At Risk

She wasn’t a sadist, but she was sadistic. She wasn’t a masochist, but she was masochistic. She was, she supposed she’d have to call herself, sadomasochistic. She liked to hurt men, but she also liked to be hurt by them. Most of all, though, she liked the adrenaline rush of putting herself at risk.

Since Daniel, there had been a handful of others--Jim, Bill, Todd, and Donald. Like Daniel, they’d been shocked and outraged, but only Todd had resorted to violence, shoving her away from him and backhanding her across the face as he screamed, “You fucking freak! Get the hell away from me!” Like Daniel, he’d thrown on his clothes and fled from her house. The others had merely cursed her and reprimanded her for her dishonesty in withholding the truth of her sexuality, as if she were a young, wayward girl rather than an adult shemale who knew her own mind.

Last week, at a bar, Diane had met Eric, and she’d known, at once, that she must lure him into bed, where he could discover her secret for himself.

A professional bodybuilder, Eric was huge. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep, rippling with chiseled pectoral muscles. His belly was firm and tight, with the six-pack abdominal muscles common to those whose passion was keeping fit and building their bodies. He had a narrow waist. His thighs bulged into enormous columns that tapered to only slightly less massive calves. His back was a sculpture of muscle, suggesting strength, stamina, and power. His hands were the size of hams. Like every other feature of his body, his cock and balls were also massive. His penis was about nine inches, flaccid, and his scrotum was three times the size of Diane’s. Admittedly, her own scrotum had shrunken, along with her testicles, as a result of long-term estrogen use, but, still, Eric’s pouch was larger than that of most men his height, which was over six feet.

He had a handsome face, too, although the skull was shaped rather oddly.