Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, TransGender, Shemale, Fiction, Anal Sex, Slow, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Logan DeVry is attracted to Alexandra, a young computer technician at his office after she helps him with a problem filing documents. He woos her and discovers she is involved in LBGT affairs, although she insists she is not a Lesbian. When their relationship reaches the lovemaking stage, Alex confides that she is a pre-op trans woman. This initially puts Logan off, but his love for her overcomes his reluctance. In the end he discovers new dimensions to his sexuality, and to hers.

Logan DeVry sat at his desk, propped on his elbow with the telephone handset against his ear. “I told you ... I used to be able to save the document. Now it says, permission denied.”

“When was the last time it worked for you?” the voice on the call asked.

“I can’t remember ... a couple of weeks ago, maybe?”

“Did you reset your password?”

“Yes I reset my password ... and I rebooted my computer. I’m still seeing that error.”

“We’ll send Alex up to look at it.”

“Thanks...” Logan slammed the handset into its cradle. Send Alex up ... right -- but, what century before HE shows up? He turned toward his computer display and brought up the web browser.

“Logan?” he heard a voice behind him.

He turned around and saw a young woman aged in her mid to late twenties. Logan regarded her. She was of medium height, with straight, shoulder-length brown hair. Blue-gray eyes regarded him from behind black-framed glasses. She wore an ankle-length, taffeta skirt and a light blue, long-sleeved blouse.

“I’m Alex Winter,” she said. “I came to look at your document issue. What is the problem?”

“The problem is I’m trying to save the document in DocArchive.” He clicked on an icon of a filing cabinet with a physician’s head mirror. “I go File, Import...” He clicked on a folder. “This is my desktop and it says, permission denied.”

“That’s because,” she explained, “we have instituted a new policy that sever-based apps are no longer permitted to retrieve files from desktops.”

Logan let out an exasperated sigh. “Why?”

“Because it’s a security issue. If you knew the ID of someone else’s desktop, you could use the app to copy their files. Some hacker who reached DocArchive could do the same.”

“Nice of you to notify us.”

“Oh, I think we did notify you ... an email was sent about two weeks ago.” Logan brought up his inbox and scrolled down a couple of weeks. “There,” she said, pointing.

“That came when I was on the road. I figured it was just the usual technology gobbledy-gook.”

“Some of the gobbledy-gook is important,” she replied sweetly in her soft, alto voice. “We created an import folder in DocArchive. You need to push your document there, and from there you can do the import. Do you have a document to archive?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have placed the call in the first place,” he replied, testily. “This one, for example.”

“Right click, select Copy.”


“Bring up your file explorer. Enter slash-slash ... P dash docarchive. No, back-slash; not forward slash.”


“Navigate to the import folder; right-click and select Paste.”


“Now, go into DocArchive and import from the Import folder ... There.”

“It seems an awful lot of steps to go through when I used to be able to just pick them up from my desktop.”

“Like I said -- a security issue. Now that you have the import folder open, you can just drag and drop your documents.”

“How am I supposed to remember all this slash-slash crap?” Logan asked.

“You don’t have to -- look...” Alex copied the network address for the import folder and then created a shortcut on his desktop. “Now, all you have to do is to drag and drop your files here. Try it.”

Logan selected another document, dragged it to the shortcut and dropped it. Then, he imported it into the application. “I guess ... that seems simple enough.”

“If you run into any problems, give us a call,” she replied.

“Thanks ... Thanks, Alex, for coming up to help me.”

“You’re very welcome, Logan,” she said sweetly. “Have a great day.” She gave him a little wave and headed toward the exit.

Logan watched her head out of the suite. He turned to another analyst. “Tom -- who’s she? I haven’t seen her before.”

“One of Kyle’s technology gnomes,” Tom replied. “They hang out in the data center on five.”

“Right ... Did you know about this new DocArchive import business?”

“Sure ... it was in an email that circulated a couple weeks ago.”

“Did it make sense to you?”

“Sure. I’ve been using it that way ever since.”

“God, I must’ve come across like some ... petulant jerkwad. I’m afraid I get that way when I’m up against one of Kirk’s deadlines...”

“Actually you came across more like some over-entitled, arrogant luddite. If it were me instead of Alex I would’ve told you to read the instructions attached to the fuckin’ email.”

“ ... I just don’t get along with changes in technology,” Logan replied.

“So, you ARE a luddite.”

“I guess I am...”

Logan rode the elevator to the fifth floor. Carrying a small box wrapped in gold-colored foil he headed toward the suite with a sign that read, Walnut Street Technology. When he reached it, he saw it was dark within. A hand-lettered sign on the door read, Technology move to 13.”

Back to the elevator he strode and rode the car to the thirteenth floor. There he found another sign reading Walnut Street Technology -- Press bell to enter.

Logan pressed the button. “Yes?” came a voice through the intercom.

“I have something for Alex Winter,” he replied. The door buzzed open.

A technician sitting near the door gestured to the left. “Alex’s is the third cubicle,” he said without looking up.

“Thanks. By the way -- I thought the data center was on five,” Logan replied.

“It’s been outsourced,” the technician replied, “to some cloud somewhere. Saving a bunch of money.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Six months.”

Logan surveyed the room -- it was a cubicle farm. Upstairs, where investments were made and clients entertained the desks were of walnut and the chairs leather. Here was utilitarian nylon. “Cheaper office space, too, I guess. You said third cubicle?”

“Yep. Third cubicle.”

Logan found a cubicle with a nameplate reading Alex Winter. He saw her staring at a computer display. Logan rapped on the doorway. “Alex?” She spun around, reaching for the mute button on her telephone deskset. She held up one finger and then pointed to the Bluetooth earpiece tucked behind one ear. “Sorry...”

Alex returned to her call. Logan leaned against the doorway until she finished. She turned to him and lifted the earpiece from her ear. “Hi, Logan,” she said. “More problems with DocArchive?”

“I came to thank you for being so patient with me yesterday,” he replied. “I don’t think my manners with you were ... all that great.”

“No need to apologize,” she replied.

“I also wanted to give you this.” He handed her the box.

“Oh, Logan -- you didn’t have to ... which makes it more special...” She pried the lid off the box and regarded a half-dozen chocolates. “Thanks.”

“How long have you been with Kirk’s firm?” he asked. “Yesterday was the first I saw you.”

“About a month ... I don’t get too many chances to mingle with the Beautiful People upstairs. And, I’m not with Kirk’s firm. I’m a rat.”

“A rat?”

“A rent-a-tech ... contractor. I’m here on a two-year contract ... with a one-year option.”

Logan regarded some photographic prints pinned to the wall of her cubicle. “Nice photos,” he remarked. “Did you take them?”

“Yes, I did,” she replied.

“They’re really very good. Do you ever show them?”

Alex shook her head. “No ... I do it for my own satisfaction.”

“Well ... They are very good. I dabble in photography myself ... but I’ve never come up with anything as good as these. Say -- how would you like to take a walk with me down to Farley’s for lunch? It’s a nice day.”

“You want me to join you for lunch?”

“Sure. I like you, Alex; and I enjoy talking to people I like.”

She gestured toward the corner of her desk. “I’ll have to take a rain-check. I’m brown-bagging it today.” Her phone rang. “Excuse me...”

“I’ll call in that rain check later this week,” he replied. “Thursday?” Alex nodded, hooked her earpiece over her ear and answered her phone.

Logan held the door for Alex and she stepped into Farley’s tavern. “Table for two?” the hostess asked. “This way...”

“A word to the wise,” Logan said softly to Alex, “Kirk despises drinking during office hours.”

“So I had heard.” Alex sat across from Logan and opened her menu. “What’s good?”

“Everything. The Reuben is their specialty.”

“Sounds kinda heavy for me. Maybe I’ll try a salad.”

“How did you end up at Kirk’s?” Logan asked.

“I grew up on the West coast ... went to UCLA and studied computer engineering ... graduated in 2010. I took a year off to do some traveling; then I spent another year finding work, ending up in the I.T. department of Lowes and Harding. They were a big, regional bank...”

“With WERE as the operative word,” I remarked. “They were bought by Allied...”

“Right ... and I became redundant. I wasn’t there even a year so I was one of the first to get the boot. After about six months of looking ... and, desperation ... I landed a job at a temp agency. They had me supporting the desktops at Hennessey and Martin.”

“The law firm in town.”


The server approached their table. “Can I get you folks something from the bar?”

“Diet Coke,” Alex replied.

“Same here.”

“Are you ready to order?”

“I’ll have the reuben,” Logan replied.


“The Cobb salad.”

“Very good...” Their server turned and left.

Alex stifled a giggle. “How old do I need to look to be called M’am instead of Miss?”

“I’d take it as a compliment,” Logan replied, “maybe because I’m a few years older than you are.”

“Okay ... I’ll consider that.”

“So, you were at Hennessey...”

“ ... for about a year and a half. Then, Hennessey terminated the contract. I sat on my hands for a month and was placed with Walnut Street. Like I said it’s a two year contract...”

“With a one-year option,” I remarked.

“Yes and Kyle says they almost always renew for the extra year. So I have a little bit of stability ... assuming Kirk doesn’t retire and sell his business.”

“I’ve known Kirk for years,” Logan replied. “He’ll never retire. The real risk is that they’ll need to carry him out feet-first. That does hang over all of us. Walnut Street Capital is the very definition of a cult-of-personality. Look that up in the dictionary and you’ll see a picture of Kirk.”

Their server set two sodas on the table. “Your order will be out shortly.”

“Thanks,” Alex said and turned to Logan. “What about you?”

“Well ... I majored in finance at North Western ... spent some time trading stocks ... got my CFA...”

“CFA?” Alex said. “I’ve heard of that ... usually in hushed tones of awe.”

“It stands for certified financial advisor,” Logan explained.

“Is it tough to get?”

“It took me three tries,” he replied. “I landed a position with Kirk and now I’m a credit analyst on the muni team.”


“Municipal bonds ... how local governments borrow money. That business earlier this week was due to some market changes. Kirk wanted some analysis for a meeting that afternoon and I had to get those documents into DocArchive by then. That’s why I was kinda ... bothered.”

Their server returned with their orders. Alex regarded hers. “Wow ... that’s quite a salad.”

“This is quite a sandwich,” Logan replied. He regarded Alex. She wasn pretty in a wholesome, girl-next-door sort of way. Today she wore a purple velveteen, ankle-length skirt, but with slits to her knees and a short-sleeved knit top. Her makeup was minimal -- a touch of eyeliner and maybe some gloss on her lips. She wore a headband to hold back her straight and shiny medium brown hair. “Tell me,” he said, “if it’s not too personal ... what’s your status?”

“My status?”

“Are you married? Single? Attached?”

“Single and unattached,” she replied. “I’m kind of a loner.”

“So am I,” Logan replied.

“Single or a loner?”


“Being a loner has its advantages,” Alex continued. “It gives me time to do things like hike...”

“And, take your photographs,” he remarked. “That reminds me ... a friend of mine runs an art gallery and he shows works of local artists. I mentioned your photographs and he’d like to see them. Maybe you could email him some images.”

Alex regarded him with an expression that registered consternation. “My photography is for my own enjoyment, Logan.”

“But you’re so good at it, it’s a shame not to have others see your work. You’d only need to send a dozen or so images. I’d be happy to curate them for you...”

She let out a sigh. “I’m perfectly capable of curating my own photographs,” she retorted.

“Then you’ll send them?”

Alex sighed again. “Yes, I’ll send some.”

“I’ll get you his contact information.”

Their server returned. “So, folks -- coffee? Dessert?”

“Not after that,” Alex replied. “I’m stuffed.”

“Just the check,” Logan added.

The server set a leatherette folder on the table. Logan picked it up and retrieved a credit card from his wallet. “What’s my share?” Alex asked.

“It’s on me,” he replied.

“Logan ... I’d feel uncomfortable not paying my share.”

“I invited you ... it’s my responsibility...”

“Please, Logan ... I’m not comfortable. I feel like I owe you something.”

“There is no quid-pro-quo,” he replied, scanning the check. “Eight ninety-five for the salad, two ninety-five for the diet Coke. Twelve will do it.”

She opened her bag and handed him a five and a ten. “Here ... with tax and my share of the tip.”

Logan stuffed his credit card back into his wallet; then he slipped in Alex’s five and ten in exchange for a pair of twenties. These he put into the folder and set it on the edge of the table.

Alex picked up her bag and the two headed for the street. Logan held the door for her and they walked toward the Westmar building where their offices were located.

“I enjoyed that lunch,” Logan remarked.

“I had a good time, too,” she replied.

“Would you be up for doing this again?”

Alex pressed her hand against her abdomen. “Yes but not on too regular a basis. I’m not accustomed to consuming such mass quantities.”

“A Coneheads reference,” he added.

“Indeed...” She looked at him with a slight smile. “You left her an ample tip. I liked seeing that.”

“Serving tables is hard work and not well paid,” he replied. “My dad told me ... no matter how good someone treats you -- if they mistreat waitstaff, they’re not a good person.”

“My dad said the same thing,” Alex replied. “That’s why I thought it was a good gesture ... it says something about you.”

“Did you ever wait tables?” he asked.

“No. I’ve had some ... interesting ... part-time work.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Water over the dam, Logan. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Heading down?” Logan said into his telephone. “See you there.” He replaced the handset in its cradle.

“Another lunch date?” his colleague asked.

“Just going down to the cafeteria with Alex.”

“Are you getting sweet on her?”

“I like her. We have stuff in common. Nothing romantic ... yet”

“Yeah ... nothing YET.”

“Tom -- I’m not getting my hopes up. I have the worst luck with women.” Logan locked his computer and headed for the corridor. He pressed the call button for the elevator and rocked on his heels until the chime sounded and the door opened. Logan pressed the button for the lobby and the doors closed.

The elevator car stopped on the next floor down and the doors opened. Alex stepped in. Today she wore a yellow, A-line dress that revealed a hint of d�colletage. Its hem came a couple inches above her dimpled knees and Logan regarded them.

“Enjoying the view?” she asked with a smile.

His gaze swung up to meet her eyes. “You ... you have cute knees,” he replied.

“I haven’t heard that one before,” Alex replied, “not that I disagree.”

The elevator stopped at the lobby. Logan and Alex headed for the cafeteria. He picked up a tray and handed it to Alex and then picked up another for himself. They slid their trays down the line. Logan selected a turkey pita wrap and Alex a tuna salad sandwich. She carried her tray to a vacant table. Logan stopped at the condiment station to sprinkle hot sauce liberally into his wrap.

“How’s your day been?” he asked.

Alex shrugged. “The usual. Logan ... I have a big favor to ask ... and it’s okay with me if you say no.”

“What favor?”

“Saturday there’s a Pride rally at the state capitol ... to draw attention to the proposed legislation.”

“The bathroom bill?” Logan asked.

“Yes, but it’s about more than bathrooms. It’s about institutionalizing discrimination against the LGBT community.”

“The capitol’s only about an hour’s drive,” Logan replied.

“Yes, but ... My car isn’t in very good shape. It’s okay for around-town, but I’m afraid to take it on a road trip.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Mechanic thinks it’s a cracked head.” Logan winced. “If you’d come with me to the rally ... I know it’s an awfully big thing to ask.”

“I’ve never been to a rally like that ... but I do think this legislation is a crock of shit. Okay -- what time is it?”

“It starts at noon,” she replied. “On the capitol grounds. They’ll have some big names in the LGBT movement speaking.”

“Just as long as I don’t have to carry a sign,” Logan replied. “I can pick you up at ten. That would give us plenty of time to find a place to park and hike over to the capitol. Afterward, we could visit that pedestrian mall off of State Street. They have street food and crafts...”

“I’ve heard of that,” she replied. “I’d enjoy that.”

“We’ll make a day of it -- participate in some local government and do some shopping.”

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / TransGender / Shemale / Fiction / Anal Sex / Slow /