**By Sean McClearly [Googledocs link to original file listed below]**
I was waiting for Jackson seated on the large round planter in the courtyard between Old Main, Lampasas Hall and Centennial Hall. It felt so sexy to be seated on the stone ledge wearing nothing under my short skirt that was barely long enough to cover my dick. My naked rear was directly touching the rough-cut old stone, which was turning me on.
I waited for Jackson’s work hours to end in World Languages offices, where he had a part-time gig working for the department chair. I saw him exit the front door, walk down the stairs and turn in my direction. When he saw me, his eyes widened, and a silly grin spread across his face.
As he sat beside me, he admonished, “That skirt is scandalous, Zella. I’ll bet you already have a boner, just sitting here watching the students walk past you.”
I turned my face towards his, and replied, “Your place is closer than mine, or do you want to suck my cock in your car?”
The freedom I had felt, since moving to San Marcos to go to college, was incredible. Back home I was always wary of the idiots and bigots around me. I felt judged, just for wearing slightly flamboyant boys clothing, so much so that I never dared leave my bedroom wearing any of my fem clothing. I liked bright colors, stripes and unusual patterns. All the guys were so typical in their dress with jeans or cargo shorts. Their shirts came in just two colors, bland and blah. They were all jocks to me, even the ones who weren’t.
So, I carefully planned my college career to coincide with my shift to living out my female identity in public. No one else from my high school had applied to attend Texas State University, where I was elated to have been accepted into the Honors College. In San Marcos I could begin my adult life, dressing and acting as I pleased.
And, to add a delicious topping to this wonderful desert, I met Jackson here on my first day of orientation on campus. He is a bit taller than me, when I am not wearing heels, has a slender, well-toned body and a classically handsome face with heavy dark brown brows that match his hair. I met him at the World Languages meeting for freshmen. He was handing out the packets with our names on them, and when he couldn’t find one for my name Zella I asked, “Do you have one for Gerald?”
He looked up at me, dressed in a short flouncy dress tailored from an attractive material that looked like a medieval tapestry design. I had altered it to accent my slim figure by showing off a lot of smooth skin and my long, soft-as-silk legs. He looked me up and down, and asked, “Is your name Gerald?”
“Not anymore,” I responded, “I submitted the name change court document at the Student Center, though. Now I am known as Zella.”
As he handed me the packet, he asked me, “Welcome Zella, I am very pleased to meet such an interesting fellow student.”
After my 18th birthday, I had done the legal paperwork to change my name from Gerald to Zella. I thought having a name that started with the last letter of the alphabet would make others actually remember it, after hearing it the first time. I liked being Zella. The change of persona filled me with energy, and I practiced being flirty with the guys, as my therapist had suggested.
I had been taking hormone replacement therapy meds long enough that my body looked feminine enough to be accepted for the gender that I identified with. My body was practically hairless, and my beard was non-existent. I had long brown hair that I sometimes lightened a shade or two, and I had mastered the art of making my already feminine shaped face look pretty without overdoing the makeup.
That same evening, I ran into Jackson at the Commons Dining Hall, which is adjacent to the dorm used by the Honors College housed their freshmen and sophomores. I had just picked out a table to sit at when Jackson came over with his tray and asked if I’d like some company. Was it an accident that he saw me at dinner? After we talked for a while, I thought not.
After eating together, we went for a stroll around campus. Texas State is built on an incredibly hilly section of land next to Spring Lake, a unique tourist attraction where one can ride in glass bottom boats and view the warm underwater springs that support a unique aquatic ecology. The campus roads and walkways wind around hills and outcrops of stone, with trees everywhere.
“My designated degree,” I told him “Is a Bachelor of Arts in International Relations, with minors in German and French.”
“You’re doing all of that on top of the Honors program?” he asked me.
“I think the languages will be a breeze since I lived all my life up until 11th grade in France and Germany. And, just so you know I attend their schools, not the so-called American schools in those capitals. Most of the teachers in those American schools were from the UK or Australia.”
“How did you come to live in Europe?” he asked.
“My mom had been stationed by the State Department at the Embassies in those countries,” I answered, “She was pretty high up the chain of command in those places, assistant charge de affairs or something like that. Now she works in Washington.
“You must have seen a lot of sights over there,” Jackson commented. “I’ve always lived here, a Fort Worth resident, all my life. What about your dad?”
I repeated the official story, when I said, “He is a professional photographer, who was always traveling about Europe on important jobs. For him exactly where we had our home was not a problem. His employment has always been freelance, wandering around the world and doing jobs for one media company or another.”
We wandered and talked for a long time, until we saw one of the independent coffee places in the same strip mall as the independent bookstore. We talked there over our lattes and pastry, until it was time for me to get back to the dorm.
I loved the campus at Texas State, almost as much as I was coming to love Jackson. The trees were everywhere on campus, so many that you could barely see the older Spanish tiled roofs of the old two-story stucco buildings, until you had walked right up to their doorways. The fall weather was nice, but I heard that it would turn cold soon.
The campus was large enough that I got a decent amount of exercise just walking from place to place for classes and study groups. Usually, after classes and studying in the library. I was exhausted enough to collapse into my bed at the dorm. I had paid the extra fee to have a single room and private bathroom. No nosy and noisy roommates around to bother me when I wanted to get some sleep.
It also gave me a place where I could lure Jackson. I was getting to be a bit bossy with him, making him get naked and then forcing him to practice the ancient art of fellatio. He was such an easy man to sexually subjugate, and I was developing a more dominating character than I had expressed before.
“I want you to stand against that wall with your hands behind your head,” I told him one afternoon, when we had no classes or work hours. His tool was already engorged, but not totally hard yet. It hung down about seven inches, ready for what I had planned.
“I am going to use this small penis flogger on you,” I said, holding up something I had crafted from some tentacles of soft leather and a short wooden handle. “You will not make any noise, while I punish you. Do you understand?”
“Yes mistress,” he responded as I stood there in front of him with my cock hanging down between my black stockings. I was wearing a leather outfit that covered my torso, leaving the entire crotch area exposed.
I whipped his penis ten times, as he counted, and then knelt down in front of him and performed a bit of oral sex on his abused member. “How does that feel, slave?” I asked.
“It feels wonderful,” he said. “Can you please whip me some more?”
I obliged him several times more, repeating the process. Finally, he was rock hard, and I needed to use his cock in a different place on my body. I told him to lie down on my bed, then I mounted him and slid lowered myself onto his erection.
It is a curious fact, that most straight men do not understand that anal sex is an extremely enjoyable activity, not the painful degradation they imagine. As I rode Jacksons erection, the deep massage that my prostate and seminal vesicles received pushed me higher and higher, towards an intense orgasm, all without touching my flopping penis. As I approached that peak, I could control the rhythm and speed of my movements, up and down, prolonging the feeling of please that was flooding my bloodstream with endorphins.
I ejaculated just seconds before I felt Jackson do so inside my ass. I slowed down, but kept him locked inside me, for some time, until we both had our breathing slowed back to a normal rate.
Afterwards, I insisted that he remain naked, so I could enjoy the sight and touch of his marvelously male body.
“Someday,” I told him, “We’ll finish our studies and I will be able to turn you into my permanent, full-time sexual slave.”
He moaned at that, and I saw his cock begin to expand into another wonderful erection that I could use and abuse.
[https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xGMK5WecTSTe_va8enm7kYr3TDhl71wO2EX0r_qUwi8/edit?usp=sharing](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xGMK5WecTSTe_va8enm7kYr3TDhl71wO2EX0r_qUwi8/edit?usp=sharing)
Here is a link to a novel I have on Amazon Kindle, just in case you are interested…
[https://www.amazon.com/Chad-New-City-Blues-Diary-ebook/dp/B0878ZGVFD/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=sean+mcclearly&qid=1591212849&s=books&sr=1-1](https://www.amazon.com/Chad-New-City-Blues-Diary-ebook/dp/B0878ZGVFD/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=sean+mcclearly&qid=1591212849&s=books&sr=1-1)
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/gw0w9n/zella_meets_a_guy_lgbtq