Standing in front of the bathroom mirror wearing only a bra and panties, her wet hair still up in a towel, Karen looked herself over. She had certainly come a long way, appearance-wise, in the last few years, but it still took her a long time to get fixed up. And this was only for a lunchtime meeting with a girlfriend.
It had been two and a half years since the twenty-six-year-old Karen began living full-time as a woman. Hormone treatment, exercise and diet had done wonders for her figure. Her five-foot-seven frame was now decidedly feminine, and her breasts, which responded well to the hormones, had grown to a full B cup. Recently, she'd begun to turn quite a few male heads, and she was finally gaining confidence that the world was accepting her as a woman.
Her friend, Paula, whom she planned to meet for lunch, was a few years older than Karen. Paula, who like Karen was transgendered, had been living as a woman for nearly a decade. She had been a good and supportive friend to Karen through the early part of Karen's transition to full-time womanhood. Karen was grateful to have a close friend who was experienced in dealing with the issues she was facing. Sometimes, though, Karen felt just a wee bit envious of Paula, who was much further along in the process. Paula had a very active social life, and recently had begun dating a man on a regular basis. Her experiences with this guy were often the main topic of conversation on their lunchtime get-togethers, and there were many times when Karen wished she had similar stories to relate.
Paula also had plans for gender reassignment surgery in the next several months. At this point, Karen wasn't sure if surgery was in the cards for her. Paula had advised her on more than one occasion, "Don't get the operation if you don't feel you need it." At this point in time, Karen was doing well in that regard, and she viewed her male genitalia as a non-issue. She wondered, however, if that would all change if she met a man she liked and wanted to become intimate with.
Karen draped a terry-cloth bathrobe around herself and unwrapped her hair. She went to work on it with a dryer and brush. Most would agree that Karen's hair was one of her best features; it was long, full and honey-blonde. And it was all natural: no wigs or dye jobs for this girl. The flip side was that it took a long time to produce that full, healthy look from just-out-of-the-shower state.
Karen didn't spend a lot of time with makeup; she applied just enough to get by, finishing it off with reddish-brown lipstick. She scurried into the bedroom, realizing she was running out of time. She slipped into a tan ribbed top and a black pair of slacks, hurriedly touching up her hair once again with a brush. Earrings, bracelets, necklace, a couple of squirts of perfume, and she was all set. She stepped into a pair of black mid-sized heels and put on a black leather jacket. The perfect outfit for a crisp, clear mid-autumn Saturday morning.
Breathing in the cool air as she stepped out of the apartment, she looked up at the deep blue sky, dotted with a few creamy white cumulus clouds. Her apartment complex was ringed with pine trees, but the midday sun was shining brightly. She donned sunglasses as she walked out across the parking lot toward the bus stop. Earlier in her transition, Karen had gotten in the habit of using public transportation instead of her own car as a means of getting out in public as a woman. At first, there were the usual stares and the occasional snide comments. But gradually, as her confidence increased and her appearance became more traditionally feminine, she found that she "passed" as a woman well enough to overcome the closest scrutiny.
Even so, she had retained a preference for riding the bus whenever possible. She enjoyed leaving the driving to someone else, bringing along a novel or magazine for the ride, or just closing her eyes and relaxing. She'd stuffed some reading material in her handbag, and expected a nice, quiet, uneventful thirty-minute ride across town.
At the bus stop, which was abnormally crowded for a Saturday morning, she glanced at her watch: she had just made it in time. And in fact, she could see the bus approaching from a ways down the street. As she moved toward the drop-off point, she wondered, why are there so many people waiting for the bus today?
Her curiosity was piqued even further when the bus door opened, and it became apparent to her that all the seats on board were occupied, and this ride was standing-room only. She got in line and boarded the bus, making it about halfway down the aisle toward the back, before having to stop. She held onto the overhead metal bar as the bus pulled away, and told herself, "No quiet reading on this trip."
She turned around toward the front of the vehicle, and asked the man standing next to her if he knew why the bus was so full. She briefly reflected on the recent progress she'd made; initiating conversation in a public place with a stranger, especially a man, was something she'd never have had the nerve to do during the earlier difficult stages of her transition. "Everyone's going to the football game," the man replied. Karen, not being a football fan, responded with an innocent-sounding "What football game?" She regretted saying it as soon as the words came out of her mouth.
But the man just smiled a disarming smile and said, "You're not a sports fan, I guess. It's Homecoming Day at the university, and the game starts in about an hour."
"No, I'm completely ignorant about sports," Karen replied with a slight giggle, relieved that he didn't write her off as a fool. The university was close to the cafe where Karen was to meet Paula, which confirmed the fact that Karen would have to stand for almost the entire ride.
"That's okay," came his reply. "I'm headed to the game myself. Unfortunately, my car's in the shop, and I wasn't about to let this ticket go to waste."
He's a hottie, Karen told herself. She guessed that he was in his early thirties, about six-foot-one, and even though he was wearing a jacket, she could tell that he was well-built. He was clean-shaven with short, meticulously-groomed brown hair, and piercing brown eyes that danced under full yet well-shaped eyebrows.
"My name's Rocco," he offered.
"I'm Karen," she replied shyly. She found him attractive, and this was intimidating for her at this stage of the game. She didn't know how to gauge what he thought of her. Her silence communicated the wrong message to Rocco, that she wasn't interested in pursuing this conversation further, and he eventually turned away and gazed thoughtfully out the window. Disappointed, Karen reflected upon her situation. She told herself, I've come a long way, but I have so much farther to go.
The bus lurched to a stop. Waiting to board was another throng of college football fans. Karen muttered to herself, "How will they ever fit on this bus?"
All those standing in the aisle pressed toward the back to accommodate the new passengers. Facing toward the front, Karen now found herself in rather close quarters with Rocco, who briefly flashed another smile in her direction, but said nothing. Karen melted inwardly. She was close enough to smell his cologne, and to feel his breath gently upon her face. And was she imagining it, or did he appear to be giving her the eye? She self-consciously began to twirl a lock of her gorgeous blonde hair around her finger, in a manner both girlish and flirtatious.
Karen could feel the bus slowing down once again. And yes, another mass of people was clamoring to board the bus. "You've gotta be kidding," Karen mumbled. Rocco said nothing, but greeted her comment with another pregnant smile. His reticent response to Karen's shyness was driving her crazy. She wished that she could call Paula right that moment, to get her opinion on this quiet yet maddeningly intriguing man...
"Push back!" yelled the driver from the front of the bus. Problem was, there wasn't far to push. Karen moved back a couple of steps, but could go no farther. And she found herself face to face with Rocco, the front of her body now pressed firmly against his. Her breasts poked into his torso. He was several inches taller than Karen, and she now fully felt the enticing sensation of his hot breath on her forehead. The smell of his deodorant emanated from his upraised arm, which was grasping the overhead bar.
Karen was, at the same time, uncomfortable and very aroused. She could feel the sexual energy coming from Rocco. But she was also concerned about her "secret"... and her arousal had generated an erection that was coming much too close to poking into Rocco's thigh. What will happen if he figures it out? Karen didn't want to find out. She turned slightly to the side, bringing the offending member out of danger of bumping into Rocco.
She stole a glance at Rocco's face, and was shocked to find that he was regarding her intently with those expressive brown eyes. "You're very pretty," he told her. At that instant, the bus braked hard for a red light. The momentum drove Rocco's body into Karen's, and she was able to feel the unmistakable evidence of Rocco's own arousal pressing into her.
Karen didn't know what to do. She knew that Rocco was turned on by the fortuitous body contact. She knew that she herself was turned on as well. At that moment, Rocco gently but purposefully placed his hand on her waist. His touch sent torrents of desire coursing through Karen's body. Her "secret" began to leak precum, and for the first time in a long time, Karen became uncomfortable with her genitalia of birth, and fervently wished that she had a pussy.
Rocco was still gazing down at her, his body seemingly bonded with hers. Overcome by unrestrained lust, Karen's inhibitions began to wither away. The standing passengers were packed together like a stuffed mailbox during the height of the holiday season, but Karen managed to squeeze her hand between their bodies and place it on the inside of Rocco's thigh. She looked to the left, then to the right; other nearby aisle occupants were blocking the view of those who were seated. Empowered by the realization that no one could see what was going on, she wriggled her hand up toward his crotch area.
Rocco sighed as her hand reached the bulging package within his trousers. Karen, not believing how brazenly she was acting, gripped the tip of his member through his pants with her thumb and index finger. He looked at her imploringly. "Do it," he mouthed inaudibly. He began to fumble with his belt buckle; their bodies were pressed so tightly together that it was a slow, awkward process.
Karen helped him, unhooking the buckle and undoing the button at the top of his jeans. She was briefly concerned about the possibility that his pants would drop to the floor, but they stayed in place. Turning her hand so that the palm pressed up against his abdomen, she slipped it underneath the exposed elastic band of his briefs. She felt the rough texture of his pubic hair, and then her fingers touched his cock. It was fully erect, wet at the tip, and though it was hard to tell given the circumstances, Karen guessed that it must have been at least seven inches long.