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Old 11-23-2008
capablanca capablanca is offline
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Default New Shemale story - "The Taming, part 1

I've posted a couple of stories to this site before about my experiences with shemales. But I thought I'd try my hand at some fiction, and so here it is. Although it's fiction, the sex of course isn't completely made up - I've had some mind-blowing experiences with shemale escorts over the last year or so, and so I've put some of that into the story. So here it is. Hope you enjoy. Feedback would be very much appreciated. BTW, I have to post this more than one part, because the length restrictions on post (I hope doing this doesn't break any rules:



The Taming, part 1


It was Friday night, and Michael sat in the student pub, alone. It was mid-October, and normally he would be out with a number of friends. A tall, handsome, personable fellow, he'd come to Toronto from Tennessee on a scholarship, and as usual for him, had quickly acquired a sizable circle of friends. He should be out with them right now, having a good time.

But he was all alone. The evening started normally enough - Michael met his friends at the usual time, looking forward to a fun evening of drinking and chatting. But things had quickly turned sour. Kimberly had clued him in right away that something was wrong.

"You asshole," she had said, not mincing words. "Did you write that fucking letter to the editor?"

Michael had admitted that yes, he had written the fucking letter, at which point Chandra had told him he could go fuck himself, her boyfriend also glaring at him in anger. He looked at the other faces at the table, and saw the anger in everyone. He sat at the table.

"Look, it's not like you think, o.k.? I meant it as a joke - don't take it so serious," he said pleadingly.

"Here's my joke," said Kim, dumping an almost full pitcher of beer on him. His former friends all took this as their cue to leave. Michael was left alone trying to dry himself off with paper napkins.

He was surprised that the letter to the editor of the student newspaper had been so badly received. Michael fancied himself something of a wit, and perhaps he was. But his subject was poorly chosen, given that he was in Toronto. Perhaps there were universities in the United States where an anti-gay, anti-transvestite diatribe might be received with mirth, but Toronto was rather different. The letter had been printed the day before, and he'd noticed people had been a bit stand-offish the next day. It was official now, of course - he'd committed a blunder of the worst kind, and he could look forward to a rather solitary existence at U of T for some time.

But not all of his friends had deserted him - Angie, a medical student arrived at the pub just in time to see the drink dumped on Michael. Grabbing some paper towels, she came to help.

"She got you really good," said Angie, drying his hair. "What did you say to her?"

"It wasn't anything I said. It was what a wrote."

"That letter in the school newspaper?" said Angie.

"Yup," said Michael. "Some people just can't take a joke."

"You're just too soaked to dry off here," said Angie. "My apartment's only a couple of minutes from here. You're about my boyfriend's size, and he keeps some of his clothes at my place. I'll lend them to you." Michael expressed his gratitude, and followed Angie out of the pub, his ego deflated by his public humiliation.

As Angie had promised, the walk was very short, but the cool October wind cut through his thin, wet clothing, and he was quite chilled by the time they arrived at Angie's place, a small basement room in a huge house subdivided into a complex warren of student apartments.

"It's nice of you to bring me here like this," said Michael. "Aren't you afraid your neighbors will see you bringing a guy home who's not your boyfriend?"

"Not at all," Angie replied. "Even if I worried about that kind of thing, it's Friday night, and I'm sure no one's around." She handed him some clothes and a towel. and showed him the door to the bathroom. When Michael emerged a few minutes later dressed in borrowed clothes, Angie was sitting on her bed, with two mugs of hot chocolate. There was nothing suggestive about her sitting on the bed -the apartment was very small, and the bed doubled as a sofa.
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