The Screenwriter

In the city of broken dreams and falling angels, Los Angeles, you are sure to find many characters all ready to make it “big” and become a star. There are millions of such individuals in L.A., all with their own agendas, their own claims, their lifestyles. Sometimes, as it so happens in a big city, distant paths cross and intertwine. This is such an event that is bound to occur, especially when you’re faced with the loneliness of such a life and faced with keeping your sanity in the big city.

A number of years ago I decided to try my hand (yet again) at the internet dating scene. As I had been living my life more fully present and day-to-day as a transgendered woman, I felt that the time was right to see what kind of potential man was out there for a “new girl” like me. I put up a few profiles on sites like Yahoo! Dating,, AdultFriendFinder, a (now-defunct) national T-Girl/CD dating site, and for a more local approach, craigslist.  Each of the sites lent themselves to a unique community of potential daters but none fostered more uniqueness than my local craigslist ad. The craigslist respondents ran the gamut from one-night stand requests, to sex slavery, to a (surprising) number of sincere responses. After weeding out “the crazies”, I settled on three strong and well-rounded candidates. 
Candidate #1 was a recent NYC transplant living on the Westside, who was looking for a passable ethnic girl with whom he could explore his new city, and was very open about dating a beautiful T-Girl and looking to explore this new avenue in his love life. He had a steady job as a high school English teacher, enjoyed the arts, and lived comfortably and simply in a well-appointed condo a few miles from the beach where he enjoyed running along the shore or surfing early mornings before heading onto campus. 
Candidate #2 was a high-profile entertainment industry professional who was looking for a beautiful, sexy, and smart lady who would enjoy going to events, screenings, and sexy nights out on the town or staying in at his immaculate home in the Hollywood Hills. He was extremely handsome, fit, well-dressed and appeared to be a well-matched potential. 
Candidate #3 was an established creative professional who enjoyed the arts, was active in the community through his various volunteer activities, a bona-fide cinema-file and sci-fi fanatic, with a large diverse group of friends who was not only young and attractive but had had actual real one-on-one dating experience with T-Girls and had a previous long-term relationship with one that lasted a number of years.
So as I had now narrowed down my potential suitors, the time had come to start the ever important round of “get-to-know-you” dates. I was eager in finding a long-term boyfriend who was going to be there for me (and I him) in all the ways he would be in a modern ideal of a relationship. And I had to put a serious cap on when I was going to give up my body to him, as it is far too easy for me to just fall into sex with someone and leave it as that. I was looking for a relationship, not another sex partner. I had to make sure the guy wasn’t going out with me to fulfill his novelty fantasy of being with a beautiful trans girl like me, which is a very real and ever-present notion, especially online.

Candidate #1 and I had been carrying on a very involved email exchange thread and were just about to elevate it to move beyond the computer and onto the telephone. We carried on like this for about three weeks, talking about pretty much everything and sharing quite a few G-Rated photos of each other. I found him very nice and I was attracted to him and looking forward to talking to him and putting a voice to the face, body, and words I was getting fond of. We exchanged telephone numbers and I waited for an agreed upon telephone call that he was going to place to me on a Thursday to set up a Saturday evening date. I waited. And waited. After two weeks, I decided to phone him. I got his voicemail (finally hearing that voice of his…) and left a polite message. Instead of a return call, I received an "excuse" email. I knew then that this wasn’t going to happen in real life. I replied and we exchanged a few more emails and then *poof* he was gone. Or so I thought...

Candidate #2 was much easier to get on the phone and much easier to secure something with, and what a refreshing change after the time and effort spent on Candidate #1. Candidate #2 was very “typical L.A. Player”: fast car, super-groomed, very talkative, extremely career-oriented, and was deep in the Hollywood scene. What I liked about him was that everything was upfront and right on sight. There wasn’t really anything held back with him and I’m very much the same with many things in my life. We also had many things in common especially as we both worked in the entertainment industry (in different fields of course) and we both enjoyed the more upscale end of life. Instead of emails, we talked on the telephone or via text message. We quickly set up a date and agreed to meet for dinner and then attend an industry event together. My oh my, was I swept off my Manolo Blahniks by this ultra-suave man! Our first date was really something out of a rom-com movie: flowers at my door, seats at the best table at the hippest restaurant of the moment, flirtatious and insightful romantic conversation, and that ever important “cinema spark”. We had major chemistry, no doubt. After that very fun and jam-packed night, we decided to see each other again. We ended up dating a number of times after that and having some very memorable moments during the times we spent together. Despite our intense attraction both romantically and sexually, we both felt the “time wasn’t right” for us to become involved. Amicably, we decided to remain friends and He and I are still in each other lives today. Yes, there is still that “spark” there but time has leveled it off. We can just enjoy each other in a deeper kind of platonic love, which continues to be very nice.

Candidate #3 was the opposite of “hot shot” that the likes of Candidate #2 embodied but was sweetly endearing and refreshing. He was a creative person after all, a Screenwriter by profession. We enjoyed a nice and lengthy e-mail flirtation which eventually progressed to numerous and lengthy telephone conversations, mostly at night. His voice—assured, youthful, vibrant, gently masculine (there was a tinge of feminine in it which was actually cute to me)—was something I was beginning to crave at the end of a long work day. I really enjoyed our intellectual conversations which came easily and without any sparring of our ideals against each other. Very soon, our nice intelligent conversations changed into nice intelligent sex talk. Now I am no stranger to phone sex (being well practiced in the phenom in its early heydays in the 90s) but I’ve never had it so unusual as I was having it with Screenwriter. Our entire sex talk revolved around his personal obsession with fur, specifically, fur coats. It was his button and he wanted it pushed badly. This was furthered by his deep appreciation of the classic erotic novel “Venus In Fur” which I could appreciate and actually admire. I too was a fan of the novel but not to the effect that he was a fan. We even took out our copies and read aloud paragraphs to each other (or, rather me reading them to him seductively) on the phone. Ok, another hot move on his part pushing my literary buttons and he did score major points for exposing and indulging his kink with me, be it only and always in a fur coat. At his urging, I would even put on my own fur coat and play with myself while having phone sex, which was extremely sexy (even though I was always afraid of getting cum stuck on my expensive Max Mara sable coat). When we finally agreed to meet in person, it was an event. 

We at first agreed to a nice dinner at a modestly hip restaurant on a Thursday night. This plan got changed last minute to going to a nice dinner at a different modestly hip restaurant that Saturday. That late afternoon, he told me he wasn’t going to be able to pick me up for dinner but he wasn’t cancelling, I just had to drive myself. When I got there, I was greeted by not only him but eight of his friends, on a dinner theatre date as a group. We didn’t get to sit next to each other because of the odd seating arrangements of the large group. I was seated the entire night next to a friend of his who was openly flirting and trying to seduce me constantly, called Mr. Flirt.  After the dinner show, Screenwriter and I spent ten minutes talking to each other. Our chat was non-committed, distant, and extremely platonic and brief, which I found to be very strange especially since we have had many pleasant (and colorful) private conversations. I chalked it up to us being in public and him trying to “play it cool”. I asked him if I was making him nervous or if he wasn’t interested but he replied to the contrary. Then the bill came. Now, I’m a modern girl who makes a very healthy professional living so money to me isn’t an issue. I was actually prepared to “go dutch” but I wasn’t prepared for having to contribute more than my own for the entire meal for the group of eight. It ended up with me paying about 65% of the whole bill. I did it pleasantly but being a modern girl, I brought it up to him immediately while he walked me to my car. His explanation was that he was waiting on a check to come to him and he was a little short and that most of his friends are struggling actors and they didn’t expect the bill to balloon to where it did (they of course had no problem with ordering drink after drink paying no mind on the bill while I had one glass of mediocre wine) so they were caught short blah blah blah. I gave him a hug and said that maybe you all should’ve been more aware and ready to wash a shitload of dishes the next time you all go out. We ended the night on that note with a hug and kisses on the cheek. Then, out of the darkness of the night comes his flirtatious friend to say goodnight and goodbye to me with a big strong manly bear hug and a kiss on my neck. I thought, in that moment, the night was saved a bit but I just had to leave it where it was and how it was supposed to end, on a friendly note and a tingle in my loins. 

A few days later, I get a call from Screenwriter asking me out on another date. I accepted, giving him the benefit of the doubt and an honest second chance. We decided to go out dancing to a gay nightclub on their bi night which was on a Tuesday so it was going to be a mild night. I put on a sexy LBD and pair of killer Gucci stilettos.When I got there, I found Screenwriter at the bar…with four of his friends, including Mr. Flirt. I had half the mind to turn around and leave but as soon as I was spotted there was no turning back, thinking "not another group outing!" . Screenwriter gave me a strong hug and a naughty little compliment (“you’re sooo hot that its making me melt”) and I leaning in and hugged him back, lifting my leg and wrapping it around his hip, my leg brushing his crotch which was swelled to a nice bulge. There was hope for him yet! I ordered a drink and we tried to talk over the music and interjections of his friends and of course Mr. Flirt, who was more obvious and blatant and he couldn’t stop gawking about my gams. We all went out on the dance floor and, as it is my natural way on a dance floor, I let loose and just danced. When I dance, it’s not just moves, it’s a seduction. I tried to sidle up to Screenwriter as much as I could but I was too hot for him because he could only take me gyrating in short bursts. Meanwhile, I had to keep Mr. Flirt at bay because he was definitely able to keep up with me and was actually giving me a run for my own money gyrating his own sexual energy at (and against) me the few times we did danced together briefly. In the lulls between social interaction with his friends, dancing, and getting drinks, Screenwriter and I did have chances to talk; our conversations were brief but spiced with flirtatious compliments and comments by the both of us. It was getting late and time for me to go, so I hailed a cab and got on my way. This time we parted with another strong hug and a kiss on the lips, with a gentle and lingering taste of his tongue in my mouth. We spoke on the phone about an hour later for exactly thirty minutes of phone sex, heavy on the fantasy and the furs, ending with him climaxing loudly and heavily on his end, a pleasant finish to the night. 

Two or three days later we talk on the phone, and he invites me out to join him at a rock show at a club I had never heard of or been to in Hollywood. I put on a mini mini-dress, Manolo Blahnik stilettos and oiled skin. I cabbed it over to the club and dashed in looking for him. After getting groped by more than a happy share of drunk rockers on my way in, I found Screenwriter and, yes, Mr. Flirt (I was none too happy to see him again but…).  I tried to enjoy the way-too-loud-bad rock group and it was a fail to try to even talk, so I drank my beer and swayed to the rhythm of the place and enjoyed myself as much as I could. I shout-chatted with Mr. Flirt a little (finding out he was an Investment Manager and an aspiring stuntman and a Scorpio like me) and with Screenwriter (who was here to support a friend of his in the band who may or may not have been an ex-girlfriend and was a lousy guitar player). I told him that since I cabbed it, he’d have to be a gentleman and drive me home tonight, which he agreed to do. 

When it was time to leave, the three of us get in his car, which was a disastrous mess of a junk heap inside. Mr. Flirt and I had to sit in the backseat together because the front passenger seat got stuck or broken and wouldn’t move back from the position it assumed to let Mr. Flirt into the back seat! I’m in the back seat and Mr. Flirt is talking about my legs (again) to me and Screenwriter, who is acknowledging and reiterating all the comments. Mr. Flirt is touching my legs. I’m thinking, like the naughty kink I am that “ooh, we’re on our way to three-way land now!” reveling it. I was way okay with something happening, especially with all of the intense psycho-sexual flirting that Screenwriter was doing to me this whole entire relationship, and I figured this was just one of his other kinks. We park in my driveway. Screenwriter suggests that I kiss Mr. Flirt, saying he knows he’d really like that. I ask Screenwriter if he’d like that. He says “no” but since he “belongs to me” I could cuckold him if that were my desire and he would submit to any of my desires as I wished. Not much of a shock but one nonetheless. We hadn’t exactly had this conversation before privately but who was I to deny him this pleasure. And, I wasn’t entirely blind to the fact that he wanted me to dominate him in this relationship, laying many signs there for me of which I was being petty about trying to see clearly. I wasn’t feeling confident enough of being the dominant and I was all too comfortable playing the submissive from past experience. Now, with all of the balance firmly planted and defined, I took the reins. I asked Mr. Flirt is he wanted me, if he wanted to show Screenwriter how to give me pleasure and to show him how a man does it. He willingly replied “Yes”. I pulled him in to kiss me deeply, and he not only complied but urged it on, kissing and tonguing me and moving down to my neck to bite and nibble it. He was running his fingers through my curly hair and rubbing my legs and feeling on my budding breasts. I was getting increasingly hot, as was he, and I never took my eyes off of Screenwriter, who was in the front seat turned around to watch us, his blue eyes piercing right back at me with lust and a quiet sexual rage. I could feel it turning him on. I could see him wanting me to be more merciless with him in cuckolding him. I sensed that if I took this to another level, his arousal would move swiftly forward to its next level. I asked Mr. Flirt if he wanted to come in and see me naked. He said “Oh yes!” I told Screenwriter to let us out of the car and to wait for Mr. Flirt to come out, because, after all, he still had to drive him all the way home to Long Beach. He let us out and I kissed him lightly on the cheek, saying goodnight and thank you. Mr. Flirt and I went inside and got comfortable on my cream sofa. He had never been with a trans girl before so I let him explore my body, kiss me all over, feel my budding breasts and play with my big uncut cock, where he jerked me off to a wall splattering climax. I returned the pleasure and gave him a mind-blowing, long and wet blow job, savoring every inch of his thick Latin cock and swallowing every drop of his creamy load. We got dressed and I walked him out. We kissed again passionately on the porch. I turned and looked at Screenwriter, those eyes of his burning hot with sexual fever. I coyly waved goodbye, standing there wrapped in my sable fur coat, watching as the car ever so slowly backed out of my driveway, his eyes grudgingly being pulled away to maneuver the car, and turning to look straight at me, savoring the final engulfing gaze of me standing there caressing my fur coat before Screenwriter drives away into the night.

Two nights later, I give Screenwriter a telephone call, to check in and to see just how affected he was by the events of a couple of nights ago. He didn’t pick up. He didn’t call me back until a week later. I scolded him for taking so long to get back to me. I told him it was unacceptable and not the correct way to behave, and that I’d have to punish him for it. That set him all ablaze, and he began telling me that he was all a flutter with excitement about that night, where one of his wildest dreams came true. I told him I wanted to see him that night. He had other plans so was trying to back out. I told him to behave and do as I request, and that he should be at my place at 11pm. He agreed that he’d be there. Fast forward to midnight, still he had not arrived. I called his cell, got his voicemail, and left the bitchiest and meanest message, telling him “to go fuck yourself with a big dildo and split yourself in two” and, since he stood me up, that "better yet, I'm going to dildo fuck you when we got together next time and split you into fours". I hung up and jacked myself off to the thought of fucking him with a huge dildo, cumming all over myself and falling asleep.

A few more days pass and I finally hear from Screenwriter, who had some major accident happen to him in his apartment where a main water pipe burst in the apartment above his and ended up drenching his place and practically destroying it and the contents inside. Concerned, I asked if he needed help moving his remaining belongings out . He told me much had already been moved but it would be nice if I came over and helped to move a few little things. Since I had never been to his place, I jumped at the chance, not only to spy on his place but to see just what kind of a disaster had befallen him. It was actually quite bad but it had only affected the back part of his place. We moved a few of his things into the front room and then had a beer. We talked about some minor things and then we talked about his writing. He showed me a few of his scripts (but wouldn’t let me read them). Then, without any warning, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me forcefully down to the ground, where he proceeded to get on top of me, and kiss me. And choke me. Not a little squeeze but a tight grip choke. He was full force kissing me too, and with his firm grip on my throat and his mouth sucking the air out of me I was beginning to  get light headed, on the verge of passing out. I think he knew and let go of both my mouth and my neck. My eyes went wide. As scary as it was in that moment, it was exceptionally erotic. I reacted, in a knee-jerk kind of way to the exchange by slapping him full on his face. His eyes went wide. Next thing, he’s pushing me against the wall, holding my arms down and kissing me again, full force. I’m struggling against him and the wall, feeling his huge hard-on pressing against my leg. I’m trying to regain some sort of composure and some level of power in this exchange, wavering from exerting some level of dominance and wanting to give in to my desire to be submissive to him.  He has me pressed hard against the wall, still pinning my arm down and I'm kissing him back just as hard if not more so because that is the only way I could move with control. Again I feel his hard cock against me. I'm sure he could feel mine rising against him, as it began growing to fullness. Then, as quickly as it started, he stopped and moved away from me. We stood for a beat, breathing heavy and looking at each other. I reached down and grabbed a hold on his erection and squeezed it hard, pushing him back away from me. He stumbled back a little and when I had the room I needed, I pushed him away and just walked out the door, down the stairs and into my car. I started the engine and drove away, back over the hills to my apartment with ecstatic pleasure bursting from every part of me and into ferocious laughter.

That afternoon was the last time I physically saw Screenwriter. We did talk on the phone a number of times after that afternoon, not ever really addressing the very real feelings that presented themselves that day. Through the strange circumstance of life, we weren’t able to see each other, as I was temporarily transferred to another city for work abruptly, and he was working that summer teaching young kids at a wilderness drama camp.  We spoke one last time before he had left for the woods. He told me that he had written a screenplay of which I inspired. I think it was the one he showed me but I'm still not sure. He said that the main character was a transwoman who, after being informed that her boyfriend is in dire trouble across country,  goes on a crazed rampage to save him from some ill fate and, unbeknownst to her, is set up for murder, as she had a dead body in the trunk of her car when she gets pulled over and charged with the murder of the body and gets sentenced to prison. The body turns out to be her boyfriend’s, of which she is not sorry or has any remorse for his untimely demise. How strange that I inspired that?! I don’t know how or why this character brings these ideas to mind when thinking of me but I guess I should either be flattered, or creeped out.  I hope if this screenplay gets produced, the transwoman would at least be a beautiful one. I'm sure I could’ve inspired that in the least! After all, he inspired me to share this story of one of the most unique and interesting dating experiences I will ever have, especially in the city full of love’s young dreams.