Authors note: This story contains sexual situations, subject matter, and topics – mild at best – but none the less present. If the idea of sex, between consenting adults is a trigger for you, please refrain from reading this work of fiction. You’ll note above the stories warnings also. Any sexual content is NOT gratuitous and germane to this love story. Thank you.

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December 15th, 10:33 a.m.
“So that’s your New Year’s resolution, to be done with that chapter of your life?” Angela asked.

The idea of quitting wasn’t new territory discussed during our sessions these past twenty-two months I'd been seeing Dr. Kurtz, Angela, my psychotherapist specializing in ‘Gender Affirming Care’. She wasn’t the only doctor I was beholden to for all she’d provided me, but probably the one whose contribution to my transition I valued the most, outside the brilliant surgeon who performed my Gender Confirmation Surgery (GCS) five months ago.

“It was always just a means to an end. I haven’t posted anything new other than backlogged content I created prior to GCS. The subscriptions have fallen off sharply this past month; even for those with ‘auto-renewal’. In the recovery home, I discounted all the subscription level pricing and it hasn’t done anything to produce income. So yeah, that’s my New Year’s resolution. I’ll pull the plug for good at 12:01 a.m. on January 1st. I think the universe is telling me it’s time,” I explained.

“A means to an end that’s cost you quite a bit, Abby, but I’m happy you’ll be getting your life back and have more control over your life. Posting has been a distraction, so making a new start in the New Year will be good for your mental health as well as your continued adjustment to completely being the woman you’ve always been,” she replied thoughtfully.

It would be a lie to say she hadn’t choked me up with that last part of her comment to the news that I was getting out of the business of posting ‘adult content’. Some of her comment was directly related to the complaints I’d voiced many times about posting to my FansOfMine account. When I started posting I hadn’t anticipated the time demands. I knew I’d given up more than that, but I justified those costs differently than my time. Time was something I couldn’t get back and those other things might haunt me, but weren’t a constant like time.

Realistically, I couldn’t get back some of those other things I’d given up, so I repressed how that made me feel, and we didn’t talk much about them in our sessions. Angela had gotten me to talk about my choice to feed the ‘fetish junkies’ a few times and while I agreed it didn’t help those of us who were Transgendered, I always bent my complaints to the time component of this endeavor. She knew I felt guilt and shame for what I was doing and never judged me thankfully.

“You’re giving up a piece of your 'soul',” she would often say when I complained about my time.

Agreed – but I justified giving a little of that away for what I had now. It would have taken an eternity to be complete, as I was now, had I not done what I did.

To be successful posting content, you had to dedicate a lot of time to its creation and peripheral tasks. If you didn’t, you were absolutely wasting your time. The content had to hook subscribers and keep them coming back for more. I think everyone out there believes producing content is simple, and it kind of is generally speaking. There’s a worldwide desire to see and interact with Trans women—even with all the hate given us these days. We’re the third most searched porn content in the world; I knew that and decided to cash in on it!

Out of the gate, getting subscribers to sign on to my content was easy. I had a flare for content creation though ‘passing’ wasn’t the real hook, sharing my transitional sexuality was. Posts took time and a dedicated commitment; I think my pride showed in what I’d built in such a short amount of time. The money coming in was an addictive component of my efforts.

Time - I had to allot time to shop for clothing, shoes, and the occasional prop. I always had a collection of clothing that I would use once or twice for filming and then resell, often at a profit. No surprise, the sale of ‘used’ panties I’d posted pictures or videos of me wearing were the easiest items to move. I lost count of the number of ‘foot’ pictures I’d sent to subscribers for twenty dollars to satisfy that crossover fetish.

Bottom line: sex absolutely sold, whether you were Trans or not.

Dressing, modeling, and taking photos or videos were easily a ten-hour per-week commitment. Time management was critical, especially since I had a full-time job, a commute, bills, and needed to do all those human survival things everyone else did on the daily. And around every corner with generating content, there were hands out happily trying to suck up my.

Time spent on post production editing was always a painful grind, not to mention brought on my critical eye to how I looked and the wet blanket of dysphoria sometimes. I had to handle the marketing of my content from other social media channels. I held to idea my time and effort would never be given away for free. It always cost someone who wanted me to fulfill a special request.

I had to be the customer service contact for complaints, even though this was a side hustle. Oh, and a shipping manager to ship clothing, panties, or shoes to all corners of the world. And I needed to reply to subscribers that weren’t complete assholes or wastes of my time—which there were plenty of both I had to wade through.

Yeah, the time commitment was insane, and I often wondered if the income I was making was worth the effort. At least until I made that final payment for my GCS, then it felt worth all I’d sacrificed.

Enter the idea that what I was doing was considered income. That meant taxes had to be paid, which is the sad yet unavoidable consequence of a successful online side hustle that no one ever bothers to tell you about! It’s not just posting nude pictures and videos and getting rich!

Everything I made on the FansOfMine site was taxed at the 15.3% federal rate, including tips! Hurray for ‘self-employment taxes’ and the time I needed to keep detailed records so the IRS wouldn’t complain.

When I filed my taxes last year, I was overly conservative with the idea that it was totally legal to write off the costs associated with posting content. I battled with the IRS’s two simple rules for writing-offs: those being ‘ordinary’ and ‘necessary’. Easy write-offs were my cell phone, anything dealing with filming myself, my laptop, the FansOfMine fees, and my home office - which was my apartment’s second bedroom and where I did the majority of production work.

Yeah, TIME. I was already benefiting from having more time now, and I absolutely needed that as I continued to recover from GCS. Given this chapter of my life was already paying dividends in regards to my mental health—my earlier investment of time was ultimately worth it.

I’d misjudged many things posting for the morally decrepit, and confused my own moral compass in the process with all that I gave up. GCS wasn’t the first surgery I’d undergone funded by posting. Early on, I’d spent like crazy for various surgeries, including a trachea shave, FFS, and breast augmentation. All very successful and value added surgeries I reasoned.

I could spend my life wishing for the female form my soul needed or expedite getting there by sacrificing a little of my soul through posting. HRT had only gotten me so far after the first year of my transition, and crushing dysphoria, even with the positive strokes I got from subscribers, was another reason for those surgeries. Having money made the choice to go under the knife easier. I had regrets, but I suppressed the guilt and shame and was happy with where I was today.

Losing a part of my soul was always Angela’s biggest gripe. She wasn’t going to bash ‘Sex Workers’, but she wasn’t going to let my choice to dabble in that arena screw up the gray matter between my ears. As my therapist, she was super protective, and I wouldn’t have wanted her guidance any other way as I navigated the struggles of womanhood.

Enter Matt, someone new in my orbit the past two months I’ve been recovering. He was someone I’d known since high school, and I told Angela that he was someone who’d given me pause like no other man I had ever been with. During my last two counseling sessions, we spent nearly the entire hour talking about my feelings for him and what I should do about my posting history.

“My suggestion, see whether this relationship has staying power first. He knew you were Trans, and that didn’t dissuade him from pursuing you. I think you should give it a little more time, see how you two handle the holidays, and then we can discuss strategies for either revealing this other side of your life or what it would cost to continue to keep it hidden.” Angela had told me in our last session.

She mentioned my parents not knowing - again, I ignored a direct answer and kicked that can down the road for another day.

I already had a pretty good idea of the cost if Matt were to find out. And while he wasn’t one of those people from high school that gave me grief for being my true self, how I was feeling about him in my life was an unexpected shift in my perspective on wanting to be in a loving / committed relationship.

Our orbits collided by chance at a local Starbucks. I was getting a napkin at the side bar before heading out to my car, oblivious for once in my complete womanly form to my surroundings, when he approached me, asking, “Aren’t you Abby Ballmer?"

I stared at him for a good fifteen seconds, trying to figure out how it was that he, a guy I barely knew from high school, had recognized me after eight+ years and in my current state of being. I looked nothing like the skinny wannabe teen girl back in tenth grade he’d just approached in Starbucks. I was ‘out’ and Trans back in high school, and he didn’t seem to care or even notice me, but he had noticed me at Starbucks. How was that possible?

Maybe I was at a junction in my transition and needed his energy, so my frequency attracted him. As we reconnected, I found he grounded me as I recovered from GCS, even with all the mental, physical, and emotional baggage that weighed on me. I wasn’t sure about anything these days when it came to him, other than there was something going on inside of me wanting to be committed to him.

It was an enhanced awakening, a total realization, a real affirmation of the woman I always knew was inside of me, and he had been the catalyst for that in me.

Our first kiss weeks later stirred something I’d never felt before with any other man. It was something deeper than lust, which I had plenty of by that time! It was more like a change in the way I looked at my own sexuality and a validation that I was all woman in his eyes. When I told Angela about how I was feeling, she’d said, "Self-acceptance is our vehicle for getting and experiencing everything in life we’ll ever want.”

She couldn’t have been more right, but there was the fact my online presence, ‘Krystal Keyz’, still existed. If we kept on this same trajectory, there was a real possibility Matt would become more of a fixture in my life than he already was. I would be fooling myself if I thought he’d still be around if he found out the truth.

December 25th, 11:02 p.m.
I’d just wiped up the aftermath from Matt’s tummy with the proverbial ‘Scooby Towel’ and laid back down next to him. He was warm, and his breathing had slowed in his post-carnality recovery. I settled in, trying to relax, but my mind wasn’t cooperating.

I was absolutely sexually frustrated! My gynecologist and my GCS surgeon both recommended I continue with the dilation / abstinence program into the middle of next month before I began exploring the possibilities of having a sexual partner. Both advised me that even when I was cleared, I should spend some time getting to know my body better.

I was like, “I know my damn body, and I want to have sex now!" That got me a couple good laughs from each of them, but a warning that I should wait and, of course, take it slow when it was time.

Tonight though, after we’d done a mid-morning Christmas at my parents, a dinner time gift exchange at Matt’s moms, and finished gift giving a few hours ago between us... Well, I might have encouraged him to put a little of the cologne I’d bought him below the waist, and he might have convinced me to wear the sexy-as-fuck teddy he’d bought me. It was a recipe that pushed my limits too nearly the breaking point.

Did I get a little 'Queening'? Oh my Lord, did I! It exceeded my wildest expectations and I wanted more! Did he get some lip action on his manhood? Undoubtedly! And now we were about to collapse after a long day of being very much a ‘couple’ in both our families eyes. Thankfully, neither of us had that crazy uncle or sibling joining in the festivities, so our first Christmas celebrations had been almost as amazing as our sexual escapades had just been.

"You okay?” he asked as he pulled me closer into an embrace, kissing the top of my head as I nestled into him a little more.

“Yeah... You okay?” I countered.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Besides that silly,” I giggled, maybe a little embarrassed, but managed to shimmy my hips into his to emphasize the point.

Of course that would be his answer—I'd just given him a blowjob and tortured his waning manhood for a good minute after he’d popped his load in my mouth. I wasn’t the 'swallower' type, so part of the torturing of his cock allowed me the opportunity to let his spunk dribble out of my mouth nonchalantly. Cum in my mouth was so not my jam, hence the need for the towel afterwards so that stuff didn’t get all over the bedding.

I’d taken a quick sip of water before lying back down, and I would eventually need to brush my teeth and swish some mouthwash around before I was ‘good’ though. I had never filmed content with anyone, so anytime it ‘looked’ like I was partaking in gobbling my own pitiful climax pre-GCS—well, it was damn good editing on my part, and I’m sure it fooled plenty of the fetish junkies who were obsessed over those videos. Why was that such a turn-on—seeing cum in someone’s mouth? Icky!

I’d dated a few guys’ pre-GCS, but never, ever 'swallowed'. Sorry Matt, not in your future either…

“Feels like you’re distracted? My mom didn’t freak you out talking about wanting grandkids tonight?" he asked.

Maybe a little, but she was just being a mom, no different than my own mom when she talked about having grandkids. Luckily, my older sister and brother could be relied upon for that kind of thing for my parents. What we’d actually do in that regard wasn’t something Matt ever brought up, but I’m sure we’d get there one day if we stuck it out long-term.

Right now, though, what was weighing on my mind was guilt. For some reason, while in the middle of enjoying his cock, I couldn’t help but think about filming us together, which really wasn’t that bad of an idea – except I had thought if I posted that to my account, the money would roll in, and I’d maybe even pick up subscribers. I had been solicited too many times for that kind of thing and declined them all, no matter the money that was offered. I was no bodies whore, though by posting I kind of was…

"No… Not really. I’ve heard that kind of thing from my mom before. I don’t take offense to comments like that; they’re natural and mean well,” I whispered, hugging him a little tighter. “This though feels good, us..."

“It feels good to me too,” he said, slowly rubbing my back and caressing my soft-giggly HRT-enhanced ass. “But you said, ‘Not really that.’ Is there something else going on?”

Augh! How are you reading me so easily tonight? Can’t we talk about how you sent me over the fucking moon licking my pussy tonight? I felt a shift, the first cracking of his trust in me, a want to tell him the truth that I feared he’d find out on his own one day.

“I guess,” I said.

After a moment, I began to tell him about that last part of my life he had no clue about. As I spoke I sensed this would likely end any idea of there being an ‘us’ going forward.

December 26th, 12:05 a.m.
I talked for twenty minutes straight, and in my darkened bedroom, he said nothing as I told him everything. I was certain I’d lost him along the way by not only explaining my online side hustle but also delving into the issues facing those who were Trans, the injustices out there, and of course all the medical care bullshit costing so much. None of that probably helped my case and was just filler after I’d dropped the bomb I was a very 'minor' Tran’s porn star before we reconnected.

I was surprised when he asked to 'see' what I had been posting these past eighteen months. I protested, but he insisted that to understand ‘all’ of it, he needed to see ‘all’ of it.

I was stuck and gave in to his request after a lot of backpedaling and stalling. The idea he was seeing me pre-GCS was demoralizing, and I hated every clicking sound he made with the mouse while looking at my posts. After tonight’s high, this was an all time low in my life.

“That’s all of it, all of me,” I whispered, unable to look at him. The shame and embarrassment I felt crushing me, my ears ringing, and my stomach churning.

Matt continued to sit cross-legged in the middle of my bed, naked, with my laptop in his lap, navigating through my content. He looked interested, maybe curious, and deep in thought even, but continued to remain silent. Not a single question, not even when I pointed out my historical dashboard detailing subscriber growth and the income produced since I’d started posting. I explained the need to do this again, what the money had been used for, and that I couldn’t wait twenty or more years to be able to afford GCS surgery.

"I… I wish you’d say something,” I said watching him continue to scroll around my account, looking through older pictures, and watching a couple solo videos of me in a form I’d hoped he’d never see.

This was a mistake, and just as I was about to say that... He closed the laptop, set it beside him, patted my thigh, and got up. My heart sank as he turned towards my on-suite bathroom. I considered calling after him, but I wasn’t sure my voice would carry. I wished he’d yelled at me, called me an attention whore, say I had deceived him, or said he was disappointed.

SAY SOMETHING, ANYTHING!!!

Two very long minutes later, there was the sound of the toilet flushing, and he returned. He left the bathroom door open, its light bathing my bed, and sat next to me. I couldn’t speak; tears had already begun to well in my eyes, and I couldn't look at him.

“That was unexpected,” he finally said softly.

I choked out I was done with posting, done with putting myself out there like this. I even argued that I hadn’t posted any post-op pictures because I was finished milking this revenue stream because I was complete now. I’m sure I’d said he had completed me as much as GCS, and for the past few months my life couldn’t have been any more perfect with him at the center of it. I tried again to explain the struggle, the dysphoria, the thoughts of self-harm—all of it.

I was allowing him into my head, my heart, and my very soul like no one had ever been allowed access.

And in all of that gloom, embarrassment, and self-loathing I was feeling, he didn’t once complain, strike back at me, or accuse me of some kind of betrayal. I was confused, and I asked him why.

He answered effortlessly, “You’re more than the sum of your parts to me, Abby. You’re unique and quirky, and I think you get me—the real me like no one I’ve ever been with."

The statement that followed was unexpected and included a word I had been feeling for weeks but would not dare speak or dwell on its existence for fear of rejection or what I would be giving up if he didn’t feel the same way. I think he was nervous as he spoke them to me, as I would have been trying to say what he had been the first to proclaim aloud.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen for you, Abs. I’m sure I’m in love you...,” he said while looking deep into my tear filled eyes.

Stunned, but joyful I hugged him as tears freely flowed. I told him I felt the same and said I had been afraid to say it but wanted too so many times. That got him admitting he’d been scared too, but thought that since we weren’t hiding things from each other any longer he could proclaim that now. He said it felt right, and was worried I might not feel the same.

I’m pretty sure I cried for a couple minutes straight trying to comprehend what all this meant in regards to us declaring our love to one another, the promise, the decision, the levity in that word. He hadn’t judged me and I was more certain than ever he was my soul mate.

For me to say I loved him in return, out loud, had a gravity that seemed to lessen the weight these past couple of years had been piling on me as I transitioned. I hadn’t expected hearing that he loved me to create such a sense of completeness in the woman I knew I was. I wanted to hold on to it, believe in it—knowing now there was an ‘us’ we could build on.

“Do you have plans to get rid of your account?" he asked quietly after we’d hugged, kissed, and were again laying there holding each other not daring to let the other go.

I moved in his arms to look into his eyes. “It’s my New Year’s resolution, but I want to delete it now."

I pulled away from him and reached for my laptop, logging back into the FansOfMine site, navigated to my account settings, and found the three option to ‘Delete’ the account. I watched as Matt rose and sat next to me, looked at him, and looked back at the screen with the mouse hovering over the ‘Delete’ option.

"Are you sure?” he asked.

“All my time is yours; this account was just a means to an end,” I said, clicking the ‘Delete’ option.

I was presented with the warning that the account would be permanently deleted, along with all the content, and that I would get a final payout for monies earned after thirty days. I had to click ‘Yes’ or 'No', and that question was probably the easiest I’ve ever had to answer—'Yes'!

I felt his arm around me, and he hugged me as the screen declared my account had been deleted and I was automatically logged out of the site. My time was really now all mine to spend as I wanted, and I wanted to spend it all with Matt.

“I’m not going to miss that,” I whispered.

“I’m sure I can fill your days with better things to do with your time.”

“I’m counting on it,” I said, kissing his cheek.

I watched him reach for my laptop, close it up, set it on the floor between the bed and nightstand, turn back towards me, and we fell back into the bedding in an embrace. After a few moments, he said, “Guess you’ll need another New Year’s resolution?”

"I hadn't thought about that, but I might have a new one,” I whispered, kissing him.

January 1st, 12:00 a.m. and sixteen, seventeen, eighteen seconds...
The feeling of being held and kissed by the only person in this world I wanted to spend every second of my life with was dizzying.

Tonight had been all about us, from cooking dinner for us to calling our families earlier to wish them a happy New Year’s to us just hanging out and watching the countdown all relaxed and as a couple.

When he pulled away, still holding me, I had tears in my eyes.

“Hey, hey… You alright?” he asked, concerned.

There was no way I was going to be able to fully explain how I was feeling, so I just nodded. He smiled in return, pulled me in tight to hug me, and I melted a little more in his arms, comforted to my core by what his embrace meant.

“You ever come up with a new resolution?” he asked.

Still unable to speak, I just shook my head, ‘No’ into his shoulder, though I absolutely had.

“Really?” he asked, surprised, slowly creating some space between us to look at me.

I shrugged as he carefully wiped a tear that had careened down my cheek.

“Happy tears, I hope?”

“Yes… Because of you,” I croaked, trying to hug him to hide my embarrassment for being so emotional but he held steady the space between us.

“You know I’m happy too right?”

I nodded I did, still unable to trust my voice to expand on that or proclaim how I had been feeling since our Christmas admissions.

“You’ve accomplished so much, through whatever this sometimes ugly world wanted to throw at you,” he said. “Did I tell you I actually ended up buying Starbucks stock because they kind of brought us together?”

He had, and I nodded in reply, and I smiled as best I could, feeling all warm and gooey inside.

Matt was studying me, released me, and took a tiny step back before saying, “Well, how about this,” he said as he began to kneel before me, taking my hand, as I stared at him dumbfounded, “I love you Abby… Resolve to be with me always. Will you marry me?”

There was a ring in his hand…

January 1st, 1:31 a.m.
I cried a lot just after midnight, stared through teary eyes at the beautiful ring on my finger, happier than I’ve ever been, and of course after a few moments said, “Yes…” That answer was now the easiest I’d every made!

We made calls to our families, who, I hadn’t realized, already knew this was happening tonight. My dad even said Matt had asked him for my hand and that my mom had cried for a good five minutes when he asked. When we got Matt’s mom on the phone, she was beyond thrilled. That call meant so much to me—to be accepted as the woman she would be proud to call her daughter-in-law and happy to accept into their family.

I may have cried a bit through both calls, with Matt picking up the slack when I was trying to stifle those sobs.

Matt appeared happier than I’d ever seen him, but what followed, I think, may have sealed our future that evening – my New Year’s resolution.

As we both gushed to the other about how happy we were about how our romance had progressed to this point I saw an opening and stood, took his hand, and walked him to my bedroom. I helped him undress quickly, engaged in a little warm-up to an already aroused male appendage, and left him on the bed wanting more as I left to change into something a little more revealing.

I dressed in a very sheer virginal white teddy and made one other minor preparation. When I returned to him there was very little foreplay as I had only one thing on my mind! Tonight I was giving myself over to the man I loved, carefully, nervously, cautiously, but completely. It happened as I had always envisioned, looking up into his eyes, feeling his body’s weight, and accepting him inside of me.

Ignored were the recommendations to wait. I’d obsessed researching this subject last week and found others had ‘experimented’ with their new equipment well before the six-month mark my gynecologist and surgeon had recommended. There were hundreds of posts by other women with varying waiting periods before either doing something solo or having full-on consensual sex.

Tonight, even if there hadn’t been a ring on my finger I had made up my mind to be his fully. And making love to Matt was every bit the experience I’d hoped it would be. I would remember not only our first holiday together, but also how time stood still for me, feeling him inside of me, his release, and that as we lay entwined, he’d cry with me for what we’d given, shared, and promised to one another.

Time and love, our only future…