The Moves

 

A fun lil' one. As I'd hope you all know, Halloween is coming up and I'm hoping to do another caption blowout, I conjured up some fun AI pictures with spooky themes to make a few, but if anyone has any GIF suggestions (or scenes I could turn into GIFs, I'm a slight bit more technically savvy than I was then!) Or story ideas they'd like me to try to elaborate on, send them to SydMixUp@gmail.com or comment here. As always, I might not get to every idea, but I'll do all I can. Look forward to hearing from you. 😀 

XOXO

-Syd

Everyone tried to warn me, but I thought it was ridiculous. Why would Anthony try to put the moves on me!? He could have any girl he wanted, and I say that as his best friend who has watched him bed every chick, bimbo or brilliant, buxom or bratty. He'd pick a target and charm the pants off them within the week. He tried to teach me a time or two, but I just didn't have the money he had. Or the height. Or the frame. Or the mass. Or the confidence. Or the experience. But I'd be able to swing by his apartment in the morning and see them wander around the house in their undies, awash in leftover ecstasy from the night before. Let's just say a lot of deposits were made into my spank bank from that couch. 

But recently, things have been a little different since I got my new job. Finding a new job was tough, especially for someone as meek as myself. My Aunt offered me a job, but she mentioned her company had enacted a diversity quota. If they could get another woman of color, it would mean a bonus for all of us, and that would help me catch up on the back rent hanging over my head. So I agreed. My Aunt could turn me into her new office girl.

My training period consisted of teaching me to carry myself as Amy. As I worked through it some of Anthony and my friends stepped in to help. They were all women, all of which I had crushed on at some point and all of which I had watched stroll out of Anthony's bedroom at some point. Within the ending of my training period the practice, Hormones, breast forms, and tuckjob made me indistinguishable from other women my age. If anything I looked a bit younger. But I noticed Anthony being nicer, grabbing the bill for lunch (which he usually did, but while making fun of me for being broke beforehand), letting me vent about my day, and complimenting my skirts and dresses. I should have noticed initially that he liked the shorter ones.

The other girls we hung out with began to tease me about our flirtacious interactions, but I kept telling them I didn't know what they were talking about. Then when he hosted a game night, I walked past his chair and he pinched my ass. The fact I turned, giggled, lightly slapped his muscular, chiseled chest in that tight t-shirt and said "Stawp it!" Like a smitten teenager hurt my masculinity more than wearing a bra, knowing how to walk a flight of stairs in high heels, having a preferred selection of cosmetics, and looking at a smooth front to my frilly panties in the mirror every day for the last few months ever could. I left and didn't respond to any of his concerned texts or any of the girls asking if I finally got what they meant.

I buried myself in work for the next week. Coming home, changing into my nightie and lying in bed at night. Replaying those events in my head and cringing at how I let him treat me like a girl. Then my panties started to get tight and I'd toss and turn, imagining confronting him... but couldn't help but imagine him doing the dumb thing he does to avoid responsibility every time he upsets a girl. Where he just makes that dreamy look and draws in closer. Wrapping those thick arms to hold them in place. Whispering "sorry" as he rubs the bristles of his beard across her forehead. I mean her forehead. While pressing his bulge against her stomach, he loved short girls. And whispering "hey" until they look up, then following it up "I'm sorry" before tenderly kissing me, I mean her, and when I get to that point... I finish. No hands. Shouting in surprise and pleasure. It happened Monday. It happened Tuesday. It happened Wednesday. It happened Thursday. I'd clean up, change my nightie, and go back to bed. I'd peacefully sleep and wake up before spending the day feeling ashamed and confused before doing it again. 

Friday rolled around and asked me to join him and the girls for a movie night. I asked around and he hadn't asked anyone else. He was trying to corner me and make his move. I thanked the girls for the heads up and ignored them asking if I was still going to go. I planned to give a piece of my mind, but I made sure to make a quick last-minute salon visit and pick out a cute outfit, you know, to look cool while I put him in his place. 

I arrived, he had candles lit, my favorite takeout on the table, a romantic comedy ready to play on the TV. "Oh hey," he said unconvincingly, "the girls couldn't make it, but I already bought this movie so I guess we're stuck with it. Oh and I had to spray the chair, spilled a drink, so we can share the couch." I was ready to bite his head off but he went to so much effort that I found myself next to him pressing play before I knew what hit me. I regained my wits when he tried to put his arm around me and accused him of trying to seduce me. Even though he knows I'm really a boy.

"It's just... Amy... It's so hard to remember that when you're more beautiful than every woman I've ever met. Plus you're so cool, I know we get along, we have a connection that neither of us has ever felt... I just thought that... We could try." I tried so hard to remain serious, until it became clear that I was blushing and smiled. He smiled, knowing he charmed his way out of consequences once more. 

"You say that stuff to all the girls." He smiled. I called myself a girl. He was going to hold that over my head as he started toward me. And I'd never felt more vulnerable. His whispers dancing down my body, giving me goosebumps. His strong arms locking me into place, preventing me from running away from this. My head against his chest, breathing in his scent. Looking down as his already-prominent bulge grew and size and temperature and pressed against my stomach, only separated by the thin fabric of my shirt and his pants. Then I heard it.

"Hey" and I looked up so fast that I think I actually kissed him first. My smooth soft face felt the scratch of his beard and I lost it. I trembled. Moaned. Went limp in his arms. I excused myself to the restroom and changed into the spare panties I'd packed into my purse and returned to him. There was no denying anything now. I stared at the floor embarrassed. But he comforted me and said it was ok, he convinced me to stay and said we could go slow, we didn't have to do anything I didn't want to. He'd never waited more than a night to get off... Maybe he was serious. I sat back on the couch and let him put his arm around me.

I never did see how the movie ended.