wishes. My first two wishes. With only my last wish still to happen. If it did. After dinner on the beach, I ambled back to my place, as the sun was setting. I?m sure I had a good day, but I didn?t remember anything about it. Just Genie. And the promise. "It is done." I looked for him, on the beach, as the day darkened. I scanned and peered at the sand, like a cop looking for clues, hoping against hope that I could get to see him again, and maybe get three more wishes. And even if I didn?t get more wishes, I still wanted to see him. But I found no bottle. I went inside my place, and heard some noises from the other part of the duplex, which had been empty since I?d moved in. Someone else was there, starting a vacation. Throwing off my regular clothes, I scrambled and couldn?t race fast enough to put the bikini back on. It was weird, but it was only after the bra and panties were on that I felt like I could relax. That I could truly enjoy the tropical paradise I was in. Then I remembered the heels, in the closet. And the wrap-around dress, gauzy and sheer. Just like Genie?s pants. My worries about the toe of the pumps being hurtful were immediately assuaged. My toes just felt snuggly, and right, squeezing into them. The heels were about three inches high, and very narrow, and my ankle wobbled and teetered worryingly when I put some weight on that foot, which of course had to be the one with the broken ankle strap. But a moment or two of learning, and I got comfortable. And stable. I was pushing out my bum, a little. Counterbalance, I reasoned. Either that, or this was just the position to be in when wearing heels. I didn?t know, never having done it before, but I was aware that standing there, in heels and a bikini, staring at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door, I felt changed. I felt different. I felt sexy. I?d never felt this way before. It was shocking. My concentration was slightly broken by the dress. On the hangar. It was talking to me. I swear, it was. I could hear a voice, ethereal and comforting, telling me to "wear the dress", over and over again, slowly, like a mantra. Turning slightly, I gazed at the roundness of my ass from a side angle. Milky-white skin, smooth and silky, and the rounded cut of the bikini bottoms, curved and delicious. "Wear the dress." I threw it on. It felt as light as air, and as wispy as a caress, and it settled on my skin all over my torso and arms and ass, and then down to mid-thigh. It seemed to cling to me, in all the sexiest of ways. My little breasts, in the bikini bra, somehow looked a little bigger, and rounder. My ass looked even more sumptuous, and dreamy. I?d never felt more dreamy. I started walking around, getting used to the feel of the heels, and how differently it made me walk, and how the gentle movements of my body made the material of the wrap-around dress slip and slide over my skin, all of which made me sigh with happiness inside and emboldened me to keep going. I walked downstairs, and all around the unit. The sound of my heels clicking and clacking on the tiled floors sounded like little gunshots. Each hard crack was visceral, and hypnotic. I grabbed a bottle of wine and a cool glass and poured myself a drink. Walking around and around, I felt like a sexual enchantress, drinking wine, wearing intimate clothes and high heels, my body almost naked to the world and yet still covered in that tantalising way women do. The way women do. That hit me, that thought. I was never more excited and racing with sensuality, I had to admit. Dressing and acting this way. The way women do. I walked out on the deck, to wait for the fireworks, my heels clacking and racking up a thunderous noise outside. This newfound obsession, I realized, was making me not care anymore about what any other person would think. I mean, my family was just up the beach, all in fancy condos or grouped around the big bonfire. What would they think of me, in a bikini and heels and wrap-around sexy dress? That normal part of my brain was being drowned out by the loudest chorus I?d ever heard. Who cares what they think? Have you ever felt more free? Have you ever felt more complete? Have you ever felt sexy, like this? I knew the answers. The old me, the pre-Genie me, would have denied and obfuscated. The new me was fine with them. I walked a few feet, through the gap in the bannister, and out onto the sand, wine glass in my hand. My heels sunk down, of course, which made forward progress harder, and I bent over to slip them off. Then I heard a deep voice, from nearby. "Is it still warm?" The voice had enormous depth to it, and clarity. It was experienced, and velvety, and had a slight throb to it. It cut through all the background noise of the surf, like the clearest bell. I found it instantly soothing, if not loving and supportive somehow. "Is what still warm?" I asked, my voice suddenly breathy and quiet. "The sand," he said. "I see you taking your heels off, and I wondered if that meant the sand was still a pleasant temperature." I wanted to turn to the direction of his voice, but I stopped myself. I realized there was someone on the deck of the other part of the duplex. The new visitor I?d heard earlier, and completely forgotten about in my bizarre feminine revelry. I risked a quick check over my shoulder. It was dark, he had no lights on inside his place, except for a few candles I could make out, and all I could see was the shape of someone leaning with their arms on the railing of the sun deck. The next second took my breath away, literally. I gasped as this person stood up, to his full height. The shadow became so much taller, and the true size of his body was highlighted. He was huge. Easily six-five or more, and probably between two-fifty and three hundred pounds. Massive, and built like a statue. Huge rounded shoulders, massive arms, a deep barrel of a chest, legs that looked thick and strong, all tapering down to his feet. Which looked really big. I thought of the old joke about a man with big feet and big hands means, of course, big shoes and big gloves. It was a play on the whole ?big in the penis department? clich?. With the barest of light behind him, I could see that he was probably wearing a speedo, because I couldn?t actually see a shadow of large and loose swim trunks, or a shadow of his genitalia. Which, I realized, I was actually thinking about. I really did want to see. Isn?t that strange? And then I realized that I was dressed as I was, wearing heels, in a bikini, and a wrap-around dress, with a glass of white wine in my hand. He doesn?t know! How could he? He thinks I?m a woman. If I can only see his shape and shadow, then he can probably only see mine as well! Then I saw the shadow move, laterally a few feet, until he got to the opening on his deck, and then he walked out and towards me. As he neared me, the moonlight above made his image clearer to me. And me to him, of course. His skin was a golden dark tan, his eyes a deep fiery brown, he had chiseled cheekbones and a strong jawline and full lips, his hair was dark as night and flowing behind him, almost as if nature had a wind machine aimed at his head. I saw the white of his teeth, as he smiled, the warmest kindest smile I?d ever seen. He was in his late forties, or early fifties, I assumed. His skin looked tanned, and yet he had a rosiness to his cheeks. He had a huge Adam?s apple, and a strong neck, leading to big rounded shoulders, and a chest that rose and fell with his breathing, completely free of hair. His nipples were brownish, and huge, and my mind flashed for a nanosecond on what it would be like to touch them, or better still, to wrap my lips around them. His belly was smooth, and tanned, and had just the suggestion of a curve to it. A really well-shaped Dad bod. The speedo he was wearing was tight on him, and did absolutely zero to hide his blessings. He had a big lump. To his left, and down. But the material was having a hard time containing the beast within. I could see the impression of his cockhead, and his balls, and how even though he was so much bigger and manlier than I was, that he was still in a flaccid state. I watched his eyes scan me, from top to toes and back again. Then, out of my periphery, I saw him become less flaccid. I watched his penis move, in his speedos. It actually moved! Then reality kicked in, in a huge way. I was a guy, wearing a bikini and heels and a dress, on the beach with a mountain of a man walking towards me, thinking I was a woman, probably. What happens in the next second or two, as he?s scanning me? When he sees the little lump that I have in my bikini bottoms, and then sees my Adam?s apple, and then puts two and two together and gets supremely offended, like some narrow-minded people might do? Was I about to get the shit beaten out of me? I panicked. I froze. All the new-found euphoria and joy I?d been reveling in just vanished. I started shaking. My body started quivering. My back went cold, which it does when I?m scared, all the way up my spine and into my brain. I had about three or four seconds, at that point, maybe five, where I could safely run, and probably not get caught, back into my place, I reckoned. I spent the first second thinking about how hung he was, and how so much bigger than mine it was. The second second moved him one step closer, and his eyes ran up and down me again, in the dim light, stopping briefly at my crotch, and then moving on. The third second I returned to looking at his swelling penis. I was struck by the fact that he?d grown. Second four hit and I jolted back to reality, and my legs actually bent slightly, tensing up to run. The fifth second changed everything. The first firework went off, above the beach, and instantly flashed everyone and everything in a momentary bright light. Clear as day. And I knew it, more than I?d ever known anything. He?d seen me. He knew who I was, or more appropriately, what I was. Second six saw him step right in front of me, and that golden deep soothing voice came at me again. "Hello. I hope I didn?t scare you. My name is Gene," he whispered. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? And that?s when it hit me. He looked amazingly like Genie, without the orange light and clouds of smoke. It was uncanny! He smiled, curiously. "Have we met before?" I simply couldn?t think of a thing to say, so I shook my head no. Then I stood there, mute. "I just got here earlier today, and I gotta tell you that I think I must be the luckiest man in the world, to have such a lovely neighbour in this tropical paradise." He smiled, a wide genuine expression of how he was feeling. I hoped. My little penis grew, right there. Not to its fullest size, but getting there. "I?m," I paused, trying to not use my real name or anything like it, and then flashing back to my ideal female image, the one I?d explained to Genie last night, and changing it slightly, "I?m Hailey." "Mmm," he hummed, "that?s a lovely name, Hailey." The next set of fireworks went off, two quick ones, and we were both illuminated long enough for both of us to be certain. He knew. And I knew he knew. And he knew I knew. And he smiled even more. I swigged the last little bit of wine from my glass. My heart was beating out of my chest. I felt sure that even at the relatively young age of thirty-nine that it was possible to have a massive heart attack and drop dead, right there on the beach. Then I thought about what my parents and brothers and sister and relatives would think of me, when they found out. Then I realized that I?d be dead, and it wouldn?t matter. "I have some Pinot Gris chilling, in the house," he said, quietly and yet with strength and vitality, "would you join me in a glass?" He stuck out his hand, palm up, in that inviting way that men do. In a way I?d done in my life. Well, I thought, my previous life. I reached out my hand, and gently placed my fingers in his palm. "That would be lovely," I said, and smiled the biggest smile I?ve ever made. Bigger than the best Christmas morning, bigger than my wedding day, bigger than after the first doobie I?d ever smoked, back in high school, with a few buds, when I laughed and giggled afterwards for about six hours. The biggest smile of all. His hand was warm, almost hot. His skin exuded maleness, if that?s a quality possible to be felt. I stopped at the open sliding glass door, and put my heels back on. He stood and watched me. I was halfway through the second foot when I realized I was doing the whole thing just the way a woman would. Knee bent, weight on the other foot, lean slightly and slide the shoe on, foot to the ground. All without bending in the middle, or stooping over, like a clumsy boy would. His hand guided me to the sofa, where I smoothed out the dress under me and then sat. I was trying so hard to look feminine, to look the part I was dressed as. Then, a little voice in my head spoke up. ?Feel feminine, and you?ll be feminine.? It sounded a little like Genie, from last night. Gene went to the small kitchen area, and came back with two glasses of wine. He gave one to me, and then gently sat down next to me on the sofa. We clinked glasses, and he smiled, a devilish grin. "To new friends," he whispered. I nodded my agreement, and took a sip. It was delicious! Then we talked. Well, he did most of it. He told me he was fifty-one, and divorced, and the father of two kids, a boy and a girl, all grown up now and on their own, and how he was going to be a grandfather for the second time within the next few weeks. He told me about his life. His career. He was in sales, supplying the printing industry. He talked about the changes he?d been through in his profession, how the world had gone from old-fashioned printing presses and all the standard equipment to the new paradigm. Digital, direct-to-plate, that sort of thing. He could have been explaining the ins and outs of quantum physics, or international political intrigue, as far as I was concerned. He spoke with confidence, and passion. His voice was intoxicating, like a glass of warm brandy, just the perfect temperature, warm enough to make each sip perfect. I was captivated by him. The fears that I?d had of him discovering who, or rather what, I am, and the violent reaction I had predicted, all disappeared. The way he looked at me, always taking stock of me with his eyes, the way his visual appraisal filled me with warmth and anticipation, the little flutters of joy I felt every time he idly reached to touch my arm, or hand, while he was making a verbal point about something, all of it was building and having the most wondrous effect on me. I had never felt sexier. Even in bare candlelight, I could make out all the details of his body. The way his fingers wrapped around the wine glass, delicately, gracefully. The size of his legs, massive, and necessary to support the size of his torso. How his smile was a little lopsided, the left side of his mouth slightly higher than the right. How he probably hadn?t shaved his face since yesterday, or before his flight from wherever earlier today, and how his five-o-clock shadow made him look even sexier. Sexier. It is done. I heard Genie?s words. I felt them in my bones. Gene finished explaining that on the spur of the moment he?d decided to treat himself to a little vacation. He hadn?t had one in years, maybe even a decade, as he?d poured himself into his career. A couple of recent big deals closed, and he?d realized that he?d needed some ?me? time. "I hopped on a plane," he said, his voice deep and soothing and mesmerising, "and came here. I figured I could spend a few days relaxing, maybe do some zip-lining in the forest or just loll about on the beach. Maybe," he added, a bigger smile coming to his lips, "find myself an exotic vacation paradise love affair." The look in his eyes made no doubt about his intentions. I knew, as the male in me would know, that his dream of a holiday romance was sitting right in front of him, as far as he was concerned. Strangely, I was scared and excited at that prospect, both at the same time. He asked me about myself. I was enamored with the sound and qualities of his voice, and loved hearing him talk. Plus, it meant less time for me to talk, with my male voice. So when I did answer his questions, I tried to keep my voice higher in register, and filled with breath. I kept my answers to a minimum. Here with my family. A couple of nights left. No spouse, anymore. He got up at one point and grabbed the bottle of wine, to refill our glasses. He turned on a radio, and some background music filled the room, strings and softness, melodies I?d never heard before and couldn?t help but find soothing and charming. Just before he sat down again, a thought occurred to him. I could see it in his eyes. The light bulb coming on moment. He smiled down at me. "I have a present for you." What? He didn?t even know me, didn?t know I?d be staying in the unit next to his. How could he have a gift for me? "Don?t go away," he giggled, and then almost ran up the stairs to the bedroom levels. A few moments later, he strode down, his massive legs flexing and jiggling. He was carrying a small little bag, dark, faux leather. It had a zipper on the top. "Somebody left this upstairs," he said, his voice like honey, "and I was going to throw it out, but now I think you might like it. If you don?t, then by all means let me know, and I?ll trash it." "What is it?" I asked. He handed me the bag, and sat down next to me. Our legs were touching. "See for yourself," he smiled. I put my wine glass down on a side table, and unzipped the little bag that fit in my palm. Inside was makeup. Lipstick, eye liner, rouge, lipgloss, mascara, and powder. A foundation powder, I assumed, although the extent of my knowledge of makeup was anecdotal at best, the years growing up with my mom and sister, girls I?d dated, which wasn?t many, and my ex-wife. And what looked like a loose pair of earrings. Silver hoops, hanging from a silver heart. Then I realized that if I was ever going to dress again the way I was, and I knew that was a certainty, that I should learn about makeup. Then, the most staggering realization hit me. He knew. My face was completely un-made-up. If he wasn?t aware I was a cross- dressed man before, from our time on the beach, all this time we?d spent chatting on his sofa would have shown him categorically that I was miles from being a woman. A real woman. And yet he didn?t seem offended, or off-put in any way. I looked up from the makeup bag to his eyes. They were twinkling. "Anything in there you like?" he asked. I was as close to being stunned as I?d ever been in my entire life. He knew. I nodded. Gene leaned slightly towards me. "You have lovely skin. I bet a little lipstick would make the whole ?you? shine." His gentle encouragement was obvious, and his respect and consideration for my feelings leaped at me, and filled me with elation. I could have cried, if I?d allowed it. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" I asked, and stood, a little wobbly from the wine on my heels. Gene stood as well, like a gentleman does, gallantly took my wine glass from me, and nodded his head towards the bathroom. "I?ll be right here, when you get back." The light was bright and harsh in the bathroom, and I kept it on for only a few seconds. Only as long as I needed to. Only as long as it takes to pucker up my lips, and cover them in lipstick. Back and forth I ran the little tube, my mouth suddenly bright red and feminine. I did the kissy-face thing, making sure that the color ran true and full and bold and covered all of my lips. Two generous coats. For some reason, I wanted my lips to shine for Gene. For some reason, I suspected my lips might soon get busy doing the best thing that lips can do. I was about to go, when I remembered the earrings. I fished around in the tiny bag and pulled them out. The silver hearts were actually fronts for a clip. I thought, how coincidental is that? My ears aren?t pierced, and here I find clip-on earrings! I watched myself in the mirror, as I put first one on, and then the other. I was immediately in love with the way they jangled down, the weight of them, and how they moved back and forth, touching the skin of my neck at times. Then I ran some cold water and got the fingers of both hands wet, and then ran them through my hair. As fine as it was, and as red as it was, it almost stuck to my scalp, giving me an almost Annie Lennox quality, from the early Eurythmics. Returning to him, he stood again, like a gentleman. He handed me my wine glass back. As we sat, his eyes took me in, all over. He had a gigantoid smile. Neither of us spoke for a while. It wasn?t awkward, or uncomfortable. I was delighted to just stare into his eyes. I barely knew this person, and yet I felt perfectly at ease sitting next to him, our legs touching, his upper body twisted to face me, mine to him, the romantic sounds of an orchestra competing with the roar of the ocean to fill the room. "Hailey," he ventured, "can I ask you a personal question?" I nodded yes. It was scary, and I was apprehensive, but the moment felt right. "I hope I don?t offend you, but I was wondering..." Somehow, I knew the question that was coming. "You were wondering how long I?ve dressed like this?" And there it was, out in the open. He smiled again. And nodded. "Not long at all. Actually, this is the second time. When did you know?" I asked. His face became an open book. I could see sensitivity, and thoughtfulness, and respect, and genuine care for another human being. I could also see something else. "When you walked onto the beach, I suspected something. The hip-wiggle thing was a little unusual. I didn?t know for sure until I came near you, on the beach, though. No makeup, and certain, um, physiological things were apparent that told me that you were, um, how do I say this with the appropriate amount of political correctness, not genetically what you appeared to be." For some reason, I didn?t feel ashamed, or embarrassed, or out of place. His tone, his physical reaction, his aura, all told me that there was no reason for discomfort. No reason for shame. He was going out of his way to be sensitive to my possible embarrassment, or anxiety. No reason to run away. "Please tell me, Gene," I asked, almost breathless, "tell me what were your first thoughts? Your first impressions?" He smiled. "I thought here is a very lovely human being, someone who just seems so alive and full of life, and someone who, well, someone who makes me want..." He was searching for words. Probably to find something that he hoped wouldn?t offend me. "Tell me, Gene, please?" He fixed me with a stare I?d seen before. It was a stare I?d used myself, in my old life. My before-Genie life. It was the gaze of a man who was completely aroused. Completely serious, completely real, and completely open. And completely horny. "Someone who makes me want to make love to her, all night long." IT IS DONE. I blushed, from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. I was certain I probably went as red as the lipstick on my lips. And life is so stream-of-consciousness. I immediately twigged on my lips, covered in passion, covered in feminine beauty, designed to imply a woman?s vaginal lips, enflamed with ardor. And I was enflamed, I realized. Gene was making me feel that way. "Really?" I asked. "Me?" He nodded. "You have that look, Hailey. I hope this doesn?t offend you, but to me you look like a feminine woman who is yearning to be made love to, a woman who is desperate to throw all of her passion and heart at her lover. A woman looking for a romantic love affair here in this tropical paradise." I wasn?t offended at all. My wish was to get laid every day. And suddenly, here it was in front of me. The chance. I heard Genie?s voice inside my head again. It was so similar to Gene?s, and yet different somehow. "It is done." A song ended on the radio, and a new one began. Gene smiled more, and made a noise, like humming. "I love this song, don?t you?" he asked. I didn?t know it from Adam, but I nodded. The first few bars were entrancing, I realized, the melody beautiful and light and romantic. Gene put his wine glass down on the coffee table. "Hailey," he asked, standing, "would you do me the honor and dance with me?" He stuck his hand out again, like he?d done earlier on the beach. Fingers towards me, palm up. I looked around at the tiny living area, a mirror image of my own place. What with the furniture and all, there wasn?t anything even remotely resembling a dance floor. Which didn?t matter, I realized. I put my wine glass down, and again slid my fingers on to his palm. He helped me stand, the wine and the emotions of the moment making me sway a little bit, three inches taller than I am normally used to, and yet still shorter than him by a whole bunch. His other hand went to my hip, and curved just slightly around, as his left hand slowly enveloped my right. I found my left hand acting on its own, moving to his right shoulder, my head bending up to look him in the eyes, which were staring intently at me. By some unspoken mutual agreement we both began moving at the exact same second at the start of the next full measure of music. His body dwarfed mine, his size comforting me, making me feel protected and safe. We moved slowly, to the tempo of the song, in a little square between the coffee table and the kitchen area. His eyes never left mine, and in the dim light of the candles all I could see was how he was feeling. His every emotion was visible, in his eyes. Joy, and gentleness, and passion, and the flame of love, all of which bathed me in warmth and good feelings. I could also see abject sexual attraction, there in his eyes. My own years of being a male, I just knew that look. Gene was horny. The idea of making love to me was uppermost in his thoughts, and shining out of his eyes. As we danced more, we moved closer to each other. Our bodies were almost touching. I could feel his heat, feel his body burning with passion. For me. My heels made clicking sounds as I swayed back and forth, in his arms. The song eventually faded out, but we kept dancing. And getting closer. Then a new song came on, a different tempo altogether, but we didn?t change. We didn?t start moving faster to match the beat. We just kept staring at each other, his head over mine, looking down into my soul. Through the intensity of the moment, the strangeness of it all, never having been dressed as a woman before, with earrings and lipstick, being held by this mountain of a man, all these new and wondrous experiences slamming me in the face, I still had the presence of mind to realize a couple of unique things. My nipples were as hard as rails, expanded and blood-filled as they?d ever been, and patently obvious to anyone who might look, in my bikini top. Gene smiled even more, which made me realize he could see them too. My little penis was hard too, in my bikini bottoms. I could feel the head, wet and partially sticking out of the fabric, tenting the panties, making the little area left of my groin sticky. I risked a quick look down, regretting the idea of leaving his eyes, but only for a moment. I had to know. Gene was having the same problems with his bathing suit that I was having with mine. His monster, and I can truly call it that, since it out-sized and out- lengthed and out-girthed and out-manned mine in every respect, was also sticking out of his speedos. Up and to the left, same as me. But that was the only aspect that was ?same as me?. In every other way, we were worlds apart. His cock was huge. Compared to mine. Compared to the average man. Hell, compared to large four-legged animals! It was so impossibly thick, as well as long. He was cut, with no foreskin, and the angle that he was sticking out of his tight speedos made me think that perhaps he might be experiencing some real discomfort. Again, by some unspoken mutual decision making, his hand released mine, allowing me to place both of my hands around his thick neck, behind his head, and allowing him to snake both of his hands around my body, his fingers finding the top of my buttocks, his palms resting over the dress, on my lower back. We both moved towards the other. I felt that enormous cock touch me, on my right side, almost parallel with my belly button. Searing me with its heat. Branding me, if for no other reason than for the first time in my life, my previous heterosexual life, another man?s cock was making contact with my skin. I should have been offended, based upon all the values I?d been taught growing up in this world. Instead, I realized it was the most erotic thing I?d ever experienced, a fully-grown male cock, touching me. Fully-grown, because of me. It hit me like a two-by-four in the face. It staggered me. It shocked my soul. It made me feel sexier than I?d ever felt, in my entire life. I looked up at him, as we both snuggled our bodies into the other, as we began the closest dance either of us has ever had, another new slow song filled with romantic strings and up-lifting melody coming on, both of us moaning slightly, his voice deeper than mine and making me vibrate inside. His eyes were on fire. I realized mine were too. Our faces were so very close to each other. I could feel his breath on my cheeks. He seemed to be breathing heavier than before. I know I was. Our mouths were barely inches away from each other, my head turned up, and his down. He pressed his body into mine more, and I gladly accepted, and matched his pressure. His eyes twinkled, and he might have hurt himself smiling even more. "Gene," I whispered, "I?ve never..." "Shhh, Hailey," he whispered back, "neither have I." And then the world stopped, the universe ceased to exist, the ocean dried up, the stars dimmed, and life as I?d known it for thirty-nine years disappeared. All in one second. Because the next second was filled with Gene kissing me. The weight of his lips overwhelmed me, as they sought out my lips, wanting to consume all of me in their path. His kiss was soft and gentle and yet frantic and hurried. His passion was bursting at the seams, and being telegraphed through his mouth into me. I opened my lips, gratefully and wantonly. I felt his tongue touch my upper lip, and then dip lower and enter my mouth. YES!!!! Without a doubt, it was the greatest kiss of my life. All the other kisses, all of them, were useless and forgotten. His hands grabbed onto my buttocks, and pulled me to him, forcing his cock into my body even more. I loved it, and moaned my approval into his mouth. And I became very busy, tasting and sucking on his tongue. My god, it was huge! Like his cock, it dwarfed mine, and I drifted emotionally into a place where all I could think about, all I could imagine, all I could want in life, and all I could do, was take his kisses and kiss him back. I?ve never had a better kiss. Ever. All the other kisses I?d had, all from women, of course, all of them combined didn?t even register as a speck in my reality. This was a kiss. Hot, and full of soul, and real, and large, and substantial. His breath was coming in sharp blasts out of his nostrils, as his tongue continued to work its magic inside my mouth. His lips were just the perfect combination of heat and moisture and presence, powerful on my emotions, leading me down a road I?d never been on before. I suddenly couldn?t imagine a life without this kind of kiss. I suddenly couldn?t imagine my life before this kiss. I suddenly couldn?t imagine anything, except what I had in front of me, holding me, caressing me, captivating me, enrapturing me. Consuming me. I broke our kiss. His face developed a quizzical look, as if he was worried that perhaps he?d crossed some line, or I was suddenly having second thoughts. "Gene," I whispered, speaking the only words my entire soul could find, "make love to me, please." He laughed. "All in good time, Hailey. We?ve got all night. That was the best kiss of my life, and I want to spend the next few hours or so just kissing you." So he did. I mean, the man could kiss. The juxtaposition was insane for me. Every touch, every taste, every movement he made was real, and staggering to my mind, and exactly what I would have tried, back when I was the guy. But I wasn?t the guy anymore. Now I was the gurl. It was a night of firsts, for both of us. I was experiencing things from the other side, the other direction. When he literally picked me up, one arm under my shoulders and one arm under my knees, and carried me up the stairs to his bedroom, I came in my panties. Four big spurts of cum, and four body-shaking convulsions, all with my arms around his neck, my face buried in the crook, my lips tasting his flesh, the saltiness of his skin. He stopped walking while I was cumming, and just watched me, his eyes showing the marvel of the moment, and letting me go through what I had to go through, and then a look of total pride and satisfaction came over him, like he was realizing that he had caused all of that, he was the inspiration for my release, my ?little death?. To be on the receiving end of a mans? passion felt both alarming and momentarily out of place, and then ultimately self-satisfying and perfect. It felt right. To take him into my mouth, his cock, his penis, so big and wet and throbbing and hot, was a moment of abject wonderment to me. I made sure my eyes never left his as I slowly enveloped him with my lips, my tongue streaking out to flicker back and forth under his head, and I watched him go through that building epiphany of sexual pleasure that I knew so well from having previously been on the other side, but now understanding the enormous pleasure and power and pride that can be felt being the giver. Being the one doing the sucking of cock, instead of the one being sucked. As much as I loved getting a blow-job in the past, feeling his skin and his taste as I sucked him into my mouth, knowing that I had a cock in my mouth for the first time, made me realize that I had in fact changed. Genie had done his job. IT IS DONE. It was a night of firsts. All of them earth-shattering, and staggering to my soul. All of them changing me, right down to my DNA. The first time I sucked on a cock. The first time I made a virile man start breathing hard, and calling my name out loud, and finally his shrieks and gyrations as his orgasm overtook him. The first time I?ve ever swallowed cum. The first time a man held me in his arms afterwards, caressing me as he came down from his high, telling me over and over again in a strained whisper how that was the best blow-job he?d ever had, bar none. The first time a man had ever eaten me out, his tongue feverishly in and out of my hole, my pussy. The first time a man had one, and then two, and then three of his big thick fingers inside me, while he kissed my mouth and brought me to yet another orgasm from touching a special place inside me. And finally, of course, and most importantly, the first time a man had looked into my eyes, as the tip of his massive cock touched the skin around my wet and open pussy hole, his eyes pleading for permission, which was given enthusiastically and without shame, and the monumentous moment when I became his woman. The first time I?ve ever felt a cock, inside me. Taking me. Making love to me. The fullness, the pressure, the alien aspect to all of it, suddenly feeling right, and normal, and needed, and as much a part of the rest of my life as breathing. The first time being made love to. The first time being filled with cock. The first time being fucked to a place where my mind was oblivious to anything and everything else. The total exclusion of the entirety of the world and the universe. There was just cock. Him and me, making love. His cock inside me, filling me, shaping me, changing me, pushing me to realize my true nature, my true raison d?etre. The first time a man made love to me, and after almost forty minutes of pummelling and sliding and pounding and writhing and grunting and passionate words from both us, many yelled out loud, the most important and commanding first of all. The first time a man came inside me. The first time a man reached his climax in me, because of me, the best fuck he?s ever had, the most amazing fuck he?s ever had, blinding him with zeal and commitment, until he finally shot and dumped his creamy baby-making load into the depths of my bowels. Thank you Genie. Thank you. You?ve given me something I never knew I needed, never knew I was capable of, never knew was possible. I am the most special of women now. I live each day in feminine clothes, and feminine inclinations. I have a variety of lovers, all men, and all desperate to have me to themselves. I am Hailey. IT IS DONE. The End.