Years ago when I started writing fetish material, I’d begun to explore various kinks in hopes of experiencing them so I could write about them. In romance, there’s a stereotype that we, (primarily as women) write romance sitting in our finest lingerie, sipping wine while composing smutty scenes by candlelight.
It’s generally no secret that the fetish stuck with me, but the stereotype was just that. Most of us write in our sweats or something comfortable. But sexually exploring, let’s say, for writing purposes, the avenue of cross dressing became a thing for me.
As masculine as I am, I tend to cling more toward the hard edged male side of my brain, both sexually and outside the bedroom. What started out as a joke at conventions like DragonCON found its way into my repertoire. It lets me deal in the softer side of life, the feminine. It lets me explore fantasies in my head that I would otherwise miss out on. Wearing softer, satin clothes lets me expose a vulnerable side of myself, even if it’s just within the confines of my own abode.
Outside of my kilt, most of my clothes are black. I have a preference for that sleek, dangerous look, despite being fair skinned and very blond. But lingerie that’s been acquired for me has given me reds and blues and purples that would otherwise not find their way into my clothing rotation. I don’t move in a very feminine manner when dressed, at least not according to society’s standards.
It’s something that inspired an idea for a story which I’ll divulge later perhaps, if I ever write it. For now though, I get to walk around in the appropriate venues wearing dresses and heels, hose and other accessories, but still maintain my masculinity around those who appreciate it. I’ve had more than one lover in the past tell me they were jealous of my figure in women’s lingerie. It’s not my fault I used to run long distance until about eight years ago!
In fact, this came in handy. I was asked to be the Maid of Honor at a wedding for a few of my readers and I was to come either wearing the dress I met them in, or naked. Not fond of my figure since I stopped running, I opted for something sexy. A friend of mine swore she’d take me lingerie shopping. After hours of roaming around the Galleria in San Francisco, we finally popped into the Victoria’s Secret, where she picked out a few things for me to try on. After seeing too many things I’d only wear for a lover, she picked up this pink, springtime negligee that…was so not me. I told her to put it back. She did and we headed back to the dressing rooms. Upon entering the area, one of the clerks said “No men allowed.”
My friend looked over her shoulder and says “he’s trans.”
They apologized, let me in.
Oh, did I mention I had a full, mountain man style beard at the time?
By the way, I ended up buying the damn pink thing.
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Tempting secrets of an angel Seductive mysteries of the beast
Derrick, a former spy, has been asked to protect the sultry Sonja, a death metal singer whose magical voice grabs him by the balls and won’t let go. He’ll protect her, all right…with every part of his body tight against hers.
Sonja uses her voice to purge her fans of their darkness, their hate and hopelessness. But evil forces want to use her magic for their own ends. All she wants, at this point, is safety for herself and her band.
When Derrick and Sonja team up, Sonja does her best to resist the lure of safety he represents, until a radical league that wants her dead propels her into his arms. Will his help be enough? Or will she lose her heart to him, only to be killed in the process of saving the world?
Rob’s voice didn’t change despite the loudness in the club. “No charge. You’ll want to sip this one slowly, though, Derrick. In fact, keep your eyes on the stage.”
Nodding, Derrick turned to face the stage, grateful for his enhanced hearing. He could actually hear
Rob’s words over the riffs played by the newest band in the death metal scene.
The band Ark-KaotiK jammed loud and fast onstage, causing a melee of noise while the crowd erupted into a mosh pit that would have made the Devil himself proud. For thirty minutes, they cranked out chords, kicked off melodies, and warmed up.
Derrick sipped his drink and kept an eye on the crowd. Many of the concertgoers were human, though he noticed a few wolves and bears had made their way in. As a former spy, he’d learned to watch the crowd for signs of violence, ignoring most of their behavior as harmless. Metal music listeners tended to get a little raucous, especially since this was one of the largest bands making the death metal circuit.
After a few more minutes of jamming, his target would appear onstage.
Ark-KaotiK sported a drummer on a par with the greatest of technical death metal drummers. Their guitarist played complex riffs and melodic rhythms like nobody else. Their bass player proved capable of bringing out a thunderous low end.
Sonja, their legendary lead singer, made them the most amazing death metal band around.
Stories circulated in the paranormal community about a witch with the voice of a goddess and the power to influence crowds. At a time in the country when waves of violent uprisings by angry mobs fed up with class inequality were becoming the norm, the youth remained neglected. Many of the displaced youth did what they did best: went to metal shows, got drunk, and took out their aggression on willing and sometimes unwilling participants.
Supposedly, Sonja could control all of that with her voice.
The tension in the crowd had risen to an all-time high. The previous band managed to pull out charisma at the last moment and rile up the crowd, jumbling listener emotions, serving as a reminder to many of the patrons of class warfare issues and capitalist pig ideas. Combined with alcohol, drug use, the aforementioned tension levels created a powder keg of violence. Already, two fights had been broken up between two were-beings. That couldn’t be allowed to continue. Humans would get hurt, a body count would be established, and everything that had been done by those in the shifter community to improve the perception of humans would be torn asunder.
Derrick chose to keep his distance from the crowd. Rob had asked him to watch the lead singer, tail her, keep her safe. Hanging back gave him the best vantage point; he could see who came in while he watched the stage.
“I really appreciate you coming out to watch her. I’d apologize about the music but—”
Derrick held a hand up. “It’s no problem. I’m a fan. Besides, you did me a favor, so thanks.”
Rob arched a brow. “I did?”
“Let’s just leave it at I needed to get out of the house.” Derrick smiled.
His routine hangout was the cigar club on the other side of town. Pumas were notorious loners. In his normal crowd, he hung out alone or included himself in conversation as he saw fit.
Except among his few friends, Derrick affiliated himself as a diehard metal head. If a show came to his part of town and even one of the bands was someone he listened to, he showed up. The large crowds allowed him to get out and mix his aggression with theirs. If he didn’t, he became irritable and that tended to turn off any women who might otherwise share his bed.
He had no misconceptions about sex. At his age, he could still have any woman he wanted, but commitment scared him. He shunned the idea after his last few relationships. Nicole turned out to be psycho. Mahalia couldn’t deal with him being a shifter. Margaret worried for his safety when he admitted to being a spy, and she hated the lies he had to tell her.
Most of them wanted commitment.
Even though he was out of the spy game, he still had reservations from his past that kept him from seeking a lifelong partner.
Except for the dry spell he’d been in, Derrick had a pretty decent sexual career, but his heart was empty and he desperately craved companionship.
Tonight, he wanted none of that. Tonight would be for the music, the drinking, and keeping the peace. And, oh yeah, protecting his target.
The lights went down.
The band left the stage.
Another drink slid across the bar.
Without looking, Derrick extended his hand and caught the glass before bringing it to his lips.
Cool liquor slid down his throat and sent tingles racing through him.
Screaming voices erupted from the PA and mixed with loud thunderclaps followed by rain. A mist appeared from the darkness, illuminated by purple and blue lights just above the stage. The crowd quieted down just enough to let the aural buildup occur. Then the rain stopped.
A thundercloud outside shook the walls of the bar and boomed against the brick and mortar. A few hushed gasps immerged from random places in the audience.
The sound of shattering glass pulled Derrick’s attention center stage.
On the stage, he noticed what appeared to be glass shards reassembling themselves.
He scratched his head and did a double take.
Yup, the glass was indeed reassembling itself into the wine bottle it had once been.
Then it floated offstage while band members took their places, instruments in hand.
The small lead singer dispersed the smoke with a wave of her hand.
At the same time, the lights kicked on, the band started playing, and the lead singer emitted the most beautiful growls through the mic.
His heart thundered in his chest, blood pooled south. Derrick did another double take. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the now-angry screams coming from the woman onstage.
She belted, grunted, made the disjointed music make sense.
Metal had a way of being both darkly angry and intensely beautiful if the singer’s voice and lyrics could captivate the listener.
Worse yet, she’d captured the attention of his dick. Hands angrily gripped the microphone. Dark, waist-length hair swirled around and fell at her sides, blanketing her face; Derrick saw plump lips ripe for kissing. Her ample chest rose and fell with each breath she took.
She moved with grace. Power spilled off her in time with the music.
The audience followed her every move.
The mosh pit opened up; bodies slammed hard into one another.
Then, as if they weren’t a death metal band at all, their music changed tones, became melodic. Her singing matched the music, and all the weight of the aggressive pit seemed to lift off the humans and into the air.
The pit slowed down.
Derrick watched the woman who now sang with an angel’s voice in absolute amazement.
Slowly, he slid off the barstool and made his way toward her, only to be stopped by Rob’s hand on his arm.
He looked over his shoulder and almost growled back at Rob.
The bartender shook his head. “Something’s wrong. She’s calling to all the shifters to come closer, to let go of their animalistic violence fetish. You go to her now, she’ll own you. Shake it off.”
Derrick must have looked puzzled because Rob scowled. “I’ll introduce you after the show. Trust me.”
He shook his head and found Rob staring back at him. “Thanks.” Derrick took his place back on the stool. He’d wait, but that melodic voice carrying such pain and sorrow had already woven a spell on him. The glint in her silver-blue eyes caught his gaze and helped push sensual lust into her death-laced lyrics.
Something resonated deep in his bones, but he didn’t quite understand why. Never had he felt a power like hers.