He pinned me against the wall. Hot energy came out of his fingertips as his lips met mine. Tongues tangled in our bedroom as he reached down and felt my cock, hard, hanging down between my legs. I was held back by my underwear and trousers, but felt him exquisitely. We breathed in together, released, pushed back… and I felt him reach his tendrils into me, through me, grabbing me and pulling me closer with every tug.
I packed a while ago. Packing- wearing a prosthetic under clothing to create the look or sensation of having external genitalia. Some people’s packers are silicone. Others rubber. I was in love with someone whose packer was made of layers of condoms filled with hair gel and wrapped in a nylon. Let’s just say that that went poorly when someone squeezed too tight.
I recently got a silicone packer from Good Vibes. It showed up beautiful- the caramel color really resonating with me. But wow, it was hard. Physically very hard. It threw me for a loop, having been used in the past to much softer packers. Mind you, that made it more fun for using as an insertable on myself… but that is a tale for a different time. I wore it that first night and found that it was hard to sleep in, pulling on my long public hair. In the morning I blearily removed it, without thinking.
During the second round of experiments, I put it in my trousers, and found that the lump was more ambitious than what I perceived myself to be in my energetic and astral body. And yet, it was good, so good, to look down and see my cock between my legs, held back by jeans. So amazingly good. I wore it for a few hours, then decided to take it out before bed.
We have a mirror just inside our bedroom, and as I stripped… my world fell apart. I pulled down my underwear, and my packy came away from my groin.
Flashback. I am in Portland, Oregon at Powell’s Bookstore in the men’s room. I have not had chest surgery yet, my 38DD breasts held back behind a binder and wearing baggy clothes. I pull down my pants and my packy of the time, goes bouncing out of my underpants. I leave the stall, pick it up as if nothing was wrong… but it was all wrong.
But I am now back in my bedroom… and my world falls apart. Because I look in the mirror, and I am beyond naked. I am bare. I am exposed. I am standing there, unable to see the cock I so badly want and need on my body.
I fall into dysphoria, and dance into depression. I curl up, and don’t want to leave the bed. I spend the next few weeks on and off looking in the mirror and feeling wrong. And yet, packing is not enough either. I pack from time to time, and it helps. But my world feels sideways.
The third time is a charm. I slide the cock into my underpants, adjust myself, adjust myself again. I feel firmly grounded. I walk with firmness on the planet. My love sees me, and as I flirt with him, he flirts back.
Around the corner in the bedroom his fingers graze against my cock and I shutter. He smiles, playing me like a violin, and I moan. His body pushes against mine and he begins to pull on my cock, but physically and astrally.
I shutter and moan, moan and squirm, squirm and shutter. He is an artisan of erotic expression, an incubus with silken claws. I groan and push back but he is relentless. I build up. I ache. I cum.