[Book Preview] THREE-LEGGED TRACY (Patreon)

Quick update:

I hope everyone is doing great! I've been having a lot of fun on my new pole, learning so many new things with help from YouTube videos :P My knees, however, are badly bruised so I really need to look into getting some kneepads for practising floor work.

Anyway--I'm sick! I woke up yesterday with a sore throat and I was horribly tired so I didn't get much done, and today has been the same. I really thought that I would be further ahead with my to-do list, but instead I'm finding myself falling a bit behind my publication schedule. It doesn't help that I was also sick two weeks ago, and had to take four days off. 

On the bright side, I managed to finish Will Craft 3, which is the final instalment of that Magnus Reid series. I'll put that out in a week or so. It took way, way longer than anticipated, but I'm excited to be back to writing my beloved TG romance stories. But I used to be ahead of my publishing schedule by six months... now, I only have a three-month buffer. Yikes!

I need to hunker down and work! So I'm sorry if I suck at replying to messages in a timely manner. My ability to focus has been at an all-time low lately, but I'm hoping to steer myself back on track. 

Chapter 6

“Alright, Mark! Let’s even this game up!” my coach yelled as he gave me a hard pat on the back, letting me know it was my turn to jump over the boards. As I hit the ice, the opposing team made a lousy pass and that puck bounced off of the boards, right onto my stick.

We were down a goal, with ten minutes left on the clock. We should have never been down a goal against that team; they were the second-worst in the league, with only two wins on the season. Half of their team was injured, so they were playing with a roster of alternates, a few of whom could hardly stand on skates.

But a few of my teammates had been at a party the night before; they were sluggish from drinking too much and getting almost no sleep. And I was struggling with a head full of anxiety, partially because Tracy was there, in the stands, lighting up every time I hit the ice—and partially because I heard that Tracy was at that party—and I heard it five minutes before the start of that game.

“Gary sucked her cock,” said Pierre-Luc in his thick French accent. The guys laughed.

“Why?” asked Keith, who wasn’t at the party because of a charity event his parents forced him to go to. “Why would he do that?”

“We all put ten bucks into a pot and said he could have the whole thing if he did it: two-hundred-and-twenty dollars to suck her cock for one minute—and he actually did it. She was sitting on a chair, skirt flipped up, already hard. She had a big smirk on her face the whole time. She even put her fingers in his hair. God, it was funny. She almost came on his face too! When she said she was coming, he jumped back and screamed like a girl. He even covered his face with his hands.”

“Did she come on him?” asked Keith.

“No, but it was close.”

A number of the guys giggled, confirming that the story was true; ten people apparently were in that room when it happened. And now, they kept glancing over at her, giggling every time they saw her, remembering the debauchery of the night. I had a big problem on my hands; before I got to the rink, I told Tracy to meet me outside the front doors as soon as the game was over. I should have told her to meet me somewhere else—a café a few blocks away, or a park where there were no streetlights, so that nobody would see us together. Or maybe I should have pretended to be sick… Hell—it wouldn’t have been pretending; the thought of meeting up with her was making me sick!

Now, I had a single defenseman in front of me. I recognized his scruffy facial hair; he was one of their weaker skaters, so I knew that I could easily bounce the puck off of the boards: a self-pass to get around him. It worked, and now I had a straight shot for the net.

Their goalie was especially lousy. We reviewed their team stats before the game and saw that he was letting in an average of seven goals per game; I’d never heard of such horrible numbers, especially since we were only playing forty-five-minute games.

“Go Mark!” I heard a familiar voice cry from the stands. I let my gaze drift right to see who it was, even though I knew: it was Tracy. Then, my gaze drifted back when I heard some laughter: my teammates. Were they laughing at me? Did they hear Tracy and now they were speculating about me? Did they think that I was one of the men paying her for weird, kinky fetish sex?

When I looked forward again, I saw the goalie, now out of his net, halfway towards me. It was a wild, nonsense move that would have been so easy to outplay—but I didn’t act fast enough. I tried to veer left, but I caught an edge and fell forward, letting the puck slip away from me. Even still, that meandering puck managed to pass through his legs as I slid by the goalie on the left. I looked up and saw the puck and the open net.

I could feel the red embarrassment on my face; I must have looked like a total fool—but I still had a chance. With about ninety seconds of gametime left, I had the puck and an open net. I scrambled to my feet, and then I heard her yell again. “Shoot, Mark!”

I imagined my friends giggling at me. I imagined them whispering rumors, spreading lies, ruining my reputation. Oh God, that was such an awful feeling.

I took the shot once I had the puck on my stick, feeling their defensemen closing in on me. Somehow, I managed to miss the open net, pinging the puck off the crossbar. It whistled up and fluttered down to the ground, and I just stood there, stunned and embarrassed as I heard the loud groan of my teammates on the bench. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” our coach screamed.

And then I looked back and saw that the other team had the puck, and our goalie was now halfway to the bench so we could get that extra man on the ice. In a moment of adrenaline-fueled panic, their defenceman shot: an unconfident shot that ended with him falling onto his knees in a less-than-graceful way. But the puck managed to circumvent our players. It bounced on a patch of rough ice, landed on its side, and rolled right into the corner of our empty net.

The game was lost. We were now down by two with a minute left. I spent the rest of the game on the bench, with a scowling coach standing over my shoulder. It wasn’t the most important game of the year, but we were on the cusp of making the playoffs, and every point made a big difference.

In the locker room, the coach told me that he was going to play me back on the third line. “You’re just… too inconsistent to be playing on the first line,” he said bluntly, and then he said nothing else. He just left, leaving me in a room full of scowling teammates. They said nothing to me, even though none of them were star players either. Sure, I missed that open net, but they missed their share of easy shots throughout the game. And our goalie, who was now swearing under his breath and glancing up at me over and over, had let in some seriously lousy shots, including a ‘shot’ that was actually a botched pass from their third-line winger. Nobody spoke to me, and I was the last one in the locker room, not invited out to whatever party they were all heading off to.

I lingered, taking my time, making sure they were really all gone before going to see Tracy standing there. “Good game,” she said with a blushing smile. “You almost had them.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I groaned.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m not usually that bad.”

“I hope I wasn’t too much of a distraction,” she said, turning her blushing gaze to the ground.

“No,” I said, lying. “I just wasn’t playing my best game. Let’s forget about that.” I stretched out my arms. Then, I found myself looking around, making sure there weren’t any other players around. I didn’t want anyone knowing that I was seeing Tracy alone, after school hours.

“Are you too tired to get dinner?” she asked, now looking straight into my eyes. She had those glossy doe-eyes, the ones that made her look so sweet and angelic. My God, those eyes were so deceiving, but they did a good job of sending my mind spinning with confusion. I stared at them for a long moment, trying to understand how they could belong to a man—

Because, if the rumors were true, and it was starting to really seem like they were, then those eyes belonged to a biological male—along with the rest of her. How was it possible? She’d had breasts for as long as I could remember; did they let trans kids that young get implants? Or were they the product of hormone pills? Or was she one of those hermaphrodites, with a pussy hiding underneath her boy-parts?

I looked around again; I thought I heard footsteps, but we were still alone.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Just upset about the game,” I said.

“Well, let me take you out for dinner,” she smiled. “We’ll go to this Italian place I know. It’s so good, and the portions are really generous. Are you hungry?”

I thought about telling her I wasn’t feeling well. I was terrified of being seen with her. But those glossy doe-eyes reminded me of that night at the soup kitchen, watching her move elegantly around, smiling gracefully, winning over the heart of every soul in the place.

It almost was starting to seem like there were two Tracys: the one in front of me now—sweet, kindhearted, and fun to be around—and the wild one, charging students to see her masturbating, fucking teachers between classes, putting on shows at parties…

I thought about asking her about the rumors. I thought about going into that territory, so I could know her side of the story… but I was too afraid. “I could eat,” I said, so she took me to that restaurant. She ended up doing most of the talking—and cracking a few funny jokes that actually got laughs out of me. I found myself relaxing ever-so-slightly, looking around less and less to ensure that our classmates weren’t there to see us together.

“So, uh, what kind of things do you do in your spare time?” I asked, trying to broach that terrifying topic with baby steps.

“I’ve recently started dancing,” she smiled. “I mean—I used to dance when I was really little, but I just picked it up again, and that’s fun. And then the usual stuff: movies, listening to music. I do some drawing, but I’m pretty terrible. I’m taking a couple college courses on the side right now, so I can get a head start on my post-secondary—so that takes up a lot of my time.”

“That’s a lot,” I said. And then I noticed her snatching the bill. “Hey—I don’t mind paying that.” I was lying; I hardly had the money to pay the bill, but I hated the idea of her paying for my meal.

“This was my idea,” she smiled. “Let me pay. It’s not a big deal.”

She pulled a wallet out from her purse, opened it up, and that’s when I saw the huge wad of twenty-dollar bills, and a few fives and tens. “Wow,” I said. “You’ve got a lot of cash in there. Are you a drug-dealer or something?” I laughed. My heart skipped a beat.

She had rosy cheeks now. “Oh, you know—just doing my best to save up for college.”

“I thought you were getting some cool scholarship.”

“It doesn’t cover everything, but it helps a lot,” she said. “My dad taught me to never take on debt, no matter what. Student loans are a death-sentence. I’ve crunched the numbers and I’m pretty sure that I can get through college without needing the bank’s help. That way, when I start my career, I won’t be spending the first five years paying off interest.”

“Smart,” I said. “But, uh… how are you getting that money? Do you work a part-time job or something?” Now my heart was really pounding. I didn’t want to hear her answer, so I’m not sure why I asked the question. But at the same time, I just needed to hear it from her mouth; I was never going to believe it unless she confessed with her own words.

“Just hustling,” she said with a chuckle.

“Mowing lawns or something?” I asked. My palms were starting to feel sweaty.

“My uncle actually gave me fifty dollars last week to mow five acres. I’m not sure it was worth it; it literally took all afternoon, and I had to go to the gas station twice to fill his jerry can. How tired are you right now? There’s a place near here where we can go dancing. I didn’t just play a hockey game, so I have the energy, but I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“That sounds fun,” I said, even though I should have taken the opportunity to sneak away. I was lucky that I hadn’t been caught with her yet. I needed to get out while I was still ahead. But another part of me wanted to spend more time with her; she was actually fun to be around, as long as those nervous questions weren’t lingering around in my head. “I just have to use the washroom.”

“Take your time,” she smiled. So I went to use the washroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw that my face was dark red, and I couldn’t help but think it had been dark red since the moment I met her outside of the hockey rink.

I took a moment, taking deep breaths, trying to convince myself that there was nothing wrong with being out with Tracy. This wasn’t necessarily a date; we were just getting dinner and going out dancing; girls do that all of the time with their friends, and you wouldn’t say that they’re going on dates with their friends. We were just being friendly.

But what if Tracy was… normal? What if the rumors were just rumors? I still wasn’t convinced that there wasn’t some big scheme happening to mess with me; maybe this was some sort of prank that dozens of people were in on. Maybe they were filming me for some YouTube video. No—that didn’t explain everything. There was just so much evidence that it was true… and there was about to be a little bit more.

As I was coming out from the bathroom, I saw a man at our table, speaking with Tracy. I stopped and watched for a moment, recognizing the guy. He went to our school, though I didn’t know his name. Now, he had a sheepish look on his face as he gazed around. I backed up so that he wouldn’t see me. Then, I saw him slip out twenty dollars. With a dark red face, he gave her the money, and then she said something to him.

I tried not to think too much into it. There are a thousand reasons a man would pay a woman… randomly. Then, the man stepped away from her and started heading towards me. I backed up quickly, into that long hallway towards the bathrooms. I turned to face the wall, and then he walked behind me, not noticing me as he went down the hall, past the bathrooms. I looked back and saw him going into what looked like a storage room. I stood there for a moment, waiting for him to come out, but he didn’t come out. What was he doing?

Then, I went to rejoin Tracy. “Ready to go?” I asked.

“For sure,” she smiled. “I just have to make a phone call really quick,” she said. “You don’t mind waiting five minutes or so, do you?”

I was frozen. Was this really happening? I cleared my throat and then I managed to shake my head. “No. I don’t care,” I said. “I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “You can wait outside too—the weather is nice tonight.” She stood up with a warm, cute smile. Then, she went down towards the bathrooms, towards that same hallway that our classmate went down.

I sat in my seat for the next minute, heart pounding, head spinning, gut turning. Was this really happening? Was she putting on one of her shows inside of that old Italian restaurant?

I stood up. I had to get to the bottom of this. I moved slowly across the restaurant floor, inching towards that bathroom hallway. I turned the corner, away from the noise of the restaurant. Now, I was alone. I scanned left and right. There was no back door in that hallway, just the bathrooms, the door to the kitchen, and that storage room. I approached the bathroom doors and listened, feeling a bit like a creep. But if she was making a phone call, it made sense that I would be able to hear her voice. Now, I could hear nothing. I stood there for a long moment. Then a girl came by, skirting past me. She went into that women’s bathroom and turned the lock. Those were single-user bathrooms. Tracy wasn’t inside.

So I checked the handle for the men’s bathroom. It was unlocked and the bathroom was dark, not being used. So that left two options down that hallway: the kitchen and the storage closet.

I didn’t want to believe that she went into that storage closet with that man. So I first checked the door to the kitchen. None of the cooks looked up at me as I scanned around. The dishwasher, wearing headphones and bobbing his head to music, noticed me. He slipped his headphones off and raised his brow. “Can I help you, man?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Wrong door.”

I backed away, heart pounding. There was only one possibility: the storage room. I approached it slowly. My hands were trembling now. I wasn’t going to open the door. I didn’t want to see what was inside… or maybe I did. Maybe I just wanted to put this uncertainty to bed.

I stopped by the door and carefully put my ear to it. Then, the door inched open; it hadn’t been fully closed. I froze, feeling like I was about to be caught, but nothing happened. I reluctantly poked my head in and scanned around. It was a huge space, filled with racks of kitchen equipment—most of which looked old, from some previous kitchen reno. I stepped in with quiet footsteps. That room was nearly the size of the restaurant.

I froze when I heard a voice. “Just like that,” he whispered.

I turned towards the sound. It was coming from around a corner. I moved to one of the packed racks. I ducked down until I found a slit: a parting between an old deep-fryer and an old gas range. There, I could see a sliver of light, and I could see the back of the man’s head—but that wasn’t all.

I could see Tracy, standing with her foot up on an old milk crate. She had her skirt pulled way up, waistband at her sternum. In her fist was exactly what I was afraid of seeing—and exactly what I knew to be true from all of the evidence.

Tracy had a cock.

And the rumors were true: it was a massive cock. It was twice the size of my own, which I didn’t even know was possible. The sight of it left me frozen, unable to even close my jaw, which may have been trembling. She was squeezing it hard, unable to wrap her fingers all the way around it as she stroked it slowly.

“Just like that,” the man said again, watching, leaning forward as he sat on a milk crate of his own. “Don’t stop. You’re so fucking hot.”

She grinned and pulled her fist all the way up to her tip, which was up near the waistband of her skirt. She pulled hard, pulling her foreskin up, pulling hard enough to make her big ball sack rise up. It was dark in that storage room, so I couldn’t see if she was biologically male or if she was hiding lady-parts as well.

I don’t think I was breathing.

She began to jerk off her tip, stroking with big strokes, but those big strokes weren’t enough to cover the length of her enormous cock. It was big enough that my instinct was to assume it was fake, but the way that her foreskin moved, and the way that her tip began to flush red—it had to be real.

“Holy shit,” the man groaned. “It’s fucking huge.”

“Do you like it?” Tracy asked with a whisper.

“I fucking love it,” the man groaned.

She kept stroking, leaning her body back, using her other hand to cup her breast. She squeezed. The man, with trembling hands, pulled out another twenty-dollar bill. He threw it at her, as if she was a stripper on a stage. “I want to see you coming so badly.”

“I’m close,” she grinned. She spat carefully, letting her saliva land right on her tip. Then, she used her clenched fist to pull the huge wad of spit down, coating her cock, making it glisten. Now, as she pumped, there was a wet sloshing sound: her saliva squishing through her fingers as she massaged her huge length.

I couldn’t look away, though I wasn’t sure why.

“Don’t stop!” the man said with a whine. I had a feeling he was jerking himself off while he watched her. “Will—Will you come on me?”

“Come closer,” she said.

He scurried closer to her, sitting on the ground, looking up at her, panting loudly like a tired dor. “On my face,” he begged. “In my mouth.”

“I don’t know,” she giggled. “Maybe for another twenty.”

“I’ll give you another forty if I can lick it.”

She shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “That’s off limits.”

“One-hundred,” he said. “Just so I can suck your tip.”

She shook her head again, but she didn’t stop jerking herself off. “Just enjoy the show.”

“I’ll give you two-hundred dollars if I can suck your cock while you come. Please.”

She shook her head again.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “Five-hundred. I’ll do anything. Please!”

And she just shook her head, turning the money down. “For your eyes only,” she said with a calm smile. “Oh God—I’m coming.” Her body arched back and she let out an adorable sound as that elation rushed through her body. She clenched the tip of her cock hard with her fist and aimed it down at the man’s open mouth. He was shaking all over.

Then, she cried out as she unloaded: blast after blast after blast, splatting her tongue, his lips, his chin, his cheeks, and even his forehead. It was a messy load, coming from some endless supply. She tugged slowly pulling that high-powered cum out of her body, painting his face until there was nothing left. Then, to finish off her show, she wiped the tip of her cock with her fingertip and dabbed that drop onto her tongue. She giggled and then she pushed the whole package back into her panties. “I have to go. You don’t mind cleaning yourself up, do you?”

The man shook his head, and I didn’t stick around for another second. I stumbled back, tripping over some piece of equipment or another. I made some noise, but got out of there quickly enough that they didn’t catch me—at least that’s what I hoped. I rushed to the restaurant exit, probably looking like a man running from a fire. Once I was outside, I straightened my jacket and stood upright, taking a deep breath. I ran my fingers through my hair and spent the next few minutes trying to collect myself.

The rumors were true; Tracy did have a cock and she was charging men to see it. So why was I still standing there? Why was I still on that ‘date’ with her? I needed to leave. I needed to get home so I could delete her from my social media and from my phone, so that nobody would ever know that I’d been anything more than her classmate.

She came out with a casual smile on her face. “Sorry that took longer than I thought it would,” she said, brushing back her hair. I caught myself looking down at her skirt, perplexed that she was able to hide that gigantic piece of meat in there. I snapped my gaze back up and cleared my throat. “It’s all good,” I said with a broken voice.

“Do you still want to go dancing?” she asked.

I paused for a moment. I wanted to go home, but for some reason, I was still afraid of offending her. I didn’t want her knowing that I’d been spying on them, or that it was me who made that noise in the storage room. I had to remain inconspicuous. “Let’s go,” I said with a forced smile. Then, I was shocked when she reached down and took my hand, letting her fingers slip between mine. She looked over into my eyes, blushing. But all I could think was: those fingers were just pumping her cock, and I saw globs of cum streaming down those knuckles.