Chris X My Life
Copyright© 2025 by Chris X
Chapter 1
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Give you a background on myself new to this but I realize how brutal critics can be the can actually hurt your feelings so I decided to slow down on the writing and give you some background on myself. Hopefully you get more of an understanding of who I am. My name is Chris
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Hermaphrodite True Story Exhibitionism Oral Sex
The email from my editor blurred on the screen, a mass of demanding red comments. I leaned back in my chair, the old leather sighing under my weight, and ran a hand through my hair. The house was finally, blessedly silent. My wife, Sarah, had taken the boys to the park, granting me a precious hour of solitude. With a deep, freeing breath, I stood, unbuttoned my jeans, and shucked them off, along with my boxers. The air in my home office felt like a second skin against my bare legs and ass, a familiar and comforting sensation I rarely got to indulge in anymore.
This was better. This was how I thought best. Naked.
I settled back into the chair, the cool leather a stark contrast to my warm skin, and tried to focus on the manuscript. But my mind, freed from the constriction of clothing, drifted back. My father’s voice, steady and matter-of-fact, explaining the practicality of a body, its functions, and its simple, unadorned beauty. The complete lack of shame in our home. It was a world away from the careful, cautious existence I navigated now, where a forgotten towel after a shower could require a small family conference.
The creak of the floorboard behind me was as subtle as a gunshot.
I froze, my fingers poised over the keyboard. No. They weren’t due back for another forty-five minutes.
Slowly, I turned my head.
Sarah stood in the doorway, her purse still dangling from her shoulder, a reusable grocery bag in her hand. Her eyes, wide and shocked, were fixed on me. Not on my face. Lower. Her cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink, a color that started at her neck and bloomed upwards.
“Sarah,” I said, my voice a rough croak. “I thought you were at the park.”
“I ... forgot the wipes,” she whispered, her gaze finally snapping up to meet mine. She looked trapped, a deer caught in the very intimate headlights of my nudity. “The boys are in the car.”
A thick, heavy silence filled the space between us. I could have grabbed my jeans, bundled them in my lap, and mumbled an apology. That’s what I usually did. The quick cover-up, the retreat back into the polite fiction of our shared life. But something in her expression—the shock, yes, but underneath it, a flicker of something else, a raw curiosity—made me stay still.
“I’m working,” I said, as if that explained everything.
“I see that,” she replied, her voice a little stronger. Her eyes dared another quick, fleeting journey down my torso before returning to my face. Her breathing seemed shallower.
I watched her, this woman I loved, who still blushed when buying condoms at the pharmacy. The divide between my ingrained normal and her learned modesty felt like a canyon in that moment. I didn’t move. Let her look. The thought was a bolt of pure, daring electricity through me. Let her see me. All of me.
Her lips parted slightly. The grocery bag slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor with a soft thud. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Doesn’t it ... bother you?” she asked, her voice hushed. “Just sitting there? So ... exposed?”
“It feels natural,” I said, holding her gaze. “It’s just skin, Sarah. It’s just me.”
I saw the internal war on her face. The lifetime of being told to cover up, to be private, clashing with the stark, unashamed reality of her husband. And then I saw the moment curiosity won. Her eyes darkened, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
“It’s different,” she breathed, taking a hesitant step into the room. “Seeing you like this. In the light. Not just ... in bed, in the dark.”
“Come here,” I said, the command soft but absolute.