Delilah

So, this was supposed to be for the 750 word project, but a) I was traveling and just didn't get time to edit and refine it and b) I couldn't get it down to 750 words anyway, no matter how I tried. So, 862 words instead. Just something that came up and I had to dash down.

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What kind of author is late for his own challenge? Tsk tsk.

Hi. I'm Delilah.

Hope you don't mind -- wanted to tell you a little bit about me and my life. You never know, you might be interested, right? Life of a Trans girl, the ups and downs, the final settling of my life, when I know who I am, and where I'm meant to be.

I was raised in Meridian, Idaho, till I figured out where the airport was, in Des Moines. Life at home was... not pleasant. I'm pretty sure my story is no different from a million other bois who know inside they are a girl, but not in a place there that's accepted, let alone possible. I suffered in silence; my quiet protestations of wearing a scarf, or eyeliner or nail varnish got me picked on. The inevitable "fag" and "sissy" labels thrown my way. The sniggering of the cheerleaders. All the usual stuff. But far from being weak and letting it get to me and being all sensitive about it, I just ignored it. I had my sights set way higher. I knew life was never going to be great in small town / small mind suburban America. My parents didn't know what to do with me, and as god fearing, old testament Presbyterians, they did what any parents of that age would do; they buried they head and never mentioned it, never asking about my orientation, or what clothes were buried in the back of my closet, or why I shaved my legs.

I knew who -- and what - I was from as far back as I can remember. I knew I was into studly guys in a big way, and I knew what I wanted to be for them, too.

I knew where I was going. I knew I had to get to 'the big city', as Dad put it. Off to LA I went, as soon as I got the chance. College at UCLA, studying media studies. My grades were good enough and by god, I was hell bent on getting in. Or getting out. Take your pick.

California was like coming out into the sunshine, after being snowed in for months. I wasted no time -- I was over 18, so I suffered one semester of my old name, Daryl, before I changed it legally. Delilah took center stage, 24/7.

And she shone. I grew out my hair, learned makeup, and practiced in heels. I learned how to mix and match clothes, how to walk, how to attract a man -- that was nerve wracking, that first time. All fumbles and apprehension. Back home in Idaho, I'd done nothing about it. Here, in California, I wanted to try it all. I was lucky, my first guy -- a blind date in fact -- was sweet, took his time, got me relaxed and took it slow. I'll never forget that time -- afterwards, lying there, his cum dribbling out of me, feeling like "At last, a complete woman!"

From there, it was off to the races. I wasn't a slut -- necessarily -- but I didn't shy away from new experiences. There weren't any long-term relationships till I graduated; I was having too much fun sampling the world. But after going to work for a small TV production company making documentaries, well, my life completed itself. I met Josh.

Now, I know I had it pretty easy. Some of my friends' lives were complete sob stories. Disowned, thrown out, having to fall back on sex work -- I've been lucky in the extreme, mainly, I think, because I just don't give a shit about anyone till they give me cause to care.

But Josh. Oh Josh. Six foot, 200 pounds of absolute hunk. Ex Military, working as a mechanic. Pure masculinity and testosterone, enough for the both of us. Well-equipped too. 8 mouth watering inches. I get all wobbly just holding onto his arm. He goes to the gym regularly, and is chiseled. Not built, just...defined. Just the way I like 'em :) He even shaves, so he is smooth too!

And he knows he's loved. Constant blow jobs, I LIVE for buying lingerie for him. My life is so complete. He loves me, I love him, it's all quite lovey dovey and disgusting, frankly. Our friends make barfing noises and fingers-down-throat gestures when we are around.

But we are complete. I love my manly man, and he loves me, his little girlie boi.

He says he has a surprise for me tonight. I am all agog, with fantasies of a ring, a wedding dress and all the rest of it. I can't wait. He's been nervous for days about it.

He's just called me upstairs -- he's been up there for an hour, 'preparing the surprise' he says. I walked up, with my phone recording video because, well, you never know if the kids -- adopted, obviously -- will want to see this moment, in the years ahead.

And there he is, all.. wait.. what? He's.. got a wig on. Some really bad makeup, mismatched stockings and heels that are clearly too small, plus a dress that just is completely wrong. All tight in the wrong places, and loose in others.

"Surprise, honey," he says.

Fuck.