Autobiographical Writings

Story by anonaduck

My wife is a futanari. Well, I call her my wife, but I'm well aware that some people would disagree. She hasn't had an easy time of it. Growing up, before we were married, her name was Molly Melt. That would have been tough enough for any normal, well-adjusted suburban girl; having an overly large clitoris with a mind of its own, as she likes say, only made things worse.

And by overly large, I mean thirteen inches long and much too thick for a grown man to wrap his hand around -- believe me, I've tried.

Molly isn't a hermaphrodite or anything like that. She isn't one of those shemales or some kind of transsexual. Futanari do exist. They're real and so is she, but they're not advertising their existence. There are no clubs or secret handshakes. They pass through life unrecognized by the rest of us, and each other for the most part. Molly's ridden the emotional roller coaster of desperately wishing to meet another of her kind and praying that she never will. Secrets are like that, I guess.

I met her in high school. Eleventh grade calculus, which I was failing, and she was typically breezing through. Molly sat in the back of the class. A real wallflower. Short, slender, moppish brown hair and always wearing too big sweaters and baggy jeans. To tell the truth, I wasn't even sure she was a girl for the first month or so. I barely noticed her and when I did, there just wasn't much to see.

Our math teacher liked to have little 'math labs' to help us learn. I think he was just lazy. We called them 'meth labs' (because they ought to be illegal) and basically it paired a weak student, like me, with a strong student, like Molly. I dragged my chair to her desk and let the brainiac do the math while I took a nap. Or tried to anyway. Molly had the insane idea that I was supposed to learn something. The girl has always had a serious streak for some reason.

Unfortunately, I'm not much for conflict. I like to get along. I pretended to pay attention to Molly. I nodded a lot and smiled once in awhile. Anything to get the answers, right? Somewhere along the way, after a full semester and probably 30 hours of one-on-one math labs with the girl, we ended up talking about other things. Like we were kind of friends, you know?

It started with smiling at each other as we'd pass in the hallway. Then we started saying hello to each other. Weird. She wasn't that attractive. I mean, she could have been a goddess beneath all that fuzzy wool and faded denim, but who would ever know? She wore rectangular glasses too. The big, geeky, black-framed kind. Her face was totally dominated by those glasses and her Beatlemania hair. But the next thing I know is we're sitting in the cafeteria together talking about Christmas Break.

That's how I ended up going on a date with her. Not a real one. More like, do you want to hang out sometime? I asked her first, but it was her idea. That's one of Molly's superpowers, making me do what she wants. Planting subliminal suggestions in my head so it seems like they're mine. Maybe all girls can do that, I'm not sure. I've only had one serious girlfriend, and that too was Molly's doing.

She says I'm a nice guy. Non-confrontational, like I mentioned. Non-threatening. Not an alpha personality or anything like that. I'm pretty okay physically and maybe not a genius mentally, but I have enough common sense to keep me out of trouble. Reliable, that's what she told her mom.

"He's very reliable," Molly said, smiling up at me. "Isn't that right, Dave?"

I said something like, "I try to be."

Molly's mom was the overly protective type. She wasn't interested in cute, funny, or clever in a boyfriend. Reliable was good though. She liked that a lot. Except I wasn't anyone's boyfriend yet, or so I thought, but it turned out I was. We hung out together, mostly at Molly's house, everyday for two weeks. Even on Christmas Day, which seemed out of the ordinary. It was my first Christmas Day that I didn't spend with people I was related to.

We had our first kiss on New Years Eve, but around noon. Not that night. So I like to think of it as December 31st, which it was, of course, but you say New Years Eve and everybody thinks party or whatever. It wasn't a party. We were eating icicles. Sitting outside in the snow, all bundled up with dcarves and gloves and Molly wore bright red rubber boots.

"My lips are cold," she said.

I replied, "Mine too."

And then I kissed her without really thinking about it very much. I think it surprised me a lot more than Molly, kissing her all of a sudden. She stared at me without smiling. Her face was pinched and pink. The tip of her nose was cold, but her lips had seemed pretty warm to me. I laughed, nervously. Actually, I wanted to run or hide, or at least tell her I was just kidding. But her brown eyes wouldn't let me go and I kissed her again.

In fact, we made out for about twenty minutes. She didn't kill me; Molly gave me her tongue. I hugged her with about a foot of clothing between

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