A Silly Little Romance
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 3
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Dedicated and focused, Evan attends on-base business classes. One stormy evening, his gorgeous classmate, Brittany, a successful businesswoman, confesses her attraction. But there’s a challenge: she was born a male. Can their love overcome her reticence and his unease?
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Romantic TransGender Fiction Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Oral Sex
Smile still plastered upon my face, I trailed Brittany into an upscale neighborhood of sprawling homes on manicured lots. Nothing like the weed-strewn grunginess of my dilapidated childhood home, it was also nowhere near what my government wage would support; but it fit her. Just as I halted behind the massive SUV in a stone-lined, red-brick driveway before a sprawling two-story colonial-style house, she slid from the cab.
“Nice place,” I said, stepping from my battered, but faithful Honda Accord sedan.
“Thank you.” She flashed me a brilliant smile, but it faded as she continued, “He’s an asshole, but Duke let me keep it for Casey. The local schools are the best. Truthfully, I was thankful; with everything else happening at the time, the thought of moving all my crap was even more stressful.”
Again, she tried for a grin, but her jaw trembled as those glimmering pools gave me a quick scan. For that matter, my core was wobbly as her house key appeared, but when she opened the front door, readying to step inside, I grabbed her elbow.
“Wait.” I turned her to me.
Before she could react, I pressed my mouth to her supple lips. Yes, it was a preemptive strike, to either settle both our nerves, or have her send me packing. At first, her body went rigid, but at my tongue’s gentle prod, her mouth widened, emitting the cutest whimper. With her nails sliding around to claw at my back, my hands held tight to her waist, though I wanted to cup that firm rear. Time meandered as our tongues played and her frame writhed against me until I pulled from the kiss with a smile.
“There.” I smacked my lips. “No matter what else does or doesn’t happen tonight, I consider this date a victory.”
“A victory?” Her tongue made a shaky trail around her glossy mouth.
“Yes. Not gonna run, and from those moans, I’m betting you’re not either. Knowledge has been shared.”
“You’re a treat, Evan. You know that?” After a nervous laugh, she shoved open the door and stepped inside, measured clicks on shiny tile echoing across the darkened interior. “Welcome to my lair.” Even after kicking off the heels, she remained tall; she really could’ve been a model. “Uh, no shoes, please. Had it cleaned today just in case—”
“—you trapped some poor innocent guy.” I chuckled.
“Yes.” She laughed again; it was a warmer sound, heating my heart. “My feminine wiles, don’t you know?”
“Um-hmm.” Head cocked, I gave her an overly dramatic inspection. “I do know. They work.”
“You’re too sweet.” Her cheeks reddened.
“Stop being so coy.” While removing my shoes, I gestured at her. “Dressed like that, pretty sure you get plenty of stares.”
“Except I don’t dress this way very often. Last time was three years ago, for a bachelorette party. Not even for Duke.”
“Well, you should.” Shoes beside hers, I straightened.
“Quit it, I’m blushing.” Those high cheeks somehow darkened further.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Come on. I’ll show you around.” She gestured for me to follow her. “Behind those doors is a messy den, office, whatever. Whenever possible, I work from home.” She pointed to a long table and chairs as we walked deeper into the house. “The formal dining room. We only use it on holidays if my folks are here.”
“Nice.” It was, reminding me not of the one I’d had growing up, but those on Christmas specials.
“That’s the basement.” She gestured to a carpeted open staircase; at the bottom was a closed white door. “Playroom with couches and a big ass TV for Casey’s game console. We also watch movies down there. It’s got a small spare bedroom and my torture chamber.” She laughed, sweeping herself with a hand. “This takes a lot of sweaty maintenance.” Once beside stairs leading upward, she halted. “Um, upstairs is the master suite. It has a nice balcony overlooking the backyard. And, uh, Casey’s room. Plus, two more bedrooms; one’s empty for storage, the other’s ready for guests.”
When her stockinged foot landed on the first step, I gripped her elbow. “No. Stop. If I follow you up there, we both realize I’m not coming down until morning.” Although I laughed, the widening of her eyes had my pulse staggering. Alright, she hadn’t realized; perhaps my cart was well before her horses. Then again, despite her abrupt trembling, the foot remained on the stairs. “Or given those, uh, feminine wiles, Monday.”
“Oh, um, okay.” Crimson flooding her cheeks, she stepped back down. “Sorry. Good point, you bold seducer, you. Uh, how about”—she moved into a massive great room at the rear of the home—”more of the main floor tour then. Open floor plan: this place was designed for entertainment. I host work get-togethers, plus ever rarer girls’ nights.”
Expansive, the room held a massive, curved couch, numerous chairs, and rugs scattered across off-white tile. A set of tall, glass doors lined the rear of the space.
“Kitchen’s over there.” She pointed beyond a small, well-used round table. “It’s got all kinds of fancy stuff. Duke couldn’t cook for shit but loved his damn gadgets. Um, your choice, seducer man ... booze?” She gestured to a mirror-backed wooden bar on the far wall before nodding to an enormous chrome espresso maker in the kitchen. “Or coffee.”
“Why not both?”
“Huh?”
“A wee bit o’ Irish whiskey to warm our bones on this chilly night,” I proclaimed in a horrid Irish accent, borderline comedic leprechaun.
“Oh.” She chuckled, which was kind. However, from those dark cheeks, she was feeling the same heat as me and knew the temperature excuse was weak. “Um, not sure I have any.”
“Got any bourbon?”
“Yes. Now that I keep around for, uh, you know—”
“—medicinal purposes.”
“Exactly.” She laughed. “Check underneath. I’ll get this beast working.”
As she worked the shiny coffee behemoth, I moved to the bar. It was very well-stocked, and after a little rummaging, a half-full bottle of Maker’s Mark had me smiling as I lifted it from a shelf.
“Perfect,” I declared.
With a grin, she looked up when the espresso machine roared to life, beginning to make its magic. Bottle in hand, I glanced through the glass doors. A slow sigh left me at the view of a large rectangular pool covered for the season, and a hot tub sending wispy steam into the night air.
“Wow, do I ever miss soaking,” I murmured, as she filled two mugs. “The one at my apartment complex has been down for maintenance, uh, broken, for the better part of three months.”
“Well, you’re more than welcome to come over.” Then, chewing her lower lip, she coughed. “Hmm, better not. Um, Casey and I chillax at the end of the day. She’s been good with boys, but I don’t want you corrupting her teenage mind. Besides, we ... skinny dip.”
As she came closer, white-knuckled hands gripping the coffee, she was no longer quivering. No, she was full-on shaking.
“What’s the matter?” I said, reaching for a mug.
Instead of letting me take it, she thumped both down on the bar and took a step away. Her chest was heaving.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered, eyes flooding with tears. “I can’t do this. Not to you, Evan.”
“Do what?” My head tilted. “You okay?”
Duh, stupid question; of course, she wasn’t, but when I reached for her, she shuffled backward several more steps. Breaths fleeing her like those of a gorgeous machine gun, she stared out at the darkened backyard.
“No, not okay. Shouldn’t have done this. Sorry, Evan.” She gulped. “You should leave.”
“Leave? What happened? Did I—”
“Nuh-uh.” The tears broke free, tumbling down her cheeks. “Not you. It’s me. It’s always been me.” She added in a shaky whisper, “Fuck, I should’ve just told you up front.”
“About?”
When at last she left the view to find me, her visage was contorted, as if intense pain was gripping her. Lower lip trembling and with more silvery trails zipping down a red-cheeked face, she continued to shake. Again, I lifted my hands towards her, but once more, she stepped away, reaching the kitchen.
“Who I am.” An abrupt hitching sob had her clasping at the countertop’s edge. “What I am.”
“Huh?”
“I was born a boy,” she whispered, and when my gaze shot to her chest, she nodded. “Mostly me. Started hormones, uh, late. Had top surgery, um, as soon as I could afford it. Never had much of an Adam’s apple, but got it shaved as well.” When I scanned lower, she gulped, and her voice became tinier. “Yes, that’s ... I didn’t want bottom surgery.” When, eyebrows arching, I found her face, those perfect lips were shaking. “It’s ... I wear a solid sheath or else”—the crimson on her cheeks deepened—”you’d have noticed when we kissed.”
“Um,” is all I could muster.
Brain trying to absorb what she’d confessed, I scanned her lithe figure, then did it again. Her words made no sense. It couldn’t be true. Brittany was poised, intelligent, beautiful, and very much a “she” in every mannerism, attitude, and thought ever shared with me. At last, I met her watery eyes; more tears slipped free.
It was true.
Duh.
Yet, at no point did I turn for the exit, as those seeking eyes expected. Nope, couldn’t abandon her; perhaps I should’ve—but then again, that was more a general trepidation of becoming involved, given my career. The latter realization settled things; it was familiar.
“Well”—I took a step closer, splashing bourbon into both mugs, then, after another peek at her shaking lips and glossy eyes, I added healthy dollops. “Not gonna lie, Brittany. You sure know how to make a date interesting.”
With a shaky smile of my own, I lifted a mug and tightened my grip on the booze. Nope, I was in no rush to abandon her, but she’d just dropped a bomb, and my mind was still grappling with—everything. After a lengthy exhale to slow my pulse, I turned from her, heading to the couch. Despite my sitting, she remained motionless, staring at me.
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