Gotta Be This or That!

By Selbryth Lannigan

While cleaning out his great-grandmothers' attic, Tommy happens upon a long forgotten Journal penned by one of them, Josephine, circa 1944. Leafing through it, he discovers how a chance meeting turned into true love between the unlikeliest of people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Selbryth Lannigan
• Release date: Aug 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005908256

Selbryth Lannigan

I've been writing fiction since the mid 1980s, both short and long works, and turned to erotic fiction at around the same time. I have published on the Literotica site under the singular name Selbryth and have also sold hundreds of short 'anonymous' pieces to the pulp erotic publications of the time: Letters Magazine and Hustler's Busty Beauties being just two. Focusing on sexuality beyond what some would consider the 'norm', my characters include t-girls (trannies, kathoey, newhalf, shemales, ladyboys) cross-dressers, sissified and transformed males, gays and lesbians, who engage in a variety of fetishes, kinks and sexy hijinks.Though explicitly described, the stories themselves offer an inner dialog which most times borders on the romantic. There is no death, very little violence and hopefully the reader is left feeling good.

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Notice of Copyright

Copyright 2022 by Selbryth Lannigan

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2022

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction and is intended for mature audiences (18+). All characters and other entities appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, dead or alive, or other real-life entities, past or present, is purely coincidental.

Gotta Be This or That!

(Nods and Winks to B. Goodman)

July 29, 2022 (around 9 AM)

Alone in the high-ceilinged attic, Tommy Meecham sat on an old, elegantly carved wooden chair, reading from the small clothbound book in his lap. Beside him was the opened wooden chest which contained three similar books and other things lovingly collected over the years by his great-grandmother Josephine; he had already thumbed through one of the books, but this one now had his full attention. On the faded green fabric cover, imprinted in worn gold lettering was the word 'Journal' and just below it, '1944'.

April 14, 1944

Well, the divorce finally came through -- yay! -- and I'm a free woman once again. I'm just glad Paul and I never had kids.

First things first: There I was sitting at the bar in a little club on West 52nd, enjoying my first martini as a free agent. I'd dressed to the nines on purpose; I'd been out of circulation for two whole years, I was 23 now and wanted to see if I still had it. And after I'd turned down the sixth joker who'd asked to join me, I felt better about myself.

A lot better.

I had a second martini, glancing around the crowded club over the rim of the glass; that, and the netting of my cocktail hat helped hide my eyes. There were lots a guys there, tons of dolls all dressed to kill and I was just looking at what the world outside my failed marriage looked like. A couple of pretty-looking fellas caught my eye; they were looking around like I was and either they were looking for action or they were about to rob the place.

Nice looking though, as nice and better than Paul.

But then I got to thinking: Why would I want to jump the first guy I bumped into so soon after getting dumped by my ever-lovin', you know? Besides, I wasn't looking for bedtime with anyone; I was just there to see if I still caught the eye of anyone, which...I had. Just a couple of drinks to spread my wings and get them working again after being in the coop all this time with hubby.

Then, just sipping and staring, my eyes happened to land on one of the dolls across the ways. She was dressed for battle like I was and I started checking out the competition, sizing her up compared to me. Brunette, cute dress, net-hat like mine but with a pretty blue feather, nice neckline plunging a little further than mine and -- I had to sit up a little on the stool to see over some heads -- great legs. Nice, healthy, cover-girl legs with slim ankles and expensive-looking heels.

Strictly major-league. Probably a real bathing-beauty, but it was hard to tell with those heels on. A real catch for either of the two guys yacking at her from both sides of her little table. I glanced up her legs to the bottom of her skirt, and then, just like that, out of nowhere, I started wondering what it would be like to be one of those stiffs, reaching up under that skirt, feeling her leg up, maybe groping right up there, or unhooking her stocking, peeling it down to expose that sexy leg of hers and maybe caressing that leg all the way down from knee to foot to see if she really could be a bathing-suit model. It would take a lot because those beauties hardly hid an inch, and if what they had below the ankles didn't match, they wouldn't make the grade; but I'd have to have a peek myself to be the judge since I apparently had top-choice, class-A tootsies

I curled my toes in the tip of my shoe, thinking. Mine were okay, probably better than my competition over there. Lots of girl's have done at least one layout for some camera jockey wanting to make calendars -- sure thing buddy -- and the one I'd posed for dishabille when I was 20, said I had the look. From 'tits to toes' he said. Then he'd gotten get a little too friendly with the gams -- posing me, he said -- and I'd socked him in the jaw and walked out.

So much for my career in the movies: but I still remembered that hot chill I'd gotten when he'd suddenly yanked my right foot up and slurped my big-toe between his slobbering lips.

That was right before my right-cross.

Then I remembered my wedding night six months after my brush with fame and how I'd tried to get my foot in on the action while my ever-lovin' was slamming his meat into me; just to see if that little toe-shiver had been a fluke or what. But Paul had just brushed my foot aside and went on balling me.

I blinked those memories away and realized I'd been staring at the brunette's tootsies this whole time. I also realized I was holding my olive between my lips and had been sucking on it, but what I'd pictured myself sucking was something else entirely.

Like maybe what that guy had done, what I wanted Paul to do.

My face got hot all of a sudden and let out my breath, dropped the olive back in my drink, took another sip and fished around in my bag for a cigarette to calm myself. Lighting it, I took a quick glance back at the brunette and learned something: she had the largest, most beautiful pale-blue eyes I'd ever seen, and the reason I knew this was because they were trained right back at me!

I looked away instantly, wondering if she'd seen me staring at her shoes, but out of the corner of my eye I saw she was getting up to leave -- her two beaus rising with her -- and so I settled back with my drink.

And my thoughts.

God, but thoughts of Paul came back to me! I only hoped the cute brunette -- and all the other dolls in the joint -- never had to go through what I had. I figured maybe I shouldn't be blaming the whole world of men for Paul, but what he'd dragged me through got steamed up all over again.

Irreconcilable Differences.

Sure, that's fine but he had them add the whole Unnatural Desires thing in there! I figured it was just fine and dandy to walk in on Paul and Dixie -- his ditzy blonde bimbo secretary -- and find them humping away in his office. I figure that was all nice and natural because the bimbo happened to be on her back on top of the desk while my then-hubby banged her.

And he'd been slobbering all over one of her feet while he was slipping it to her!

The first time I was with Paul was on our wedding night. Things had been going along all nice and sweaty and we were both letting out all the urges and frustrations we'd been building up through our courtship, and so the last thing on my mind was what was natural and what wasn't.

I started on my back like a good little wifey and Paul did some kissing between my legs -- I guess like he'd heard a good husband should -- and then he got on and started giving it to me. And I'm not lying, it felt good, having never had it before.

And when the missionaries left the room, he got me turned over and started slamming away with me on all fours -- doggy-style -- and that was even better because of the angles. I could roll my bottom a little and get his rod to slam against this one place inside where things really take off.

Then, since he was doing all the work and stopped to take a breather, I told him over my shoulder that I could, you know, sit on him so he could just lay there and relax. But he got this real insulted look on his face, like I'd just called his mom a Democrat or something! I backed off and just waited while he caught up with his breathing, then I turned back and asked if he'd like me to kiss it for him.

It was something I'd fantasized about ever since hearing a few of my girlfriends gabbing about the guys they were dating. Well, I guess Paul wasn't one of those guys.

What, are you crazy Josephine? he panted at me. How's that gonna get us a baby?

Not for a baby. I said. Just...just for fun, you know? Like an extra-special kiss of sorts; that's all I'm sayin'.

Didn't I kiss you enough already? Paul growled. I kissed you down there -- what more do you want?

So, I backed off on that one too.

Then he was up behind me again, put himself in and started ramming like before. But as he went on with his second wind, my mind started wandering. It felt good finally having actual intercourse and not just dreaming about it, but, well, there were just other things that came to mind. One especially, with the way we were on the bed right then. And it wasn't something only health-nuts and yogis could do -- it wasn't any more strenuous or awkward than what we were already doing -- but I figured three strikes and I might be out, so didn't bring it up.

Paul and I screwed at least twice a day for the whole week of our honeymoon, sometime three, sometimes just once. Mostly it was once. And