Me? How old was I? Old. Probably 28 or 29, maybe 30. I was long passed the time when the clothes were an end in themselves; and being Cassie in the world, in public, was the wonderful pleasure. I had long since decided that I wasn’t a transsexual, but that the occasional woman that was Cassie was quite entirely a woman during those occasions. But, it wasn’t until then, the first time that she, that is I, was kissed as a woman by a man that I realized how quite entirely that entirely was.
Until that kiss, I considered myself comfortably heterosexual. I was studiously not homophobic; but I just couldn’t imagine a physical relationship with a man to be of interest.
He was a trim, good-looking man in jeans and a button-downed shirt, long-sleeved, but with the cuffs turned up a couple of folds, maybe ten years older than me, smart, funny, and sweet from the first words. He bought me a drink. I knew he knew from the first, if for no other reason than the club in which we met.
We wound up that very first night talking for a very long time, alone together at a quiet table. We got up to dance several times. But mostly we just talked.
Then, suddenly, towards the end of the evening, during a sweet, slow dance in a shadowy part of the dance floor, it happened. It was more a nuzzle than a kiss, an extended nuzzle at the place where my neck met my shoulder, right there on the shadowy dance floor. My reaction surprised me; it was so immediately, completely feminine! I all but melted into his arms on the dance floor.
It was, by far, the most absolutely female I had ever felt to that moment.
I had felt particularly pretty that night from the time I had left with my friends to go out. (I think to this day that the dress I was wearing that night will be my favorite of all time. I have it somewhere still, I think.)
I think, unlike a man, a woman’s sense of her own attractiveness at a given moment is very important to her own sexual response, so I believe that the lucky coincidence of my feeling good about myself and the way I looked that night had a lot to do with my own reaction to this man’s obvious interest in me as a woman, the kind of interest a man is anticipated to have in a woman, made it seemed only as it should be, only natural.
The real kiss was a little while later that same evening, under the stars, in a little park about a half block from the club.
Being held instead of holding. Being kissed instead of kissing.
A warm summer evening, in my pretty off-the-shoulder dress and wedge sandals, enveloped in the arms of a man, a man a decade older than me, physically much bigger, gentle but strong, his arms around me, my eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of his soft lips.
The first kiss. The first kiss. Is there anything quite like it? Years later the memory of that kiss lingers still.
- Have you ever been kissed by a man while dressed as a girl?
- Where were you when the kiss happened and what did you feel when that first kiss as a girl by a guy happened?
- If you haven’t been kissed by a guy while dressed as a girl, have you had a fantasy about that romantic event and could you describe it to me?
Thanks for taking the time to read my article and please take a few minutes to either respond to my article or send me an answer to one or more of my questions posted above!
More Articles by Cheryl Ann (Cassie) Sanders
- And What I Wore (Ending)
- And What I Wore (Part 4)
- And What I Wore (Part 3)
- And What I Wore (Part 2)
- …and What I Wore