When Layla and Bernice first met, they'd never heard the word "transgender." Back then, they thought of themselves as cross-dressers and frequented gay clubs together.
Twenty years later, Layla is a glamorous and successful real estate agent living as a woman full-time. Repressed Bernice is still married to a woman who won't let go of the husband Bernice used to be. She spends her lonely nights dreaming of a life with lovely Layla.
While Bernice is trapped in a hopeless relationship, Layla seems perfectly content hopping from bed to bed. On Friday night, when their facades break down, will these long-time friends finally admit their love for one another?
And even if they do, how will married Bernice and swinging single Layla build a future together?
WARNINGS: This transgender love story contains explicit erotic language and graphic sex.
Word Count: 14,000
There was nothing to say.
There was only the kiss.
For the first time in their twenty-year friendship, Bernice pressed her lips against Layla’s. Layla went one step further, parting Bernice’s teeth. Beyond its sheer strength, that tongue was warm and wet and soft as velvet.
Layla’s kisses matched the vivacity of her character, but there was a delicacy to every moment that Bernice hadn’t anticipated. Really, she never thought this day would come. She’d hoped to kiss Layla, dreamed of it, and now it was happening. Her unnamed wants all sprung to the surface, though she’d cast them aside in her hopeless hours. In the passion and tenderness of this kiss, Bernice saw her future. And it was beautiful.
As they stumbled to Rosanna’s sofa, Bernice peeled the straps from Layla’s shoulders, letting her skimpy dress fall to her waist. Without waiting, without asking permission, Bernice latched on to Layla’s beckoning breasts.
Layla gasped when Bernice pressing both tits together. She’d spent so many lonely nights dreaming of this in bed, dreaming of the woman she loved. She loved. She switched nipples and Layla writhed against her face, moaning, “Yes Bebe, yes doll.”
Bernice pressed her face to those beautiful breasts. Oh, they were so much softer than she’d imagined. She couldn’t control herself, running her tongue from nipple to nipple, licking, sucking, biting, making Layla squeal.
Hiking up her skirt, Layla hooked her thumbs around her black gaff. Bernice’s breath caught in her lungs. She backed off, giving the woman room to wriggle out of those tight-fitting undergarments. Her heart hammered as they slid down Layla’s thighs.
“What’s wrong, doll?” Layla’s copper dress hung over her crotch as she kicked off her underwear. Bernice looked into her eyes and found them full of concern. “If it’s too fast, or if you don’t want to…”
“No.” At her age, Bernice felt embarrassed admitting to her inexperience. “I’m nervous, if you can believe it. I’ve just… I’ve never done this before.”
With a loving chuckle, Layla leaned forward to plant a kiss on Bernice’s cheek. “You sound like a teenager.”
“I know.” Bernice smirked. “I guess that makes you a cradle-robber.”
Layla rolled her eyes.
“Hardly.” Laughing, she said, “You’re older than I am.”
“Don’t remind me.” Bernice gazed into the valley of Layla’s thighs, and the darkness beyond. God, why was she so afraid? Maybe because Layla had been with so many men, women, people, who probably had university degrees in cocksucking. What did Bernice know about giving a blow job?
But Layla hadn’t loved those other people. And she loved Bernice. That was the difference.
There was nothing to be afraid of.