From The Leather Daddy and the Femme
by Carol Queen


I was looking pretty boyish that evening. Maybe that's why he looked
twice at the stoplight when my car pulled up next to his motorcycle.
Usually guys like that are moving; you just see a gleaming blur of
black and silver. But here at the light was a real done-up daddy,
sitting stock-still--except for his head, which turned in response to
my eyes fixed on him and found what he saw noticeable enough to make
him turn again. When boy energy gets into me I look like an effete
young Cambridge faggot looking to go bad; round spectacles framing
inquisitive eyes and a shock of hair falling down over one. Not
classically daddy's boy, something a little different. Maybe tonight
this daddy was looking for a new kind of ride.


A real done-up daddy, yeah. His leathers were immaculate and carried
that dull gleam that well-kept black leather picks up under
streetlights. Black leather cap, high boots, everything on him black
and silver except the well-worn blue denim at his crotch, bulging
invitingly out of a pair of chaps. I eyed that denimed expanse quite
deliberately; he noticed. He had steely-blue daddy eyes and a well
trimmed beard. I couldn't see his hands under the riding gloves, but
they looked big, and from the looks of hm I bet they were manicured. I
love these impeccable daddies. They appeal to the femme in me.


And his bike! A huge, shiny animal, a Harley, of course--nothing but
classic for this daddy. The chrome gleamed as if he did the fine
polish with his tongue--or rather, used the tongue of some lucky boy.
I'm more for polishing leather, myself, but if this stone-hot daddy
told me to do his bike, of course I'd get right to it.


Ooh, he was looking right into my eyes, taking in my angelic
Vienna-choirboy face and my leather jacket, much rattier than his with
all its ACT UP and Queer Nation stickers. Did he think I was cute
enough for a walk on the wild side? I could hear him dishing me to all
the other daddies: "Yeah, this hot little schoolboy, looked real
innocent but he cruised me like he knew what I hand and wanted it, so I
let him follow me home."


On the cross street the light turned yellow. I did want what he had.
This was it. I leaned out the window and said, just loud enough to be
heard, careful to keep my voice low pitched, "Daddy, can I come too?"


The daddy grinned. When the light turned green he gunned the Harley,
took the space in front of my car, and signaled for me to follow.


A South of Market apartment--oh, this was perfect. At three A.M. on
any given night he could probably open his bedroom window and find a
willing mouth down here to piss in--I'd heard about this alley. The
entryway was dark. Good. I parked my car and caught up with him
there. I fell to my knees as he pulled his keys from his belt. By the
time he had his door unocked I was chewing on his balls through the
denim. He let me go on that way for a minute, and then he collared me
and hauled me into the dark foyer. I barely had time to grab my
rucksack, which I'd let fall beside me so I could get both hands on his
hard, leather-clad thighs.


Inside, I pulled off my glasses and tucked them away safely in my
jacket. In the future, I guess I'd remember to wear my contacts.
Daddy pushed me back onto my knees, and I scrambled to open the buttons
of his Levi's. I wanted his cock, want it big, wanted it down my
throat with his hands fisting the hair at the nape of my neck, giving
it to me hard and rhythmically. I wanted to suck both his balls into
my mouth while he slapped his dick against my cheeks. Cock worship in
the dark. Use me. Daddy, no, don't come yet--I have a surprise for
you.


I don't know how long I went on. I get lost in cocksucking sometimes:
it's like a ritual that disconnect me from my head, all the more so
when it's anonymous. I hadn't even seen this cock I was sucking, and
that made me feel I could be anyone, even an adventurous gay boy in a
South of Market alley, sucking Daddy's big, hard dick. Any second now
he could realize that I was no ordinary boy, and that gave me a great
rush of adrenaline, a lust ot have it down my throat. Until he
discovered me I could believe this illusion myself, and with most men
this was all I could expect to be, a cocksucker until they turned the
lights on.


Daddy was moaning; guess as a cocksucker I got a passing grade. I felt
the seam of my Levi's, wet where they pressed into my cunt. Jesus, I
wanted it, I wanted it from him, I wanted him not to care. The scents
of leather and sweat filled my head. Finally I pulled my mouth away
from his dick--no problem speaking in a low voice now; shit, I was
hoarse from his pounding. "Daddy, please, I want you to fuck me."


He pulled me up at once, kissed me, hard. That was a surprise. I was
swooning, not feeling like a boy now, whatever a boy feels like, but
all womanly, my brain in my cunt. And I was about to be discovered.
His hand was sliding down my jacket; any second now it would fall upon
the swell of my breast. This was when most guys freaked out and sent
me home to beat off. That was okay, usually, but God, it would kill me
to break this kiss.


But the kiss went on even when his fingers grazed first one breast,
then the other...when his other hand followed the first under my
jacket, then under my shirt, as if for corroboration, and he felt my
nipples go hard under his touch. He squeezed them, eliciting a very
unboyish moan, thrusting his tongue deep down where his cock had been,
so that even when he twisted my nipples into the shape of morning
glories, furled around themselves. I couldn't cry out.


The kiss went on even when one hand slid down my belly and started
undoing the buttons of my jeans until there was room for him to slip a
finger down between my pussy lips, root its way, almost roughly, all
the way into my cunt, pull the slick finger out again and thrust it
into my mouth, where our tongues sucked it clean. The kiss lasted
while he slid his fingers back in and fucked me, so slowly, so juicy
and excruciating, until I finally broke away to beg, "Oh Jesus, please,
make me come!" He stroked in faster, then; I came like a fountain into
his hand. He rubbed the juice all over my face, licked some of it off,
kissing me again, then pulled me down the hall into a lit room. I felt
weak-kneed and wildly disheveled; he was immaculate yet, but his cock
was out and it was still hard. For me.


Those steel-blue eyes were lit with more than amusement, and when he
spoke, in a soft, low, almost-drawl, I realized it was the first time
I'd heard his voice.


"Well, little boy, I must say you had me tricked." He laughted; I
guess I looked a little proud. "Do you make a habit of fooling guys
like me?"


"Not very often, " I managed. "And most men don't want what they get."


"No, I would imagine not. A little too much pussy under that boy drag.
A man wouldn't want to get himself....confused. Hey, where'd you
learn to suck cock? A bathhouse?"


"My brother taught me. He's gay."


"Shit, bring him with you the next time you visit," said the daddy.
"I'll die and go to heaven." He pushed me back on the bed then and
knelt above me. His big cock dangled above my face and at first he
held me down, teasing me with it, but I begged and he lowered it to my
lips, letting me have just enough to suck on like a baby dreams over a
tit. "Good girl," he said, smiling a little, running his fingertips
over my skin in a most enticing way. The boy energy was gone, but I
didn't want to stay a little girl with a man this hot. Anyway, he
wasn't acting like a leather daddy any more.


I don't know what gets into me. When I cruise gay men as a boy, I know
full well that I have to say a boy the whole time. Unless they send me
out at the first touch of curves, the first smell of pussy, they'll
play with me only if I can keep up the fantasy. I lick Daddy's boots
and suck his cock and get on my face for him, raise my ass up at the
first brush of his cock on my cheeks. I beg Daddy to fuck my ass and
promise I'll be his good boy, always. But deep inside, even as he's
slam-fucking my ass and I'm screaming from the deep-pounding pleasure
of it, even though I love being a faggot for him, I secretly wish he'd
slip and bury his meat all the way deep in my cunt. I love bieng a
boy, but I don't like having to be two separate people to get what I
want. I really want the men I fuck to turn me over and see the whole
me; the woman in the boy, the boy in the woman. This daddy, this
leathermand whose name I didn't even know, was the first one with whom
that seemed possible--and I wanted to make sure. I wanted to know if
he would really play with me.


So again I let his cock slip from my lips. "Daddy, will you let me up
for a minute? I want to play a new game, and I really want you to like
it." He released me, looking at me quizzically as I reached for my bag
and pulled the last of my clothes off. There. A femme hates having
pants bagging around her ankles.


Feeling sleeker already, I took the bag into the bathroom, promising
I'd be right back. Everything was there--shoes, clothes, makeup. It
was time to grow up.


The dress was red and tight and hugged my small breasts into cleavage.
Its backline plunged down almost to the swell of my ass. Black
stockings and garters (the dress was too tight to wear a belt under,
only a black G-string would fit), and red leather pumps with high, high
heels. The kind of shoes drag queens named so aptly "Come-Fuck-Me
Pumps." You're not suppose to walk in them--you're suppose to offer
the toe to a worshipful tongue or lock them around a neck while you get
pounded. Which is what I hoped would be happening to me shortly.


With some gel and a brush my hair went from boyish to chic. Powder on
my face, then blush. I darkened my eyebrows and lashes, lined and
shaded my eyes with green and violet, and brushed deep crimson onto my
lips. An amazingly changed face, all angles and shadows and eyes and
cheekbones, looked back at me from the mirror. One last glance: I was
sufficiently stunning. In fact, the sight, combined with the knowledge
that I was about to emerge from the little room into a leather daddy's
view, had me soaked, my heart pounding, my clit buzzing. I get so very
narcissistic when I'm femmed out. I want to reach for my image in the
mirror, take her apart and fuck her. No doubt I'd be riding this
energy into the girl bars tomorrow night, looking for my image stepped
through the looking glass, out looking for me.


One last flourish, a long, sheer, black scarf, sheer as my stockings,
flung around my shoulders, hiding nothing. I stepped back into the
leather daddy's room.


He'd taken his jeans off from beneath the chaps. His jacket was off,
too, hung carefully over a chair. His dick was in his hand. He'd been
stroking it, staying hard. Bands of leather drew my gaze t the hard
curves of his biceps. Silver rings gleamed in his nipples. I felt
like a Vogue model who'd stumbled into a Tom of Finland painting. He
was gorgeous. He was every bit the spectacle I was, body modificed and
prsented to evoke heat, to attract sex.


He looked at me hard, taking in the transformation. I saw his cock
jump; good.


"So, Daddy, do you still want to play?" I said "Daddy" in a different
voice this time, let it be lush with irony, like a '40s burlesque
queen. A well-educated faggot ought to pick up on that.


There was a touch of wonder in his voice. "God Damn. I don't believe
I've ever picked up anything quite like you." Then suspicion. "So
what's your trip? Trying to turn the heathens into hets? No wonder
all those guys threw you out."


A new rush of adrenaline hit. Go ahead, I thought, be undomfortable,
baby, but don't stop wanting it. I took a couple of steps, coming near
enough the bed that I could put one foot up n it. I moved into his
territory, gave him a view of the tops of my stockings and the wet,
pussy-redolent G-string. I narrowed my eyes. "Did I suck your cock
like a het? Yo think I can't take it now that I have a dress on?"


He persisted. "Why waste this on gay men? Straight boys must fall
over for you."


"Straight boys don't know how to give me what I want." I ran my eyes
down his body. "Besides, your cock says I'm not wasting this on you."


He made no move to try to hide the hard-on. His voice was more curious
than accusatory when he said, "You get a perverse charge out of this,
don't you?"


"Yeah, I do. But I really want you to get a perverse charge out of
it," I moved to him, knelt over him so that only the insides of my
knees touched the smooth leather of his chaps. He was close enough to
touch; I had to stop from reaching. This was it, the last obstacle.
His hard cock almost touched me. "I'm no ordinary boy, Daddy, and I'm
no ordinary woman. Do you want it? Just take it."


There is so much power in being open and accessible and ready. So much
power in wanting it. That's what so many other women don't understand.
You'll never get what you want if you make it too hard for someone to
give it to you. He proved it: he lifted his hands to me, ran them
once over my body, bringing the nipples up hard through the clinging
dress, pinned my arms at my sides and brought me down into a kiss that
seared and melted, a kiss I felt like a tongue in my cunt. I felt
myself sliding along his body till his cockhead rested against the
soaked silk of my G-string, hard and hot, and he stroked against my
clit over and over and over. When he released my arms, one big hand
held my ass, keeping me pushed against him. The other hand was fisted
in my hair. He held me fast, and once again my cries of orgasm were
muffled on his tongue.


When his mouth left mine it went to my ear, talking low.


"Pretty girl, I want your cunt so hot you go crazy. You got all
dressed up for me, didn't you? Pretty bitch, you want it rough, you
like it like that?"


"Yes!" I gasped, still riding the last waves of come, wanting more.


"Then tell me. Ask for it. Beg me!"


He pulled the scarf from around my neck, threw me easily onto my back.
He pinned my arms over my head and bound my writsts with the scarf,
talking in his low daddy voice, playing my game:


"You want it, pretty bitch? You're going to get it, Miss Special. So
you think your cunt is good enough for my meat? Can't get what you
need from straight boys? You're gonna' need it bad before you get an
inch of me, baby...Spread 'em, that's right, spread for me, show it to
me, let me have a good look. I haven't seen one of these in a real
long time...You know what I usually do with this cock, don't you? Is
that what you want, is that what straight boys don't give you? Want it
in your ass, make you be Daddy's boy again, hmm?...No you want it in
your pussy, baby, I can feel it. Just shove it all inside you, you
want to feel it open you up. Can you take it?"


Now he was reddening my ass with slaps, the dress was pulled up to my
waist, and from nowhere he clicked open a knife. I gasped and
whimpered, but he just used it to cut the G-string off and it
disappeared again. He slapped my pussy with his cock, scattering drops
of my wetness, stopping short before I came, whispering, "Want it,
pretty bitch? Want it all?" And I writhed against him and begged him:


"Jesus, please, give it to me, Daddy! Please ...please!"


He was a consummate tease, this daddy; I wondered dimly if his boys
tried to wiggle their assholes onto his just-out-reach cock the way I
was trying to capture it with my hungry cunt. Not so much difference
between one hunger and another, after all.


He reached for a rubber, worked it over his cockhead and rolled it down
the shaft. The encasement made his big cock strain harder. As he
knelt between my spread-wide legs, I murmured, "Give it to me, give it
to me, give..."--and in a long plunge, he did.


It felt so good to be filled so full, and to smell the hot leather and
cock and pussy and feel the chaps against my legs. The second thrust
came harder than the first, and a look of sexy concentration played
across my leather daddy's face as he settled in for a long, hard,
pounding ride.


It was my turn to talk to him as I met his strokes with thrusts of my
own, letting my pinned-down body fill with delicious tension that would
build up to even more intense peaks.


"...Oh, yeah, just like that, give me your cock, baby, fill up my
pussy, yeah...Give it to me, give it to me, you know I can take it,
hard, yeah, come on...Fuck my cunt like you fuck your boys' asses, make
me take it from you, yeah, don't stop, don't ever stop, just try to
out-last me, Daddy--you can fuck me all night, fill that rubber with a
big hot load and I'll come just thinking about you, just give it to
me...Just give it to me, make me, make me...come..."


And it was all lost in cries and sobs and breath taking over. Somehow
he'd untied my hands, and I held him and came and came and came, and
the wild ride was over with half a dozen bucking thrusts. I heard his
yells mingle with mine, and I reached down to pull cock and ruber free
from my cunt and feel the heft of jism in my hand as lay together in a
tangle of sweaty limbs, not man and woman, just animals, two sated
animals.


I drifted off to sleep and woke again as he was working the tight,
sweaty dress over my head and off. My red leather shoes glowed against
the white sheets.


"Hellion," he said as my eyes opened, "faggot in a woman's body,
bitch-goddess, do you intend to sleep in your exquisite red shoes?"


"I held them up for him to take off, one and then the other, and he
placed respectful kisses on each toe before he set them on the bed.


"No," I said, "that's too femmy, even for me."


"And what does a man need to do with you around," he continued, pulling
off my stockings, "to get fucked? Call your brother?"


He hadn't seen all the contents of my trick bag. I reached for it and
spilled it onto the floor: three dildos, a harness, and a pair of long
rubber gloves fell out. I promised that in the morning he could take
his pick. I was dying to show Daddy what else a femme can do.