Loving Tiresias

Chapter 1-1

Loving Tiresias

An Erotic Tale of Gender Swapping

Elliot Silvestri

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this work are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Loving Tiresias

An Erotic Tale of Gender Swapping

Copyright © 2021 Green Bush Publishing

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

A Green Bush Publishing Book

The characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Contains adult material that might not be suitable for all audiences. This work is a fantasy; in your own life be sure to follow safer s*x practices.

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

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The Prince’s Whores

Princess Not-So-Innocent

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The Red Collar

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The s*x Wizard

Sexy Preg

Sharing Her with Him

A Slave Auction

Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others

Spilt Milk

Steel Restraint

Submissive Milking

Sugarcane Milk

Summer Collar

Sweet Susan

Sweet Treats

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About the Author

[1]

Chapter 1

Yes, going home with a guy I just met at a party thrown by a friend of a friend wasn’t a great idea. But, in my defense, one, I was drunk and, two, I was horny, and, three, I was young and stupid.

Is that four reasons?

Anyway, the s*x was great, what I remember of it. I do remember taking off his pants and being thrilled he already had a hard-on. It’s not that I mind giving blowjobs. I sort of like giving them, but I’ve been with half-drunk guys before who couldn’t get it up no matter how long I sucked on their d***s.

More importantly, Michael’s c**k was perfect. It was even beautiful. Not too big and not too small; I felt a little bit like Goldilocks. And believe me, guys bragging that they have a foot long in their pants don’t get laid nearly as much as they claim. Very few women want something that big in their p***y. On the other hand, something that is more akin to an unimpressive dry erase marker is a disappointment to everyone involved. I like average and I was thrilled when Michael had exactly that.

I remember sucking him a bit, not that he needed it, but because I wanted to. He did his fair share of the work as well. He went down on me like a champ. The last time I was with a virgin was with my high school boyfriend and I am never doing that again. Michael knew exactly what he was doing between a woman’s legs. I loved looking down at his shaggy blonde hair as he ate me out.

Yes, since you asked, he did make me c*m that way. It wasn’t the greatest orgasm of my life, but it was fun.

And yes, we f****d. We weren’t so drunk that we forgot the condom either. We did the classic three: missionary, cowgirl, doggy. I don’t know how many times I came, but it was more than a handful. He came only the once, but that seemed to satisfy him.

Then we fell asleep.

That’s when it all went weird and strange and sideways and pear-shaped.

I’m all for experimentation in the bedroom. Toys. Games. Bondage. Spanking. Lingerie and fetish wear. Role playing. I’ve only done a handful of threesomes and they were always with two guys. Not that I was opposed to doing a MFF. Having s*x with a woman one-on-one wasn’t on my bucket list, but I could see it happening in a group situation.

What I’m saying is that I’m open-minded and short of some extreme stuff, I wouldn’t automatically say no to anything.

But I distinctly remembered falling asleep next to Michael.

I woke up next to a woman.

I was a little girl about it. I didn’t exactly scream, but I yelped and jumped out of bed, dragging half the covers with me getting them into a tangled mess on the floor. This caused me to completely uncover her and prevent me from having anything to cover myself with.

Naturally, my actions woke her up.

“Who are you?” I demanded of the stranger.

Even though it was way too early in the morning and I was a little hung over and she didn’t look her best upon waking up, I could recognize she was pretty and, if I’m being honest, she had a better body than me, so of course I started hating her right away.

The strange blonde sat bolt upright, made a half-hearted attempt to cover herself, an action which was mirrored by me covering my boobs with my left arm and crotch with my right hand. I wasn’t sure why I was doing that.

“Oh s**t!” she muttered, blinking and looking around. “I fell asleep.”

“Yeah!” I all but screamed at her. “You fell asleep in my bed! Where the f**k is Michael.”

I was proud of myself that I had remembered my previous night’s partner’s name.

“I’m Michael,” she said. “I mean, I’m Michelle. Just Michelle.”

I glanced down at her crotch. She had a blonde triangle of curly hair and, very distinctly, no d**k. No c**k. No frank and beans.

I knew I had sucked c**k last night. I knew that I had been properly f****d by that same c**k.

I was drunk, yes, but was it out of consideration that I would have gone home with a woman?

I wanted to say yes, that was impossible, but I knew it wasn’t. I could have, but I knew I hadn’t.

Did I somehow hook up with a cross dresser, a woman pretending to be a man, and take him...her...home? I didn’t see a strapon harness and c**k anywhere on, in, or around the bed. Sure, she could have been wearing one, but I knew I had sucked and f****d a real c**k, not some realistic dildo.

Had I?

Michael...or Michelle...or whoever—I was already getting confused on names and I had only been awake for a minute—moved to pull up the sheets just high enough to cover her crotch.

I wanted a better look. Not because I like looking at people’s naughty bits—though truth be told, I do, a little—but because I was starting to have all sorts of doubts.

As I started to lean forward for that close inspection, I caught myself. What the hell was I doing?

This whole thing was insane.

Okay, so I had picked up a woman who was maybe crossdressing as a man and had some lesbian s*x which—as I remembered it—was pretty damn good.

What was the problem?

I straightened up and grabbed my robe from the hook where I kept it next to the door.

Feeling a little bolder now that I was covered up and my guest was still naked and exposed, I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, let’s start over. Sorry about my reaction. I was certain I had gone home last night with a guy.”

“You did,” said Michelle.

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You did,” she repeated. “You went home with a man last night.”

“Uh...I’m not trying to be close-minded or anything, but I’m looking at your naked t**s right now and those, along with everything else I’m seeing, tells me you’re a woman.”

She shifted uncomfortably in my bed and tried to casually cover her breasts with her arm. Her hair wasn’t nearly long enough to cover them, so that part of my memory was intact.

“You went home with a man last night. We had s*x. And then during the night I changed from a man to a woman,” Michelle explained like she was giving me the basics of biology.

“That’s not how s*x works,” I said, still more than a little confused. “That’s not how gender works. That’s not how humans work! How did you just…” and here I gestured without purpose, “just change into a woman?”

She shrugged and said, “I don’t know. It happens every time I have s*x. I change from male to female or female to male.”

I just gawped at her.

“I’d better go,” she said, slipping out of the bed to gather the clothing I had strewn about the room last night when I had stripped Michael before we had s*x. I watched her closely. I felt that was my right because it was my damn apartment and I was still confused as hell.

Casual Oxford button down shirt.

Jeans.

Black socks, ankle high.

Plain sneakers.

No bra.

Boxers.

She had boxers and no panties. And no bra.

She started dressing as I watched. Definitely no d**k between her legs. I definitely remembered sucking a d**k last night. No micro-d**k either. It was full sized. Not exactly huge, but big enough to satisfy me.

The boxers were big enough to go over her hips but weren’t exactly a good fit. Besides, the boxers over panties look had expired two decades ago. I continued to watch her dress.

Jeans were an okay fit, but lots of guys wore baggy jeans while women preferred them to be a bit tighter. I know I did. My ass actually looks better in tight jeans than unclothed, I’ll be honest.

The shirt was the giveaway.

Her t**s weren’t that big, but they were big enough Bs or Cs. The shirt was tailored to a slim body. She couldn’t get it buttoned up. Her boobs prevented it. Some women would go braless under such a shirt, but not looking like she did.

We both looked down at her compressed boobs trying to escape the shirt. It was a terrible look.

“Do you have a sweatshirt I could borrow?” she finally asked me.

“You want to borrow a sweatshirt from me?” I asked evenly. I understood why, but I was reluctant to give her what she wanted.

“Yeah. So I don’t have to walk home like this. So I don’t get catcalled by every f*****g piece of s**t I pass on the street. Help a girl out.”