"So You Don't Have A Dick?"

Homeboy and I spent a good 30 minutes messaging on a4a. I'd explained what trans meant in about 40 different ways. He responded and said he understood. I got the phone number, the address, set up the time and hit the streets. It took me 20 minutes to get there and it was so fucking cold, but I was also so fucking horny and he looked alright. I get into his one bedroom apt. We're disrobing. I'm looking forward to fucking him in his big, comfortable looking bed. Then right before I take off my boxers, something tells me to stop and remind him that I'm trans. I once again ask if he's comfortable being fucked by a trans dude. He looks at me blankly.
"Trans? What's that?"
You have got to be kidding me.
"I told you this over and over. We messaged about it. I thought you understood?"
As I'm talking, I'm calculating how long it would take me to get to the front door, in case he goes ballistic.
"So you don't have a dick?"
I take a deep breath. This is really not a conversation to be having when I'm in my underwear, with some strange dude who said one thing over the internet, but in person is saying the complete opposite.
"No I don't have a dick. I have a pussy. I specifically messaged you about this." Silence. One minute goes by. Two minutes. I start to pull my pants back up.
"No." He reaches over and stills my hand. "I'm okay with it. I guess I misunderstood. I like pussy. I've just never met anyone like you before."
He likes pussy? I guess we still have our wires crossed. "I'm not here so you can fuck me."
I reached into my bag and pull out my strap. Cock attached, erect and ready.
"Oh," is all he says. I look closely at him then. Was this the dude I was just messaging?
"So you do have a dick after all?" He flashes a shit-eating grin. I sized him up. He was a lean-looking dude, about 5'4"/5'5", 150lbs. I wanted to mess him up so bad...

I fucked him. Doggy. I grabbed his cock, jerking him at the same time. My anger fueling me, making me a little rougher than I should have been. He reached around and pushed my hips away, saying "Damn, muthafucka...be easy."
I slowed and focused on his ass. Smooth. Round. Milk chocolate brown. I focused on the feel of his cock on my hand. Warm. Coarse. Veiny. Before I knew it I was moving faster. He didn't stop me this time. I looked at his back and stared at the line going down the middle of it. I love that part of a man's body.
I stopped jerking him and placed both hands on his ass; I needed the leverage. His sounds got louder.

When he eventually came, he lay panting on the bed.
"Bathroom?" I asked, sliding the cock off? He pointed. I went in and cleaned up. While in there, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. No, I didn't feel good about the sex I'd just had. It felt hot, I won't deny that, but the whole interaction at the beginning still had me bugging. And the anger I felt during...

On my way out, he wanted to know if I'd come over again. I mumbled something along the lines of "hit me up and maybe." Then I booked it out of there. I haven't seen him since.