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Terry

Her name was Teresa, but everyone called her Terry, with a "Y". Not quite as androgynous as, say, "Pat", but still not so distinct that gender could be determined simply by the name. And not that she leaned into the androgyny, but she didn't dress in a manner that would turn heads either. Her normal attire, as it was tonight, consisted of loose jeans and a loose fitting button down flannel with only the top button undone. Her shoes were either sneakers or flat slip ons. If she was asked the last time she had worn heels she wouldn't have been able to answer. Her hair was constantly pulled back into a ponytail and her makeup barely conformed to social norms, consisting of mascara, a bit of lip gloss, and a hint of rouge to give her cheeks a little color. Just as likely, the lip gloss would be lip balm if she was in a hurry.

At twenty-five years old, the handful of men she'd spread her legs for discovered a different story when her clothes came off. Her body type could best be described as "sporty", not really having an hour-glass figure. Her legs weren't statuesque, but not short either. Her hips were narrow, but not boyish, further confusing anyone walking behind her about her gender, particularly if she happened to let her hair hang out of the ponytail. It didn't really help that she was on the tall side of the female bell curve at five foot ten inches tall.

There were two things about her that would give away her gender if you couldn't see her face. First, there was a sway to her back when she walked that gave a gentle curve to her belly and prominence to the second item. Her tits sat high on her chest, full and firm, seemingly thrust forward in invitation to whoever was lucky enough to reveal them in all their glory. For those lucky men, they found them to be more than a handful, with areolas the size of old time silver dollars (Eisenhower, not Susan B. Anthony) and nubs the size of pencil erasers, but not ponderous.

In bed, these lucky few men found her to be enthusiastic but not really adventurous, attacking anything she considered "normal" with a gusto that exhausted her partners. While she'd never had sex in a public place, she had no problem with her partner waking up in the morning as he came in her mouth. Nor did she object to waking up to a cock sliding in and out of her cunt, especially if she was close to cumming herself. She just had a "private" side that she liked to keep "private".

Tonight she was approaching the home of her oldest friend and her husband for dinner. Terry and Chloe had known each other since the sixth grade and had kept in contact even when they went to separate universities. After they had graduated, they got together once or twice a month, always at Chloe's house. Chloe had met her husband, Lance, at her university four years ago. Terry had been maid of honor at their wedding. He was a software engineering major who had landed a job with a major internet goods supplier that everyone on the planet is familiar with, so they had money, reflected in the house she was getting closer to. But the house wasn't the reason that they always got together at Chloe's. It was because Lance was a gourmet cook and Chloe and Terry...weren't.

Terry was a graphic designer by university degree and sighed as she climbed out of the car, gazing up at the edifice before her, Maybe someday.

With the speed that the door opened, Chloe might have been standing behind it when she rang the bell. Chloe grabbed Terry's arm and dragged her into the house, pulling her into a tight embrace before pushing her out to arms length, "It's so good to see you! You look fantastic! How are you doing?"

"Thank you, and I'm doing great," Terry replied, slightly taken aback by Chloe's over the top greeting.

Chloe took her by the hand and led her into the house, "That's amazing. Lance is just serving up. Would you like some wine with dinner?"

Terry's eyebrows actually stitched together as she guardedly said, "Sure," while she wondered, What is this about?

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