The Big Reveal
or
Why I Never Wash the Floor
or
Why I Never Wash the Floor
It’s frustrating, at times, to have a lover who lives outside the city. For me, it means a lot of staring at the floor.
When the sunlight hits the parquet at the right angle, my bedroom floor reveals the secrets of its past. All the little spots of precum rest like a matte finish against the high-gloss varnish of the blond wood beneath. They summon to mind all those delectable memories of the Sweet Transvestite kneeling beside my bed, licking my clit.
That was day for the scrapbook. It was the first time we got naked together. Correction: It was the first time he got naked with me. Once I’m comfortable with someone, the clothes just sort of fall away. That’s a combination of pride in my form and just plain loving the feel of a warm hand against my bare flesh. Oh, and deriving great pleasure from having my nipples sucked feeds the eagerness to get naked as well. There are lots of reasons why naked is good.
There was a definite excitement around seeing my Sweet naked, but it was balanced out by enough first-night trepidations to keep me from tearing off his clothes. I let him undress himself. What was I afraid of?
Honestly? It was the question of what kind of underwear he might have on. Not that it would have mattered either way. Men’s, women’s, whatever… I just couldn’t be sure how I would react at first glance of… what would it be? A lace thong? A pair of boxers? Granny panties? Spiderman undies? None of these options would have offended me in the least, but I felt, somehow, like I needed to brace myself for the big reveal.
There are different ways of undressing for that moment of first nakedness. There’s the striptease, which I would gladly attempt were I a more coordinated person. I’m more your everyday klutz, so I tend to go for that utilitarian method of just tearing my clothes off.
My Sweet Transvestite surprised me. Despite his usual air of confidence, he undressed quite bashfully. If I’d had one of those rice paper screens in my bedroom, I’m sure he would have hidden behind it. I got this vibe from him that screamed, “Please don’t look at me too closely! Please don’t judge me by flesh alone!” It was the first time since we met that I’d viewed him as vulnerable.
But that sense of defenseless exposure, of helpless vulnerability, dissipated with a kiss. One kiss and we were right back in the swing of things, only closer for our nudity.
And the underwear? Let’s just say I learned there are possibilities beyond the simple binary of men’s or women’s underthings. For instance, a person might wear nothing at all…
When the sunlight hits the parquet at the right angle, my bedroom floor reveals the secrets of its past. All the little spots of precum rest like a matte finish against the high-gloss varnish of the blond wood beneath. They summon to mind all those delectable memories of the Sweet Transvestite kneeling beside my bed, licking my clit.
That was day for the scrapbook. It was the first time we got naked together. Correction: It was the first time he got naked with me. Once I’m comfortable with someone, the clothes just sort of fall away. That’s a combination of pride in my form and just plain loving the feel of a warm hand against my bare flesh. Oh, and deriving great pleasure from having my nipples sucked feeds the eagerness to get naked as well. There are lots of reasons why naked is good.
There was a definite excitement around seeing my Sweet naked, but it was balanced out by enough first-night trepidations to keep me from tearing off his clothes. I let him undress himself. What was I afraid of?
Honestly? It was the question of what kind of underwear he might have on. Not that it would have mattered either way. Men’s, women’s, whatever… I just couldn’t be sure how I would react at first glance of… what would it be? A lace thong? A pair of boxers? Granny panties? Spiderman undies? None of these options would have offended me in the least, but I felt, somehow, like I needed to brace myself for the big reveal.
There are different ways of undressing for that moment of first nakedness. There’s the striptease, which I would gladly attempt were I a more coordinated person. I’m more your everyday klutz, so I tend to go for that utilitarian method of just tearing my clothes off.
My Sweet Transvestite surprised me. Despite his usual air of confidence, he undressed quite bashfully. If I’d had one of those rice paper screens in my bedroom, I’m sure he would have hidden behind it. I got this vibe from him that screamed, “Please don’t look at me too closely! Please don’t judge me by flesh alone!” It was the first time since we met that I’d viewed him as vulnerable.
But that sense of defenseless exposure, of helpless vulnerability, dissipated with a kiss. One kiss and we were right back in the swing of things, only closer for our nudity.
And the underwear? Let’s just say I learned there are possibilities beyond the simple binary of men’s or women’s underthings. For instance, a person might wear nothing at all…
