Trans Action

Boruma Publishing

Dinner with friends, and a new face--tall, blonde and beautiful, with long golden tresses and a ready laugh. My lesbian side was enthralled. Yet, something was different. What shoulders! Later, outside the restaurant, I found her crying. She had been dumped, her guy leaving in his car with her suitcase. Poor Brogan had no place to stay. I invited her home, and that night I learned part of the truth. She’s in transition. Did I take advantage of a woman in distress? Sorry, I wasn’t raised that way. The next morning, though, was different. Brogan showed me all her secrets.

 

~~~~  Excerpt  ~~~~~

 

I showed her the bathroom and my spare bedroom. We sat on the couch drinking wine. Brogan made all the appreciative sounds a host likes to hear.

“I just need to make a call or two in the morning, and I’ll have the money to get me home,” she assured me. “I’m not really indigent. Just a minor liquidity issue.”

“This happens a lot, I think you said?”

“You’re a nice lady,” she said with an air of finality. “When I looked at you in the restaurant, you smiled.”

I made a look that I think said, “Big deal.”

“No, really. For someone like me, it doesn’t happen that often. Especially from women. I’m just finding out how competitive women are.”

“Sorry, Brogan, you lost me.” Well, not completely. But how does one politely inquire about a sudden guest’s unusual height, broad shoulders and, now that I’ve had a chance to see her up close, husky voice, narrow hips, large hands and feet, and muscular legs?

“I’m in transition.”

“We’re not talking Cleveland to Akron here, are we?”

“HRT. Excuse me, hormone replacement therapy. And, yes, this happens a lot. Usually, after Prince Charming stops behaving like a gentleman. I guess I’ve been having a run of bad luck.”

“Is that what happened tonight?”

“In the parking lot. In his car, thankfully. Usually, it’s more public.”

“You know why I smiled this evening, don’t you?”

She looked at me.

“You’re very pretty,” I said. “Your hair is gorgeous. You’re easy on the eyes, is what I’m trying to say.”

Her face relaxed. Like it was something she hadn’t heard very often.

Did I come on to her? A new-found girl in distress, rescued from the dark night, vulnerable and appreciative? Did I take advantage and whisk her to my bed?

No way. I just wasn’t brought up that way. Thought about it, though.

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Additional Information

Publisher
Boruma Publishing
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Published on
Sep 28, 2015
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Pages
16
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ISBN
9781310616716
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Language
English
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Genres
Fiction / Erotica / Lesbian
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Content Protection
This content is DRM protected.
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Available on Android devices
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K.C. Cave
Brian wants a change "down there." Bigger, right? Meditation works, sort of. Now he’s a girl down below! His roommate doesn't mind, and gives the new package a daily workout. Brian worries that he's feminizing by the day. He calls his old friend (no benefits) Stacey, who can't believe his story. Then SHE tries meditating and gets trans-sexed! And they become friends with benefits.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

“Hold it, man. Just hold it,” Stacey said. “What you’re saying—no way. That kind of transformation—trust me on this, I know people who have done it—costs tens of thousands of dollars and takes many surgeries. Come on, Brian. Level with me.”

They had almost polished off a bottle of wine. It wasn’t until the second glass that Brian found the words and told her the reason he had to see her.

Sighing, he got up. “Okay if I slip into something more comfortable?”

Two minutes later, he was back. His flannel sleep shirt came mid-thigh.

“Shaving your legs? Really?”

Brian sat next to Stacey. “There’s no other way but to show you,” he said, and pulled the shirt up to his waist.

Stacey pushed his legs apart, her nose inches away from his genitals.

“This is just incredible,” she said under her breath. “I mean, uncanny.”

“I know. Bob asked me if I was taking hormones.”

“Not just that. I’ll have to show you.”

Stacey wiggled out of her jeans and pushed her thong down. Sliding away from Brian, she spread her legs.

“Look. Look at me.”

Brian had skinny dipped with Stacey a couple times. But, unlike in porn, he discovered that in real life women don’t lie around with their legs spread. Even with their one failed attempt at sex in his parent’s station wagon, he had no idea what Stacey looked like.

Stacey’s girl parts were the mirror image of Brian’s—a classic clamshell capped with a downy brown bush. Brian even had a mole on his left thigh just like hers.

“It’s real?” Stacey asked. “It works?”

“Stacey, I rub myself every day. Three, four times. It is insatiable. It’s a problem, but, jeez, not one that I’m in a big rush to fix. I had no idea chicks had it so good.”

“Did you show Bob?”

Brian blushed.

“No, please, no—tell me it isn’t so. He’s doing you?"

“Not strictly speaking. Bob’s not gay,” Brian said, blotting the shower incident out of his mind. “Hell, I’m not gay. It’s just, well…”

“How often?”

“At least twice a day.”

“What else? I mean, who else?”

“Hank, the new guy at the shop. He does me every night after we close.”

Stacey slapped her open palm on her forehead. “What if you get pregnant?” She was almost yelling.

“I guess if I get pregnant, I’ll get rich. Think about it. I’ll be on TV. I’d be the first man in history…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

She eyed him critically. “So, why are you here? Sounds like things are going just ducky. God knows, your sex life is better than mine.”

“God, Stacey, I’m still changing. You heard my voice on the phone. Look at my legs. I don’t shave them. Same with my underarms. My butt is round and tight. The more I use it, the more I feminize. And look at this.”

He unbuttoned the sleep shirt.

“Oh, baby,” Stacey cooed, her hands moving across his hairless chest. “Oh, they’re so cute! You’re ready for your first training bra!”
K.C. Cave
Remy reads the demand letter from her ex’s lawyer saying she owes more money, and she’s fuming. Then she hears an ad on the radio: “Screwed by the legal profession? Does the legal profession owe you one? If the answer is yes, you may qualify for a new and free legal service.” Later that day, the young beauty is strapped to a chair, nude and ready for a bizarre and erotic examination by 5 lawyers, a demented, over-endowed dwarf, and an audience of law students. Remy’s ex is claiming she’s frigid. This nude deposition will prove she’s not.

~~~~~  Excerpt  ~~~~~

“She’s climbing,” Professor Slutz said, her eyes glued to the monitor. “Approaching seven hundred Kinseys.”

“Let me know the moment she stabilizes,” Professor Balzac said as he humped inside Remy. One hand gripped Remy’s hip, while the thumb of his other hand gently massaged her.

“Six-eighty-five, six-ninety, six-ninety, six-ninety….”

“Dammit, woman, I said tell me …”

“She’s steady at six-ninety-five. What next?”

“We don’t have a case unless she climbs to seven fifty,” Professor Balzac muttered. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he quickened his pace. “Let’s go into full deposition mode.”

After a nod from Professor Slutz, the interns jabbed buttons and threw switches. The lights came up, and the large conference table lowered into the floor. The ceiling panels drew back, revealing a sea of faces in a circular balcony surrounding the room.

The conference room had transformed into a large, high-tech surgical theater filled with students peering down at Remy, strapped into her chair, and Professor Balzac humping maniacally. Below, nearly a dozen interns, lawyers and technicians milled about the operating theater.

K.C. Cave
Brian wants a change "down there." Bigger, right? Meditation works, sort of. Now he’s a girl down below! His roommate doesn't mind, and gives the new package a daily workout. Brian worries that he's feminizing by the day. He calls his old friend (no benefits) Stacey, who can't believe his story. Then SHE tries meditating and gets trans-sexed! And they become friends with benefits.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

“Hold it, man. Just hold it,” Stacey said. “What you’re saying—no way. That kind of transformation—trust me on this, I know people who have done it—costs tens of thousands of dollars and takes many surgeries. Come on, Brian. Level with me.”

They had almost polished off a bottle of wine. It wasn’t until the second glass that Brian found the words and told her the reason he had to see her.

Sighing, he got up. “Okay if I slip into something more comfortable?”

Two minutes later, he was back. His flannel sleep shirt came mid-thigh.

“Shaving your legs? Really?”

Brian sat next to Stacey. “There’s no other way but to show you,” he said, and pulled the shirt up to his waist.

Stacey pushed his legs apart, her nose inches away from his genitals.

“This is just incredible,” she said under her breath. “I mean, uncanny.”

“I know. Bob asked me if I was taking hormones.”

“Not just that. I’ll have to show you.”

Stacey wiggled out of her jeans and pushed her thong down. Sliding away from Brian, she spread her legs.

“Look. Look at me.”

Brian had skinny dipped with Stacey a couple times. But, unlike in porn, he discovered that in real life women don’t lie around with their legs spread. Even with their one failed attempt at sex in his parent’s station wagon, he had no idea what Stacey looked like.

Stacey’s girl parts were the mirror image of Brian’s—a classic clamshell capped with a downy brown bush. Brian even had a mole on his left thigh just like hers.

“It’s real?” Stacey asked. “It works?”

“Stacey, I rub myself every day. Three, four times. It is insatiable. It’s a problem, but, jeez, not one that I’m in a big rush to fix. I had no idea chicks had it so good.”

“Did you show Bob?”

Brian blushed.

“No, please, no—tell me it isn’t so. He’s doing you?"

“Not strictly speaking. Bob’s not gay,” Brian said, blotting the shower incident out of his mind. “Hell, I’m not gay. It’s just, well…”

“How often?”

“At least twice a day.”

“What else? I mean, who else?”

“Hank, the new guy at the shop. He does me every night after we close.”

Stacey slapped her open palm on her forehead. “What if you get pregnant?” She was almost yelling.

“I guess if I get pregnant, I’ll get rich. Think about it. I’ll be on TV. I’d be the first man in history…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

She eyed him critically. “So, why are you here? Sounds like things are going just ducky. God knows, your sex life is better than mine.”

“God, Stacey, I’m still changing. You heard my voice on the phone. Look at my legs. I don’t shave them. Same with my underarms. My butt is round and tight. The more I use it, the more I feminize. And look at this.”

He unbuttoned the sleep shirt.

“Oh, baby,” Stacey cooed, her hands moving across his hairless chest. “Oh, they’re so cute! You’re ready for your first training bra!”
Book 5
In Book 5 of Junie Makes Michael, disaster strikes: Junie’s sexual hijinks land her in trouble with the law—she makes headlines and loses her job. What’s a girl to do? Rather than sit on her rear end, Junie decides to sell it, along with the rear end of her live-in girlfriend Melanie. The notoriety of her arrest catapults her into the upper echelons of high-end escorting, where her sexual adventures include a lesbian sex show with Melanie, sex on (not in) a luxury British car, and a three-way in a private jet at forty thousand feet.

~~~~~  Excerpt  ~~~~~

At six-foot-three, two hundred and thirty pounds, dressed in an Italian suit and custom loafers, Gordon dominated the living room. Sitting in an easy chair next to Junie, he looked around. “You are one of the glummest assemblages of white mother**kers I’ve ever had the misfortune to be with,” he said.

“Thanks for that uplifting greeting,” Junie muttered. “You could’ve just texted your condolences.”

“Woman, I wouldn’t have come over here if all I was going to say is I’m sorry for your pathetic asses.”

“Okay, then why are you here?” Michael asked, bristling. The men despised each other—one, the formerly caged and cuckolded husband, the other the prodigiously endowed lover (and tenured university professor) who had been Junie’s f**k buddy since she was in high school.

“Not to give you any advice, jerk,” Gordon spat. “You people ever hear the phrase, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade?”

Junie rolled her eyes. Melanie, seated next to Michael on the couch, shifted uncomfortably.

“I guess I gotta spell it out for you,” Gordon said, more to himself than the other three people in the living room. “Junie, what is the most important thing in your life? Outside of sleeping and eating?”

She didn’t answer.

“It’s sex. You are the most sexual person I’ve ever met. Even when you’re doing other stuff, Dewey Decimal System stuff, you’re always thinking about sex. Wanting sex. Planning sex. Doing sex.”

“Not in the last few days.”

Gordon made a sour face. “Okay, I really got to spell it out for you. Here’s another question, and I guarantee you it’s not rhetorical. Is there such a thing as bad publicity?”

Junie started to cry.

“Goddam it, Junie, stop that! Listen to me. You’re sitting on a gold mine.”

“What do you mean?” Junie asked between sniffles.

“Well, I mean it figuratively. And literally. You aren’t infamous. You’re famous.”

Michael leaned forward to Junie. “I’m pretty sure, Princess, boyfriend is suggesting you start turning tricks for a living,” he spat. “And I’m sure he’s willing to take a cut.”

“Like just about everything in your miserable life, you got it wrong—dead wrong,” Gordon said. To Junie: “I know people. People who are rich—damn it, rich isn’t the right word. Sports stars. Rappers. Businessmen. Yeah, drug dealers—and I don’t mean street-level. People I grew up with, went to school with. You have no idea how much money they have.”

“So?” Junie asked as she wiped her eyes.

“Damn it, woman, you’re not thinking clear. Remember Robert from Atlanta? My Morehouse buddy? That weekend we spent at my place?”

Junie nodded. It had been her first threesome in several years. After two days of nearly nonstop sex, she had left Gordon’s apartment bruised and happy.

“His brother plays for the Sea Hawks. He has a thirty million dollar contract.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Listen, Junie. These men…they have wives, they have girlfriends. You know what? Wives and girlfriends are a pain in the ass. Not in the mood. I’ve got a headache. You forgot my birthday. Pain in the ass. So when they want sex, just sex, just to have a good time… Am I getting through?”

“They hire a hooker?”

Gordon slapped his forehead. “They don’t hire a hooker. Okay, there’s a word. ‘Escort.’ A beautiful woman, fun to be with, a perfect date—and very, very skilled at sex. The whole package.”

“How do you break in?” Michael asked.

“Sounds like I’m getting through to someone, finally. It’s not easy. You could do some research, find one of those high-priced Manhattan or Hollywood escort services. Remember that governor of New York? He paid, like, thirty-five hundred a night? But that escort had to split her fee with her madam.

“The best, absolute best way to get into high-end escorting is to freelance,” Gordon continued. He leaned forward, gesturing, intense, his eyes blazing. “It’s also the hardest. You’ve got to be a known entity. Someone with a verified skill set. And you’re over that hurdle.”

“‘Chief librarian offers extended services’?” Michael asked.

“Yes! Goddamn, my phone is going nuts! Junie, all these guys I’ve known for years. I’ve told them about you. You’ve met some of them and slept with at least one. They want to do you! In the nicest possible way! They read those articles and get hard!”

“I should…should…become a prostitute?”

“Think of it as—the entertainment business. Something that you give your all to, which is your style. And not just you. Girlfriend here, too.”

Melanie blinked. “Me?”

“You’re a perfect match, salt and pepper,” Gordon explained. “Junie’s all sexual energy, crazy sex-fiend stuff. She’s a small package that just explodes. Melanie, you’re softer, more innocent. And your body and those boobs…You two make an incredible package. And there’s a big marketing advantage to that, especially with the really high-end customers.”

“Why?” Michael asked.

“It doubles the kink, so you can double the fee. Trust me on this: Nothing, absolutely nothing turns a guy on more than watching two hot women do it. Since you’re already lesbians, so much the better. Only thing, you’ll have to shorten it up, time-wise. Lesbians go on forever.”

Melanie blushed and mouthed to herself, “Am not a lesbian.”

“Oh, god! See what I mean! She’s priceless!”

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