Men With Vaginas Story: A Real Man

The Secret I Kept From Her

I am Morgan, I am thirty-one, and I am a man. I look like a man, I sound like a man, I dress like a man, and I have a vagina, and for a long time I kept that part of my body a secret from the women I dated. Priya is twenty-eight, an adult woman I had been seeing for weeks, and she liked my voice, my shoulders, my hands, and the way I kissed her. I wanted her, I wanted to be naked with her, and I was tired of stopping before she could see all of me, so I decided that night, in my apartment, I would finally tell her the truth and let her see me.

Priya came over for dinner, and I cooked badly, and we laughed about it, and then we ended up on my sofa, kissing, with her hand on my chest and my hand on her thigh. I was hard, I was nervous, and I was honest in a way I had never been before. I told her I had something to show her, something I had never shown anyone I dated, and I asked her to trust me. She looked me in the eye, she said she wanted to see all of me, and she kissed me again, slower this time, like she meant it. I kissed her back, I ran my hands through her hair, and I told her I was ready, I was hers if she wanted me, and I meant every word I said to her that night.

In My Apartment, The Reveal

I took her hand and led her to my bedroom, and I undressed slowly, and I watched her face as she saw me, a man, broad and bearded in the low light, with a pussy between my legs. She did not laugh, she did not pull away, and she did not ask me to explain myself. She touched my chest, she kissed my stomach, and she slid her hand down and felt how wet I already was, and she smiled. She said I was beautiful, she said she wanted me, and she meant my body exactly as it is, not in spite of it, and I believed her because her hands were shaking with wanting me.

She laid me back on my bed and spread my legs, and she kissed my thighs, and then she kissed my pussy, slow and wet, and I arched off the bed and moaned her name. Her tongue circled me, her fingers slipped inside me, and I was so wet, so open, so ready for her that I begged her not to stop. She kept going until I came, hard, with my hands in her hair and my legs shaking around her shoulders, and then she climbed up and kissed me, and I could taste myself on her mouth, and I wanted her again immediately.

When She Touched Me There

Priya was not done with me, and I was not done with her. She stripped off her own clothes, she straddled me, and she guided herself down onto the strap she had brought, pressing it inside me while I held her hips and watched her face. I felt full, I felt wanted, I felt like a man being taken by a woman who desired me, and I thrust up to meet her, moaning, begging her to go harder. She rode me until we were both sweating, until I came again, crying out, with her hands on my chest and her mouth on my neck.

A Real Man, Wanted As I Am

After that, we lay tangled in my sheets, and I was still wet, still aching, still wanting Priya to touch me again. I did not want to hide, or cover up, or pretend my body was anything other than mine. I wanted her to fuck me again, I wanted her mouth on me again, and I told her so, and she laughed and rolled me over and took me from behind with the strap, slow and deep, until I was moaning into the pillow and coming for the third time that night, with her hand flat between my shoulder blades holding me down.

We showered together after, and she washed my back, and I washed hers, and then I pressed her against the tiles and kissed her until she was moaning too. I touched her, I tasted her, and I made her come with my mouth and my fingers, because I wanted her to feel as wanted as she had made me feel. That night was not about a secret anymore. It was about being a real man, with a real body, desired completely by a woman who wanted exactly what I have.