Jon Snow blinked and his mouth opened slightly and for an instant I felt like my heart stopped and my blood turned to ice.
Then he smiled at me - I loved the way his face lit up - and he put out his hand and said, "Hi Trans, I'm Sören."
I shook his hand and facepalmed with my other hand, laughing. I didn't know if it was the language barrier with Mr. I Learned English When I Was Six, or if he was trying to be funny, but... "That's not my name. I mean I don't have a -"
"Jæja." Sören nodded. He took a deep breath. "I'm trans too. I've been on T for three years."
"...what."
Sören nodded again. "I was going to tell you before we got started, and was worried about it, but..."
"I had no idea." I looked him up and down, then my gaze focused on his beard. "I couldn't tell. You pass really, really well."
"So do you."
I felt myself smiling in response, pleased with that answer. I felt some of the anxiety slough off - at least he wasn't going to freak out on me - but now I had some new anxiety.
Since I'd begun my journey in 2012, I had met very, very few trans men in real life, while I'd encountered a number of trans women, like Michelle - it was possible I might have run across other trans guys who were stealth and didn't advertise, but it seemed overall there were fewer of us around. I had never considered dating other trans men before because there were so few of us, and the few times I'd visited transmasc spaces on Reddit I'd seen queer trans guys who felt the idea of dating or fucking a fellow trans man was "settling for less" and "a joke" and had such a self-loathing, disgustingly negative attitude about it that I was of the impression if I even met another trans guy he probably wouldn't be interested.
And, while trans men aren't women, I had sex with a woman once during university and didn't enjoy it, so I wasn't sure how I would feel about trying vagina again.
But I also remembered Xavier's rejection last year, and how unfair it felt to reduce me to my genitalia and act like I wasn't really a man just because I had a pussy. And I was so horny for this Jon Snow lookalike whose kisses and touch had been so promising, that I kind of didn't even fucking care what he had going downstairs, he could have had a postbox or tentacles or a rainbow clown merkin down there and I would have been down to fuck. [Sören: takes notes]
So, I cleared my throat. "This was... unexpected, and I've never been with another trans guy before, but I'm willing to give it a try if you are?"
Sören nodded eagerly with that smile again, stepped forward, and then took my face in his hands and pulled me into a kiss.
I kissed him back in earnest, and the way Sören moaned into the kiss made my cunt throb. I let him continue unbuttoning my shirt, and when the buttons were undone, Sören pulled off my blazer and let it drop to the floor, then did the same with my shirt. He looked at my bare torso - the newly gained muscle definition from two months of biking and backpacking, the chest hair, the slightly uneven nipples, the top surgery scars, and the scars from the stabbing - and he licked his lips. Then he pulled his jumper over his head.
Both his nipples were pierced with captive bead rings, and his top surgery scars were smaller and less noticeable than mine but also looked fresher - I gathered he'd gotten his done about a year or two ago, and just within a few years between 2013 and 2015-2016 there had been improvements in the surgical techniques to reduce scarring. He was lithe, not too skinny but not bulky either. He was a little too hairy to be a proper twink, though he hadn't grown much chest hair beyond a few wisps. He also had vibrant, colourful full sleeve tattoos on both arms going from his wrists to his shoulders. There were blue ocean waves on his left arm, and swirling flames on his right arm. I liked the ink and piercings - it made him look even more like a badass Viking - and wondered if there was a story or meaning behind the tattoos.
We made eye contact as we took off our trousers and boxers and packers. Sören was naked first, and he turned around to shake his lovely, pert arse at me - and reveal that the tattoos led out to a pair of phoenixes on his back, one made of fire to match the flames, one made of water to match the waves, the birds doing a sort of mating dance. It was art.
He was art. He was the most beautiful man I had ever lay eyes on, penis or no penis. I was in awe.
He turned around and I glanced down at his tantalizing treasure trail and his bush, wild and thick and curly like the hair on his head. He looked at mine, and back up at me, then we were kissing again. We kissed all the way to the bed, and tumbled onto the bed together. After a few more kisses, letting our hands explore bare flesh and male bodies, Sören's fingers traced over my scars.
"You look like a warrior," Sören said, his voice breathier.
I smiled. I felt myself getting a little choked up - I doubted he was saying that to humour me, and my heart soared at his acceptance. But instead of crying, I kissed him again, and his fingers brushed and walked down my stomach, making me shiver, walking down and down and down to my cunt. I parted my legs and he got a good look at me.
"Holy shit," Sören said. He let out a low whistle. "Your dick is huge."
I grinned. Once again, my face hurt from smiling. As lame as I thought it was for cis guys to get hung up on their penis size, I couldn't deny that I was delighted beyond measure at Sören's compliment. And the way he said "deek" was adorable.
"You've been on T a long time, já?"
I nodded. "2012."
"Longer than me, then. I was nineteen when I started transition."
I raised an eyebrow. I'd assumed Sören was twentysomething, but... "How old are you?"
"Twenty-two, but I'll be twenty-three in November. How old are you?" He cocked his head to one side.
"Thirty-seven." I kind of felt like I was robbing the cradle - he was legal, but not by much. I wasn't quite old enough to be his father, but there was still a decent age gap between us. And to my mixed horror and amusement, I found myself getting even more turned on, thinking about my fantasies of being "Daddy" to a younger man. To a Jon Snow.
"I like older men." Sören gave me a mischievous little smile.
We kissed again. I was about to make a joke about sixty-nine, since we'd just discussed numbers, but after a few more of those delicious kisses I couldn't string two thoughts together that didn't involve Sören howling in ecstasy, let alone trying to make jokes.
Sören's finger gently stroked my cock, and I heard myself moaning. Sören broke the kiss to look at my cunt again and his breath hitched. "God, you're fucking hot." He gave me another kiss. "Can I suck your dick?"
As much as I hadn't enjoyed oral from Evan or Steve or other lovers - including Clarissa, the girl I hooked up with at uni - and I was sure it was due to dysphoria, not just shite technique, my cunt throbbed at the thought of those lush lips on me, and him calling it a "dick" instead of a "clit" felt really, really nice.
"Go for it," I said. I propped up a few pillows behind me, and put one under my hips to tilt them up a little, then I leaned back and spread all the way, feeling myself drip onto the pillow.
Sören got between my legs, looked down, then up at me with a shy little smile... and then he had at it. Instead of licking it like other people had done, he started sucking on it. Sucking and sucking.
It felt incredible. It wasn't long before I was thrashing around, gasping for breath, closer and closer and closer but never wanting him to stop the filthy sweet suctioning of those lips on my cock. Seeing the lust in his eyes as he sucked and slurped made it even hotter.
When I started tensing, my thighs quivering, ready to pop off, he stopped sucking and began to lick slowly at my cock, teasing it, a naughty look on his face. He did this until I involuntarily made feral guttural noises, heart racing, feeling like I was going to die if he didn't make me come. He resumed sucking, harder, rolling my cock around in his mouth. I grabbed him by the curls and started thrusting, fucking his mouth, growling. Sören hummed with his mouth full, then slurped louder, and I saw his right shoulder moving - he was playing with himself while he sucked me. He liked doing this. And it seemed he liked me gently dominating him by pulling his hair.
I climaxed hard with a strangled sob. I felt myself gushing as my cunt pulsed and the relief washed over me, then joy. I felt like I'd accomplished something, though I wasn't sure what.
Sören slid up and kissed me, and pulled me against his chest, petting my hair, rubbing my back as I rested. It felt so good to be cuddled, to be touched, after so long.
Then as I came down from my orgasm, I thought about Sören touching himself, and how that had pushed me over the edge. I didn't want to be selfish. "Did you come when you were..."
Sören shook his head. "Not yet."
"I want to... return the favour." I really did. Even if my second attempt at cunnilingus - this time on a man - cemented that I was repulsed by vaginas, I was determined to give him a good time for the amazing blowjob he'd just given me. But I had to admit... I was curious. I hadn't really been curious with Clarissa, I had seen it more as obligation. With Sören, I felt hungry.
But first, I felt really awkward not knowing the correct words as far as how to refer to "returning the favour". I didn't want to offend him, and ruin the mood. I cleared my throat. "Um, what do you call down there?" Then I realised I had better be clear and quickly added, "In English."
"Cock or dick is better than saying clit for what gets me going," Sören said. "It's euphoric."
"Right, me too," I said - the word "euphoric" was euphoric when he said it, that musical lilt, the rolling r.
"For the entire thing, I don't mind cunt or pussy."
"Neither do I." Enough people threw the word "cunt" around for literally everything back in the UK that it wasn't as gender-loaded for me, and I'd known enough cis gay men who referred to their arseholes as "pussy" that it didn't bother me to use the word, and it was certainly more appealing than "front hole" or clinical terms.
Sören nodded, smiling. "OK, good, no problems there. So jæja, you can eat my pussy if you want."
Then he spread and I saw what he had to work with. His cunt lips were thick and meaty, dangling like a small set of balls. He wasn't quite as big as me, but the hood and tip looked like a small penis, fat and over an inch long, jutting out at me and glistening like a ripe, juicy berry. I could see his cream pooling. I could smell him, and it was making me crazy.
Despite my shattering orgasm, my cunt felt ready to go again, that surge of lust in my loins, throbbing and dripping again. "I'm not going to eat you, I'm going to fucking devour you." I gave a little wolf growl. I leaned back against the pillows again and patted my shoulders. "Sit on my face, boy."
Sören got on his knees, climbed over me and scooted up until he was at my sternum, and pushed his hips out so his dick was in my face. "Good boy," I whispered, and Sören moaned, cream dripping. I mentally filed away that he probably had a praise kink - especially if he was raised by alcoholics - and then I moved in.
I looked up at him, at his gorgeous body and sweet face, as I took his hard little dick in my mouth. My own cunt twinged as he threw his head back and moaned with my lips locked on him. I began to suck, moving my head back and forth just like I was giving a blowjob. I increased the suction and pressure on it, and worried it around in my mouth, and Sören cried out, "Jæja!" and started bucking his hips, riding my face.
I let him fuck my mouth, sucking hard, relishing his cries, the graceful motions of his body as he rocked his hips. He was so gorgeous. And I really liked sucking his cock. It fit in my mouth just right, his musk was delicious, and there was something soothing about sucking on it. And T had been very good to him - he was all man to me; to my surprise and relief and excitement, I found his equipment as sexy as the rest of him.
I was turned on enough by what I was doing to him that I reached down and started pawing myself. As Sören's broken cries got louder and he let out little whimpers and shuddery gasps, I rubbed myself harder, going out of my mind with lust. I had never, ever, wanted someone the way I wanted Sören. He was like a drug in my veins.
When Sören started quivering and I knew he was getting close, I couldn't resist teasing him just a little. I stopped playing with myself and grabbed his hips, restraining him and taking back control. I let his cock slip from my mouth and took a few slow, deliberate teasing licks at it. I speared his cunt with my tongue to taste his musk, and I felt him twitch and my own tiniest flutter of climax, not quite there yet, the little release making the need more urgent. I tongue-fucked him and Sören's cries became screams. His hands reached up to play with his pierced nipples, thumbs rubbing them, and my cunt ached for relief, watching the lewd sight of him teasing himself.
At last I let up, licked at his cock again, and then resumed sucking it. I mashed my face into him and shook my head as I slurped on it, just like Sören had done to me, and Sören squeaked and grabbed my head. "Jæja," he moaned, panting. "Jæja, jæja, meira, meira..."
At this rate, I wondered if I would come untouched before he came. I sucked as hard as I could, tugging on it, shaking it, suctioning, and a couple minutes later Sören let out the loudest roar I'd ever heard from anyone and I felt his thighs shake, knees buckle, as he doubled over slightly, his cock twitching in my mouth, cunt pulsing against my lips. I pulled back to watch his contractions and moaned with appreciation, then laughed after an arc of cunt juice splashed me in the face.
Sören snuggled next to me, and I started playing with myself again. I was so fucking close, my hand shaking as I strummed myself, but my body kept wanting to edge the teasing pleasure, my mind kept wanting to replay images of Sören in the heat of passion, the throes of ecstasy, so delicious, not able to get enough. And after a few minutes of coming down with the most adorable blissful smile on his face, Sören blinked his eyes open and glanced over at me wanking myself.
"You want some help with that?" Sören said.
"Yeah," I husked. Then I felt a twinge of guilt, because we'd only each come once and I wasn't sure if T made him "one and done" like I'd heard some guys report and I sometimes experienced, having a refractory period. "But only if you get to enjoy yourself too."
"I have an idea," Sören said.
I was thinking he was going to suggest sixty-nine - something I was absolutely down for, I would eat his cunt all night long if he let me - but after a kiss, Sören asked, "You want to, ah... rub pussies together?"
I hesitated to consider. I knew lesbians did that, but we weren't female. If I had no problem fucking a guy with a strap, or, as demonstrated tonight, eating a guy's pussy, then it didn't make sense for me to eschew tribadism as something "for lesbians only". We had the same equipment, and that was how we could align it and fuck if a strap wasn't involved.
I thought of my fantasies of cis men rubbing their cocks together, and I looked at Sören's cock. We were going to have gay sex. We were going to accept each other as gay males, cock to cock.
We were going to fuck. I felt another little flutter - a small climax but not enough - and I nodded vehemently with giddy laughter.
"You can fuck me," Sören said, and grabbed the pillow I'd creamed on and put it under him.
Bottom. Called it. I grinned and gave him a kiss before I climbed over him.
But we didn't start fucking right away. Sören's hand reached between my legs and he started playing with my cunt, and I reached down and did the same thing to him. We kissed and rubbed our tongues together, open-mouthed, a sensual promise of what our dicks would be doing in a few moments. His fingers found a good rhythm and pattern and I stroked him harder, faster, our kisses deeper and more urgent, the two of us moaning together. Then our tongues flirted and teased again, and through our heavy breathing I could hear the sound of our wetness. I dipped my fingers in him to collect some cream then took his cock between the V of my slick fingers, rubbing it hard, and Sören gave a deep grunt as he stuck a finger inside me, then pulled it out and rubbed the tip of my cock in circles.
We kissed again, and I had an idea. I took my hand off him and stuck my fingers in his mouth, letting him taste himself... lust burning even hotter at the sight of his lips wrapped around my fingers, sucking on them, my fingers slowly gliding in and out of his mouth like a cock. He did the same to me. I licked my juices from his thumb and fingers before sucking on his fingers, tasting myself, locking eyes with him. Then I dove in for a deep, hungry kiss, before our tongues played together in another sensual open-mouthed kiss, sharing the taste of our essence combined. When our mouths crushed together again, I lined myself up between his thighs and lowered my cunt down onto his cunt.
We both moaned loudly through the kiss as our pussy lips kissed, cock touching cock like our tongues. A frisson went through me and I almost came. I wanted him, as he was. Our manhood had been a journey... and somehow, that made it feel all the more special. I felt safe with him. I felt honoured by him, and I gave that honour in return, working my hips in circles, my cock making love to his cock.
"Oh my fucking god." I shuddered. It was like being kissed by wet silk, the nub of his cock rubbing against mine, teasing and pleasing it just right. Nothing had ever felt better. "You feel fucking incredible."
"So do you," Sören breathed. He bit his lower lip and began rolling his hips, grinding his cunt against mine, our cocks touching again and again, sliding against each other.
Sören clung to me as we kissed, as we licked, and our cunts did the same, making filthy wet sloppy sounds. I lost myself in the delicious rhythm of our cocks, tension winding, pleasure expanding. It was the hottest sex of my life. Even hotter when I couldn't hold back, going from sensual to animal, riding him with his right leg hooked on my shoulder, our cunts making wet slapping, slurping sounds as I fucked him hard and fast and frenzied. I grunted and snarled, and Sören whimpered. Then he started playing with his pierced nipples again, flicking them with his thumbs. "Meira-meira-meira," he panted. "Jæja... jæja! Meira, meira... jæja!"
I wasn't going to last. I pressed my hand down on his mound, firm pressure, and fucked as hard as I could, the wet smacking sound even louder. I looked into his eyes and growled.
"FOKK!" Sören's entire body bucked and heaved, and I felt his cunt spasm against mine, felt him gushing.
I came too, even harder than before, big, powerful contractions, the pulsing bliss radiating through my entire body. I didn't think I had ever come that hard before, wet and messy, and I laughed with euphoria as I sank down on top of my lover. Sören giggled too, and rubbed noses with me before we kissed, smouldering embers of sensual pleasure, and a promise of possibly more later.
We cuddled again, and Sören tenderly traced the scars on my torso. He looked even more beautiful to me in our post-coital bliss, his hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, the sparkle in his eyes. I touched his cheek and smiled at him, and he smiled back, leaning into my touch before he kissed my hand.
"Thank you," I said, not sure if either of us would be up for going again later - not sure if he was thinking about going back to wherever he lived. I didn't want him to go just yet.
"Thank you." Then Sören smirked. "I don't know your name, sorry."
"Anthony."
"Anthony," Sören repeated in that sexy accent. "Takk, Anthony."
"That was... fucking awesome." I kissed the tip of his nose. "I will always cherish this memory, as my best souvenir from the trip."
"Jæja, that was amazing." Sören smiled, then it was his turn to touch my face. "So, what brings you to Iceland, anyway?"
I exhaled. "Are you sure you want to know? It's not a nice story."
Sören looked down at my scars and back up at me. "I didn't think you'd had an easy time of things, exactly."
I nodded. I gathered my thoughts, and then I found myself trying to cope with humour, since the orgasms made me feel like I was high. "Now, this is a story all about how | My life got flipped-turned upside down..."
Sören gave me a confused look and I remembered he had probably never seen The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air - I'd never seen it myself before I moved to the States, but I used to watch reruns with Michelle.
I cleared my throat and gave him the short version. "Before I came out, I was in a toxic marriage, and when I left, I moved to the States so my ex couldn't start shit with me. I started working as a civil rights lawyer, and my name was out in public and a hate group doxxed me and I got stabbed for it. I spent a few months fucked up and afraid, and then my best friend - well, former best friend now - told me if I was that afraid of dying I should do some of the things on a list of stuff I want to do before I die. So I spent the last two months in Europe and now I'm here in Iceland before I go back to the States."
Sören nodded. "I'm sorry that happened." He cocked his head to one side. "How much longer are you here, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Two weeks. I just flew in yesterday."
"Your arms must be tired."
I facepalmed, but I was tickled that even in Iceland, people knew horrible jokes. I groaned and Sören elbowed me, cackling. Then Sören nodded again, as if he were putting the mental information on file. "Do you have any plans?"
That felt like he was fishing for a fling rather than a one-night-stand, and I was OK with it. "Not really. I've been biking and backpacking and staying in hostels or camping around Europe, and I gave myself a couple nights in a hotel in Reykjavik but after this it's probably back to hostels and Googling where to visit."
"OK." Sören sat up a little. "I don't usually tell people all my trauma up-front, because nobody wants to hear it, but I'm off for the next two weeks on personal time because this is the anniversary of when my mamma died. I've been debating whether or not to go home to Akureyri to visit her grave - my aunt and uncle are up there, the alcoholics, and I'm afraid of them -"
"I'll protect you," I said. I got the mental image of a big burly six-four pissed-off drunk Viking and hoped I wouldn't regret that impulse later.
"Well, if we run into him, he might not even recognise me." Sören grinned. "I don't exactly look the same as I did when I left."
I felt like a dumbarse. "Oh. Right."
"But jæja, the odds were already weird enough to meet another trans guy the very first time I went to a gay club - small country, so there's not a lot of us here at all - and now this. This feels like... a sign... that maybe I should go back, and I'd be happy to be your tour guide if you want to have some more mind-blowing, hot sex while you're here."
"Twist my arm."
"...what?"
Sören gave me another adorably confused look, and I booped his nose. "It's a figure of speech, sarcastic when someone asks you to do something you're more than fine doing."
"Ah, good." Sören's face lit up. "Anyway, I don't know how many nights you have booked here -"
"None after tonight, I was thinking of either one more night here or checking into a hostel."
"Tomorrow night you can spend at my flat, and I can make arrangements for a camper van? Which would probably be cheaper to rent for two weeks than staying in hostels, and gives us more freedom of movement."
I nodded enthusiastically. "I'd considered that myself but I'm not familiar enough with Icelandic roads to feel comfortable driving out here, or at least not without a guide."
"I can help," Sören said. "And I know some places we can go that you'll probably really love."
I pulled him closer, rubbed my nose in his curls, and kissed the top of his head. "Right now, I really love this place."
Sören kissed my nose and we rubbed noses, then Sören gave me a squeeze.
chapter 15 | return to A Place Called Home | return to Original Works | return to index