Hello, darlings! My name is Michelle Rodericks, and I am gorgeous, even if I say so myself!

Let me give you some stats. I stand barely 5 ft. 5 in. tall (165cm.) and weigh just 120 lbs. (54 kg). My measurements are 34-25-34. I have olive skin with dark brown eyes under long straight black hair.

My eyes are wide set, and my teeth are even and white. My lips are full and have that perfect ‘bee sting’ look you boys all love so much. My nose is perfectly in proportion to my mouth and eyes, with a slight turn-up at the end. Pixie nose, I think they call it.

I am toned and fit from hours of Yoga, Tai Bo and Pilates. My butt is round and taut, and I know how to fill out a pair of spandex yoga pants! If you know what I mean?

Here’s my secret, though, I wasn’t born a woman! That’s right! I’m a tranny, a ladyboy, a shemale, or one of the many derogatory names the porn industry labels us with. More correctly, I’m a transwoman. I was born biologically male but with a female mind and mindset.

I still have my penis. My ‘daddy’ likes to suck on it, so he doesn’t want me to lose it.

Let me tell you my story.

My story, or the one I’m allowed to tell you in this forum, began three years ago, the morning after my 18^th birthday. I had gotten so wasted celebrating my ‘coming of age’ that I forgot that I had brought my ‘boyfriend’ (not really my boyfriend, just some random pick-up from a bar) home to my place instead of going to his, as I usually do.

My father, The Reverend James Speeder, caught me in full ‘drag queen’ makeup, wearing nothing but a micro mini, 7 in. heels, stay-up stockings and a sequined bra riding my ‘boyfriend’s’ gorgeous 6.5 in. schlong, and kicked me out of home onto the streets.

The streets of Brisbane are a mean place for a transgirl to be. So I tried to find a home with the homeless people in the Story Bridge cliff caves. But after being raped for the second time, I had to find other alternatives.

I spent my daylight hours doing ‘tricks’ for $50 - $100 down the Valley, mostly blow jobs, occasionally anal. Then I buy a ‘day pass’ and ride the trains around Brisbane’s rail network.

The trains are (mostly) safe. There are CCTV cameras in every compartment, and often a guard or two riding as well. They’re warm in the winter and air-conditioned in the summer. The only problem is that they usually only run until 1.00 am most nights.

During the summer, it’s not too bad, the seats on the platform are comfortable enough to sleep on, and it hardly ever gets cold enough to be a bother. Wintertime’s horrid!

That’s why I liked to take the train out to Cleveland as my last ride for the day during the winter months. The usual driver for that trip is Jimmy. Everyone calls him Thomas, though. Thomas is supposed to check the carriages, wake anyone still on the train, and ask them to vacate the carriage.

For a quick blow job, Thomas will pretend he hasn’t seen me and let me stay on the train where it’s dry and warm. Thomas is quite cute in a podgy, older person way, so I didn’t mind doing for him what he said his wife would never do.

This was my lot for close to a year. Some days I’d make a bit of money and be able to afford some food or maybe a motel room where I could shower and wash myself and my clothes. On other days I wouldn’t make any money at all and have to line up at one of the various free food vans that make their way to where the homeless congregate.

One Thursday night in the middle of winter two years ago, my life changed. That’s the night I met ‘Daddy’.

It was nearing the end of the night. I’d timed my run perfectly and had caught the last train out of Shorncliffe on Brisbane’s north-eastern fringe. I could sleep peacefully as this train meandered its way to Cleveland on Brisbane’s south-eastern edge (Cleveland is technically in Redland Bay, but close enough!).

Usually, I don’t wake up until Jimmy (Thomas) nudges my lips with his erect penis. But something filtered into my awareness as the train left Park Rd station, Woolloongabba (or maybe Dutton Park, about four different suburbs meet around there).

Blinking wearily, I became aware of a dapper, well-dressed man sitting opposite me. He was small, thin, and older than my father. I guessed he must have been at least 60.

He had a full head of silver and black hair and a ‘pencil’ moustache. He was dressed in a three-piece suit that must have been tailor-made because of how well it fit. He was holding a briefcase that, I’m guessing, cost more than I could earn doing tricks in a month.

The next thing I noticed was that his trouser front was hugely tented! This man may have only stood an inch or two taller than me, but he was packing a veritable cannon!

Waiting until I was compos enough to be aware of him, the gentleman, in a thick Balkan accent, asked, “You are a ladyboy, yes? A shemale?”

Repressing my usual instinct to correct, I nodded.

“Hah! I knew it, fucking!” He said. “You are very pretty! Dirty but very pretty!”

What could I say to that?

I nodded my head, “I haven’t made enough money to get a motel room for the last two days, so dirty, yes,”

In his thick accent, this man said, “You are a girl who is working, no? You take money for sex?”

Hoping I could finally earn enough money to eat and maybe even get a room I could sleep and shower in, I replied, “I’m a prostitute, yes. What would you like? Head or anal? Head is $60. Anal is $80. Both is $100.”

To my surprise, he laughed.

“I do not sex for pay!” He said. “Maybe, if I like you, I will treat you to a motel room and a hot shower. Then, if you would like, we can make love!”

I had no idea what to answer to this. But my avaricious instincts were activated, so I batted my eyes, let them grow wide and said, “So what do I have to do to make you like me?”

This strange wee man laughed again.

“I am thinking that you are not a true street prostitute,” he said. “You sell your ass so that you can eat and maybe have somewhere warm to sleep, but not because you have a ... habit drug? ... No ... drug habit ... to support, no?”

‘Only because I couldn’t afford one!’ I thought. But it was a facetious one. I’d fallen far enough in having to sell my body for money. But I wasn’t going to fall that extra half-step and become some drug pimp’s addicted property forced to endlessly walk the streets trying to do enough tricks to earn my next fix.

“I’m disease and drug-free,” I informed the man. “I get a weekly check at the free clinic to make sure!”

“That is good, fucking!” This fellow said. “We will, how you say? Chat? Chat, yes! We will chat together as if we are friends who are long lost until we get to Cleveland Station. Then if we have become drugari ... drugari? Mates? If we have become mates by then, I will walk you to McDonald’s, about the only thing bloody that will be open in that sranje place! The food there, it is not so good, but it will popuniti rupu, umm, fill a hole, yes? The coffee, it is good there, no?”

I had no idea how to respond to any of this, so I just sat there. A deep sadness whelmed over me. It had been so long since anyone had been nice to me that I couldn’t remember when. I hadn’t just sat and chatted for nearly as long.

Tears began to well in my eyes. Trying to hide them, I sniffed and turned away.

The gentleman moved across and sat beside me. He gently took my hand in both of his. He had warm hands, soft and manicured. This strange man lifted my hand and kissed it.

Stroking my hair, he said, “It is okay, draga moja mala (my dear little one). Tata will make it better!”

We had reached Cleveland Station.

Still holding my hand, the man said, “Come, the walk, it is not so far!”

Almost dragging me after him, he walked quickly up the hill and down to the local MacDonald’s. He walked me inside and sat me at a table in a corner.

“You are here waiting. I will return soon, yes? Be a good girl and not be running away, okay?” He said to me.

I was warm and about to be fed. I wasn’t going anywhere! So I nodded.

It didn’t take long before this man returned with a tray. He had gotten me a burger and some nuggets as well as chips. He had just sat down when they brought two large cups of coffee to our table, a long black for him and a creamy flat white for me.

“Eat! Eat!” He encouraged me.

He didn’t have any himself just added a lot of sugar to his coffee and sat there watching me.

“My name is Bogdan,” he told me. “But Australians, yes? They shorten everything, so they call me Dan or Danny. I would like it if you called me Tata. Okay?”

‘If you’re buying the food, I’ll call Sweet Jesus if you want,’ I thought but only said. “Yes, Tata!”

I was rewarded with a small warm smile.

“I need to use the bathroom, then call I make ... call I make? No ... make a call, yes? Finish your food, mališa (little one). I long will not be!”

Only a few moments later, he was back. I was starving, so I’d already polished off everything except one of the nuggets. I popped that in my mouth as Tata sat back down.

“Your name, you are not telling me,” Tata said.

It took me a little while to figure out Tata wanted to know my name.

“Oh,” I said. “I am Michelle. My friends call me Chell or sometimes Chilli.” And held out my hand.

Tata took it is warm hands again and kissed the back. “I am meet you, very pleased, Chilli.” He said.

There was a toot of a horn outside. Gulping the rest of his coffee, Tata said, “That is for us, yes? Come, we will get you somewhere where you can shower and change.”

Tata held my hand and guided me to the cab that had just tooted. He gave the driver the name of a nearby motel, and we were soon outside its reception.

“Wait here,” Tata said.

Going inside, he quickly returned with a key and walked me across to the door of the unit he had paid for.

When we stepped inside, I expected Tata to want to have sex, so I started to undress by undoing the buttons on my blouse.

Tata touched my hands. When I looked up at him, he said, “First, you will shower and change, mališa. Then maybe we can voditi ljubav, ahh, make love, no?”

The only other clothing I had was the outfit I used to turn tricks in. If I did earn enough money for a motel, I would usually use the washer and dryer to clean and dry the outfit I wore overnight to wear the next day again.

Showering was bliss! I soaked, soaked, washed, and washed until I felt warm, scrubbed and cleaned all over. I washed my hair three times. My hair has grown midway down my back, and it’s one of my best features, I think!

I’m naturally relatively hairless, so I didn’t need to remove much, just a little around my ass and shaft.

Using the motel hairdryer, I could style my hair a little.

I had a little makeup in my shoulder bag, so I was able to add eyeliner, blush and red lippy before exiting the bathroom. I wore the same outfit I was wearing when my father found me. The stay-up stockings had been replaced many times, of course. I had fishnets on that were a little ripped and torn. This only added to my ‘slutty look’, so I wasn’t bothered.

So, in my micro-mini, 7 in. heels, ripped stockings and sequined bra, I strutted out of the bathroom some 45 minutes later. I had tucked my penis and balls back between my legs, so I had to keep my thighs pressed together to prevent it from springing forward. This caused me to ‘mince’ and swing my hips outrageously to keep my cock and balls hidden.

Bogdan, Tata, or ‘daddy’ if you will, had taken his suit jacket and vest off and folded them neatly before placing them on the smaller of the two beds in the room. He carefully removed and folded his tie before placing it with the other two items, undid his cufflinks, and rolled his sleeves back.

He was sporting a large tent in his trousers again!

“There you are, finally, mališa,” Tata said. “I thought maybe it was drowning you were and a rescue I would need to stage!”

He had a big grin spread across his face, so I knew he wasn’t serious.

Swaying sexily, I undulated across to him, “Would you like me to suck on that package you have there for me, daddy?” I asked breathily.

“Tata is better, Lepa (pretty one), daddy is no so good,” Bogdan said. “I think maybe your daddy, he no treat you so well, so please to call me Tata, yes?”

“Of course, Tata,” I answered.

“Come and sit on my lap, mališa. I think it is time for us to make love, yes?

“I think so, too, Tata,” I answered.

Climbing onto Tata’s lap, I let my naked ass settle briefly onto his big package before spreading my thighs and letting his cock slide between them and over my balls and shaft. My cock and balls sprung into view.

Sitting on Tata’s lap, I was a little taller than he was, so, fondling the head of my cock, Bogdan tilted his head back and offered his lips for me to kiss.

I attacked the kiss with gusto!

Tipping his head back down, Tata said, “I do not wish to fuck you, draga devojčice (dear one). I wish to make love. So gentle and slow, yes, mališa?”

I’m not sure I have ever actually ‘made love’! Oh, I’ve fucked and been fucked by many a guy, but ‘make love’? I don’t think so! But I was going to give this a red hot go!

I sighed and lowered my head onto Dan’s shoulder. Then, wriggling my hips, so my cock and balls rubbed against his rigid cock I said, “You’ll have to show me, Tata. Nobody has ever made love to me before. They only want fuck me and cum quickly!”

“You are telling me a very sad story, Dragi moj (my dear)! You will not worry! Tata will look after you!” Bogdan said to me.

With that, Tata hooked his arms around me and lowered me to the bed. Kissing my lips, he stroked my nipples and tickled my sides. I shivered in anticipation.

Bogdan kissed both my eyelids, the tip of my nose and my lips again. Then, sensually running his fingertips around the head of my circumcised cock Tata kissed my throat. Then he kissed where my pulse fluttered between my collarbones and kissed down between where my breasts should have been if I was a real girl!

Tata already had me purring like a kitten!

Reaching between my spread thighs, Bogdan began to stroke my perineum closer and closer to my rosebud, my ‘boy pussy’.