"I know you like pink, but the color looks better on blondes thanbrunettes." Tom's mother said full of embarrassment as other shopperslooked on at the young man with fake breasts holding a pink dress upbefore him.Tom never felt embarrassed when it came to being himself. He boughthimself some hose and slipped it over his smooth legs right there inthe store. He liked how the seamless toes area squeezed his own polishtoes together. He wasn't sure if he liked the look of his plain pinkfingers or his now nylon coated pink toes better.When Tom approached work the next day, things did not turn out verywell. Though the company didn't have any outright police againsttranssexuals working for them, they considered themselves a traditionalfamily market and that didn't include gay relationships. So he wasfired on the spot.His mother with her orange painted finger and toes dressed in a blackand orange sweater, black pants, nylons and sandals finished hershopping as Tom came out of the supermarket. Fuck.A figure stepped out from beyond the shadows of the door in a performatively non-threatening manner, arms held out to the sides, feet slightly spread.Lena felt more curious than frightened. Fire engines and car alarms wailed from the streets, flames licked up the Williamsburg Bank Tower across the river: the roof was safer than the rest of the world.He stepped out from the doorway. The shadow of his cock slithered across the rooftop like a snake.Lena laughed, even as her finger wandered toward her wet outer lips.“Take two steps closer and stop,” she told him. He did so, eager as a puppy.She took a hit of the joint, surveying him theatrically. She slid her finger into her depths with practiced slowness.The man’s cock jerked, as did its shadow. He moaned; Lena wanted to.Not yet. Ride the plateau.“Touch yourself,” she ordered him. She watched him fist his cock enthusiastically. His moan turned to a low growl.She dipped a second finger inside her wetness and her legs jackknifed.
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