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From: rache <rache696@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Little Different by Rachael Ross (M/F, Rom, No Sex)
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Date: Mon, 30 Apr 2007 12:10:01 -0400
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A Little Different

Copyright 2007 Rachael Ross all rights reserved. Intended for adults
only.
Story Codes: M/F, Rom, No Sex

A Little Different
By Rachael

I've always been a little different, and I don't mean just my
personality, although that's what people pick-up on first. I mean
physically too, and it's a little embarrassing to talk about, but what
the heck, right? It's just talk and sometimes that helps, you know?

So like last week, I was on the Metro, of all places, taking the train
to work like always and there's this guy, a cute guy. I'd seen him
before, like definitely noticed him and I knew he'd seen me before.
The funny thing about the Metro is that you ride it long enough, and
I'm talking years for some us, and we get to know each other. Not
intimately, not personally, but casually, from a distance.

Like this guy, I didn't know his name, we'd never said a single word,
not even a little 'excuse me' the way people do on crowded trains,
under their breath, impatiently. But I knew he was married, I'd seen
his ring, and I knew he liked baseball, but not football or hockey. He
barely glanced at the sports page in his paper after October. I knew
he smoked, and I knew when he was trying to quit. I knew when he'd had
an argument with his wife from the way he frowned and twisted his
ring, looking at it sometimes. And I knew when he'd spent the night
making love to her because he would rock on his heels and look out the
window.

Or so I believed, it's all just supposition, but I would have bet
money on my observations. Anyway, last week we're on the train and he
isn't looking out the window, he's looking down at his hand, twisting
his ring and I'm watching him, maybe even feeling a little sorry for
him. And he looks up suddenly, as if he knows I'm watching, right into
my eyes across and between a dozen passengers. It startled me and I
looked away, embarrassed to be caught like that, which only made it
worse. And when I look back, because I have to, you know, he's looking
at me still and I smile. Don't ask me why, I just do. Maybe because
he's cute, or maybe because he looks like he could really use one.

So we ride like that for twenty minutes, until the train stops and
we're both leaving and he's closer to the doors, but he doesn't move.
He's standing there as people push around him, as I'm making my way to
leave, and only when I'm close, like close enough to touch, that's
when he begins to exit. So the effect is that we're walking together
now, finally on the platform with enough room to behave like people
again, and he's beside me now.

"Hello." He says, just a simple greeting.

"Hi." I smile at him and my heart's beating faster, wondering what
he's thinking. I happen to look down, because we're going up the
stairs now and I have an excuse and I see his left hand, as that's the
side of him I'm on, and he's removed his ring.

Ohhh, I'm thinking, okay. He's had a little tiff with his wife, he
wants something, a little encouragement, a little stroking for his ego
to prove that Mrs. Whoever isn't the only woman in the world.

"Would you like to have a drink with me tonight?" He asks, and very
smooth too, a lot better than I'm making it sound because you really
haven't looked into his eyes. They're green and flecked with gold and
so, so sweet.

"Yes." I lick my lips and nod, just a small one. "I would."

And so we agree to meet at Barney's, there on 5th Avenue after five
and I'm just thinking, oh I know better than this.

And that was all, I didn't even ask his name, we just smiled and
parted. He got into his taxi, as usual, and I walked the two blocks to
my office. I spent the day wondering of course. I mean I should have
stood him up, for a lot of reasons, not least of which was that he was
married. I didn't need that sort of trouble and probably he didn't
either. But there were other reasons too, as I'll make clear in a
moment.

We met, as agreed, proving that I'm not nearly so smart as I think I
am. I'd even gone out during lunch to buy an outfit, which is
something I didn't want to say, but there it is. I must have been
excited to do that, right? A new outfit for drinks with a stranger? My
god, I am desperate!

I looked nice though. I'd been trying a new hairstyle, letting it down
in a soft French curl, rather than pinning it up. My hair is brown,
just brown, so it's boring by definition unless I do something
interesting with it. So it was down, curling over my shoulders and I
was wearing an emerald dress, not quite a gown, nothing so dramatic,
but a tight dress with stockings and heels and all that jazz. I was
jazzed up and if I wasn't stunning, which is hard to accomplish during
a lunch hour, I was certainly beautiful.

"New man?" One of my friends teased me, but only gently because I
didn't date much and that made people suspicious anyway, like maybe I
had cancer.

I shrugged her off, making some comment on how they were all new when
you didn't have one at home, which made very little sense, but did
require a moment to appreciate. As I said, my personality is a little
different. I smiled brazenly past all of my friends and co-workers,
who were altogether too quick to sense that something was up, and I
wondered aloud at how far our society had fallen when what I did after
work could be of so much interest to anyone.

But part of that interest comes from being both young and attractive,
as well as having refused a number of gallant offers by the local
gallants to ease my lonely pain after work. I'd turned them all down,
knowing far better than they how dangerous it could be getting
involved with someone from the office. I knew also about married men,
and now there I was, breaking one of my little rules.

"Hello again." He was there waiting for me at a small table and he
stood as I arrived.

"Hi." I smiled and stood there for a moment because he was looking at
me and I liked it. Not the sort of look that makes me uncomfortable,
like being undressed, but more the sort of appreciative look a man
might give you when he just wants to remember you for a long time.

"I'm Mark, by the way." He smiled apologetically and held out his hand
as we sat down.

"Monica." I offered, and let him touch my fingers, just the tips and
he was gentle and if he held me for a fraction too long I didn't
notice.

We drank martinis, which are all the rage on 5th Avenue. Barney's
specializes in very dry martinis, served ice cold with pickled
carrots. And we talked, about work mostly, at first, because that's
what people do. That went well, an hour, perhaps more and we weren't
bored with each other yet. The talk had become a little more intimate
with time and carrots, but nothing intensely personal. I talked about
where I'd come from and why, and he talked about his passion for
sailing, avoiding any mention of his wife of course. I chided him
mentally for that, thinking he should have come clean quickly, but how
was he to know I would've stayed where I was?

Dinner followed, and I really do want to get to the point, so you'll
have to trust me when I tell you that as far as first dates went, this
one was turning out very nice. We even danced. Real dancing too, of
the sort they don't teach in high school anymore. I didn't learn until
I was in college and I liked putting my hand in his, feeling his touch
in the small of my back. The music was orchestral, soft and smooth,
and it begged us to stand close as we moved, so we did. I felt his
broad chest against my breasts, his stomach occasionally rubbing mine,
and lower, the evident swell of is manhood.

He was a very good dancer, and the martinis and wine with dinner, and
the music...I put my head on his shoulder and felt his hand drifting
low, not too far, but enough so he could tell I was wearing a thong,
or perhaps nothing at all beneath my thin dress. And I could feel his
cock, hard now and trapped, pressing against the shallow V of my
thighs. His mouth was in my hair, close to my ear, whispering soft
things about how beautiful I was, how good I felt in his arms. He
wondered if I needed to go home, if there weren't some way he could
keep me just a little bit longer, some reason he could offer that I
wouldn't refuse.

I teased him for awhile, making excuses and half-promises for the
future, but in the end I surrendered, as I had to. I was in love, the
way I always am. I wanted him as much as he wanted me, even if it was
only for sex, I wanted him. I felt my sex moist and my nipples were
hard and visible as small round shadows on my emerald breasts. I would
have let him do anything he wanted, but I wouldn't have told him that
in a million years. I just smiled shyly and nodded and let him help me
into a taxi for the short ride to a hotel overlooking the park.

Unlike Mark and his reluctance to tell me of his wife, I've always
been of the opinion that bad news is only bad while it waits to be
revealed. Once out in the open, it's neither good nor bad, it's just a
fact and you deal with it and move on, for better or worse.

"Mark..." I breathed, feeling his arms around me as we stood in our
room.

I was holding him as well, letting him kiss my neck, his hands moving
down my sides, around my narrow waist and hips. He was kissing the
swell of my breasts, pale and firm and rising with my excitement. It
felt so good like that, being loved and touched by a handsome man. His
hands went to my ass, squeezing me gently and I moaned into his thick
soft hair, black and smelling of his cologne.

"Mark, I have to tell you something...." I was torn between letting
him continue and making him stop, at least for the moment.

"What is it?" he asked kissing my neck and then my lips looking into
my brown eyes with his.

"I'm not...I'm a little different." I said, placing my hand on his
chest and stroking him, pleading with him to listen and not judge me
too harshly.

"What do you mean?" Suspicion rose in his voice and I felt the
familiar taste of fear.

"I mean I'm just a little...different...down there." I glanced down
between us and he stepped back suddenly, letting me go.

"You're a guy?" He asked and there was a flash of panic across his
face.

"No." I smiled and shook my head. "I'm definitely not a guy."

"Oh." He sighed and smiled and raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think
so, but jeez, you scared me, okay..."

"But I have, well...sit down, okay?" I thought perhaps it would be
easier to show him, rather than try to explain.

He was confused of course, poor Mark, but content with my assurance
that I wasn't a man, so he was willing to sit for me and let me
undress, which he plainly enjoyed, I thought. I asked him to unzip me,
smiling at him over my shoulder and I undressed slowly, making a
little show of it, I admit. It was a short one though, as all I needed
to remove was my one piece dress. I wore no bra and my panty was just
a black silk G-string that hid very little. So I stood there, in my
stockings, which rose to mid-thigh, the garters creasing my pale flesh
and contrasting black on white nicely. And my g-string, which covered
my clit and my plump labia just enough so they were noticeable, but
not quite exposed to the eye. And of course it did nothing to hide
my...

"Balls?" Mark stared between my legs. "You said you weren't a guy."

"I'm not." I told him, hooking my thumbs in my panties and pulling
them down slowly, exposing my very real and very pretty pussy to him.
"I just have testicles."

They were nice too, so far as I was concerned. Smooth round orbs
suspended in a hairless sack emerging pinkly from the bottom of my
pussy, just in front of my anus. They didn't really serve any
particular function, so far as I knew. They should have stayed up
inside me as a fetus and developed into ovaries, but they hadn't.
They'd dropped and grown in size, but had done little else.

My parents had thought of having them removed when I was small, but
they hadn't done it then for whatever reason, deciding to put it off
until by the time I was a teenager I was kind of used to them, which I
know a lot of people wouldn't understand, a lot of other women. Boys
can probably understand what I mean though. A person gets attached to
her balls. So I kept them and suffered the consequences.

I wondered if Mark was going to be another in a long line of
consequences, or if he'd be one of the few who could get past the
rather minor and ultimately meaningless fact that I had testicles.

"I uh, I have to go." He said, and there was my answer.

"Are you sure?" I asked, and my voice was soft without trying to be. I
didn't want any pity, no sympathy sex, please. I was as healthy as the
next girl, and somewhat more attractive than most. I steeled myself
with the knowledge that it was his loss, and if the previous hours had
meant nothing at all, so be it.

"Yeah." He stood up. "I...I have to go."

"Alright." I shrugged. "Thank you for dinner, I had a good time."

"Me too, Monica." He said and he looked into my eyes then, I mean
really looked and I could tell he meant it. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mark." I closed the door behind him and sighed, looking
around the empty hotel room.

Some few days later, riding the Metro, I looked up suddenly from my
magazine and caught Mark staring out the window, rocking on his heels
and smiling. Well, good for him, I thought. I was glad that he'd
finally made up with his wife.

end
rache696@yahoo.com
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/rache/www/index.htm


I had almost exactly one hour to kill, and I'm still on that clock as
I write this, and I remember seeing this picture called "oh balls"
which was done very nice in poser or something, if I remember right,
anyway it showed a girl with a pair of balls and then I remembered an
episode of house where this girl had testes, this supermodel, but
internal, not external, and the (presumably) medically correct
explanation that everyone had testes at one point, but they dropped in
boys and in girls evolved into the ovaries - i'm no doctor - so i was
like, what if a girl had balls, in addition to a real vagina? what if
she liked it and she possessed superhuman patience and was just ...a
really beautiful woman, inside and out, except for her balls?

So that's what I wrote, and like I said...Time was and is very short
for me today so I didn't get to play with all my usual witty dialogue,
but probably people can use a break from that anyway, huh? Sorry
there's no sex, but that wasn't what the story was about.

Thanks for reading -rr

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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