I Was Astride a Young Man

By Riki Anne Wilchins

I was astride a young man
at my favorite sex club
I don't usually bother with men
but he was so beautiful
dark-skinned and sweet
with gentle, smooth hands
and veins like rivers running down his muscles
and as we were nearing the end of our quietly
energetic encounter
I said to this sweet boy, about half my age
"What's your name?", almost shyly.
"Tom. What's yours?"
"Riki."
"That's an awfully masculine name."
"Well it used to be Richard."
And I watched his eyes go unfocused
the gears in his head churning
through our entire encounter,
the breasts he couldn't get enough of
the soft, then hard nipples he sucked till I cried
the warm wet rose which clung to his cock
"I'm sorry... didn't know... you'll have to get off."
Which of course I did, wondering quickly if this
might get a tad ugly, which it didn't
and thinking how I had changed
that something like this no longer bothered me, but
was his limitation, not mine.
An interaction which, 10 years ago,
would have left me shattered
for days.

Her name was Emily,
we met in my favorite lesbian bar.
She had the smoothest, flattest stomach I had ever seen
and I licked each inch and the
line of fine downy hair
which marched down across her navel as
we made love for hours that first night.
We saw each other three more times.
On the fourth and to-be-final date we finally got
around to talking and my transexuality came up.
I do not run from this.
"I can't handle this."
And gathering her things, she turned and walked
out of my apartment,
no backward glance
and out of my life,
this woman with the flat stomach
who had feasted
her tongue
and lips
and whole hungry mouth
on the insides of my cunt and over the top of
my clitoris,
trying every way to see which stroke
made my hips arch up high off the bed
and my breath come
in rapid labored gasps
I watched her then
looking down my own body,
her eyes deeply focused on mine
the bottom half of her lovely face
nested barely visible
in my red tangled bush
I could feel
not see
her finger circling my vagina
teasing, tempting,
thinking to open me slowly
until one of us lost patience
perhaps she,
thrusting forward in a rush
or I,
impaling my greedy hips on her rigid middle finger
but anyway, inside quite sincerely until
my breath wouldn't come at all
my stomach knotted and the
piercing sweetness drilling my femme little soul
like an icepick through warm butter.
and I watched her then,
walking out of my life forever
I groaned for long minutes
curled in a fetal position
too miserable to move a single fiber
crying for 2 or 3 or 4 hours I don't know
and that is how my lover, who had a key to my apartment
happened by and found me:
this desolated fetus, wanting only to
be dead.

The young man's taut butt recedes across the crowded mat room.
I wonder if anyone knows what has just happened.
I realize I don't care.
I reach for the small, pouting triangle,
the soft special place where I am
still sensitive to the lightest touch,
using my knowing hand
the rhythm it knows better than my own
heartbeat
I come
relax against the pillows
a smile of satisfaction
flickering like a small flame across my lips.

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