“The God That Heroin Prays To . . . (Part I)”

(source: Wikipedia)

I had spent all day preparing for this hookup: I woke up and stretched, showered, drank lots of water and Gatorade, ate a hearty breakfast, ran for a bit, read some poetry, listened to music to psych me out, ate a healthful lunch, exercised, showered, douched, showered again, and prepared a post-coitus meal.

This was the most nervous I’ve ever been about a hookup. Ever. And I never get nervous about shit. Meeting guys to get paid? Easy. Making videos for my OnlyFans? No problem. Giving talks about sex work, and the need to decriminalize it in front of hundreds of people? I can do it with my eyes closed. But meeting Wren in person for the first time? A woman I’ve admired for so long? A vlogger that inspired me to come out as trans, and transition? I felt like I was now learning how to walk at the age of twenty-seven.

“Krystal, get a fucking grip, nigga! It’s just sex!” I told myself every chance I could, but it somehow only made me more nervous. I don’t know why.

It was ten minutes before she arrived at my place, and I had been staring at myself in the mirror for at least fifteen minutes without moving: here I was this lanky, Black woman with shoulder length dark brown hair, in nothing but a bra and a thong waiting to get my back blown out by a twenty-nine year old Filipina — whose back I was getting a chance to blow out also — literally minutes away from fulfilling a fantasy I’ve had for about a decade, and all I could think of was how unsexy I looked. The last thoughts I should be having before what could be the best sex of my life.

Then suddenly, the door bell rings, louder than I ever remembered it, breaking my gaze, sending my mind and motor functions on a wild trip back to reality, as I scrambled to the front door.

The bell rang once more before I got to it, and opened it.

“I told you to text when you got close,” I said nervously.

“Oh,” Wren replied. “My apologies. I try not to pay attention to my phone that much.”

Her voice started making me horny.

We started at each other for a moment.

“Fuck. Come in. Sorry. I’m a ditz.”

Wren shrugged. “No worries. Happens to the best of us.”

She walked in, and I watched as she took in every centimeter of my apartment as we made our way to my bedroom.

“Did you cook?”

“Ah, um, yeah . . . if you’re hungry later. If not, that’s totally cool, too!”

She laughed. “You’re cute. And of course I’m fucking hungry! Prepping to bottom is hungry work.”

I smiled. “I always say that when Hozier says that line about, ‘This is hungry work,’ he’s referring to my ass and the act of bottoming.”

“Stan Hozier, amirite?”

I could feel my anxiety spontaneously combust, then vanish into thin air.

Wren put down her bag at the foot of my bed, hung her coat up on one of the free hooks on the coat rack on the back of my closet, looked around the room, and then started to undress. I was noticeably taken aback.

“You’re literally in your underwear, and you’re surprised I’m getting naked? Hm.”

“Fair.”

She sat down on my bed, bounced for a bit, and then fell backwards. I sat down next to her, and fell backwards also.

“Wanna get high now or later?”

“Hmm.” I thought for a moment. “Depends on what you got.”

Wren sat up; went into her bag; then tossed a lighter, a pipe, a rag, and an ounce of meth on the bed.

“Not what I was expecting, but not a bad choice either. I never pegged you to be into it.”

“Well, you’ve never pegged me at all for starters. Second, there’s much more to most people than meets the eyes.”

“True . . . Did you figure I smoked?”

“I do my best to keep clear of assumptions. It ruins the fun of getting to know people.”

“I prefer to try and read people when I’m around them. That way I avoid any surprises down the line.”

“What do you think of me so far?”

“What do you think of me so far?”

Wren replied with a smile. “Let’s wait until dinner, shall we?”

I nodded.

About an hour passed while we smoked, and talked about nothing in particular — though, admittedly, every word that came out of her mouth, the subtle cadence of her voice that was clearly Californian in spirit but NYC raised, all made me inexplicably horny for her. Her favorite color is lapis, she loves Filipino food more than anything in the world (and offered to take me on a Filipino food tour of NYC), her favorite book is A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki, her favorite music artist is Yuna, and she prefers sleeping on queen size beds so she can fill the empty space around her with piles of books and paper.

“Such a strange person you are.”

Wren shrugged. “I’d rather be as distant from any kind of social norm as I can. They’re too — ”

“Limiting?”

She nodded.

“I feel the same. I spent most of my life in service of being versions of myself that were palatable for everyone around me, so now that I have my own space and freedom of sorts . . . why be concerned with how the world wants to consume me?”

“If people die choking due to how hard it is to digest me, I’m not at a loss.” She shrugged.

I took another hit from the pipe, gave her a shotgun, and then we started making out. Her lips were as soft as I imagined them to be. She bit my bottom lip, and pulled me in closer.

I kissed her neck, and then worked my way down her body via kisses, until I got to the top of her panties. I slowly pulled them down, and put her semi-hard dick in my mouth. She started to get harder almost instantly. I started sucking her off, and she gently placed both of her hands on the back of my head while she moaned.

She pushed her dick deeper down my throat — which, thank whichever ancestor I inherited this from; the realest MVP I tell you — throat fucked me for a bit, pulled her dick out, pulled me up to meet her face, and then made out with me. I’ve had many dicks down my throat, but none ever felt as intimate as that. It felt like she was fucking my heart in all the right ways.

“Fuck, you’re good at giving head!”

“On the short list of things I’m good at are cooking, sucking dick, and pretending to be intelligent.”

She laughed, and kissed me.

“My turn.”

I laid on my back, and she immediately went to town on my dick. It was unreal. The way her tongue moved, the way her throat fit like a glove, the way her lips pressed passionately and softly against my dick . . . it was like I had taken ecstacy for the first time again. She then kissed and licked up and down my leg.

Pure! Fucking! Exuberance!

I felt chills all throughout my body. For the first time. Ever.

“You okay?”

I quickly opened my eyes, not even realizing I had closed them.

“Yah. Why?”

“You’re trembling.”

I looked at my hands, and realized I was vibrating.

“Oh . . uhh . . . umm.” My voice was trembling, too.

“First orgasm I take it?”

“Huh . . . and here I thought I was having orgasms during sex all this time.”

Wren giggled. “Not many people are as skilled as me . . . and you.”

“Thanks . . . wait, did—”

She kissed me, and slowly pushed herself down on top of me.

“Let’s save the talking for after we’re done with round one.”

“Wait, round — ”

She kissed me again, and then started jerking me off.

Round one finished after many hours, and multiple orgasms. We stayed in bed for another hour-ish before we wobbled our way into the kitchen, reheated the food, grabbed two bottles of wine, and headed back into my room.

We scarfed down the food, and guzzled a bottle of wine without exchanging a word—lots of pointing and groans expressing foodgasms, though — before we laid down next to each other.

“You’re officially my wife. We’re married. It’s done,” Wren said, clearly tipsy.

“Ooh! Trans wives changing sex work and porn together. Love that for us!”

She kissed me on the shoulder, rolled over, grabbed the pipe and lighter, and took a pull.

“I rarely fuck my Vlog fans, you know.”

“Rarely? Why me?”

“Well, never, actually. And because I had a feeling about you.”

“Is this where you tell me what you think of me so far?”

Wren smiled. “I watched all of your porn, read all of your writing, watched all of your interviews, and I didn’t get bored. Ever. For the first time.”

“High praises. I’m excited and nervous . . . Go on.”

She passed me the pipe, and I took a pull.

“I don’t know. Something about the way your mind works just does it for me.”

“Likewise. Though, as you know, I’ve been a fan of yours since I was a baby trans. So, this entire night so far . . . beyond my wildest dreams.”

“What kept you interested?”

“Similar to what you said about me, even more so because of how compassionate you are. I’m not much like that . . . or, well, not in the conventional sense anyway. I’m . . . .”

“Cold? Aloof? Distant?”

“Among many an adjective used to describe me. I have a list, and all of their synonyms . . . if you’re interested.”

She laughed.

I took another pull, and passed the pipe back to her.

“On a night I’m not high, drunk, and insatiably horny, I’ll take a look.”

I nodded.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

I thought for a moment, rolled over, and then checked my phone’s calendar. “Nope.”

“Fantastic. Let’s take a breather before the next round, and then spend the rest of tomorrow chilling.”

“You don’t got plans?”

She shook her head. “Cleared out the week for this.”

“I hope I don’t fuck it up.”

She took a hit from the pipe, and gave me a shotgun.

“Only time will tell.”