"Is this your first time, with a man" he asked.
"Yes," she answered staring at the ground.
"You're nervous," he asked, gently lifting her chin so she had to look him in the eye.
"I...I'm sorry," she whispered, wishing she had more confidence at this very moment.
"Sorry? For being nervous?"
"Yes," she admitted. "I know that must upset you."
"Upset me? Darling, that makes you all that more desirable to me."
"I don't know what to do," she said.
"No, pet, you know exactly what to do. Don't pretend you have not dreamed about, fantasized about this moment for years."
"I..." She felt her face flush, his words touching her, honest, knowing. "Maybe."
He lifted her chin again, gazed at her. "You've been imagining this moment from the first time you realized you were different."
"Yes," she admitted, thinking quickly now, compressed, thoughts she had for years.
"Yes," she swallowed, that one word cutting like a knife, through all her defenses, all her fears, all her hesitations.
"You know exactly what to do." He was unbuttoning his pants, carefully, not letting them fall, but loosening them so he was free.
She stared at it, the thing she fantasized about for years, as he said. Hard. Powerful. Masculine. Involuntarily, she reached for it, let her manicured fingers touch it, grip it, wrap around it. She held it, felt it throbbing, gently, but thickening, the strength. It was all that a man was, everything, there, before her eyes.
Looking at it, she never felt more feminine in her entire life. Never felt her own maleness feel so small, such a little part of her. Looking at it, she realized that though born a boy, she was nothing like him, nothing like a man, never thought that way, never identified herself as so.
He waited, patiently. He knew the thoughts running through her head. It took only a matter of seconds, but he knew that the beautiful creature before him, whatever her genetics, was in that instant, a woman. He knew that she knew.
He watched as she opened her mouth at the same time her eyes fluttered, closed.
He watched as she leaned forward, drawn to it, accepted, wanted, desired.
He gasped as her soft lips touched him, shuddered, his own masculinity as powerful and overwhelming to him as her femininity was to her.
Both born males, he knew as he felt her wet lips touching him, now, forever, he was a man, she was a woman.
She knew, too.
She surrendered to her lifeblood, her calling, to herself.
He made her what she was. What she wanted.
"There, there," he pet her hair, holding back, knowing enough to let her pace, trying not to let himself pull her mouth over him.
She surrendered. Worshipped. Woman. Man.
Image from Sharply Dressed Man