Plumbing
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

My roommate had given him a key as she was out of town that Friday. She told me that she had. He was expected, but somehow in all the excitement, I just forgot.

The excitement was that I would have another opportunity to sneak in and wear her clothes, for three whole days as she would not be back until Sunday night. What are the chances that a closet transvestite would end up sharing an apartment with a sexy woman who was exactly the same size including shoes? I was just crazy to get into some of her stuff.

The only thing of mine was those black panties that I ordered from a fetish store – tight in the front to hold in my junk but with a hole in the back for anal stimulation. The rest was hers – the corset/bustier, the stockings, the shoes, the wig and the makeup.

I was not even wearing a dress when he walked in. I was just walking around the house in my heels, as surely women do, just for the joy of hearing that click on the wooden floors, and relishing the ecstasy of being female?

I heard a noise in the hall and I called out – “Whose there?” It was a mistake. It was my male voice, because at the time I had no other. And it revealed where I was, in my own bedroom. It was only proper that he seek me out and explain. If only I had just rushed to the door and closed it. We could have talked through it. I could have told him that I was home sick, as I had pretended to be. He could have done his work and left. Why did I not do that?

Instead, he walked in and there I was – the male voice from a female body. I hid myself a little, not wanting to turn and face him, for as long as I could. His mouth was open in shock, and that could be expected. Here I was, a trannie weirdo.

“Wow,” he said. “You look fantastic! What is your name … I mean, tell me your girly name.”

What was I expected to do? This was not the response I had anticipated.

“Jessica,” I said. It was my girly name, and I delivered it as girly as I could – a little three-part squeak.

“Man, you are one sexy babe,” he said. “Can I just say that it has always been a fantasy of mine to meet a gorgeous transwoman.”

I was about to explain that I was not that – I was just a guy with strange thoughts in his head, thoughts that I was having trouble shaking off. But there was something about the way he looked at me that seemed to dictate my response. My shoulders hunched into a shy withdrawal and my glance moved to the floor.”

“You caught me unawares,” I squeaked. “I forgot you were coming.”

“I am pretty close to coming,” he said, with a new look on his face – pure animal desire. “Before I get my hands dirty with work, would you mind if I touched you?”

What an outrageous suggestion! Who the hell was this guy? Would he ask this of my roommate if she were here? Or was he just interested in guys dressed as women?

“Okay.” I heard myself say the word.

In anticipation of days dressed up I had shaved my body totally that very morning. My skin was super smooth and still tingled in places. He put down his toolbox and walked over to me. He touched me on the should and ran a finger to what should have been a soft breast. It was like a jolt of electricity that continued to crackle all the way down to my hidden nipple. I gasped.

“You feel the need for a real man, don’t you?”

“Yes,” my voice squeaked, without any direction from me.

“You know that what I do is inspect plumbing – can I inspect yours?”

“Yes. Yes, please.” Her voice, not mine.

He was close to me now – an armless embrace – just standing body against standing body.

“Oh, there is a hole down here,” he said. “Is that an opening just for me?”

I could feel his finger touching my rosebud, still moist from the lubricant I had used that very morning once I has dressed in full.

“Yes. Just for you. Ready for you.”

It seemed to me that I had no control over this voice – my inner woman. She had taken over, and she wanted a man to make love to me. Then, she took over my hands and reached for his belt, feverishly finding a way into his jeans to grasp his growing penis.

“Bend over, Jessica,” he said. “Don’t worry, I will be careful. Plumbing is my business. I will just probe a little and then use my special tool.”

Before I turned around I felt the urge to pull his head towards me and give him a huge slobbery wet kiss. He responded with equal vigor. I then turned around and put my arms on the bed.

The probe was his finger, just to just that I was lubricated, and then came the tool. It was glorious – not like a piece of plastic – real flesh, hot and human, pumping me to ecstasy. And then, to his gasp and my squeal, came his fluid – his essence, every squirming cell a piece of him, now swimming inside me.

It was a transformative moment. Whatever I was before that moment, I was no longer that person. I was now Jessica.

“Do you want my professional opinion?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. It seemed as if I knew no other word.

“You are going to need some major work done down there. You need a whole new set of plumbing down there. My advice – lose the faucet and instal the right equipment. But I have some other work to do on the water heater right now. It should take me an hour. Will you be here when I am finished?”

“Yes,” I told him.

The End
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© Maryanne Peters 2026