I'd moved Sana to our bed. He'd woken briefly, smiled at me. "Are we going to bed now? I'm sorry I'm sleeping all the time." I'd just kissed him, told him not to worry. Sleeping was okay. He was healing himself in his sleep. He knew this, but I felt he needed to be reminded sometimes. I'd stroked his cheek with my finger, a tickle really, and he'd kissed it. 

He was in our bed now, and I was beside him. It was dark in the room, and I was on my side, embracing him as he slept on his back. Sleep was teasing me, but something else was teasing me, too. 

I wondered if he'd be up to it. Probably not. But I still wondered if I should wake him and ask. 

All I wanted to do right now was climb on top of him, and rock his world. My brain was full of thoughts. Fantasies. 

First, I'd start by touching his neck. I'd move my hand down, slowly, another tickle, along his body. Touching his whole body in one long stroke. Feel his chest, move down to his stomach, keep going down and down. Then, I'd cup him down there, hear his gasp as I found my mark. I'd tease him a bit on his front, and hear his little moans as he got all hot and bothered. Then my finger would enter him, and I'd see his back arch, his mouth open, as he gasped so loud, so unexpected was my touch there every time. 

His face would fill with rose colors, so in ecstasy. I'd kiss his mouth, and he'd kiss me back so full of passion, wanting more. But, I wouldn't give him more. Not yet. He'd start to wiggle, his body rocking up and down. I'd kiss his neck so gently, barely there. Move down to his collarbone. All the while, I'd be getting so bothered, watching him, taking my time. 

Finally, he'd start to beg me, as always. Saying my name. Begging me to enter him, please, please. So, I'd climb on top of him, open his legs. And I'd slide inside, as his back arched so much, and he let out the biggest moan, and my breath would be on the side of his face, so hot. 

And slowly at first, I'd make love to him. My hand would find his hair, pull a little. He'd make more noise, that beautiful noise. His mouth would find my neck, and if I was lucky, he'd bite down. This always made me make a startled noise, which he loved, a noise deep in my throat. Made me move faster, made me go more wild. Animal, almost. Sometimes, his hands would scratch my back by mistake in his desperate grabbing, which would secretly make me go even more wild. 

And if told me he was cumming, I'd completely lose it. Just so completely in a world where there was only us two, forgetting there was anything else. Never wanting to leave that world. Just making him cum over and over, my only mission in life.

Thinking things like that was making me so bothered right now. My eyes stretched to him, wondering and wondering. He'd seemed okay when he'd briefly woken up before. Was he okay now? Would he want to try? 

He looked so peaceful. The light of the streetlights was streaming into our room, cascading over his face. I wondered what he was dreaming about. I almost didn't want to wake him up. Almost. 

I knew it couldn't be the same as before. Love making now had to be a slow thing. We had to take our time. It couldn't be spontaneous, or as wild as before. I had to think about his heart rate. But that was okay. As long as I could make him feel good. He was also concerned with making me feel good. Lately, when he was up to it, he'd smile sneakily at me, and climb on top of me instead. And he'd slip down, under the covers of our bed, and his mouth would make love to me. 

Thinking about this right now made me wiggle against his body, impatiently. I so wanted to wake him up. I hugged him tighter, hoping this act would wake him and I could claim it was a mistake. 

But he remained asleep. And I found myself staring at his face, and the sweet bangs of his blonde wig. 

His wig made me think, a thought which filled my heart with butterflies. A memory, from before. My hand went to his bangs, careful and gentle as a breeze, as I often did now when he was asleep. My hand rested there on his forehead. 

It had been a mid-October evening. We'd just finished dinner, and were getting pretty frisky with one another. In the kitchen, I'd pinched his arm, wanting to get him to make a noise. He was so shy sometimes, just silently watching me with that small smile of his, and every time I looked at him and noticed, he'd look away and a tiny blush would form on his downy cheeks. He'd been doing that all evening. 

I remember what he'd been wearing. A light pink button up shirt underneath a thin black sweater, the sleeves rolled up and the cuffs of the pink shirt on top of the sleeves. He wore dark gray pants, and white socks. A black belt. He was wearing his black framed glasses, and his bleach blonde hair was free, but not messy. I'd learned that trademark flip of his bangs in front was carefully made every morning with a straightening iron. 

I'd been thinking about what was under those clothes. His slender body, which was slightly muscular in a lean way. It made his short frame look longer, just by the structure of his body. His body was covered in tattoos. All black and gray, realism tattoos. They were all roses, part of a themed set. The vines went up his body, roses blooming in calculated ways. They covered his shoulders, and wandered onto his chest, covering scars from his transgender top surgery. They went to his ribs, and floated down to his belly, emerging again on his hips and ending there on his hip bones with two roses at the bottom. They were so beautiful, and carefully accentuated his natural, slight curves, suggesting a femininity in his masculine shaped body. I was enchanted. I'd found out as well, that there were two roses on the back of his ankles, long stemmed roses. I'd searched his body once, finding all of his tattoos, tickling him and exclaiming that I'd found more, as he laughed.

Now we were in the bedroom. I'd been kissing him, making him make all this noise. I'd shoved him with my body, backwards, into his bedroom. I dropped down onto his bed, and he was standing over me, kissing me still. I thought it'd be a natural transition, just laying down, wiggling up the bed. I wanted him to get on top of me this time, take me from the top, so I could look up at him and watch his face. Let him take control, and just completely let myself go, lose myself in the pleasure of him. 

But as he kissed me at the edge of the bed, I felt a change. He was slowing down. And soon, he'd stopped kissing me. 

Confusion filled me. Had I done something wrong? I was still breathing hard, and so was he. He looked okay. 

He stopped for a few moments, looking toward the floor. Almost a sad look. I wanted to embrace him. But I waited. He looked like he was about to say something, so I allowed him to. I didn't want to interrupt. His eyebrows peaked, and I found my heart start to break. What was this feeling? What was he about to say?

"It's okay, baby," I found myself saying, moving to touch his arm. But, he suddenly moved away from me. My heart jumped, my body jumping with it.

"I don't know," he said, to the floor. "I don't know if this is okay."

"If what's okay?" My heart started beating faster. What did he mean? This? He couldn't possibly mean...us? "Do you mean...us?"

His face whipped up at me. His mouth was open, a scared look in his eyes. "No, no, that's not what I mean." 

I breathed a sigh of relief inside. I reached out to him again, automatic. I wanted to make him feel better. He looked so awkward, so shy. I wanted to make him know, whatever it was, it was okay. I liked him enough, it didn't matter what he was going to say. 

I asked the only thing I could think of that could be a problem between us. "Are you worried the condom will slip off?" I asked. "If that happens, it's okay. We'll deal with it."

He just shook his head. So, that wasn't it? What could it possibly be? His hands went to his face, traveled to his hair. Both of his hands were in his hair, and I could see he was breathing very hard. His face was in a quiet agony, just from the look in his eyes alone. It looked almost like...fear? 

This alarmed me. My arms reached out to him. They found him, and he didn't protest this time. My heart filled with more relief. He was being receptive. I pulled him next to me on the edge of the bed, made him sit down next to me. Our thighs were pressing together, and he didn't move away. I put my hand on his thigh, began squeezing it over and over, trying to assure him. 

"Um, so tell me," I said quietly to him, almost to his ear. He wasn't looking at me. That look of concern on his face, just looking down at his lap. My eyes traveled down him, to his belly. "Are you...could you be pregnant, maybe? Is that what it is?"

He'd told me about his anatomy. How inside, he was intact, he was female inside. I knew this could be possible with him. 

His face went to me, his eyes wide, his mouth open. I wanted to take his face and kiss him. He just shook his head so hard. So, that hadn't been it either. I squeezed his thigh a few times again, to show it was okay. His hands went to his face, formed little fists over his mouth. I thought this was so cute.

"Tell me," I said, in a sing-song voice. Trying to be cute now. Switching tactics. If it wasn't those things, what could possibly be left? 

He swallowed, looked down at his lap again. And I heard him whisper something I couldn't hear. I only heard the last word. "Clothes."

"Huh?" I asked. "What did you say, baby? I couldn't hear you." I got closer to his face. He still wasn't looking at me. He started to blush.

"I want..." he mumbled something, then "...clothes..." He covered his face, his body so tense. 

"I still didn't hear it, baby." I wanted to do something that would make him speak louder. He was being terribly shy. The shyest I'd ever seen. He pinched his eyes shut, so tight. I was getting worried.

And then finally.

"I want to wear feminine clothes. I want to wear a dress while we have sex. I want to feel feminine during sex. I want to have sex with you in a feminine way. Not as a girl, my gender is male, but I like to... I like to... I... I don't know. I don't know." His eyes were so big, and he froze. He'd said this so fast, so loud, a burst of words. He looked confused now. "I can't... Whoa, I can't believe I just said that. Forget it." He started cursing a little in English. English curses I know. They're some of the only English words I know. So, I knew he was upset at himself. 

But he didn't know something about me. How much what he'd just said filled my heart with joy. Because he didn't know that I like to do this, too. I like dressing as a girl during sex, too, and I knew exactly how he felt. So, all I could do was beam at him. That big smile that he adores. 

He was making a steady stream of curses under his breath, and chanced to look at me. And he paused. 

"Why are you smiling?" He breathed. 

I just burst out into a flurry of words, my enthusiasm taking him aback, his eyes as big as dinner plates, so shocked that he actually leaned back. 

"Do you have any girls' clothes that you like to wear during sex?! What do you have?! Do you want to go out and get some?! Do you like lingerie?! What kind of lingerie do you like?! Ahh, Sana-a, show me what you like to wear!"

His mouth dropped open, and we stared at each other for a while, his hand over his heart as it beat so fast. I grinned at him, so excited. 

He eventually smiled, too, told me he'd been so scared to tell me for about two weeks. He said he knew I liked to wear female clothes on stage, and that made him feel comfortable with me about that part of himself. He told me, in what would be a long conversation, that on top of being a transgender male, he also had a non-binary presentation. That he liked to wear men's and women's clothing, and that actually, clothing to him had no gender. He liked to wear whatever he wanted, at any time. But, he'd worried that I might not understand or want him to explore his feminine side, and that terrified him. He was terrified of losing me now that he had me. 

He had no idea how much I accepted this part of him. I wasn't ready to tell him about myself yet, but honestly, him telling me about that part of himself made me more comfortable with him than I'd ever been with anybody in my life. It made me feel like I could tell him things that I wasn't comfortable telling anyone else. 

As the conversation ended, he went to a secret closet inside a closet in his hallway. I heard him shuffling in there. When he came out, he was holding a long, black, silk, slender cut nightgown in his arms. It looked like a regular, elegant dress, I thought. He undressed, and I admired his tattoos, drinking him in. He slipped it on, and quickly made a braid in his hair behind his bangs, framing them in a feminine way. My eyes were sparkling in pride for him as I watched. He took off his glasses, and suddenly he was transformed. And suddenly, I was looking at one of the most beautiful people I'd ever seen. It was him, in a feminine form, looking just as a girl looks. I couldn't believe my eyes. How by just putting on a nightgown, he had completely transformed himself like a magic trick in front of my eyes. But I saw his rose tattoos on his shoulders, the ones on his wrists, too. I knew, incredibly, he was the same person, and this had been who he was all along.

He smiled to me, and I was completely taken with him. He climbed onto the bed, and asked me what I'd like to do. His face was so close to mine, and I found myself getting bothered in a way I'd never felt before. He had this new confidence, the shyness completely gone away. And even though his was wearing a nightgown, and his hair was in a feminine style, he did something which he'd never done before:

He took me in a way that I could only describe as aggressively masculine. 

Now, in bed with him, the streetlights making his beautiful sleeping face glow with their light, my hand on his pretty bangs... With him confident enough to show me this part of himself... To finally be free to wear what he wanted without judgment. So comfortable, that he could wear this casually... I sighed against him deeply. I was so proud of him. 

He stirred. I made a small noise of wonder. His pretty eyes fluttered open. They looked strong, his face alert. My heart started to jump. 

"Oh, hello," he said, a smile on his lips. His eyebrows creased, and his eyes went wide. He looked at me, his eyes going downward. "Oh! Hello!" He started to giggle, feeling that part of me pressed against him. I started laughing. 

"Um," I said, wiggling a little. "Um..."

He turned to me, pressing his body to mine. His hand found my face, looked at me adoringly. 

"How are you feeling?" I asked, as his eyes searched my face. I felt so loved, seeing his eyes taking in every inch of me. 

"I feel kind of good. Much better than before." 

I remembered something suddenly. He did always seem to feel a bit better at night. I'd noticed this pattern. This brought me a bit of hope. 

"Do you wanna... Wanna..." I was the one being shy now.

"Wanna what?" His finger tapped my nose. It made me crinkle it, and I closed my eyes and looked away, grinning. That made him laugh. A beautiful laugh.

I was about to laugh, when his mouth took my mouth. Just locking me in. Our lips making sounds together, and I found that part of myself pressing to him more. He moved his head, almost shoving my head backwards in his aggression. 

Oh my god. I melted into him. He rolled me over, and he was on top of me. 

And yes, it wasn't like it was before. We weren't as crazy, we weren't as wild. We weren't as fast. But it was something more. Intimate, sweet, watching each other with love. 

And honestly, that's all I'd wanted. Just to love him like that.