Pounded By The Handsome Living Song That Has Been Stuck In My Head: A Trans Buckaroo Tale - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

there are some days on this timeline that are very difficult for even the strongest buckaroos to get through. heck there are some weeks like that or months or even longer still. this is just the natural tide of this timeline for better or worse, but lately it feels like this flow has been full of devils and darkness.

when these hard times it the first thing to remember is that its OKAY to be upset and angry and cry and yell at the top of your dang lungs. proving love is real does not mean being some smiling happy ZOMBIE BIGFOOT all the time, we are all much more complicated than that and have so many more layers to what makes us trot. love has many layers too, and sometimes the best way to prove love is to say HECK THIS I AM DONE. this is why protesting can prove love.

but what chuck wants to talk about today is what happens to creative trots when these difficult times wash over us and sweep us away for a moment. sometimes art is PERFECT ESCAPE from a tragedy, where you poor yourself into the things you make and create something POWERFUL out of the darkness. using the work of the devils is important in this way, but gotta remember SOMETIMES ITS JUST TOO DANG HEAVY FOR THIS TROT. sometimes you cant just turn around and synthesize this sadness and THAT IS OKAY TOO

to be dang honest it is rare for days to be too heavy for chuck, most of the time i can trot on through sayin GET OUT OF MY WAY DEVILS WE GOT LOVE TO PROVE. but it seems like lately the heavy days have been showin up more and more.

with supreme court situation chuck has felt frozen. who the heck am i to write a tingler right now? felt this way with recent school shooting as well. feels like with these ways hanging over me it is very hard to just sit down and CREATE. writing is hard dang work and when your brain keeps wandering off you cant focus that pain.

i have realized the sadness is like a dang song that gets stuck in your head, hummin away over and over again no matter what you do.

the thing to remember is AFTER A WHILE when you least expect it, you will push on and FIGHT IN YOUR WAY once again. the song, or the dang sadness, is not as strong as you and soon enough it will fade and you will still be standing to push against the devils and whatever way you choose. i have been trotting on this timeline a long time and this always happens.

point is, do not ignore the darkness because it matters, but dont let it overwhelm you can suck the life out of your trot. we all need to PAUSE our forward momentum sometimes and that is okay, even HEALTHY, because once we are rested up we can trot into battle with even more power than before.

with this in mind i am excited to revisit this classic trans tingler about getting STUCK for a moment and then moving forward with even more power than before, the power of love. take care of yourself buds lets trot

Sarah is just trying to get some work done at the office when she first hears it, a powerfully infectious tune that she simply can’t get out of her head. Eventually, this difficulty focusing causes Sarah to escape on a lunch break at her favorite café.

Unfortunately, this café is the last place Sarah should go to avoid the catchy melody, which she quickly learns by running into the physical manifestation of the song himself, a handsome sentient concept named Drono. Soon enough, the song and Sarah are realizing they have more in common than they initially thought: they’re both trans!

Now Sarah and this trans rights anthem are locked in a warm erotic embrace, proving that the secret ingredient to all the best hit songs is love.

This erotic tale is 4,100 words of sizzling human on living song action. It features a trans woman who will acknowledge the genitals she connects less with, but only at certain times, and a trans male top who would prefer only one of his holes is mentioned.

(Originally released on January 27, 2020)

----

POUNDED BY THE HANDSOME LIVING SONG THAT HAS BEEN STUCK IN MY HEAD: A TRANS BUCKAROO TALE

By Chuck Tingle

I’d like to think I’m a pretty even-tempered woman, and for the most part this is true. I’m certainly not the type to flare up and show my anger in a loss of emotional control, but I’ve also got a knack for growing slowly more and more annoyed at the slightest little things.

If I notice that a painting isn’t hung exactly straight, then I won’t be able to focus unless I’ve walked over there and fixed it myself. If someone’s clicking their pen at the office, then I’ll be damned if I get any work done.

Today, however, it’s not my coworker’s clicking that’s starting to drive me nuts.

The cubicle next to mine is occupied by George, who is a great friend and generally quite pleasant to be around. Usually, however, he’s not endlessly humming a loop of some strange, unknown tune over and over again in my ear, the sound hovering above me like an annoying, buzzing gnat.

I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “It’s nothing,” I offer out loud, desperately hoping to soothe myself.

Of course, these words can only get me so far, and eventually I spring to my feet. I waltz over to the edge of my cubicle and look down at my friend, who’s sitting in his chair in a state of utter bliss, working away on some spreadsheet while those same droning notes fall in repetition from his lips.

“Hey, George,” I hiss.

My friend doesn’t even look up, completely engrossed in the work before him. The song continues to buzz around me, unrelenting.

“George!” I repeat, a little louder and sharper with my tone.

This finally snaps my friend out of his trance. He glances up at me and smiles. “Hi Sarah.”

“Listen, you know how much I love your singing, or humming,” I begin, “but I just can’t focus when you’re doing that.”

George narrows his eyes in a moment for brief confusion. “I was humming?”

I nod.

“I didn’t even realize it,” he counters with a laugh. “Sorry about that.”

I turn and creep back down into my cubicle once more, anxious to get back to work. I usually wouldn’t be this excited to be sitting in front of a computer typing away, but right now I’ve got a lot of things on my plate and I need to have all of this taken care of by the weekend. Right now it’s crunch time.

I dive back in, allowing my brain to enter a tranquil state of flowing mental energy as my fingers dance their way across the keyboard.

The sensation is wonderful, but it doesn’t last long. Slowly but surely, the depths of my mind begin to detect the intrusion of something familiar, a haunting call the rings out through my ears and causes my body to tense up immediately.

George is humming the song again.

I stand up and march over to the cubicle wall, a little more frustrated this time.

“Hey!” I blurt, not trying to be aggressive but inadvertently allowing my frustration to show. “I know it’s hard, but could you please stop humming.”

George isn’t in a trance anymore, in fact he seems perfectly aware of his surroundings, staring back at me with a hot coffee in his hand and a single eyebrow raised.

“You think I was humming?” he retorts with a laugh. “That time I know I wasn’t humming.”

“Yeah,” I counter. “Who else what it then?”

My friend shakes his head. “That was you. You were the one humming.”

“What?” I stammer, thinking back over the last few seconds. George’s accusation sounds totally ridiculous as first pass, but now that I’m actually considering his words it makes perfect sense. The tune had bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me and then eventually reached my ears, not the other way around.

“Oh shit,” I finally blurt.

“Catchy huh?” George questions knowingly.

“It is,” I admit. “Who is it?”

“Bob Hummer And The Humdingers,” George informs me. “It’s their new single. Really, really hard to get out of your head.”

George isn’t kidding. I haven’t even heard the whole track, just a little snippet of the melody, and I’m already having a hard time focusing on anything else. For a minute I consider just forcing myself to get back to work and trying my best to ignore the tune that rolls over and over again through my mind, but it quickly becomes apparent that the more I think about ignoring this song, the tighter its hold on me becomes.

“I’m gonna take my lunch break now,” I announce.

George nods as he turns back to the computer before him, Bob Hummer’s hit single gradually starting to work its way out from between his lips once more.

I turn and grab my coat, rushing towards the door before I have to listen to another second of this seemingly endless drone. I’ve gotta get out of here.

Pushing out into the warm afternoon sun is refreshing, apparently wiping the slate clean as the light hits my face and pulls me back into a state of blissful calm.

I get to my car and climb in, then immediately turn on the radio, scanning through the stations until I reach the classical network. I turn up the music and then pull out onto the road, taking off towards my favorite lunch spot with the windows down and the wind in my hair.

I feel as though I’ve escaped the villain in some frightening monster movie, cruising into the sun as a wave of relaxation finally washes across me. There’s no way that song can get me now.

Cascades of classical beauty flow across my ears, capturing my attention with violins, bassoons and timpani. This particular song is ever changing; a constantly transforming river that always keeps me guessing. It couldn’t be farther from that repetitive Bob Hummer hit.

Eventually, the song dies down and the DJ comes back on the air.

“That was Chuckowski Tingleo’s fifth symphony in D,” the radio announcer offers. “Coming up later, we have another one of Tingelo’s works, but right now we’re going to do something very unusual for this station. I know you’ve all tuned in to listen to some classical music, but this new Bob Hummer and the Humdingers track has been stuck in my head all day. I think we’re gonna give that a few spins over the next hour, so right now turn it up for Bob Hummer!”

Almost immediately, the song is blasting out through the speakers of my car, only this time it’s with the whole band rocking out behind it. I quickly reach over and shut off the radio, but my hand doesn’t quite move fast enough.

Now the tune has been lodged right back in my mind, only this time the beautiful production value has driven it even deeper than before.

“Fuck,” is all I can say, staring out the windshield as I make a valiant attempt to think of absolutely anything else.

Fortunately, I’ve arrived at the café, and as I pull into the parking lot and climb out of my car, I’m faced with the prospect of something that’s just as enticing as a great melody: a fantastic meal.

Heading inside, I’m immediately greeted by the wonderful scent of baking bread and simmering soups. Somewhere off in the kitchen, onions are grilling in a pan and adding a perfect layer of flavor.

This place is always packed on the weekends, but right now there are plenty of tables and an wonderfully cozy atmosphere. I walk up to the counter with a big smile on my face, looking over my options.

“I’ll have the spaghetti,” I inform the woman behind the counter. “And a large chocolate milk, please.”
 “That’ll be ten forty-one,” the woman informs me.

I hand her eleven dollars, then put the change and two more in a tip cup next to her.

My mind has almost calmed itself down to a perfectly clean slate, but as I turn around to find my seat a familiar melody stops me in my tracks. The song has returned.

“Is that… coming from your kitchen?” I question, trying my best to stay calm as I speak to the woman behind the counter. “I’ve been hearing this song all day and it’s kinda stuck in my head. Would you mind turning it off?”

I realize now that my voice is much louder than I intend it to be, other patrons halting their conversations to turn and look at me.

“It’s been stuck in my head, too,” she informs me, “but he’s a paying customer. I can’t just ask him to turn himself off.”

“What?” I stammer, not quite sure what she means.

“That’s not coming from the kitchen,” the woman continues. “The song himself is right over there.”

The woman points and I follow her finger, my gaze drifting across the restaurant. Eventually, it stops at an enormous musical note, moving and shifting slightly to the beat of the tune that continuously emanates from some abstract place within him.

The sentient manifestation of the song is staring at me, clearly aware of my distaste.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

The living song smiles and waves me on, trying his best to be kind and not make me feel worse than I already too. Unfortunately, I can read his body language too well for this, and I can tell that he’s still bothered by my outburst, despite his best efforts to play it off.

After spending all day trying to run from this excruciatingly catchy melody, I find myself headed in the exact opposite direction. I approach the sentient physical manifestation.

“I really am sorry,” I offer.

“It’s totally fine,” the living song replies.

“Mind if I sit down?” I question.

The hit song nods and I slide into the booth across from him, greeting him with as much warmth as I can.

“I’m Drono,” the physical manifestation informs me, reaching out a hand that I shake firmly.

“Sarah,” I tell him in return.

Now that I’m not so worried about how catchy this tune is, I’m suddenly aware of his incredibly handsome appearance. The melody is structured perfectly, with a breathtakingly muscular physical frame and a chiseled jawline. I’m trying my best not to stare, but I’m also aware that I’m probably not doing a very good job.

I’m also suddenly realizing that I don’t know what to say to this handsome song. I’d wanted to make things better, but now that I’ve apologized I don’t quite know what to do with myself.

“So… you’re doing pretty well,” is all that I can think to say. “Even the classical station was playing you on the drive over here.”

The sentient song laughs. “Yeah, it’s been a crazy day.”
 “What are you about?” I continue, then suddenly realize what a strangely direct and blunt question this is. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s not problem,” the song offers in return. “I mean, I’m out there on the radio playing my heart out, it’s not like I’m trying to keep any secrets. The song is about being trans, and how making this transition affected my life. It’s an anthem of hope, perseverance and eventually comfort.”

“You’re trans?” I repeat back to the living song. “Me too!”

The two of us both smile wide with loving recognition.

“I didn’t realize that’s what the song was about,” I offer.

Drono looks a little confused. “You didn’t notice that the chorus was ‘I’m trans and I’m proud. Trans rights forever, trans rights out loud. Trans rights. Trans rights. Yes, I said trans rights?’”

“I never actually got that far,” I’m forced to admit. “I’ve been turning it off before the chorus, or just listening to other people hum it.”
 Drono chuckles slightly.

“You’ve just been stuck in my head all day,” I finally admit. “It’s too much!”

Now the sentient manifestation is laughing out loud, unable to control himself. “I suppose you’re right, they have been playing me an awful lot.”

Strangely, for as much as I’d been avoiding this hit single, I now find myself deeply drawn to him. We have a lot more in common than I’d realized.

Of course, this attraction goes a lot deeper than just shared interests. I can now readily admit just how incredibly hot Drono is, simply existing in his presence making me more and more aroused by the second.

There’s no way this feeling could be mutual, though. After all, sitting before me is the number one hit single in all of the country, if not the world. I’m sure he has plenty more potential lovers to be interested in than small town me sitting in the booth at this café.

The second I think this, Drono and I meet one another’s gaze, our eyes locking tight and staying here for what seems like forever. There is an erotic energy pulsing between us now, a carnal attraction that continues to build and build until finally it reaches its breaking point.

I make my move, reaching out and placing my hand over the living songs. “What are you doing after this?”
 Drono grins. “I’d love to get inside more than just your head.”
 Suddenly, our food is delivered to the table, set down directly between the two of us and breaking our concentration.

Before the waiter has a chance to get away, I call out to him, stopping him in his tracks. “Uh, could we get two boxes? I think we’re gonna take this to go.”

The sentient song’s penthouse apartment is absolutely incredible, with a seemingly endless view of the city below. Beyond the rows of houses are the beautiful green mountains,  their heights covered in lush, thick forest.

“Are you sure you don’t need to be getting back to work?” Drono questions.

“Not today,” I reply with a grin. I glance around his luxurious living room, drawn in by the beauty of it all. “Didn’t you just get released today? How do you own all of this stuff already?”

“Well, I didn’t come out today,” the living song explains. “I was actually a demo for about twenty years, just kind of rolling around unnoticed. I think Bob was scared to put me out, but I’m glad he finally did.”

“Me too,” I affirm.

“But to answer your other question, I got a pretty large advance from the record label.”

“I can see that,” I offer.

Suddenly, the two of us are embracing warmly, pushed tight as our lips meet in a fit of unbridled passion. The sensation is incredible, and part of what makes it so good is in letting go of all the tension that has been building up within me.  Unfortunately, I’m not quite ready to fully release the reins.

“Wait,” I stammer.

Drono stops and pulls back, giving me his full attention.

“Sit,” I continue, and soon enough the two of us are facing each other on his sheik, modern couch.

“Is everything okay?” the sentient concept asks.

I nod. “Yeah, of course. There’s just a few things I want to talk about before I get started. As you know, there are some things we should cover if we want to have the best time possible. I don’t want to trigger you in any way.”

“That same goes for you,” Drono offers in return, listening intently.

“I’m a woman, and I have a penis,” I explain. “You can and should touch it when I want to cum, but please don’t focus on it. Also, when you’re fucking me, you’re fucking my pussy. Do not call it my asshole after this point.”

“Understood,” the living song replies, then begins a request of his own. “I’m wearing a strap-on, but after this moment don’t call it a strap-on, call it my dick because that’s what it is: my dick. The only reason I’m even using the word strap-on right now is because I’m explaining it to you, but after this moment you can only refer to it as my dick, cock, member or… you know.”
 “I hear you. It’s your cock,” I confirm. “Would you like me to mention or involve your pussy in any way?”

“What pussy?” Drono replies with a grin.

“Understood,” I continue.

Almost immediately the two of us are back at it, even more turned on than before thanks to our honest moment of communication. What could have seemed like an uncomfortable exchange about our boundaries did nothing but make our sexual intimacy even stronger, and now the two of us are going to reap the carnal benefits.

The two of us continue to make out like this for a good while, savoring the moment, but slowly my arousal starts to get the best of me. I want nothing more than to pleasure this handsome song, to give back a little of the joy that he’s been diligently spreading across the globe.

Slowly, I begin to make my way down the living concept’s body, first kissing my way across his muscular chest and then lowering onto his perfectly toned abs. Drono’s belt buckle is already undone and his pants are unzipped, ready to go, yet still I hesitate.

Instead, I kiss along his hips, teasing the sentient song’s waistline as a savor my position of power.

“Please,” Drono finally moans. “I need it.”

I laugh. “Say it again.”
 “Please. I’m begging you,” the living concept sighs.

Finally I give in, reaching into the living concept’s pants and pulling forth an enormous, rock hard dick.

I immediately get to work sucking him off, placing my lips around the song’s shaft and pumping my face slowly up and down his length. I move in smooth, graceful pulses, taking my time with him as I suck off his cock.

The living song is clearly enjoying himself, laying back against the couch behind him and relaxing as he takes it all in. He’s gazing down at me with eyes of utter admiration, blown away by my incredible oral skills.

He has no idea what’s coming.

I pop the cock out of my mouth and pull back for a moment, taking a deep breath as I prepare myself. Soon enough, I’m diving back down and swallowing Drono’s member, but this time I don’t pump my head across his shaft. Instead, I just take the living concept’s rod deeper and deeper into my throat, somehow relaxing my gag reflex enough to allow him passage.

Eventually, the sentient song reaches my absolute depths, his dick fully inserted within me. The living concept holds me here for a good while in this perfectly performed deep throat, until finally I’m forced to pull back with a sputter and a gasp. I’ve run out of air.

“That was wonderful,” Drono gushes. “Not it’s your turn.”
 The living song takes me in his strong arms and pulls me back up onto the couch. He turns me around so that I’m in the doggystyle position, my rump popped out towards him seductively. I glance back over my shoulder at the handsome song, then wiggle my buns playfully from side to side.

Drono’s eyes are transfixed on my body, clearly enjoying the show.

“You look incredible,” he gushes.

“So do you,” I offer with a wink.

Without another word, the living song floats down into position behind me. At first I’m not entirely sure what he’s doing, but the next thing I know his tongue is plunging deep within my pussy. The handsome living concept begins to eat me out from behind like this, finding a steady rhythm and then getting to work.

The physical sensation is incredible, but the mental ecstasy that I’m currently experiencing is even more potent. I love that way that Drono worships my body, completely engrossed in his duty as a lover. His technique is impeccable, and as he works me from behind, his hands continue to caress and explore my body.

While I told Drono he could appreciate my cock in limited amounts, he’s clearly saving that for later. It’s a subtle restraint that I appreciate quite a bit, and only serves to make me even more excited for what’s to come.

Eventually, the living song stands up behind me. He gives my butt cheeks a playful slap and then saddles up into position behind me. Drono aligns his giant cock with the tightness of my pussy, teasing the edge for a minute. Now it’s my turn to beg.

“Please,” I groan. “Fuck me. Pound me with that big fat dick. Fill my pussy with your catchy melody just like you’ve been filling my head.”
 The living song laughs and then finally thrusts forward in a single deep swoop, impaling me across his mammoth rod.

“Oh my fucking god,” I blurt, not entirely prepared for the sentient concept’s enormity. “Your dick is so fucking big.”
 Drono is a patient lover, holding deep within me for a minute and allowing me a chance to adjust to his size. I feel fuller than I ever have, maxed out by his member as my hands grip tight onto the fabric of the couch before me.

Eventually, the sentient song begins to pump his hips, starting slowly at first. With every movement I can feel my body relaxing more and more, coming to terms with this potent sensation of fullness.

“Just like that, just like that,” I begin to sigh under my breath, repeating the words over and over in a frantic mantra as my eyes roll back into my head. The harder Drono fucks me, the louder that I get, until eventually I’m crying out at the top of my lungs. “Just like that! Just like that!”
 My voice carries through the sentient song’s apartment as he falls into a stead groove, hammering away at my pussy with powerful confidence. The aching discomfort that had once overwhelmed me has since fallen away, dissipating into nothing as it’s replaced by a beautiful, warm pleasure that simmers in the pit of my stomach.

“I’m so close,” the living song begins to groan, not letting up for a second.

“Me too,” I admit. “Beat me off!”
 It’s finally the time. Moments later, Drono is reaching around and grabbing ahold of my hanging cock as he continues to slam my pussy, falling into perfect sync. The movements of the living song’s hand and the pump of his hips fill me with two distinct kinds of pleasure, these sources quickly melting together into something even greater than the sum of their parts.

I begin to tremble and quake, violent spasms filling my body as I hurtle towards the edge of a powerful orgasm.

Suddenly, I’m throwing my head back and letting out a wild shriek as the climax hits me like a tidal wave, ripping through my entire body and setting my nerves alight with sensation. I close my eyes tight and grit my teeth as hot white cum erupts from the head of my cock, the feelings that flood through my veins almost too much to bear.

The second that I finish, Drono pushes deep into me and explodes with an orgasm of his own. The living concept completely loses control of his body, shaking hard as pleasure flows through him. I can feel the sentient song gripping tight onto my hips, then finally releasing when the orgasm passes.

After a moment, Drono pulls out of me and collapses onto the couch. I join him, curling up next to my magnificent lover.

“That was incredible,” I offer.

Drono smiles and kisses me on the head, then continues to stare out through the window before us in silence.

I join him in this moment of relaxation, not saying a word as we simply enjoy one another’s presence and the glorious view.

Suddenly, I can’t help but erupt in a fit of laughter, trying to stifle it but unable to control myself.

“What is it?” Drono questions.

“This is the first time since this morning that your damn melody hasn’t been stuck in my head,” I reply.

Now the living song is laughing too. It’s a warm, powerful moment, the kind of moment that lets you know this has been more than just two mutually attracted lovers getting off.

“What do you think made you into such a hit?” I question. “There are so many songs out there. What made you take off like this?”
 “Art that’s honest and tries to prove love is real will always find an audience,” Drono informs me. “Everything else is like swimming against the current, but love will always carry you where you need to be.”
 “You’re right,” I offer in return, pulling the living song even closer. “This is exactly where I need to be.”