August 15th

Like the other times, a guy and a futanari/dickgirl having sex.  This is the conclusion, taking place in the present at age 22.

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I had known Nevada for ten years. We had gone from best friends to ‘friends with benefits’, I knew each and every part of her body (and barring her hair, had probably licked most every part of it over the years), I don’t there’s anyone on this planet that knows more about her. Her scents, her sounds, and her tastes I had long since cataloged in my mind. Her habits, dreams, likes, dislikes and fears as well.



But there were still things that confused me about her.



Like how she always looked so fucking good right before we went to bed.



In the yellow glow of the electric lantern, I could make out that she was wearing nothing but one of my old shirts. She had adopted to my old shirts a year or two ago for her pajamas, if she wore anything at all.



She just looked so ravishing, your shirt on a naked woman can be a lot hotter than the most expensive and lacy lingerie



As she was lying down next to me, I couldn’t deny that I wanted her. I wanted her physically. But as she turned on her side, looking right at me, I couldn’t just pull her toward me and take her. Although I have certainly just taken her in the past, as she has done to me many, many times as well, it was different this time. I couldn’t take what I wanted from her. I wanted her physically. I wanted her mentally. I wanted her emotionally. I wanted her.



She looked at me with her light brown eyes, with small smile on her face..



I had been her friend. I had been her best friend. I had been the first person that learned of her nature. I had been the person who took her virginity. I had been the person who took her other virginity. I had been a trusted confidant. I had been a font for sexual relief. I had been someone to study with. I had been someone to ‘study’ with. I had been a lookout for potential dates.



But I didn’t know what I was to her at the simplest level



She was a lesbian, what I wanted her as and what she saw herself were incompatible things.



Nevada’s declaration of her sexuality happened six years ago when we were sixteen. In an emotional state as chaotic, dangerous and heartbreaking as when I first found out she had a penis eight years ago, she came out of the closet in tears. I could only watch wordlessly, the mere thought of her sobs, her declaration and my own frustration at myself at the time can leave me biting my tongue in frustration in the present. She had come to me, clung to me, desperate not to be alone at the time. The only thing I could do was follow her lead and make her into a woman. She had come out of the closet in tears; she had fully become a woman in tears as well.



I had thought that night six years ago was a farewell to the relationship we had had. A farewell to the casual sexual escapades, a final farewell to men. But only twenty hours later, we fooled around with each other once again. We remained friends. Our relationship remained the same. She no longer sought the romantic attention of men, and turned entirely and intensely on women. But she was flighty, relationships with women were short affairs, and she would come back to me; bored, horny and full of energy.



What did Nevada see me as? Was I her friend? Was a source of sexual relief? Was I not a man to her?



She chuckled a little, finding my serious look amusing. Her arm took mine, and draped it over her as she inched herself toward me. Our bodies were in close contact.



I held Nevada in my arms, but I didn’t hold what was most important to me, what I wanted most.



“Nevada. Are you really a lesbian?”



She pushed against me, out of my arms. “What the hell are you talking about? You know I am.” She sounded more incredulous at me saying the question than angry.



I shook my head, which a lot harder to do noticeably when lying on your side. “You still have sex with me.”



Any inclination in her that I was joking died.



“I am a guy. Lesbians don’t have sex with guys.”



Bringing her hand up from her sides, Nevada held out a fist. “This isn’t fucking funny.” She was seriously mad.



Hit resistance to my question. I was picking a fight with her. Was this worth risking the whole decade long relationship (whatever that may be)? Maybe she had rubbed off on me over the years. When she wants something, she’ll get me to go along no matter what, even if I have to be dragged along. A little stubborn persistence, a taste of her own medicine is what she needed.



Don‘t back down. “I didn’t know in years past.” The only thing I could say or think of years ago was ‘I don’t know.’ “But now, it’s different.” Don’t back down. “This isn’t healthy.” Don’t back down.



With a snarl, she slapped me across the face. Nevada sat up, and was about to storm off.



I bolted to my feet and stood tall. Don’t back down. Don’t let her leave. “I’m just asking is one small question and I promise I’ll never bring it up again.” Don’t back down. “I’m your friend. All I want is just to you to understand.”



“Do you know what you’re asking me?” She faced the exit of the tent, her back to me. “Might as well be asking why I was born.” She snarled.



After learning of her nature, I hit the books like a man possessed trying to find out as much about this sort of thing as possible. The rates of births like her are absolutely astonishing. The chances of one being born are a fraction of a percent, a tiny fraction. There may only be less than 100 people like her on the planet with a rough estimate. Such a thing is ‘corrected’ through surgery shortly after birth, bringing the actual number lower.



It was calling her a freak of nature to question her assumption of herself.



“I just want to understand. I always did.” I reached for her hand. “I don‘t think of you any different. I never did.” It was closed into a fist, but it unraveled.



She allowed me to lead her back to bed. We sat, and in the yellow light of the lantern, faced each other. From expression, she didn’t have patience for this sort of talk. History would say that she would eventually get me to drop it. She was adept at making me do what she wanted.



How do you tell someone that how they are living is wrong? When they are doing something illegal, or abusing things harmful to themselves like drugs or alcohol, it’s easy to show them the direct consequences of their actions and how it hurts themselves and others. But how Nevada acted was not overtly harmful, just…contradictory.



While she stared daggers at me, trying to get me to back down, I stood my ground. “When did you come out as a lesbian?”



“Is that your question? The only one that you want me to answer?”



I shook my head vigorously. No, that wasn’t what I needed to ask. She came out six years ago, after breaking up with dreamboat douchebag Johnny Moon over vitriolic homophobic and transphobic remarks she overheard.



What’s the one question I could ask to get her to see the contradiction? What about her sex life? She talks with me about sex all the time, if she was successful with a girl, she would have told me. Whenever she gets a girlfriend, she always breaks if off after a short while, claiming to be bored with them. If all her relationships are outlived by a fruit fly, then it’s evidence that she’s not a lesbian, a girl can’t hold her interest romantically.



But as I opened my mouth, I let no words escape my lips. She could easily claim that she’s just unlucky at relationships, and say the same thing about me. I don’t have much luck with the ladies either. This proves nothing.



Nevada was pissed. Not just that her very being is being questioned, but having to sit here and wait for me to say something. “You got thirty seconds to ask the question before I make you sleep in the car. Then never bring this up again.”



Whole relationship on the line, 30 seconds on the clock and I don’t have a game plan. I don’t even have the ball. Nevada wouldn’t forgive me for this. I’m fucked.



…wait, fucked?



I was on to something earlier. She has fucked me. She has sex with me, a guy. Lesbians by definition are women that are not attracted to guys. She can’t be a lesbian and have sex with me. I can’t imagine a reasonable retort to it. It has to be the one question that can reveal the contradiction to her.



With only a few seconds left, I asked the question that would help her understand. “What kind of lover do you want?”



…wait, what?



A lot of the anger in her faded and evaporated into the air. But her spirit and spunk (the trait, not semen) sank. “Fuck.” She said casually as she thought about it.



Did I just blow the whole thing up? Why the hell would I think of something so stupid to ask her?



She spoke quietly and weakly, in rare contemplation. “I want someone who can accept me for me.” We both knew what she was talking about. “I think…I think only someone who can really accept me; someone with a body like mine could really accept me.” But she shrugged. “Until I meet someone like that, the closest thing I find to that is another woman.”



…someone who can accept her?



Sheepish was not an emotion even I see often in Nevada. “It’s not that I don’t want guys…but…” She trailed off, not wanting to finish that train of though.



I know she meant Johnny Moon. A man has rejected her so viciously without even knowing.



After a deep breath, she laid back down, facing away from me. “You got your answer.” Her hand reached blindly behind her, and turned off the lantern, leaving us in darkness.



That was it. I told her that I only would ask one question. I promised her I would never bring her being a lesbian up again. I think I blew it. I looked at the top of the tent, although I saw more darkness than anything.



The relationship was preserved. I got an answer to the question that burned inside me. But it was a hollow ending. Nothing had changed. Nothing will change. The opportunity had come and slipped through my fingers like air.



I didn’t know what to say when I was 14 when I first learned of her nature. I didn’t know what to say when I was 16 and she came out as a lesbian. I didn’t know what to say when I was 22 and I finally tried to point out the contradiction. I would never know what to say.



The situation would always be like this. I could drown in sexual pleasure with her. I could be friends with her forever. But I’d have to watch her live a lie the entire time. I only did it for six years, what’s another several decades?



“Until that person with a body like you appears, can I be your lover until then?”



I didn’t care at this point. The though of denying myself what I really want for decades and being forced to watch who I want lie to herself made didn’t care. Let her get mad at me. Let her smack me or beat the crap outta me. At this point, pain would be a welcome distraction from this thought.



She was silent.



I turned on my side, toward her. Anything to distract myself from this thought of what the future held. My hand reached out into the darkness and found her shoulder, or at least what felt like her shoulder. I moved closer to her.



Nevada did not throw off my hand, nor reject my advance.



With my body touching her back, I pulled her hair behind her ear, and then stroked her hair. I thought of whispering something in her ear, but I didn’t know what to say at this point. But surely my breath on her neck had an arousing effect on her.



A slight gasp escaped her lips.



My arm went lower on her body, and felt around in the darkness for her cock. Given that it was already protruding from underneath the old t-shirt of mine she was wearing, and that it was seven inches long, it wasn’t hard to find even in pitch black. Over the years, I’ve probably touched and stroked off her cock more than my own. Even in complete darkness, I know the contours, shape of her cock. I could trace the veins winding up the shaft. I know that it tilted to the up and left ever so slightly. The head of her cock was hot, and I knew how smooth it was.



My finger traced a circle around her the entrance to her urethra. It was sensitive. The first time I had made her cum, I had finished her off by circling around her with my index finger. But I gently and gracefully held onto the head of her shaft with my fingers, and started to rub them in a circle. One had made her cum eight years ago; she’d have no chance against all five.



With my head still by her ears, I started to mouth her earlobe. No teeth was needed, only needed the lips to turn her on. I knew her body well, maybe even better than my own.



Her hand brushed my away from her cock and her head shook my mouthing off. But by her breathing, I knew that she was aroused. This was completely confirmed as her hand went behind her back and started to paw at my erect penis.



In turn, I brushed aside her hand from my cock, and then used my hand to lift the bottom of the shirt she was wearing up, exposing her butt. Even in complete darkness, I knew her butt. She did not have ‘junk in the trunk’, but it had enough to cup with your hands. Nudging forward with my cock, I prodded a hole. Given the texture, it was her anus.



I did not have a problem with this. She did not have a problem with this.



She really showed that she had no problem with it by reaching back onto my cock, and spreading lube on it, as well as, I assume, lubricating her own asshole.



God, I wish I could see her anally fingering herself.



When her hand removed itself from my cock, I pushed forward. I know that she had done this many times, I was there every time. There was the irregular friction of her insides. I know the sensation of being inside her.



I thrust my full length inside her and waited. I heard her moan out softly when I pushed myself inside her. I know this is a feeling she enjoyed. Her gasps further reinforced that. She’s done his to me just as I’ve done it to her. It’s the feeling of a physical connection, and it’s not a normal one according to society, but it’s a connection that we can both experience.



As I started to move, she started to let out her cries. I wanted to record them, but in the complete darkness of the tent this night, I realized that I had long since recorded them in my mind. Every thrust, every grind, twist or slight variation in rhythm would bring up a different cry, moan or gasp, and I knew them before.



My hand reached over her and started to stroke her. There was no need to do any fancy handjob tricks. I knew her limits, and I wouldn’t need to do anything else if I was fucking her in the ass with the long, deep strokes she loved and a reach-around for her to cum.



I didn’t care about the future; I didn’t want to think of the future of the relationship. I just wanted to do this. To fuck her once more, to hold her once more, to be with her one last time before the relationship will eventually crumble. Because I knew that I would never think differently of her, but I couldn’t bear with myself anymore.



She pulled away from me, retreating from my cock. I heard rustles, and then her hand push my shoulder gently.



I was lying on my back, my cock pointed up. After more resulting and sounds of movement in the darkness, I felt the sensation of Nevada’s ass. She was lowering herself onto my cock, impaling herself in the search for pleasure. Her hips moved at a variable pace, indecisive of whether to go fast or slow. She was more intent on taking it all, blending it and drinking the sensation down, savoring it.



Feeling her cock occasionally bounce off of my stomach, I took a hold of it and stroked. I wanted to hear her orgasm cry, so I held nothing back. When one hand moving as fast I could while keeping a grip on her was not enough to make her cum fast enough, the index finger my other hand started to play with the very tip of her hand, getting wet and slick from her precum.



We had been in darkness for a while. My eyes to adapt to the low light, and I could make out more than just nothing. The first thing I could make out was also the only think in my field of vision.



Nevada’s face was inches from my face. She stared at me, almost drunk on the pleasure.



I did only what I wanted to do.



I kissed her. We had only kissed twice before, despite having sex and almost every day for the last eight years. The first time was eight years ago, when I kissed her like a child would kiss another, a clumsy show of simple affection. The second time was six years ago, when I kissed her like a mother would kiss her child, a sign of emotional support.



But this time, I kissed her like I had wanted to for years. I kissed her like a man would kiss a woman. I kissed her like a lover would kiss her beloved. My tongue ran between her teeth, and danced with hers. Neither of us has much experience, rather embarrassing considering we were both 22. Neither of us cared.



I sipped of what I had always wanted.



When she pulled away from me, it was only to let loose my most favorite of her cries. The cry she made when she came. I felt the hot fluid on my hands and spread as I continued to stroke her. I felt it on my stomach; I felt it on my chest.



the confines of her ass, the hot cum on my stomach, and the wonderful cry of ecstasy was enough to push me over the limit. I came, and my hot jizz, almost all frustration and pent up emotion, filled her to the brim. When I pulled out, I felt a little of my cum drip from her ass back onto my cock.



But then I felt something more awesome, she laid down on me. I could feel her breasts, sweat, semen, heat, heart beat, breathing and the weight of her on me.



While catching my breath from the intercourse, the thoughts I had before melted away. There was no way I could leave this relationship, there was no way I could live with myself if I did break this relationship off. If anything, I treasured it more.



When Nevada pulled herself off of me and went outside to cool off, dragging the blanket with her, I followed her.



Under the moonlight, she stopped on a log overlooking the lake, maybe a hundred feet from the campsite. She had thrown the blanket over the log and sat down, watching the lake.



I sat down next to her. I didn’t know what to say to her. I never knew what to say.



Nevada stared at the reflection of the moon in the still lake waters. With a breath, she nodded suddenly. “Yeah. Okay.”



I didn’t say anything, not because I didn’t know what to say, but rather because I knew I did not need to say anything. My arm draped around her shoulders.



She leaned her head onto my shoulder.



I would be with her until that person who can understand her, that someone who can sympathize with her body comes.



I hope she never comes.