My Night With A Goddess - My First Transexual Experience - Part 2 - Sex Stories

My Night With A Goddess - My First Transexual Experience - Part 2

... will hold it in for as long as it takes.

In a flash, I bolt out the door, heading straight for the stairwell, but the fatigue in my legs and lungs reminds me I'm not fully recuperated from my earlier climb. The shimmering sight of the elevator glows brightly in the side of my eyes as I press forward. I halt to press the descend button and the doors split apart instantly with a chime, as though destiny was rooting for me. The vacant elevator seems to invite me in as if recognizing the critical nature of my pressing task.

“Thank you,” I say to it, then grimace, wondering when I had started talking to inanimate objects.

I press for the ground floor and the doors close. A proud smile spans across my face proudly and I cross my arms as though I know what I’m doing. But the elevator barely picks up speed as it comes to a slow halt on floor thirty-nine. My foot impatiently taps the floor and I scoff in astonishment. Could it have been too much to ask for? Making it to ground level without stopping for a resident at two in the morning.

“You betrayed me,” I say to the elevator in disgust.

An older lady with curly grey hair steps in with a walker, slower than a snail. I throw my smile back on and nod to her. I really shouldn’t be angry. She’s always been nice to me.

The lady waves and looks thrilled that someone interacted with her.

“How are you today?” she asks.

“Good,” I say, my finger already pounding the close door button for the twentieth time like a ...

... maniac.

“Couldn’t sleep. So might as well go for a stroll,” she says.

“Good idea.”

It’s difficult to sustain my smile, as the doors finally close. I exhale and watch the numbers above the door quickly decrease. I wait in anticipation for any signs of slowing down.

Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Come on!

The elevator slows at seventeen and I bang my fist against the metal wall. I look over and notice the lady didn’t seem to hear me. I feel relieved, but I don’t know why I care so much. Swallowing, I poised my finger, ready to target a specific button.

As the doors separate slightly, my finger spears the close door button faster than a tiger ambushing its prey. The waiting man looks flabbergasted as the doors immediately shut before him. Through the narrow gap in the doors, his expression of utter bewilderment is apparent.

“Hey!” the man yells irritably through the closed doors.

I flash a smile and observe the diminishing numbers as the elevator gathers momentum. His voice, however, reverberates down the lift shaft.

“You have somewhere to be,” the lady says to me as the elevator hits the ground level. “Good luck. You go first.”

“Thanks! There’s someone I need to help!” I yell, relieved that I didn’t leave a rude impression. I break out of the apartment's front door, looking left, then right.

My office is only a couple blocks away.

I turn right again, navigating down Fifth Street, observing a multitude of young New Yorkers taking pleasure in the ...