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Gender Mutt + Empty Waiting Room by Marisa Fulper Estrada

I slump a bit in my chair, glancing at my bag. It mimics my own posture. My eyes glaze over, melting together the white walls and clean laminate flooring. I am waiting — patiently — though I don’t know what for. Bored and alone, I push my hand under my waistband, riggling to reach myself in my boxers. I swirl my finger over my clit for a bit as time and space evaporate, leaving just me and my body. Por qué no? No tengo nada mejor que hacer con el tiempo.

I riggle my pants to my lower thighs, leaving me in my boxers. I reenter my boxers, pushing up against the waistband with one hand and parting my lips with the other so I can watch myself. I push back the tiny hood, holding my clit delicately between my nails, and gently pull it. Surprised, it slides out, extending easily. I pull a little more, until it’s a few inches long, flushed and slender. It’s not a dick, but it is phallic in shape. My surprise extension has no head or hole and is the size and shape of a baby carrot — a gradient of flesh tones. It pulses. I wonder if this...thing...has been there all along but I never knew it. I flex my new appendage and watch it sway over and over before pushing it upward and tucking it into my boxers. I admire the outlined shape, a little bulge where it was once smooth. My fingertips brush over the bulge a few times, admiring the silhouette, before burrowing my hand back under my clothing. Still in disbelief, I push and pull it in and out, testing this possibility of existence again, letting the feeling of pleasure and surprise wash over my body.

My hand encircles my new extension and as I begin to stroke myself, my mind melts to a carnal place. Quiero cojerme y mi pieza nueva solitx. My hips rock and raise to let my piece dive deeper into my hand, beginning to get clammy with sweat. The wetness grows between my thighs with every pelvic oscillation. I lean my head back against the seat, my waistband digging into the back of my hand. I get even wetter as I watch myself. I release the tension in my back muscles, relaxing into this unforeseen moment. I savor the friction as my mind grows hazy.

My mind goes to penetration. I ask myself: is this the epitome of patriarchal power? Now that I have something to penetrate with... must I penetrate? The phallus that I have long felt dominated by, even avoidant of, well it ends up I too have what I have despised. I don’t want to penetrate with my new piece. The word penetration aches of dominance, imposition... like a thorn hooking into soft flesh. My piece was born out of pleasure and acceptance, a new extension in concept and shape all together, is it possible my appendage can be different?

Hearing soft footsteps at the doorway, I look up to find you leaning on the door frame. I blush, embarrassed, and pull my hand away from myself, waistband snapping against my stomach. Laughing, you walk over and fill the space between my sprawled out legs; leaning, you plant a kiss on my lips as your hand reaches down to cup my parts. Your wide eyes meet mine as you meet my new addition. “Who’s this?” You run your hands over my boxers a few times to check if it's really there. I flex it, letting it nudge your palm and nod with a slight smile on my lips which you return.

You trace the shaft from outside my boxers a few times, warily, before pulling my boxers down. Your smile breaks to a full smirk before I sense your mouth’s warm wetness greet my piece. The sensation is overwhelming, my body hums, and I close my eyes. Your saliva drips down the base of my addition to mix with my own wetness and I rock my pelvis to bury myself deeper in your mouth. Your hands hug my hip bones and I run my hands through your hair as I get and you give my first blowjob.