Small Recorder

1

You're never too old for new sexual experiences. We all know that, but may be, nonetheless, surprised, and delighted, by them. Sometimes they may not be enjoyable, but my latest was beyond merely enjoyable.

I went to participate in one of the special English-language courses which are put on around Europe, as cheaply as possible, and aimed at the most advanced learners. Sexual encounters occur at such events, and I have had my share adventures, often made the more satisfying by being conducted in and with two or more tongues.

A small town in Poland, where a secondary school, empty for the Christmas break, was the venue. Accommodation available in the hostel for students from distant places. Rather Spartan, but everyone too busy to spend much time in it. Until, on the last day, I fell ill.

I was too sick to leave: weak, shivering, sweating, fevered. So was encouraged to stay on in my room, and an amateur nurse was appointed to care for me. The volunteer was a short woman in her early thirties, a blonde with cream-coloured hair, but with eyes a warm dark brown. I was too poorly to take proper note of her physical characteristics for four days. During those she sponged my forehead, took my temperature, helped me to the bathroom, brought me endless glasses of apricot juice, the only liquid I wanted. Since I don't use nightwear, she helped me into tee-shirts and cotton panties to absorb the sweat, and washed them out twice a day. She slept in the next room, and whenever I woke in the night she was immediately with me, bringing another drink or dry garments.

On day five I was much better, and she asked whether it would help to give me a gentle massage, to ease away the stiffness and dissipate the toxins in my system. We had hardly spoken till then, but she was Polish and had lived and worked in Germany, so we could cover all topics in a mixture of three languages. The central heating was at work, so the room was warm, even too warm, so Jola stripped to her underwear. I am not very modest, and she had already seen me naked, so I removed the tee-shirt and panties, and she was soon smoothing and squeezing. Now, lying on my back as her small, but strong, hands manipulated my muscles and brought a welcome lassitude to my limbs, I could observe her more closely.

She was, indeed, short, not much above five feet, but fully figured. I was hypnotised by the flexing and squeezing of her rounded bosoms within her bra, and when she turned to gather more olive oil, fetched from the kitchen, into her palms, I noted the generous proportions of her bottom. It was completely contained in panties like those I wear, but I found it stimulating.

Came the moment when her hands moved towards my chest and she stopped below my breasts and looked enquiringly into my eyes. I even thought there was a hint of mischief in her expression, as if she guessed that despite the aftermath of the illness I was finding her arousing.

I nodded and she began to knead, gently pushing the breasts upwards, separating and squeezing them together. This felt so relaxing I could have fallen asleep, but it was also so exciting, and emotional, that somnolence was banished. Of course, what was crucial was that, almost as if without intending to, her fingers played across my nipples. They stood to attention like little soldiers, and I looked up to see how she responded.

'They are always going hard like this,' she said, as if commenting on some commonplace phenomenon. But I suspected she was at least a little excited.

'That feels good,' I said.

'You have beautiful breast,' she said. 'It is all right for a woman to say?'

'Oh, yes,' I said. 'I would say that yours are beautiful, too, if I could see them.'

'You like to see them?'

'Yes,' I said. 'Let me undo your bra.'

She was a little surprised at this. But she turned her back and sat beside me. Which brought that lovely bottom against my side, so I was tempted to slip one of the hands reaching for the bra-clasp down the back of the panties. I resisted the temptation, wondering at my own rising excitation, and undid the bra. I have always loved releasing another woman's bra, because of the intimacy of it, the freeing of the breasts for viewing, possibly for more. She stood and turned, and, bent over towards me, so that the freed bosom hung over me, the cleavage tight, the nipples erect.

'You see,' she said, 'Always they go hard.'

'Do you like it when nipples go hard?' I said, leaving it ambiguous as to whether that meant her own or another woman's.

'Yes, I like it very much,' she said. 'They are so nice.'

There was a long moment when she stayed in position, and I wondered if I dared to reach up and touch those firm nubbins, almost as large as mine. But she stood up and said, 'You turn, I massage your back.'

She began with my feet, clasping and releasing, and moved to my calves. She was in no hurry and spent a good while on my thighs. Of course, I was eager for her to reach my bottom. I love having my bottom touched, stroked, moulded. But she paused, again, and said, 'It is all right for me to touch your behindmost?'

'I like it very much,' I said.

'It is beautiful one,' she said. 'It is all right for a woman to say, like before?'

'Yes,' I said, 'Why should you not compliment someone on some feature?'

'It is, maybe, sexual.'

'Why not?'

'Maybe the woman does not want sexual with a woman.'

'Supposing she does, though,' I said.

She continued firmly palpating my cheeks, and I hoped she was deliberately trying by rhythmically opening my crack to drag on my labia. Certainly, she was giving herself a clear view of those, at any rate. Was she really, in effect, making love to me? Or was this impression the remnants of my fever misleading my imagination? The possibility she had lesbian designs extended to thinking she might even have chosen to be my nurse, in hopes that love-making could follow. She probably knew I liked sex with women. I had to go carefully, in case her compliments didn't signal a desire for more. But I wanted to test the water, too. So, I said, 'I might compliment your bottom, too. If I saw it.'

She hesitated a moment, and I feared I had overstepped the boundary. But then she turned and pushed the panties down. And it was, indeed, a lovely bum. It sprang out from the small of her back in all dimensions, plump, tightly clefted, overhanging a little, making for a deep transverse crease. Such as it is delicious to hook the fingers into when holding the cheeks, to pull her clitoris harder onto your own.

I was hoping she would turn back before pulling the panties up, so I might view her foliage, surely also cream-coloured, and amongst it the no doubt pink of the lips. But she briskly returned to massaging my back and shoulders. And after a while the operation was concluded with a light slap on my right buttock, and, 'Maybe more tomorrow. It is enough today, because we don't want to hold up your getting better.' She put on her shirt and trousers.

'Too much nervous excitement would not be good for me?'

'That's right. What would you like to eat now?'

Suddenly I realised my appetite had returned and I was ravenous for some soup, toast, and coffee.

2

Next morning, she cooked me a full English breakfast. I ate in bed, in tee-shirt but without panties, as I dislike clothing round my pussy and bum in bed and was no longer sweating.

She cleared away and washed up in the hostel kitchen. When she came back, holding a pile of towels and the olive oil, she asked, 'Would another massage help?'

'It certainly would,' I said, stripping off the tee-shirt and pushing down the bedclothes. She spread a towel and I lay down, on my front, while she stripped to underwear again.

A good night's sleep and the memory of yesterday's ministrations ensured that long before she reached my bottom I was full of desire. Which she was aware of, saying, 'Today maybe is not good, because you have tension. You are not relaxing. We could try later.'

'Yes, I have tension,' I said, 'But please go on now. You could take away the tension.'

Without comment she continued, and, I thought, handled my bottom more firmly, forcing her fingers into the cheeks, and into the crack, perilously close to the labia. I felt them moisten, and if she had any doubts about my condition, they were surely dispelled by the scent of aroused vagina, remembering I had not bathed for five days. She made no comment, however, and concluded operations on my back.

I turned over and she took a long survey of my body, up and down, twice. My breasts were swelling, the nipples little rods, and there was, I was sure, a glistening amongst my fernery. She made no comment, as before, and began with my feet, so that by the time she was at my thighs I was trembling.

'You have the special tension,' she said. 'Shall I try to help?'

'If you don't,' I said, 'I shall be ill again, only worse.'

She laughed and gently pried apart my thighs. 'It is here, isn't it?' she said. 'You like me to massage here, maybe?' She slid her hands up the inside of my thighs and rested them on my outer lips.

'You know what to do. You have often done it, haven't you?'

'I have done it a little, but it is not always easy to find a woman who wants it.'

'You knew I wanted it, though, didn't you?' I was gasping by now with the certainty she was going to bring me off.

'I was not sure yesterday, but today it is clear.'

'Why don't you take off your underwear and lie down?' I asked.

'Maybe,' she said, 'But I want to give you first.' She took off her bra, climbed onto the bed between my legs and bent to bring our nipples into contact. 'Ah, that is so fine. Our nipples are speaking to each other. Yours liking it like mine?'

'They are, darling,' I said, 'So much I shall cum in a minute.'

'Cum is to make the orgasm?'

'Yes. And I want to make your orgasm.'

'Maybe you will not want,' she said, 'But now I make your orgasm, with here.' She slipped the fingers of one hand up and down my vulva and eased two fingers of the other hand up my vagina and stirred them about. The pussy-perfume was pungent.

'Ah,' she said, 'It is so hot and nice in your

pochwa

, your

cipa

. What is

cipa

in English?'

'Cunt,' I said. 'Your fingers are in my cunt, and it's lovely.'

'C-u-n-t,' she said, drawing it out, 'Yes, I know the word. It sounds deep, like it is. It is so nice in your cunt. But I think you are woman who makes orgasm with

łechtaczka

.'

'Yes, usually,' I gasped, 'But the fingers in the cunt make it bigger.'

'What is

łechtaczka

?'

'Clitoris,' I said, 'And, please, focus on it now.'

'Clee-tor-ees,' she said, skilfully trapping my clit between a finger and thumb and rolling them together, like someone indicating they had money. 'Oh, I think you are to cum. Cum, yes, cum. I love you to cum.'

As is often the way with the first orgasm after an illness you are not fully recovered from, the orgasm was slow and not as intense as usual. It was all the nervous system could do, and was nonetheless sweet. Not least because of the tender look Jola bestowed on me throughout. Until her fingers stopped moving at just the right moment and stayed holding my clit gently and resting within me.

'That is all for now, dear Norma,' she said, gently withdrawing, and appreciatively sniffing and tasting her fingers. 'Now you must rest.'

'No, dear Jola,' I said, 'I want to make your orgasm, too.'

'Maybe you won't,' she said.

'You said something like that before. What do you mean.'

She gave me a sad smile and said, 'I will show you,' and even before she slipped down the panties I had guessed what she had to show me. A small cock was stranding vertically, nestling in what was, yes, a slightly darker cream-coloured thicket. The size and situation meant that I would probably not have seen it through the fabric even if I had been attending closely. The smaller the tool the more erect it can stand, I think, being light.

The cock was less than four inches long and about the girth of my thumb. Its little bulb, wider at the shoulders than the shaft, purple with tumescence, stood out of its foreskin.

She was looking at me apprehensively. I said, 'Jola, that is about the prettiest recorder I have ever seen. I can't wait to play it.'

She laughed, because the Polish word for recorder, the musical instrument,

fujara

, while the slang word for penis is

fujarka

. 'You really want to play my little recorder?' she said. 'You don't mind I am not a woman with cunt?'

'You are a woman with a charming cock,' I said. 'Does it cum?'

'Yes, it cums and it is good if three times.'

'Get those panties off, then, and let's make music.'

She laughed again and shivered a little as she got off the bed and peeled off the panties.

'Tell me how,' I said. 'What do you like?'

She got back between my legs, and said, 'I want to be inside you. You won't feel me much, because I'm so small. I am only twenty-two centimetres, but I feel in you and cum.'

I lifted and opened my thighs and she had no problem with sliding in on my lubrication. Small though the cock was I loved to watch it disappear into me, and it felt like more solid tampon, though there hadn't been one in there for a decade. I felt it at most at the entrance.

She began to thrust, short strokes. I felt her tip probing into my vulva, seeking and sliding into my vestibule, then withdrawing. This was a new experience all right. Plenty of penises had glided in and out of my vagina in the last forty years, but none had been so small and had jabbed into me like this. And very few of their owners had trembled and shrieked like this, her excitement mounting to such a pitch I feared she would pass out.

What tipped her over was my placing my hands round her bottom, helping her to push in and slip out, till she screamed, 'Orgasm cum. It cum. Hold

dupka

! Oh, now cuuuuum!' And she pressed into me with maximum strength, grinding her pubis against mine, and I actually felt the gushes of her cum, which seemed to go on and on. It began to ooze out round her cock at once, as she collapsed breathing hard on my bosom and began to cry in shuddering sobs.

'Oh, Norma, it is so wonderful,' she said after a while, 'Thank you, thank you, lovely Norma. I have not had the cum for so long like that.'

'Sweet Jola,' I said, 'That was just amazing. You flooded me.'

'It is a small recorder but it makes much spit when it plays,' she said, trying to force the instrument in still further.

'It's still erect,' I said. 'You said it does encores.'

'Please,' she said, 'Maybe you won't want, but could you hold in your mouth? I like to go in all ways to a woman.'

'I want so much to suck that sweetie,' I said.

She withdrew from my vulva, slid her bottom up my thighs and stomach and sat on my chest, so that the shining, dripping cocklet was at my lips.

'Grip my nipple with your bottom,' I said, and she wriggled till a nipple was in her crack. She clenched her cheeks and squeezed, while I raised my head and took the cock between my lips and caressed it with my tongue, relishing the blend of our secretions. She rocked on my breast, gripping the nipple, and I made my lips into a soft tube through which the cock poked and jerked. I was also well positioned to hold her bottom and keep it on my nipple.

Like cocks of all sizes, this one swelled and stiffened still further as the orgasm gathered, so it was no news to me when she shrilled, 'It cum, I cuuuuum!' And her semen jetted into my mouth, six, seven, eight times, the last spurt little less than the first, so that my mouth was full and I had to swallow some of it. No two splashes of transsexual sperm taste the same, though there is a basic salty, floury taste, and hers was slightly sweet and custardy.

She remained perched on my breast, panting and shaking, still erect between my lips. Then she said, 'Second time more than first. It is closer when it is in the mouth.' She meant it was more intimate, I think.

Eventually she removed her penis and moved to snuggle down beside me. The little cock pressed against my thigh. Shortly she said, 'The third time cum you may not wish.'

I guessed what she wanted. I said, 'Jola, you have looked after me beautifully, and I thank you, thank you. Now I want to look after you, and thank you.'

She drew away from me and I got onto my hands and knees. She positioned herself behind me, holding cheeks, her hands shaking. I have seldom permitted anal intercourse and was not much looking forward to this time. But the cock was small and had it been bigger I would have wished to give Jola whatever she wanted.

She gathered glaze from my vagina and smeared it on my anus. She probably anointed her cock, too, because it slipped into me quite easily. It was not painful even when she slowly drove it home into my rectum. 'Oh, Norma, it is so tight, so gripping. This is best way, with third time. It will be quick. I just pull a little back and push.' She did so, and slid quite easily an inch or two back and forth, three or four times. Her pussy fur against my cheeks was exciting and as she began violently to shake, gripping my bottom, much to my surprise I felt an orgasm was imminent somewhere inside me. Then, as she panted and yelled, I felt her cock swell and as it poured its cum into me I came around it. I could, for the first time, understand a bum-cum, and I, too, called out, 'Together. Together!'

There is always something especially thrilling about simultaneous orgasms, whatever the situation. So that even phone sex with two people masturbating and timing their orgasms is excellent. But the shared orgasm with maximal intimacy is the supreme sexual experience, with even a spiritual dimension.

So, on this occasion, as Jola's screams of ecstasy as her delightful little cock filled my rectum with her semen, and as my orgasm glowed somewhere deep inside me, I felt something beyond physiological pleasure. I understood how mystics felt themselves ascending out of their bodies into some other plane of existence.

We remained locked together until her cock finally became limp and slipped out. I wondered whether small cocks could maintain erection longer than larger ones, because Jola's had been stiff for what seemed a long time. I was also impressed by her capacity to come, copiously, three times with the same erection.

We snuggled down together and caressed each other till we slept an hour or two, relaxed in the way that one can be after a special, especially satisfying, shared-orgasmic encounter. When we woke we didn't need to speak We just looked into each other's eyes and saw each other's joy and fulfilment, and, for the first time, kissed.

3

We slept together that night, locked in each other's arms, knowing that next day we would make love again, and give each other ecstasy and affirmation. For I knew without need of telling that she had seldom had such mutual completion with a cunted woman, and possibly not with another trans-woman, either.

During the night I was woken by the tingling in my breast, to find Jola gently lipping the nipple and finger-teasing my clit. She stopped the nippling, to say, 'I want to make you orgasm just with my finger. You would like?'

'I would like, oh, yes. You are perfect with your finger.' And she was, and added to the growing climax by reaching under me with the other hand and slipping its fingers into my bottom crack, silently inviting me to squeeze, for she knew the clenching of the cheeks would enhance the crescendo of the cum. As, indeed, it did. It was not a tumultuous cum: it was almost calm, as if my nerves were being untangled by skilful manipulation, but as it surged through me she also took my lips between hers and sucked them, and it was that final closeness which made the easement extra sweet.