Eternal Fantasies (FTM x Fem)

Chapter Nine

ZAMIRA

Twenty-four hours ago, I became a member of the Mile High Club on a luxurious jet. Although there are still restrictions on what I allow behind closed doors with the R&B sensation, I must confess that I let him unleash his passion. His desire raged on, causing me to fear that the jet itself would surrender. During our encounter, a mixture of hilarity and satisfaction overwhelmed me, leading to unexpected laughter. Unfortunately, he misinterpreted my amusement as mockery, and his ego took control, resulting in me willingly facing the consequences. Now, as we navigate the streets of Tokyo together, the aftermath is starting to take a toll on my body. With every step, a flicker of self-consciousness arises. Am I limping?

Building trust with male partners typically takes time, so it's been a while since I've engaged in rougher sex. Despite the intensity of our colliding bodies, Raz's thoughtfulness shone through as he ensured that I had a pleasurable experience. It's almost surprising how satisfying I found being completely dominated by him, especially considering it's not my style. He hasn't pressured me about certain acts I'm not immediately comfortable with, like giving oral or receiving commands. Instead, he has respected my boundaries and willingly embraced my dominant side, allowing me to explore new levels of empowerment.

His willingness to be my "puppet" or "plaything" ignited a thrilling sense of control I'd never experienced before. I can't help but wonder just how far he'll go to please me and how open-minded he truly is. Maybe he'd be receptive to exploring more adventurous activities, like a little finger poke during anal play or pegging?

"Hell! Nah! Mir!" Raziel gives me a deadpan glare as I lose my shit. It's hard to take him seriously with a Snorlax beanie on. The hat has pointed ears as the Pokémon smiles cutely. "I'm not rocking this! This is some shit Rio would wear."

"Why not?! You look adorable, booski!" I encourage, staring up at him with pleading eyes. "Look at me. I'm wearing a silly hat, too." Mine's pink with bear ears and tassels that fall down my shoulders. "People have been stopping us every five seconds for a photo. No one will suspect you're you if you wear a cute, wittle hat."

He frowns and crosses his arms defiantly; now, he indeed looks like his son. "I'm a tall Black man in Tokyo. Do you know how rare that is? Regardless, people will gawk at my face and recognize me."

"I'm telling you, the hat will throw them off. You have such a New York, grimy-ass streetwear style. That's how your fans notice you. If you sport this hat, we'll be stopped at least fifty times less, and we can enjoy our time."

I rub his shoulder as he considers my logic. Die-hard fans will squeal and beg for a picture no matter what disguise he's wearing, but I want him to wear an adorable hat, dammit.

"Fine," he grumbles. Yes! "But if people recognize me at the same rate, I'm taking it off."

"Boo! You're so boring."

We strut out of the store with our whimsical hats perched on our heads. We've been venturing around the city, occasionally coming close to holding hands. Without a doubt, someone has or will snap an intimate-presenting photo of us and upload it to the Internet. Once it hits America, the rumors will surge like an unstoppable contagion.

Is the music industry's top choreographer, Zamira McBride, dating R&B hot boy Raziel Amador? Every drama-hungry blog site will ask the question, each headline becoming more sensational. The nosy fans will speculate about the messiness that'll ensue while we're on tour, knowing his baby momma will always be around us. Vile comments alone could start a shitstorm of petty arguments and miscommunication, but I don't pay much attention to social media. I've mastered the peaceful art of posting and logging out. Having nasty gossip spread about me since high school, I've learned that my truth is the only thing that matters. Regardless of others' "tea" on me, they know nothing about me.