Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
A chance meeting in a Laundromat on a dreary Friday night leads to romance and a new life.
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
Friday night. Here I am - single, free and easy, money in my wallet, the night is fine, the bars are open and…
…and I'm sitting here in the Laundromat washing my clothes.
Pitiful, isn't it? Five years ago something like this would have been unthinkable. Five years ago I was in college, also single, free and easy but not so much money in my wallet. Never let that get in the way of a good time, though. Collect some buddies from the dorm, hit the bars, hit on a few girls, strike out and go back to the dorms.
Five years ago that constituted a good time, even if the hitting on the girls part was never all that successful. Oh, let's be honest, I struck out every time.
Scholarships paid the bills, dorm food, bad as it was, fulled my belly and studying filled my time. If I ran a little short, the Bank Of Mom And Dad offered some nice terms on a short term loan that really was a grant. Life was good.
Then I had to go and graduate and muck the whole thing up.
Seriously, the moment they handed that sheepskin they booted me off the stage, out of the nice, cozy college life into the real world. It took a while to realize it, though. I had a good job lined up, one that paid decent money and wasn't even drone work. I became a Systems Analyst. Not a computer type of Systems Analyst, but a guy who tried to look over an entire project and spot the places where things could go wrong. In my final internship I had found out I have an affinity for such things, spotting a couple of flaws that saved my customer a whole bunch of money and made my employer look very good. I impressed my mentor, I impressed the higher-ups and I even impressed me. So much so that they were now paying me to do the same thing for them full time.
You know how a good mechanic can pop the hood on your car, give it a listen and say with assurance "Yup! Y'all got a busted frammistat there, buddy" or a virtuoso can listen to an entire orchestra and say "The second piccolo is a sixteenth-tone flat"? Well, I've kinda been able to do that with complex systems.
My folks are small town professionals, and there have been a couple of times I've been able to identify the grit in the gears and make a suggestion that just might make things easier. Sometimes those suggestions were even acted upon, but the bureaucracy is a slow-moving beast.
I worked a summer for an uncle in the construction business and a couple of my suggestions on how to streamline the job made him hit his head and wonder how he missed something so obvious.
In other words, people were trusting me with projects that run to some pretty big bucks. In the words of my grandparents, I have become the establishment. Not sold out to the establishment, you will note, because Gramps says he sold out long ago when he got hungry and cold begging on the street corners. I'm not sure I actually believe he was one of those dudes with a scruffy beard and a big dog standing on the corner with a tattered piece of cardboard that says something like 'Anything Helps - God Bless' and a smiley face just to give the sign some color. Then again, with Gramps you never can tell…
Gramps does give me grief about wearing a suit, says he tossed his suits when he got vested in the company retirement plan and a vest was good enough for him. That's a typical piece of Gramps Crock, since he was the company and the company was him and Grandma. I do have to admit, though, that I'd rather be dressed for college than having to wear a suit, but analysts must be seen to be sober and responsible men. Not that my company assumes men are superior in such roles, but there is always the customer to think about. Not too many women around in senior positions in a lot of our customers.
I kind of took the long way around in telling this story, but that's why I'm doing laundry on a Friday night instead of partying. I have gotten more sober as I got older, and frankly I don't enjoy partying like I used to. Even so, you might be asking 'Yeah, but laundry?'
So it happened this way… A while back, it was cold outside with more cold and lots more ugly predicted for the weekend. I was running low on underwear and knew if I didn't get the laundry done soon I would be in trouble, so I went down to the laundromat on a Friday evening to correct the situation. I got there in time to join a harassed-looking woman with three bored kids and a grumpy dude who kept glaring at the kids. I put my stuff in the washers and settled down with a paperback to wait for the buzzer.
After a few minutes I looked over the edge of the book to see a pair of brilliant blue eyes, framed by adorable golden curls, looking up at me. I smiled at her, she smiled at me. I put the book in front of my eyes and proceeded to play peek-a-boo with her, eliciting gales of giggles.
After a while, bigger brother came over to see what the giggling was about, so I stuck out my tongue at him and made a face. Bigger brother can giggle as well as younger sister. Sober Suit still can entertain children, the perfect antidote to a week of being serious.
We were soon joined by big sister, and I decided it was time to haul out the magic trick that Uncle Sylvester taught me. After I had produced a series of quarters (something of great use in a laundromat) from the ears of various children, harassed-mother had finished her laundry and was smiling gratefully at me as she shepherded her flock to the station wagon. Sometimes being part of a large and boisterous family comes in handy.
"That was just marvelous!" a voice said behind me. I turned around to find the grumpy guy was gone and in his place was a striking woman who had come in unnoticed while I was entertaining my small onlookers.
"It's always a joy to make small people happy," I answered while asking myself how anyone could have let this woman come in without noticing her. As I stood up I realized she came damned close to my own 5'11" and she wasn't wearing high heels. Her eyes were the same intense blue as my small admirer but her hair was several shades lighter than my own dirty blonde.
Visions of a corn-fed Swedish farm girls, some buxom Alpine shepherdess or even a boisterous server in a German beer garden came easily to mind; I could see her in a low-cut, ruffled white blouse and one of those cross-laced corset-thingies that pushes the boobs up and out of the blouse.
However, she was wearing a fuzzy pink sweater that outlined her breasts nicely, white corduroy slacks that outlined her hips nicely, no makeup and no wedding or engagement ring. I checked. She was solidly built, athletic but undoubtedly feminine - no fainting princess, to be sure.
All right, so sue me. I like looking at women and she was worth noting the details. But the one detail I haven't mentioned was the air of supreme confidence she exuded. One look and you knew that this woman would not be wilting like a sun-parched flower if someone gave her trouble.
"You certainly made that mother happy. I can remember making my nanny crazy while she did the laundry. It was just so boring!"
"Is your life so devoid of pleasure that doing your laundry on a Friday night actually counts as exciting?" I asked.
"Not hardly. My life is so devoid of clean underwear that I'm doing my laundry on a Friday night."
"Odd you should say that, I'm in the same boat."
She laughed. She had a very nice laugh.
"Sometimes I get so sick of being an adult!" she said. "Do you ever wish you could go back to the days where you could get all excited by a stranger playing peek-a-boo with you?"
"Yeah, about this time a couple of years ago when I realized I would no longer get the entire summer off for vacation any more."
So we spent the rest of the time commiserating about how hard life was. She was a pharmacist, pushing pills all day long and offering advice to those who would listen. I was happy to listen and we started laughing as we got sillier and sillier in our examples of life's travails.
Her name was Aida, she said it was originally Arabic meaning reward or present, but had spread to many cultures. Her father's Spanish family thought it was a wonderful name for the first girl child in three generations. For me, it was an unexpected reward or present on a cold night that I had expected to be downright boring.
I was almost sorry when my laundry was done, wishing I had an excuse to wait a bit longer with her. She surprised me by putting the last of her lingerie, still in its mesh bag, on top of her clean clothes and leaving when I did.
"See you next Friday," she laughed as we went out in the cold.
So I decided to do my laundry again the next Friday. I tried not to get my hopes up, but Aida was the first woman I'd met since college that attracted me. I suppose since I didn't spend so much time in bars I didn't meet as many women as most single men in the big city. I also figure that since I didn't spend so much time in bars I wasn't quite as susceptible to alcohol-induced lust, something I tried to avoid due to a bad experience in college.
She was there, and we talked about everything and anything. I learned she was an only child and had been raised by a series of nannies. Her parents seem to consider her little more than a trophy to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, destined to advance the family fortunes. I told her about my family, growing up with two older sisters who loved me and parents who made me proud to be their child. Her air of confidence was replaced with what I can only call envy.
Some of the episodes she related convinced me that she wasn't exaggerating as to why she was not on good terms with her parents. Talk about tone-deaf, selfish people!
And so it went, for the next several weeks. We met on Fridays, watched our clothing spin around in those big, industrial-size dryers, fed in an endless stream of quarters and learned about each other's lives. Who would have thought I would look forward to doing my laundry?
As the weather improved and the sunlight lingered farther into the evening, we started to go out to a nearby cafe when the wash was done. I had just about gotten the nerve to ask her out on a real date when her cell phone rang and she answered. It was obvious she wasn't happy as her answers were short and to the point.
"Shit!" she exclaimed as she put her phone into her purse. "Sarah just called in sick. I have to go in tomorrow morning to cover for her since I don't have anyone available. She's running a fever and nobody wants to get pills from a sick pharmacist."
"Sorry to hear that, and it looks like the weather is actually going to break for the weekend."
"I know, dammit! I was supposed to spend the day with my boyfriend, Steve."
Oh crap. Boyfriend. She hadn't said word one about a boyfriend to me. Oh well… Boyfriend or not, I think we were certainly friends.
"I hope he won't be too disappointed," I said.
"Maybe it's for the best, he's been getting a little too frisky lately."
"Aida, there's no way I can comment on that without sounding like a jerk."
"Hah! Maybe I should trade you in on Steve, at least you have a sensitive side."
"Not to stick my nose in where it doesn't belong, but if he's so insensitive why are you seeing him?"
"He's good looking, he's not stupid, he's fun to be with most times and he's sexy as hell. It's just that I'm not ready to go where he wants to go. Been there, done that and got the scars."
"Which is bed? Go to bed. Go directly to bed and do not collect two hundred dollars?"
"Hey! I don't charge if I'm ready."
"Uh Aida? Should you be talking about this with another guy?"
"Probably not, but you're a good listener. I guess I was just pissed off at having to work instead of having fun."
"Just not too much fun."
And so it went for some time, meeting at the laundromat, then exchanging phone numbers and talking in the evenings. I hadn't heard from Aida in a few days and was getting concerned. Her phone went to voicemail and her message queue was full. I hoped she wasn't sick or hurt or something.
She didn't appear the next Friday, but she was finally there when I arrived the following week. She was there and the place was empty except for her. However, she was not the bubbly woman I knew. Her eyes were red and she had obviously been crying.
"Hi Aida," I said quietly.
"Oh, Lauren." she said quietly.
I took a chance. "Steve?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
I busied myself loading the washer and let her have time to herself."
"How bad?" I asked.
"Finished. Over. Kaput. Terminal."
"If you loved me you'd do it?"
"Christ yes!" she spat.
"He's an asshole."
"He was interested in that, too."
"I'd say he's a douchebag but that's too close to enema for comfort."
That got a glare that turned into a laugh.
"That was perfect!"
"Right. Stand up proud and loud and scream 'Fuck You' at the bastard."
"Uh, Lauren? That's what I wouldn't do."
"Oh yeah. Shows you've got superior taste, it does."
"And he's never going to find out what I taste like, either!"
"TMI Aida."
"You're too easy to talk to, like a girlfriend, I suppose."
"I just never could figure out guys like that," I observed. "I mean, there were a few jerks at college that kept scorecards, but I never could figure out what a woman would see in someone like that."
"That's just it - you don't see it because the bastards are so good at hiding it. Suave and sophisticated and oh-so-caring until a girl says no. Then comes the bullshit and 'if you really loved me' crap."
"Not that I've had any experience," I said, "but for me it would have to be completely mutual. I mean, how could you enjoy sex if your partner is being coerced?"
"You sure you aren't a girl in disguise? Oh shit - I didn't mean it that way!"
Poor Aida turned red from the tops of her breasts to the top of her forehead. Naturally, about that time the place began to fill up, so we couldn't dissect either Steve or my fellow men any further that evening. The next week was out because I was going home for my folks anniversary party and would be leaving directly after work on Friday. It was two weeks before I saw Aida, but at least she was answering the phone again.
She was looking much better, and I complimented her on her outfit, she had really good taste in clothes.
"I'm glad you like it. I missed you last week, Lauren."
"Family obligations, my folk's anniversary party. You would have loved it."
"Oh god! Don't remind me. I have a command performance in a few weeks for my parents big anniversary bash."
"I get the feeling that isn't going to bring you great tidings of comfort and joy?"
"What's with the Christmas schtick?"
"A client already planning a Christmas village and I've been picking over some really crazy ideas and trying to convince them they aren't practical - at least not at their current budget."
"Well, budget wouldn't be a problem with my parents. If Ringling Brothers hadn't gone out of business they probably would have them as entertainment for their Anniversary Bash just to make their so-called friends jealous."
"I hate to tell you this, but Ringling Brothers is planning to reopen in 2023."
"Too late for this year's bash, thank god."
"You sound like you're looking for any excuse not to go."
"There's only one reason I want to go, and that'd to see Richards. He's the family butler and I think he's more my father than the sperm donor who has the official title. Nannies came and nannies went, but Richards was always there for me.
"Richards is a character right out of some British drama," she continued. "Ramrod straight, always impeccably dressed, formal as all get-out when outsiders are present but the one man in the household who had time for a lonely little girl. He never married and as far as I know he never made time with any of the women in the household staff. I really hope he has someone nearby that he can visit and be himself away from my family."
"I take it you aren't exactly the apple of your parents' eye?"
"Hell, I went out and became a pharmacist - a mere technician - instead of marrying a rich doctor and having a passel of kids to consolidate their little empire."
"That sounds about as stupid to me as guys like he-who-I-will-not-name thinking sex is a competition with winners and losers."
"I hate to tell you this, but I think I was the gold ring in my parents personal sack-time competition. They've had separate bedrooms for years."
"Maybe you should run away and join the Circus?"
"Nah. My boobs aren't big enough for those skimpy costumes."
"Gar...agk…urk..."
That's about as close as I can come to the sound I made.
"Poor Lauren! I forget sometimes because you're so easy to talk to. Look, this place is going to start getting filled up, come back to my place with me and we can keep talking."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. Who knows, I might even offer to show you my etchings."
Aida had a very nice studio apartment with a decent view and it was only a few minutes away from the Laundromat. It even had parking so I didn't have to leave my car out on the street. I helped her carry in her baskets and set them on the bed, there being no other place to set them and leave a place for us to sit.
"Lauren?"
"Would it gross you out if I hung up my bras to dry while you're here?"
"I have two sisters and a mother, the care and feeding of brassieres holds no mystery for me."
"That's it! You are officially brevetted to the rank of girlfriend, first class for the duration. See that cord on the counter? Hook the other end to the hook on the far wall, please."
"Aye, Aye, Captain. Prepare to hoist sails… uh… bras."
"How military. You'd look cute in a sailor suit, don't you think?"
"I did when I was about two years old, and my father has the pictures to prove it. Movies, even. I was dancing the hornpipe, I believe."
"You have some interesting undiscovered depths to your personality."
"If we continue in the naval tradition, I hope you haven't any depth charges laying around."
"There have been those who got a charge out of plumbing my depths - after a suitable wetting, of course."
"Let's not go overboard. With all these..." I waved at her bras hanging on the line - "…signal flags waving in the wind."
"Looking for a good time, sailor?"
"Look Aida, I don't want to seem ungrateful, but you're still on the rebound from the jerk. I don't want you doing anything you'd regret."
She didn't say anything more, just stripped off her blouse and threw her bra over the line along with all the others.
I got the message.
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
At this point I have to admit to a certain ambivalence. I had fantasized about making love to Aida more than once, but I chickened out long before she could say 'yes.' At that point the memories of my first - and only - experience with sexual intimacy messed things up. Now she had unmistakably said 'yes.'
Back in college, my roommate had talked me into rushing at one of the frat houses with him. I wasn't all that interested, but I figured it couldn't hurt to support my roomie.
Big mistake.
The guys in this frat seemed to think that the ingestion of vast quantities of alcohol was essential to the vetting process. I was young and naive and had never gotten really drunk before. As the evening progressed, the spiked whatever-it-was that I was drinking got me pretty well soused. That's when it was announced any virgin seeking to be a candidate for the glorious traditions of the fraternity must prove themselves by finding a bedroom and fucking whoever was in it.
We were dragged up the stairs and I was pushed into a room and the door closed behind me with a thud. There I found the first naked woman I had ever seen - if you don't count brief glimpses of my sisters when they thought they could make it from the bathroom to the bedroom fast enough to leave the towel behind.
I have often wondered what kind of girl would be willing to strip the clothes from a drunken college boy so quickly that he didn't realize what was happening, and then pull him into bed with her. Of course, these thoughts occurred at a much later date. In bed with her I was aware that I was supposed to fuck her, but just how did one go about such an activity?
Her hands soon found my manhood and she was urging me to 'get it up, big boy!' I knew this was possible as I had done so countless times in my isolation, but with all the booze in my bod the message hardly got through. Finally she seemed satisfied that she had gotten my attention sufficiently to proceed, but realizing I was too drunk to keep my balance on top of her she lay me face up on the bed and seated herself. I assume this was aided by the fact that I was not the first visitor to the bedroom that evening.
I was too drunk to do anything about it, and I mean anything. I emerged from that room still a virgin if you consider the loss of virginity to be having an orgasm while within the vagina of a woman.
I hadn't had the nerve to attempt it again before meeting Aida.
Have you ever watched an old-fashioned steam locomotive starting up, where it slowly chugs along, gaining speed until it starts flying? Better yet - Have you ever watched one of those old movies where some cinematographer tries to create an ambiance by starting with the film going painfully slow, the audio nothing but a low-frequency, indecipherable growl, then the action slowly speeds up until it starts to make sense?
That's what Saturday morning felt like.
The first thought on waking was there was just too much light in the room. I had invested in heavy shades and curtains for my apartment because I like to sleep in the dark.
It wasn't dark.
My unknown cinematographer pressed a button or twisted a rheostat and reality cranked up one notch. I realized I was not in my own bed. Further, I wasn't in the bed at my parent's house. Nor was I in a hotel room - hotel rooms don't smell like the room I was in.
Another tweak to reality and I realized I was not alone in the bed, which further led to the realization my hand was resting on something soft and round and warm. And breathing. Definitely breathing.
Click again. I was holding a breast. The breast was covered with some slippery-slidy fabric. Like a nightgown? I cracked one eye against the light. Yup - a nightgown. A red nightgown. With black lace trim. Thin enough to reveal a pair of black panties under the sheer fabric.
Another click. The arm - I suppose it was my arm - holding the breast was covered in sheer black fabric. With red lace trim. Color co-ordinated? Apparently. Opening the other eye I found that I was indeed wearing a black nightgown over red panties.
Clickity-clackity-boing! Aida and I made love. Remember how I commented on her air of confidence. She quickly realized I lacked the relevant experience, so she gently guided me to where it most pleasured her and she returned the favor.
We made love, an experience about as far from the attempted fucking-on-orders in that misbegotten frat-house as any I could imagine. An indescribable explosion of sensation.
Aida was a confident women, one so confident that she was willing to make me confident despite my inexperience. The wrong person could have destroyed me completely with only a few words, instead she brought me up to her level with encouragement. By the time we were done I no longer feared making a fool out of myself with a woman.
Later, a happy, slippery, very crowded shower. Laughing as she offered her girlfriend-first-class one of her nightgowns. More laughter as we cuddled until we slept.
Reality was back, and very welcome. I kissed her gently and her eyelids fluttered.
"You're still here," she murmured."
"So are you."
"And it wasn't a dream?"
"Should I pinch you to see?"
"Try a kiss instead."
I did so.
"Still here, the both of us," I said.
"This is a little embarrassing…"
"You're really not the kind of girl who jumps in bed with just anyone?"
"No. I've got to pee. Bad"
"Be my guest."
I removed my hand from her breast and she ran for the bathroom. She didn't close the door so I heard her personal waterfall. I don't think she was kidding.
I was sitting cross-legged on the bed when she returned from the bathroom holding a big, fluffy towel. She pulled over a chair, smiled at me and tossed it on the night table and saying "Jeez - I suppose you're going to tell me you do yoga or Tai-chi or are a martial arts master in your spare time."
"Sorry - the closest I come to Tai-chi is the occasional cup of Chai tea."
She stuck her tongue out at me. She was very cute when she did that and I couldn't help but notice her breasts shimmy beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown.
"You look very cute in my nightie. It even fits you."
"Is this the uniform that comes with my promotion to girlfriend-first-class?"
"I'm not sure. It's pretty much useless as camouflage."
"Lightweight - perfect for duty on a tropical island."
"No, that would be your bikini, sailor."
"Could be dangerous. If you tried a snappy salute you would probably fall out of your halter. Not something I'd have to worry about in a bikini."
"Your problem would be lower down."
"So it would."
"I bet a woody would be embarrassing in a bikini."
"I wouldn't doubt for a minute. Funny though, I've never had that problem. I know plenty of guys that boast about getting hard when they see a sexy woman, but it doesn't work that way with me."
"It doesn't?"
"Not that I haven't speculated on what would happen if I ended up in bed with a good looking woman, but spontaneous erections - nope."
"And did you speculate about me?"
"Sure thing. A pleasant experience but reality beats it all hollow."
"I wondered. You certainly were polite about it."
"Fantasies are fun, but I wouldn't force them on anyone unasked. Women deserve to be treated with respect, even if you have lust in your heart. No, make that people deserve to be treated with respect no matter what sex, it's only that so many men treat women as inferior that we need to keep specifying woman."
"For a guy, you make one hell of a girlfriend."
"I'll let you in on a secret. You know all those psychological tests you take in college?"
"Sure. They can be fun. Did you answer them truthfully or try to screw up their data?"
"Actually, I tried to be truthful. Want to know what the most consistent result was across the board?"
"Of course."
"Gender perception. I fall smack-dab in the middle between male and female. And not just on one test, on all of 'em."
"No wonder I felt comfortable talking to you like a girlfriend, yet you were certainly man enough when it comes to lovemaking."
"It may sound silly, but I wonder if it's really about male versus female. I suspect I may even be bi, but I've never had an opportunity to find out. I think I could enjoy sex with the right man as much as sex with the right woman. As long as I care for my partner and my partner cares about me then the physical plumbing is not all that relevant."
"You have got to be one of the most interesting and complex men I have ever known. What would you do if I handed you a bra when we finally get around to getting dressed?"
"With nothing to put in the cups it wouldn't do much good, would it?"
"Details! There are a dozen places in town that have breast forms.
"Breast forms?"
"Sure. I'm a pharmacist, remember? I've lost count of the women who have asked if there was a pill they could take to get their boobs to grow. I have to tell them that they'd be better off with prosthetics. Then I usually have to explain what a prosthetic is."
"Didn't they get vocabulary quizzes in school?"
"Honey, some of them don't even know the words penis and vagina. I've heard all kinds of euphemisms."
"You're kidding?"
"Nope. At least the penis enlargement scams that flood my mailbox use the word straight out."
"Doesn't it have to be straight out to use it?"
"It can be cocked at an angle and still do the job."
"So, is bigger better? Quantity over quality."
"I think we've laid that nonsense to rest, haven't we?"
"I think so, but convincing people like he-who-will-not-be-named might take a bit of effort."
"Welcome to American cultural norms."
"I don't think it’s just American. I've seen those e-mails in Spanish and one of my Asian co-workers tells me she gets them in three different dialects of Chinese."
"So I'm not the only one!"
"Those e-mails are sent out by the tens of thousands."
"Not the e-mails, girlfriend - the girlfriend part. You actually have women who are comfortable with talking about penises with you because they know you aren't the type to take it as a come-on."
"I never thought of it that way."
She grabbed the towel and wrapped it turban-style around her head. She spoke in an atrocious Eastern European accent that was a phony as it was cute.
"Madame Zelda knows all and sees all. Tell me, seeker of enlightenment. Who did you sit with around the lunch table at college? Boys, girls, zebras? Madame Zelda says it was both."
"Wrong. All three - one of the girls had black-and-white stripes in her hair."
"Ah, proof of Madame Zelda's infallibility."
"A lucky guess."
"Keep it up and you won't get lucky again, sucker," she said in a low growl.
"My apologies, Madame Zelda."
"Better. When you got the infamous talk as a teenager it was from both your parents, is that not so?"
"You're batting one thousand."
"Ah! A sports reference. Tell me - your coworker who talked about penises. What was she wearing that day?"
"A calf-length Chong-sam in royal blue with gold embroidery. Cap sleeves, collar-type neckline and slit to mid thigh. She was going to see a customer who had a thing for traditional dress."
"Jewelry?"
"Earrings - rubies on a gold chain, her wedding ring and no necklace. Wouldn't work with that collar."
"Hair?"
"Sort of parted in front but not all the way back and swept back into a - I'm not sure what the name is but almost like a bun."
"Do you have any idea how many men in this world could use a sports metaphor and then go on to give a detailed description of how a woman was dressed several weeks ago?"
"Do you have any idea how much a boy with two older sisters learns about that stuff? Seriously, I must have been dragged along on shopping expeditions as many times as your average teenage girl ever was. I learned that there is no safe answer to the question 'Does this dress make my butt look big?' I learned to differentiate between Sky blue, Teal, Cerulean, Aegean blue, Sapphire and Arctic blue without a color chart. I've witnessed firsthand just what a push-up bra can do for a modestly endowed girl. I am even modestly skilled in applying nail polish to my sister's feet.
"My god! Where have you been hiding all my life?"
"I thought Madame Zelda knew all and saw all. Why not ask her?"
"Madame Zelda is asking her girlfriend - the one sitting there wearing her panties and nightgown."
"Neither her girlfriend nor her boyfriend has any idea."
"Damn! A man who can admit he doesn't know all the answers."
"That's Madame Zelda's job. I wouldn't want to get her fired."
"Madame Zelda is going to retire secure in the knowledge that by staying out of the bars and striking up a conversation with a guy who didn't immediately give her the hots she may have found a boyfriend and a girlfriend as well as a thoughtful lover."
She unwound the towel from her head, folded it in half and placed it on the bed. She placed herself on top of the towel and smiled.
"Want to get lucky?"
Why did modern civilization go to all the effort to invent answering machines and voice mail if certain persons refuse to use them? It used to be that voice mail was only used when you weren't home to answer the phone, but with the ubiquity of cell phones you can be interrupted and distracted 24/7 no matter where on the globe you happen to be.
Voice mail is handy if you don't recognize the calling number, thus filtering out many of the spam calls that want to remind us our vehicle warranty needs attention. So far I haven't gotten any robocalls offering to enlarge my penis, but I suppose it's only a matter of time.
I will only observe that at the time Aida's phone rang my penis had done a fine job of enlarging on it's own or - shall we say - with some encouragement from Aida? In any case, her phone started singing Bad Child from somebody called Tones and I. Never heard of the song or the group, but it stopped Aida in mid…
Let's not get into too much detail here, suffice it to say that my mouth was otherwise engaged at the time and her mouth was only being periodically used to make wordless comments. Now, isn't the whole idea of voice mail to allow you to proceed undistracted if you are involved in something important when the phone rings?
Apparently not. She reached over and turned on the speakerphone function.
"Hello… Mother…"
Mother? I'm practically drowning down here and she's talking to her mother?!
"You sound like you're dying or something. What's going on down there?"
"Well, I am hoping to experience what the French call the little death, but I wouldn't worry about it."
"You're dying and I shouldn't worry? What's wrong with you?"
"Not a thing, Mother. In fact, I'm quite exhilarated at the moment. Uh!"
I put my recently gained tutelage to good use and flipped my tongue over a particularly sensitive place. That was the 'Uh!'
"Aida Marie, you are not making any sense!"
"Mother, you have never been able to understand why I do what I do, so don't try to start now. You… Uh!… must have called for a reason."
"Of course I did. I have to know if you are bringing your fiancé to the Anniversary party. You haven't given me an answer, darling."
"Uh! I don't have a… Uh!… Yes! I am damned well bringing my fiancée to the party, Mother."
"You certainly are distracted, Aida. I'm sure you mean your fiancé, darling."
"I meant what I said. I'm bringing my fiancée… Uh!… Her name is Lauren Cooke. Cooke with an 'e'."
"You wouldn't!"
"I damned well will! Oh god! I can't talk any more, Mother. Goodbye."
She reached over to the phone but missed, sending it spinning to the floor.
"Oh yes!" she shouted. "Yes! Yes!! YESSSSS!!!!"
I wondered what her mother thought of that. Obviously if she birthed Aida she must have had sex at least once, although I had to wonder about the man who found such a bitch attractive enough to bed her.
I guess it takes all kinds.
Some time later - we were surprised that it was still before eleven in the morning - we showered and cleaned up. Since the bathroom in her studio apartment was really only comfortable with one person in the shower, I sat on the pot and amused myself watching her foggy outline through the glass door of the shower. My mind drifted, running around in circles like a demented chipmunk.
Naturally I replayed our time together, hitting instant replay a time or two in order to more closely examine what we were doing in detail, committing such things to memory for later use. If it worked once it should work again.
Eventually I ran out of the memory tape, but came to a screeching halt just before her impromptu performance for her Mother's edification.
…My fiancée. Uh! Her name is Lauren Cooke. With an 'e'…
What the hell?!
"Aida?" I called.
"Can't hear you over the shower."
I opened the door, getting a face-full of steam.
"Did you just tell your mother you were bringing your fiancée to the wedding?"
"Did I? I was pissed and about this far from orgasm. It was a lovely orgasm, by the way, darling."
"I hope your mother appreciated it as much as I did."
"Heh-heh-heh! I didn't mean to let her hear, but it was so lovely I don't mind sharing it. It's cold with the door open. We can talk when you get cleaned off."
"Sure."
I closed the door.
…fiancée…
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
"Oh Lauren, I'm so sorry," cried Aida. "I was just so damn mad at that bitch with her 'bring your fiancé crap. She knew damn well that I don't have a fiancé."
"No, you've got a fiancée."
"What?"
"You've got a fiancée. I heard you say it myself. I think I just got promoted from girlfriend-first-class to fiancée for bravery under fire. Actually, considering what was happening at the time it should be bravery under water. I didn't realize that a woman getting wet with passion was quite so literal."
"You! You…"
"You wouldn't hit a poor, defenseless woman, would you?"
"Are you serious?"
"I told you I tested out halfway between man and woman. I even tried on my sister's bras a time or two when I was a horny teenager. Think we can tip the balance in what? Three weeks, was it?"
"Less this weekend. Jesus Lauren! All I was hoping for was a good time in bed, not a lifetime commitment."
"Engagements can be broken. Just think of the fun we could have with a spectacular fight at the party."
"You devil. You know I was joking about the girlfriend bit."
"Sure. I kind of liked the joke, though. I also like a challenge. At least we should be able to share the clothes if we try."
"You get your own lingerie, fella."
"Hey, I've already gotten into your panties, why not your bra?"
"Because… I don't know - just because!"
"I suppose my job is usually talking you out of your bra, not talking me into it."
"I haven't smoked any pot in like, months, but this conversation could only be happening if I was high."
"Girlfriends don't let girlfriends get high?"
"Maybe it's time…"
"Actually, one of the marketing plans I critiqued was for a dispensary that wanted cute names for the various kinds of pot. My best advice was to steer clear of anything that might attract kids. Things like cotton candy or sweet treat."
"Seriously?"
"Marketing run amok."
"So how would I market you as my fiancée?"
"Depends on the market. Are we going for sweet and demure, brash and bountiful, or maybe kickass bitch?"
"God, that last one is tempting!"
"Not sure if I could pull it off. I'm more the sweet and demure type, I think."
"How much cleavage could you show as a sweet and demure fiancée?"
"Depends on the makeup job. I could ask my father."
"Your father? You're shitting me!"
"Seriously, dear old Dad has some buddies in the movie business and those guys can do amazing things with makeup and silicone."
"You would actually tell your father you want his help to turn his son into a sweet and demure woman so she can taunt the raging bitch mother of a woman you hardly know?"
"I think we know each other quite well, at least in the Biblical sense. Here, just listen."
I finally found my cell phone in the pocket of my pants, which had gotten kicked under the bed in our hurry last night.
"Hi Dad!"
"Hey, son. What's happening?"
"You are going to have a hard time believing this. Maybe you ought to get Mom so you won't have to try and explain what your crazy child is about to do."
"It can't be that bad if you want your mother to know."
"Depends on what you mean by bad, Pops."
"Hang on a minute… MAYA! Lauren's on the phone… OK, she's here."
"What's this all about, Lauren? Mom asked.
"First, I want to introduce you to my girlfriend, Aida. Aida, my parents Andre and Maya."
"And when were you going to get around to telling us about this girlfriend?"
"I wasn't a girlfriend until last night, so give Lauren a break," Aida offered.
"It gets better, Mom. This morning I was promoted to fiancée."
"What? Have you been smoking pot again, kid?" asked dad.
"Natural highs only, Pops."
"I think we need to do a video chat so we can see your girlfriend."
"Uh, Mom - we aren't dressed for company."
"Who cares? Come as you are."
"He means we aren't dressed. Period."
"Oh."
"Can you think of a better way to celebrate an engagement?"
"That's the honeymoon, son."
"Darn, I get those two mixed up."
"Like fiancé and fiancée?"
"Actually, those aren't mixed up. I need Dad's friend's help so I can get a believable set of breasts that will last a weekend."
"Shit!"
"I didn't know you knew that word, Mom."
"I changed your diapers, kid. I am all too familiar with your shit."
"But why can't you just be a normal, ordinary fiancé?"
"Because I need to be a fake woman with a fake knockers so I can be a fake fiancée to piss off her bitch of a mother."
"Where did we go wrong, Andre?" asked Mom. "His sisters turned out normal, they got married and had kids and didn't ask you for a fake penis."
"And a good thing, too. Boobs are easy, penises are hard."
"Dad, that's despicable!"
"I kind of like it, Mr Cooke," my traitorous fiancée replied.
So we explained why I needed boobs and my parents got a good laugh, as well as some reinforcement that their son was insane. Dad promised to get hold of his friend and ask for help and we promised to be at their house for dinner on Saturday.
I was breathing a sigh of relief when we hung up the phone until Aida looked at me and said "You do realize that this is going to take more than a quick change if we're going to pull it off. That means that my girlfriend will be spending the weekends with me until the party."
"No problem from my point of view."
"It also means my girlfriend will be escorting me to dinner at her parents' home next Saturday."
"Uh… problem?"
Suddenly, what I had hoped would be a lazy day of hanging out with my new lover, interspersed with interludes of passion, became a concerted effort to tick off items on an ever-growing list.
The first item was to get dressed. Since we were not ready to perform an instant gender change, that meant I needed my laundry that was out in my car. That meant that Aida had to get dressed first and select my wardrobe since I had managed to split the seam in my shorts in my hurry to dispose of them last night.
Watching her get dressed was a fascinating experience, and if you think I was doing so to be able to know how to dress myself as a woman you are living in a fantasy world even richer than the one I was headed for.
Before I dressed, Aida measured various portions of my body. Not that she needed to know my inseam for my upcoming impersonation, but it was rather nice when she measured it anyway. When we had both progressed to the point where we could exit the apartment without being arrested for public lewdness, we headed for breakfast out. Too much to do to cook for ourselves that morning. Well, afternoon.
Aida proved to be no yogurt and granola muncher; IHOP's Big Steak Omelette, complete with a stack of pancakes, handily replaced all the calories we had expended. We partook of the Seasonal Fresh Fruit, so that made it healthy, right?
I'm afraid the next stop will be a disappoint for many of you who are reading this. The stop was at Target, the purchases were a couple of plain cotton bras, the things were about as sexy as the halter on a horse. Also a ten-pack of granny panties and some pantyhose. I was instructed to put on the pantyhose and then we found a pair of simple black flats to fit my clodhoppers. We might be able to trade clothes, but my feet would never fit in her shoes. I felt like Cinderella's ugly stepsister.
At the checkout I reached for my wallet, but Aida told me to put it away.
"Look, we're doing this as a command performance for my father and my bitch mother. No way I'm going to let you spend money like this on me. I have his credit card and his accountants won't even notice it if I spend less than a megabuck. If this test run proves successful we are going to go shopping with a vengeance. You are going to look like a million bucks.
Just what I've always wanted to be - a clothes horse. Filly?
Leaving the store with pantyhose under my trousers was an interesting experience, especially as we had neglected to perform the ritual leg shaving common in these stories in our rush to get going. Such are the woes of the novice crossdresser.
Now comes the embarrassing part. Yes, I had tried on my sister's bras. Yes, I had stuffed them with socks and such. Yes, they looked lumpy and stupid. Yes I had tried on her dresses. No, I hadn't gone any further. This had all been done in splendid isolation, well away form prying eyes.
Now I found myself the owner of two of my very own bras. The phrase teats on a bull was passing through my mind at regular intervals as we entered a veritable palace of feminine delights, where there were prying eyes aplenty. I was beginning to realize that the afterglow of my first successful sexual experience might have warped my judgement just a teensie bit.
Somehow, when Aida had been tossing the term prosthetics around when explaining her advice to women who wanted more, I had imagined some sort of medical supply house. You know, a place full of wheelchairs, hospital beds and urinals for both men and women.
I had been in such a place to rent a wheelchair when Dad had broken his leg some years ago. As a kid, I was fascinated by the illustrated labels on the female urinals - even if the woman was fully dressed when demonstrating the proper placement.
Shows you how far I was going to get by making assumptions.
Aida's confidence was present in full measure as she explained my needs. I swear the woman she was speaking to looked about fourteen years old and could have used a bit of enhancement herself. Sorry, I still think like a guy despite the direction my life was headed.
So the lady confirmed my bra size and my desired cup size. They spent a few minutes debating shapes and materials, and off the lady went to some undisclosed location. She returned with a pair of boxes, which she handed me. Aida and I retired to a changing room and she handed me my bra from her purse. I felt a bit smug when I adjusted the straps and donned it, snapping the hooks behind me like an old pro.
So I shaded the truth a bit when I said I wore my sister's bras a time or two.
The falsies dropped into place without ceremony and I found I had to have Aida adjust the straps a bit. The falsies were heaver than rolled up socks and needed shorter straps to keep them in place.
The room had one of those three sided mirrors so you could see your back. With my long hair, darned if I didn't look like a believable woman from the back. The unmistakable curve of my bra promised further delights on the other side of the body. Of course that was a politician's promise, void once elected.
Actually, it felt pretty good to have some heft in my bra, more like the real thing. Aida and the saleslady conferred and were less satisfied than I was. The forms were returned to their box and the lady again went in search of the proper item. She returned with a teardrop shape that did look more natural on my body. I could just see some miniature ski-jumper yodeling down the curve of my breast and launching himself from my pseudo-nipple for an Olympic record.
I kept that thought to myself.
Satisfied with my new bustline, the women left me to resume my normal identity. I dressed, restored the teardrops to their boxes and found Aida at the checkout with several bags already rung out, just replacing Daddy's much-used credit card in her wallet. I can only describe the look on her face as smug.
No crossdressing story would be complete without a trip to the mall, so that's where we went next. Not to visit Vicky or any of her friends, but to see the ubiquitous Claire. In a perfectly unemotional and straightforward transaction I left Clair with a pair of golden studs in my ears. Also a dozen or so little cards in a bag against the day the starters came out, You didn't think I could only choose one pair of earrings, did you?
One final stop to pick up the makings for dinner and I was amazed to see it was only three o'clock in the afternoon. It seemed like we had been running around the city for days!
I'd love to report taking a relaxing, feminine bubble bath to prepare for my role as a femme fatale fiancée, but such things are not possible in a studio apartment with only a shower stall in the bathroom. I had to content myself with smearing hair remover goop all over my legs and chest. While I was marinating I mused on those commercials touting the permanent removal of 'unsightly body hair' and the lengths they go to so as to not specify just where that unsightly hair was located. I supposed having a hairy cleavage would be one of those areas, thus the pink stuff slathered on my pecs.
The timer on my cell phone beeped and I washed away the goop, appraised myself in the mirror once I had removed the condensation, then attended to a few spots that I had missed. I emerged, towel wrapped around my chest just like I had seen women do in a hundred movies, to find a smiling Aida. She was attired only in bra, panties and gartered stockings. Now don't take this the wrong way, but she proceeded to give me a very thorough blow job.
You did take it the wrong, way, didn't you? Be honest.
I was blown dry with warm air from her blow-dryer and my hair was styled in a much more feminine manner. With that accomplished, she proceeded to thoroughly remove the moisture from my skin. I will admit her attentions to my crotch did have some results besides dry skin.
Thoroughly cleansed and dried, I learned how to put on gartered stockings without ruining them, something I had never tried before. I'm tempted to spend a few paragraphs describing the sensation of stockings on newly hairless legs, but better you should try it for yourself. It's worth the effort, believe me!
Next came the panties, which proved to be crotchless. That accounted for the conspiratorial grins at the checkout counter at the boutique. Before she could move away, I reached out and proved to myself that she was similarly attired. She slapped my hand and firmly told me "Not yet!"
Darn!
Then came the next step in my transformation from acquaintance to friend to girlfriend to fiancée. Aida deftly spread glue on the breast forms, waited until it was properly tacky and then carefully placed them on my chest. I had never really considered that most women had to go through life coping with a few pounds of pendulous flesh hanging off them. For a guy, it's quite an enlightening experience. Before the day was over I learned to appreciate a bra as a very useful item of clothing, not just something alluring for a man to remove prior to sex.
Actually, wearing a properly fitting bra turned out to be a lot more interesting than when I was sneaking my sister's bras from the laundry hamper. I didn't dare adjust them and we were not really the same size.
"So Lauren, the foundations have been laid. Pick out something to wear."
Ah, a test. I had several role models to choose from. Mom was a very good dresser, but she was of another generation. My sisters were my contemporaries, but I hadn't seen them dressed to impress in some time. They were both suburban housewives and their days of getting gussied up for a party were few and far between, and they most certainly didn't include me in such festivities. That left Aida, and right before me was a treasure trove of what she chose to make herself beautiful.
But wait, I had only seen her dressed down to do her laundry and we were certainly not going to dress in anything fancy to hang around her house. Having clothed herself, she was wearing slacks and a blouse opened just far enough to be interesting. That would never do - the slacks were cut for her generous figure and would be insufferably baggy on my beanpole body. Ditto the open buttons, no way I wanted to have the plastic boobs showing to any inquisitive male.
In previous generations the answer would have been simple: a housedress. However, my grandmother had proudly claimed to be holding the sledgehammer when her generation drove a stake through the heart of that 'women don't wear pants' bullshit.
Lacking any appreciable hips, I figured that a skirt and top would not be the best choice, so a dress it was. Scanning through Aida's closet I found a burgundy double-knit that might work. It had a high neckline, was elasticized just below the bust and had a full skirt which helped to hide the lack of hips. I pulled it out, gave it the once over and removed the hanger. I slipped it over my head and shimmied into it, getting a kick as the elastic snapped into place after it cleared my bustline.
I gave a little spin as I had seen my mother and sisters do and said "Do I pass inspection?"
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
I gave a little spin as I had seen my mother and sisters do and said "Do I pass inspection?"
"Not quite. This is the part I hate about being a woman - makeup. Fortunately I don't need it to be a pharmacist - who ever heard of someone trying to put the moves on the woman who is providing his Viagra prescription?"
"One would think that if he needed Viagra he had someone to use it with."
"Shows how much you know. I've known a couple of snakes that treat it like having a condom in their wallet - you never know when you may need it."
"If I were a woman I'd…"
"And so you shall soon be, my dear fiancé. In my parent's milieu a woman without makeup might as well be naked."
"Now that would certainly get the party going."
"Have you ever tried it for yourself?"
"No. I never got that far."
"So tonight I will give you a basic bit of makeup, not so much to create a beautiful woman but to teach you how to make it through an evening with your face itching but being unable to scratch for fear of damaging your makeup."
"That doesn't sound like it will be as much fun as it's been so far."
"It won't be. That's why I don't use makeup unless I'm coerced."
"If you don't use makeup then how do you know how to use makeup?"
"Darlings," she said in a fruity, pseudo-English voice, "No proper woman would appear in public without her face in proper condition. You shall not be like these working girls who eschew the proprieties."
"Seriously?"
"I may have flunked out of every finishing school I got dumped in, but I did learn how to use makeup. Also basic hair care and styling, dancing, proper topics for small talk and, above all, how to snare a rich husband."
"So getting engaged to a working-class woman is your form of protest?"
"Bingo! Sit your ass in the chair and let me go to work."
"I don't think a proper woman would say the word ass in public."
"One - I am not a proper woman. Two - we are not in public. Three - your ass is still not in the chair."
I sat. I watched. I was surprised. The woman I had seen in the mirror was, well, just another woman who I would pass on the street without remark. Ten minutes later I think I would have given her a second look if I could do so without being rude.
"Amazing!" chortled Aida. "If I weren't already engaged to you I'd be down on my knees before you got away."
"Rings! We're going to need engagement rings, aren't we?" I realized.
"I didn't think of that."
"I suppose we can get something cheap since we aren't really engaged."
"Not on your life! My mother will be examining both our hands with her jeweler's loupe before we've been there ten minutes. She's spot a phony in a flash."
"So what do we do?"
"We go ring shopping Monday night."
"Monday?
"I have to move some money out of my trust fund. Daddy would notice two decent engagement rings on his credit card."
"But… That's crazy!"
"Sure is."
"I don't know if I'm believable enough to go out in public so soon."
"Hah! A little more makeup, some high heels and keep your mouth shut and that should be enough."
"Voice needs work?"
"Sorry."
"No, I want to do this right. I suppose there are You-tube videos that can help me sound more feminine."
"Gad! There are You-tube videos for anything! You seen the one where the guy dances around the stage farting to the music?
"I haven't had the pleasure. Actually, the one with all the women playing Mozart's Turkish March on bamboo marimbas or xylophones or whatever they call them is more my speed. Now if I could just look like the women in that one…"
"Hey! No comparisons allowed. Getting that shit from my mother almost had me believing I was a failure as a woman because I didn't weigh ninety pounds and have AA boobs like a fashion model."
"She didn't!"
"She surely did."
"Let me guess, your mother would be perfectly at home in a brass bra with horns on her helmet belting out Wagner in the great opera houses of Europe."
"She can't sing worth shit."
"And the rest?"
"I get my height from my father and my build from my mother. I'm guessing she's somewhere around 250 these days. Put those damned horns on her head and she might be mistaken for a bull. I will not follow her example in that or anything else!"
"Honey, you're built like the proverbial brick shithouse and you have nothing to be ashamed of. Say it loud and say it proud!"
"And say it while Mother's listening on the phone!"
Do I have to say it?
OK, I will.
Practice, practice, practice!
That's how the rest of the weekend went. You've heard of negative reinforcement? Some guy with the improbably name of Burrhus Frederic Skinner (is it any wonder why he preferred to be known as BF Skinner?) figured out back in the 1940s that if you catch someone doing something wrong and stop whatever he's doing cold, eventually he will learn not to do whatever he shouldn't. That applies to women, too, but back then women didn't count for squat in scientific research.
Which is the long way around to explain why I had my hand slapped about forty times in the first hour after my face was made up. Aida was a big advocate of operant conditioning by very direct methods. The only saving grace was that Aida had to stay close to me in order to slap my hand.
I did dramatic readings of news articles from The Washington Post. Then - the god I don't believe in help me - dramatic readings from Fox News, in preparation to discuss politics with the crowd at the party. It wasn't all that hard to work up a head of steam with Fox, but keeping my voice under control was quite a challenge. I did not want to keep shifting to falsetto!
By the second hour I only got slapped maybe twenty times. I was learning. I was also itching. Bigtime! Why do women put up with this?
Oh yeah, Aida doesn't. She's a smart woman.
I walked back and forth, trying to imitate Aida's gate. We decided I needed some high heels to help me look more feminine. We danced, with Aida taking the lead. Because of that exclusive girl's school had got her cultured, she knew how to dance. Since she was usually the tallest and largest in her class she got picked to take the man's part. Ironic, that, with me learning to be the woman.
So we walked, talked, cooked, ate, cuddled, slept, made love, (screw the maeup!) found ourselves to be very much in sync. I felt comfortable telling her about the frat-house fiasco, she unburdened herself of some childhood hurts. I was starting to get it, to get how a woman might feel - at least as well as anyone born with a penis can.
Sunday evening at nine I was sitting at Aida's vanity squirting this foul-smelling liquid at the seams in my falsies, slowly removing the one on the left side. It finally came free just as my cell phone rang.
Aida, I apologize for my comments about women who answer the phone when doing something important. I was sitting there nekkid as a jaybird with only one glued-on falsie on my right side and I answered the phone. I am everlastingly grateful that videophones are not as common as those old SF writers predicted in the pulps when my grandfather was reading them. And yes, he saved them all and I read many of them - interesting to see which predictions came true and which flopped.
"Hi Dad."
"Hi Lauren. I have some news for you."
"Please tell me it isn't from Fox News. I'm up to here with those idiots."
"Whatever are you doing listening to something like that?"
"Training my vocal control. If I can keep my voice in a feminine range while reading their crap out loud I figure I can make it through the weekend without giving myself away."
"Are you sure that the fairies didn't make off with my son and leave a changeling in his place?"
"Dad, have you looked at your messages lately?"
"Hell no. I ignore the phone on the weekends."
"I sent you and Mom some pictures about an hour ago. If you can do it without dropping the call, take a look and ask that question again."
"I'm not that much of a Luddite. Let's see… there… and there… and Good God!"
"Found it, eh?"
"That's you?! MAYA! You've got to see this!"
"Hold your horses, Andre." (faintly)
(Pause)
"Hi Mom. Dad has some pictures to show you."
"So what's the excitement? Nice girls, is one of them your supposed fiancée?"
"Sure is. The other one is me."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph protect us and all the Saints preserve us!"
"What's with the Irish, Mom? You're Greek, fer cryin' out loud."
"And Polish and Lithuanian and probably Genghis Kahn impregnated one of my great-great-great grandmothers while raping and pillaging his way across the continents. Sometimes Τι στο καλό κάνεις just doesn't cut it. The Irish are even more poetic than the Greeks."
(That means roughly 'what the heck are you doing?' in Greek.)
"Not bad for only a couple of days practice, eh?"
"You look like… like… like a normal girl!"
"That's the whole idea."
"Wait a minute," said Dad. "I'm forwarding these to your sisters."
"Can I disown you?"
"They won't be too surprised, after all you used to try on their stuff."
"You're worse than Mom! I thought I could hide stuff from you, at least."
"I'll let you in on a secret, Lauren. She tells me everything, and your sisters tell her everything. You haven't got a chance."
"Really, Lauren," said Mom, "you never shut a cupboard door or closed a drawer or turned off a light in your life. When your sister found the clothes she wore three days before on the top of the hamper, what do you think she thought?"
"Busted!" cried Aida.
"Ouch!" I moaned.
"That's OK, kid," Dad said. "I did the same thing myself at that age, only it didn't last long. My sister was younger and too small and Mom was too big. Once Zoe Moreshead let me explore what was under her bra I kind of lost interest."
"And it's a good thing you found what's under my bra more interesting than Zoe. Besides, she told me you were pretty clumsy."
"I was all of fifteen years old, what would you expect?"
"About what Zoe did."
"A man has no secrets when the women gang up on him."
"Listen to him, Lauren," cut in Aida. "When we're married it will be the same with us."
I would have said something cutting, but I was drowned out by my parents' gleeful cackling.
"Damn!" I complained. "I should have kept it up. Look at all those years of fun I missed because I stopped playing with lady's underwear."
"You stopped?" asked Mom.
"Of course I did. I developed other interests."
"Yeah, like ladies," Dad taunted, "only her name wasn't Zoe."
"There were scads and scads of them. So many ladies, so little time."
"So much bullshit in so little time."
"So… so… Dammit! Child? We have managed to get rather far away from the reason I called."
"I vaguely remember the phone ringing."
"You said this bash is two weekends from now?"
"That's right, Mr Cooke," confirmed Aida.
"So my friend tells me that your best option is for him to outfit you on the Monday before. That would give you time to accustom yourself to being a buxom lass, then he would remove and re-install them on the following Friday so they would last the weekend. Actually he said they could last as long as two weeks if you treat them gently and maintain the makeup properly. He did warn me that if you go braless too long the silly things might fall off."
"Now wouldn't that be the talk of the party?"
"I know I'm going to regret asking this, but do you want to go the whole nine yards and do hip and booty pads as well?"
I looked at Aida. She just started laughing.
"What the hell? Let's go for it."
"One more thing," Dad continued. "He did warn me that you're buying a Lamborghini and not a Toyota. The good stuff is expensive."
"Anything so I can be a racy chick. I just may have to stay a woman for a few years to justify the expense."
"Someday I'll learn not to say stupid things to my mother when I get mad at her," moaned Aida.
"Marry in haste, repent at leisure, right?"
"You can take your…"
"Oh goodie! Our first fight!"
"Lauren," cut in my mother.
"Yes, Mom."
"Wear something pretty to dinner on Saturday, will you?"
I know I had to return to my own apartment on Sunday night so I could be ready for work on Monday, but my bed felt awfully empty. Another emptiness was on my chest. I had only had breasts for maybe thirty hours and I really missed them. How crazy is that?
At least I didn't have to wear a suit on Monday - no client meetings so no need to impress anyone. I'm not sure my brain could have handled wearing a dress one day and a three-piece suit the next, although I rather enjoyed the fantasy of me showing up for work in a skirted suit and a lavender blouse. Aida's mother would have plenty of company in her indignation.
I made it to work on time despite some interesting dreams, and immediately called the boss and HR to use some of my vacation days the week before the party. I got admonished about cutting things so close, but nobody else in my area had claimed those days. One more hurdle passed.
It took about forty minutes before someone noticed that I had pierced ears. It took a bit longer before anyone worked up the nerve to ask about them. I answered in a high falsetto "Aren't they just lovely! When I saw them I knew that they were just so me!"
That earned me a muttered "Jesus Christ."
"Relax, Harry. I haven't gone over to the dark side. My girlfriend talked me into getting my ears pierced."
"You're nuts," he responded.
"From your mouth to god's ears."
Off he went to spread the news. Pierced ears and a girlfriend. Juicy gossip hot off the presses. I was beginning to wonder if we needed a traffic cop to cope with everyone who needed to walk past my desk that day. Better yet, a tollbooth. This whole thing was getting expensive.
Speaking of expensive, I cut out at lunch and went to one of those Corporate Giant Shoe Warehouses to find a pair of high heels. You know, the kind of place with two people working there and if you can't find what you want then just go barefoot?
No explanations needed. I found a pair of three-inch heels and tried them on.
I found that three inches is a very relative measurement. If you're talking an X-rated film it's a joke. If you're talking a steel bank vault door it just ought to do the job. If you're talking a pair of shoes, it's Mount Everest. I'm just glad I didn't bring down the entire rack as I grabbed for something to keep me from landing flat on the tiled floor.
OK, try two inches. Wobbly, but it shouldn't take too much to get used to them… I put them back in the box and bought them. They went in the trunk of my car - no way I was going to let any of my co-workers see that I had brought high heels to work.
As the day wore on my mind drifted to our engagement ring hunt that evening. Taste in jewelry is a very personal thing. How were Aida and I to find a pair of rings that satisfied both of our tastes?
At this point I have to admit I almost wish my name wasn't Lauren. When you're writing about a crossdresser's adventures, being able to say "Jack went in" and "Jane came out" makes it abundantly obvious as to what clothes are being worn. My Dad's family comes from France, as you might guess with a name like Andre. Over in France, Lauren is a perfectly acceptable name for a male or a female.
There is some argument about where the name comes from. Some say it derives from the laurel plant, some from Roman surname Laurentius. It could also come from the French name Laurence, which is thought to also have been derived from the ancient Italian city Laurentum, which got its name from Laurus, which means “bay laurel” in Latin.
Confused yet?
Interestingly, Lauren is also a common surname in some parts of the world, like Ralph Lauren. I kind of doubt this Lauren will be wearing anything he designed, though.
Mom told me that Lauren means "wisdom." I like that one best.
But both the problem and the advantage is that I do not have to change my name when I put on a dress. Sure, there wouldn't be that awkward pause if I forgot my name when I was looking pretty, but did I want to be the same old boring Lauren after working so hard to be the new and improved version?
Lady Lauren? Nah, I'd need a castle in Europe to pull that off.
I could go back to the root of the name and try Laurel. That has possibilities.
I could do the American thing and chop off a syllable for a nickname. Lor? Too abrupt, I didn't much care for that, either.
Then it hit me. Lori! Yes, the new me could be Lori. Unmistakably feminine - something I hoped to be - and the perfect solution.
Chalk up another victory for the guy who makes his living spotting problems in a plan and offering solutions.
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
I was out the door at quitting time, something that was not all that common. After all, what else do I have to do? Watch the tube, eat dinner, read a book, wash my clothes? Big deal. I liked my job and staying until I found a good place to stop didn't bother me at all.
But not today. I was knocking on Aida's door just as soon as the gridlock spit me out and let me get there. After an enthusiastic welcome she pointed me to the bathroom, where I showered and shaved. Not that my beard is all that heavy but…
I suppose you've all seen the stereotype of the scruffy French artist - scraggly excuse for a goatee, hollow cheeks, intense burning eyes. Thanks to my Dad's French ancestors I had the scraggly beard part. On my mother's side, maybe she wasn't so far off about Genghis Kahn and her umpty-great grandmother. What I'm trying to say is I have a very light beard. With my dirty blond hair I could get away without shaving every day, but I do it because I think stubble sucks. I shaved for the second time that day because I didn't want Lori to get clocked.
I didn't have to waste time choosing an outfit, Aida had laid out a pale blue blouse with a big ruffle running along the buttons in front and a black skirt with an elastic waist. Interestingly enough, our waist sizes were pretty close, it was only in the hip department that I fell short. Pantyhose this time, no way would a modern woman wear gartered stockings with that outfit and that hemline unless she was going to be standing on a street corner and keeping an eye out for the cops.
While you could call my outfit demure, Aida had gone for wah-hoo! Bright red, low cut, skater dress. She had a ruby necklace dangling right at the top of her cleavage, assuring that every male eye would be looking right there and drooling. Four inch fuck-me heels below, little rubies dangling from her ears above, hair loose and bracelets jangling in the middle.
For the first time I saw Aida in full makeup - spectacular! I was not going to have to worry abut anyone looking too closely at me. Hell, I was going to have to worry about being completely unnoticed.
"What did you do with that conservative pharmacist lady I spent the weekend with?"
"You like?"
"I'm trying to decide if I should give in to lust or jealousy."
"Jealously, darling. Lust would muss the makeup. Get dressed, we're going out for dinner. Sink or swim time, kid. You have ten minutes to walk around in those heels and then we are out the door."
I got dressed. Damned if I wasn't embarrassed to be wearing those utilitarian underthings when I could clearly see the lace on Aida's bra through the thin material of the dress. Didn't take long for me to become a jealous bitch.
I got up and put on the heels. I wobbled around from one end of the studio to the other, getting the feel of the things. How the heck did Aida walk in those stilts?
I know. Practice, practice, practice!
I practiced until Aida called time.
"You're improving. I'll park at the far end of the parking lot and by the time we get to the restaurant you'll be an expert."
"Either that or I'll have shredded pantyhose and skinned knees."
"You'll need more confidence that that when we walk down the aisle in the church."
I got to practice my feminine glare until Aida started applying my makeup.
On the way to dinner, I started to wonder if Aida might have been some relation to my mother. I couldn't count the number of times Mom warned me that 'I've got eyes in the back of my head. Don't even think of dreaming you're going to get away with it!' How could a woman who was busy driving in traffic know when I almost scratched my face? How could she swat my hand away and not have an accident?
I guess I have a lot to learn about being a woman.
True to her word, Aida parked at the furthest edge of the parking lot. If we were in a stadium we would have been in the nosebleed seats, but at least I wasn't trying to climb stairs in these heels.
We ate at one of those corporate greasy spoons that seem to infest suburban America. You know, the ones that go by the first name of the founder - Denny's, Sherri's, Elmer's, Wendy's. Wait a minute, Wendy was his daughter and it's a glorified burger joint so it doesn't count.
By the time we got to the restaurant I was stable enough that I wasn't so worried that I would end up with my face in somebody's Spaghetti Bolognese. The skirt thing was automatic as I sat, as was kicking off those shoes to rest my feet. Sure I was nervous, but by the end of the meal being out in public as a woman, that was simply who I was. The Ladies Room? No problem. I was a lady. Well, no problem once I managed to find my shoes. They had migrated off somewhere and Aida had to hook them and fling them back to me. I only had to fix my lipstick, eating is hard on lipstick.
"Where do we go for rings?" I asked. "The mall?"
"Dear girl," the fruity pseudo-English bitch was back, "one does not purchase quality jewelry from a plebeian mall. It just isn't done!"
"Please accept my humble apology, your highness."
"Granted. One of course begins one's search at Tiffany's."
"Wow! My Mom has a genuine imitation Tiffany lampshade in her study."
"You're hopeless."
"You really want to start at Tiffany's?"
"No way, Jose. Those suckers think twenty grand for an engagement ring is mid-range."
"No shit?"
"I can piss off my mother a lot mere cheaply."
"I love a girl who pisses economically."
"And you can piss off!"
"Ooohhh… Kinky!"
"Will you stop that!"
"OK, I'm stopped. Where do we go?"
"I did some searching on the web. There's a place called Rubik's that shows some decent engagement rings on their site. A half carat diamond in 14Karat gold runs five, six hundred."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph protect us and all the Saints preserve us!"
"Like mother, like daughter?"
"Wouldn't a pair of mood rings do the job a whole lot cheaper?"
"If one expects the trap to spring you must bait it properly. Now if Mother were to be selecting an engagement ring for me - and believe me she would be perfectly happy to do it for me despite my wishes - it would certainly be about a five carat, first water diamond on a filigreed 18 karat gold band with at least a dozen smaller diamonds plastered all over the thing. Gaudy as hell, that's her style."
"Why do they measure diamonds and gold in vegetables, anyway?"
"Because you need a lot of lettuce to buy them, of course."
"I had to ask…"
"Same sound, different words. Diamonds come in Carats with a 'C' - one-fifth of a gram. Gold comes in Karats with a 'K' - one-twenty-forth of whatever metals are used in the alloy. Carrots come in Blancs - subdivided into Mels, Bugs and Bunnys. Bugs was one of the first crossdressers to gain exposure on national TV, you know."
"I tried. I really tried, but I had to say it.
"So is that really what's up, Doc?"
"The engagement is off."
"Do I get to keep the ring if you broke the engagement?"
"Good thing we haven't gotten the rings yet."
"And here I'm the guy that makes his living spotting the flaws in a plan."
"You just missed another one."
"What?"
"Get out your compact and look in the mirror. You're not a guy."
"Can I get serious for a minute?"
"I don't know, can you?"
"Yes. We're still talking an awful lot of money for a joke."
"Look, Lauren. My grandfather was loaded and he started a trust fund for me the day I was born. Dad wasn't quite as successful, but he started a trust fund right along with Gramps. Those investments have been collecting interest and re-investing it for twenty-eight years. I blew some of it on college, but when I hit twenty-four - damned male chauvinists thought a woman had to be more mature than twenty-one to handle money - all of it became mine! I live on my income and I've barely touched it. So yes, I can afford those rings."
"I guess that makes me a kept woman?"
"You're a keeper, anyway, Lauren."
"Can we make that Lori from now on?"
"Lori… I like it."
"I do too."
"Then make sure your boobies are in place and let's look at rings."
We entered the store holding hands, figuring that would give the salespeople a pretty good clue as to who the matching rings were for.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes, we're interested in a pair of engagement rings."
"I assume congratulations are in order?"
"I finally got her to say 'yes'."
Now wait - as I remember it was Aida saying YES! Rather emphatically. I just smiled and kept my mouth shut.
"Have you given any thought to the style you would prefer?"
"We're thinking of a simple solitaire, maybe half a carat. I'm a pharmacist and I use my hands all day and Lori spends most of her time on a computer doing complex analysis. We really don't want anything gaudy."
I had to admire Aida; assertive friendly, knowledgeable, open. Exactly the demeanor I strived for when meeting with a client. No wonder we bonded so quickly!
"I can appreciate that. Let me show you some of the things we have and you can see the various shapes to choose from - round, pear or heart among many. Have a seat and you can look more closely."
Who knew that there would be so many choices involved in finding an engagement ring? After trying and comparing several we decided that the pear cut flattered us both. I thought we were done, but no…
Now we had to decide on the setting. Aida and the saleslady started talking color palettes and warm tones as opposed to cool tones, leaving me far behind in the dust. I had no trouble keeping my mouth shut.
Aida showed me the veins in her wrist, which looked sort of a bluish-purple to me. That indicated she had a cool palette. My veins had a greenish tinge to them, so I was the proud possessor of a warm palette. Who knew?
Aida's cool pallet would best set off a white gold or platinum setting. My warm palette called for a rose gold setting. Decisions made, we left the shop five minutes after they closed. Our rings would be ready on Friday, in time to show them off to my parents.
All that money and we had to wait, but they would be here soon. In my wildest dreams I never thought I would look foreword to waving an engagement ring under my mother's nose. How cool was that?
Have I only been a girl for three days? Amazing!
By Thursday night I was getting restless. I had returned home each afternoon and assumed my alternate identity, I did what I usually do, cooked, cleaned, watched the tube, read one of the many magazines I subscribed to. I have several dozen subscriptions to some odd technical magazines, things like NASA Tech Briefs, Fast Company, Wired, Science News, Global Finance, Business India, Bloomberg, Vogue, Esquire, InStyle, Construction Executive, Equipment Today, The Hollywood Reporter and Billboard, just to name a few.
I have a head stuffed with a huge number of odd, unrelated facts and speculations. You never know when two or more of those facts will connect and give me an insight into the project I am vetting. I certainly don't read them cover to cover, but I skim them - and the advertisements they contain - to get a decent overview of the industry.
For the last few days I had been distracted in my reading. Comfortably splayed out in my recliner, I paged through the magazines, but I kept getting distracted by my breasts. There must be some special coding carried aboard the Y genome that causes a man's brain to stop and look at any curve that comes close to the natural curve of the female breast, and I am certainly not immune to that message. The problem was, I was carrying two fine examples of that curve aboard my body, and it was distracting as hell when trying to read in a recliner.
Wearing a bra and having breasts had become almost second nature by Thursday evening, as had panties, stockings and the feel of a dress hem over my legs. I was still distracted by actually looking at my breasts, though.
I suppose such reactions are why the species hasn't gone extinct. In any case, I couldn't concentrate, so I made a radical decision. I had ventured out into the world on Monday night and disaster kindly stayed away. Why not go out again and test the waters.
Actually, I was thinking I needed a special dress to wear on Saturday when we had our dinner with my parents. That might tell you just how far I had gotten into this whole impersonation of a fiancée. It didn't seem so much like an impersonation at that point.
I had no choice but to go for the natural look since my makeup skills were negligible. I had no choice as to wardrobe, having borrowed only one dress from Aida. So I threw caution to the winds, brushed my hair into a more feminine style, put on a little lipstick - well within my meagre talents - and off I went. Then I came back and got my purse, I guess I still have a ways to go before that becomes automatic.
Once I got to the car I realized I didn't have a clue as to where I was going. I got out my phone to call Aida for help when I realized there was a better way. I would go to her drugstore and ask Aida where I should go to shop for a dress.
I parked the car and, before I could get too nervous, carefully got out without exposing my panties to anyone who would be wandering by. I entered the store, was greeted by the happy teenager at the front register and joined the line in front of the 'Consultation' window at the drug counter.
As luck would have it, it was Aida who showed up when it was my turn. The look on her face was priceless. I couldn't help it, I had to do it.
"Uh, well," I stammered in a whisper, "is there any kind of pill I could take to get, you know, a bigger, uh, bustline?"
I've mentioned that Aida is a tall woman, not some demure little thing. It isn't often that the head pharmacist stops dead, points at the customer and gives out a loud horselaugh while trying not to fall over.
"I guess it must have been something I said…" I offered to the assembled multitudes. "She's my fiancée, she usually isn't like this."
"Lauren," she gasped, "that was not nice!"
"But fun. Can you take a five minute break? I need to ask you something."
"Is it anything like that last question?"
"No, this one's serious."
"It better be. I'll be with you in a minute."
The assembled multitudes disassembled and Aida took me into the consultation room for a quick kiss and a half-hearted ticking off for causing a scene. She also gave me some places to look for a nice dress and shook her head that I would actually be buying a dress on my own. We parted with a less-that-chaste hug and off I went.
I got back in the car and adjusted the mirror to check my face. That was when I realized that even though I wasn't wearing makeup, I had refrained from touching my face. Mr Skinner would be proud!
The shopping was not interesting enough to go into great detail. I'm sure that several people clocked me, but nobody raised a fuss. The second shop had a very nice print dress that I fell in love with. I liked the longer sleeves, since I wasn't all that enamored with my bare arms and it had a high enough neckline to conceal my falsies. Aida tells me my legs are outstanding, especially in heels. That dress was perfect.
Once I had the dress, I just couldn't see wearing my plain, white utilitarian bra with it. So I went over to the intimates section and ended up with half a dozen new bras in several colors and styles. I didn't forget to get a selection of new panties, either.
I had yet to learn that women's sizes are, shall we say, free form? I just bought the sizes I was wearing and took them home untried.
I only had to return two of the bras, but ended up taking home more bras than I returned. Lesson learned.
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
That was one of the longest weeks in my life. I strove mightily to get things in shape so I could take the next week off. With Aida pulling evening shift so she could get the weekend off to meet my parents our only direct contact was last night's comedy. It helps when you're the boss, playing with the schedule is a bit easier that way. Also, her people were excited that she would be meeting her fiancée's parents. They were in on the scam with her parents, but not with the scam with me.
Life can get complicated.
Early Friday she picked up the rings before going in for her noon shift. At ten in the morning I was in the company cafeteria replenishing the caffeine and sugar level of my body when who should come in but Mary Lou from the reception area along with Aida.
There are times I'm a bit slow in deciphering a situation, but there are other times that my brain pops into overdrive without any prompting from my consciousness. That's what happened when I saw Aida. I knew - I just knew! - that I was about to be repaid for yesterday.
I was hoping I could afford the interest.
Aida broke away from Mary Lou and streaked across the cafeteria directly toward me. Upon arrival she sank to her knees and said, in a clear and penetrating voice, "Lauren, darling. Would you marry me. Please?"
I realized that the multitudes had again assembled, so I just said "What? Saying 'yes' once wasn't enough?"
"Once is never enough, darling!"
At which point she took out the ring and placed it on my hand as the assembled multitudes witnessed the act.
With a resounding kiss she said "Got to go or I'll be late. Love you, darling!"
Just like that she was gone.
I wore the ring back to the office and waited. Nancy was the first to make it to my desk. I blame it on the Devil. If all those TV preachers that got caught with the pool boy can blame him for their failings I doubt he'll notice if I add one more to the total. Hell, bring on a stack of bibles and I'll put my hand on them cheerfully.
I deliberately fed the gossip mongers some juicy tidbits. The head gossip had pretty much wrung the juice out of my pierced ears by Friday; the dramatic arrival of a piece of jewelry… gold jewelry… feminine gold jewelry, expensive feminine gold jewelry on my left hand ring finger was irresistible.
I told the truth. Not the whole truth, not nothing but the truth, and since I'm blaming this on the Devil I will not add 'so help me god' to my sins.
I went like this: I met a wonderful woman at the laundromat. We had a wild weekend of good, clean fun. (Groan!) She proposed. I accepted. As a proud supporter of liberal causes and despiser of outdated gender stereotypes we both felt we deserved to wear engagement rings. We bought the rings. They came in today and she picked them up and gave mine to me as soon as possible. We could hardly wait for the actual wedding.
That last bit is the nothing but the truth part. I thought it made for a nice ending to the story, though. This was met with some skepticism, so I asked if liberation from old-fashioned gender stereotypes only applied to women.
That was met with a hearty round of derision. Again the Devil made me do it, shifting to Lori's voice, I informed them that they were female chauvinist pigs, hopelessly trapped in outdated gender stereotypes and wouldn't be invited to the wedding.
Fortunately, we didn't lose too many man-hours to the latest gossip.
Ten minutes before quitting time my boss paid me a visit. He settled into my guest chair and said "OK Lauren, let's see this rock that everybody is talking about."
I waved my hand in front of him in the time-approved fashion.
"If you weren't so damned valuable I'd pack you off to the company shrink. If that didn't work I'd have Father Konowalski do an exorcism. What the hell is going on?"
"It's a long story, boss, and there isn't time to tell it all because I have to be gone on the dot. You don't have to worry, though. The whole engagement thing is a very stupid and very complicated practical joke that I got sucked into. I have no intention of letting it bleed into my work, but I pulled a prank on Aida at her work last night and I reaped the reward this morning."
"Let me know how it all turns out when you're back from vacation. Just please don't let it get out of hand at work."
"You've got it. I'll be circumspect… unless I decide to transition on the job."
"Lauren! You… No. Get thee gone on thy vacation and try to return no more insane than you already are."
With that he got up and left. Sometimes I'm just bad!
I doubt that I'm the only one who can't get to sleep the night before if I know I have to be up early for something important. Aida doesn't have that problem, she was out like a light once we had stopped celebrating being back in the same bed again.
Of course 'early' is a relative term; what is early on a weekend is not necessarily early for a weekday. Aida had booked us an 11:00AM appointment at her salon, which required us to be out of bed by eight.
I was fool enough to question such a long lead time - I was told to stop thinking like a man. We needed three hours to get dressed, pack for an overnight stay, eat, clean up and get to the salon. The salon would take four hours. I almost asked why that long but realized in time that it would mean I was thinking like a man again.
I was relieved to find that the salon time included snacks enough to hold us until dinner. I wonder what my barber would think of feeding his customers? Then again, I may not need the services of a barber if want to continue as Lori.
Whoa! Where did that thought come from?
Continuing the timeline: three hours for the two hour drive to allow for traffic and getting lost. I suppose it would be useless to point out I had made the drive home countless times in the past few years, no way I would be getting lost.
I realized as I mused that I was perfectly comfortable with Aida taking charge. This was her world, she knew what was needed and I let the expert take the lead. When it came time to enter my parents' world I would take over; if things went as planned we would go on as equals from there.
No need to go into great detail. You've already been in a salon yourself or read countless descriptions of what happens in this feminine world. My only comment is I regret being born male and missing out on so many years of this delight. I will never be going back to my old barber, even if he is a very nice guy.
I'm hooked.
It's a good thing the way home is burned deep in the synapses of what passes for my brain. I was a bit distracted on the drive. Part of the distraction was what my reception would be as Lori. Another part was having Aida next to me. The final part was having my breasts touch my arms every time I steered into a curve, and there were plenty of curves as I negotiated the hills. Eventually we came to the end of the pass which let us see the green valley open before us with my home town nestled securely within it's embrace. It's a beautiful sight, and I seem to forget how beautiful since I no longer live there to have my memory refreshed each day.
"Lori, how could you ever have left a place as beautiful as this?"
"It wasn't easy, but my talents just couldn't get me a steady job in a small town."
"Ah, the conflict between talent and jobs. Get the kids educated and they leave the small towns; keep them ignorant and the town shrivels up and dies."
"A bit cynical, but there is some truth to it. Dad being the High School principal is familiar with the conflict, as is Mom as the town librarian. Their education is compatible with the place they have always lived but mine just wasn't suited to small town life."
"Any regrets?"
"No, not really. I love what I do and I'm paid well to do it. Not to be a suck-up, but it did lead me to you."
"A definite advantage. Has it only been a few months?"
"And just a week since things got… serious? Intimate?"
"I can hardly wait to meet your parents. Even if the engagement is a phantasy, the whole idea of meeting my fiancée's parents is a real kick."
"Lets just hope your parents don't make that kick literal if they figure things out."
"Are we there yet?"
"Nice change of subject. Just a couple of blocks… Oh shit!"
"Huh? What went wrong?"
"We've been ambushed! See that purple suburban mother-mobile in the drive?"
"Sure."
"That's my sister Abby. The lime green SUV belongs to my sister Lil. So much for a calm evening trying to explain why I have suddenly shifted sex. For that matter, talking about sex will be a mite convoluted with four nieces and nephews around the place."
"If they gang up on you I have your back."
"Hell! It's my front that will grab their attention."
"It is rather outstanding, isn't it."
"Leave the luggage in the car. If we're trampled to a bloody pulp we won't need it in the hospital."
So I parked the car and we got out. I started down the driveway and came to a sudden halt.
"You wouldn't have a towel available right now, would you?" I asked.
"I have one of those little moist towelettes in my purse, but I don't think that's what you want. Just why do you suddenly want a towel?"
"Because I feel my inner Madame Zelda taking over my body."
"Hey - she's my alternate personalty, not yours!"
"Whatever. Madame Zelda knows all and sees all, and she knows that with the entire family in the family home there is only one place they will be on this fine summer's day."
"And where would that be, oh inscrutable one?"
"Please, you'll find me easy to screw, you just have to wait until tonight."
"Not if you keep handing me lines like that."
"As Madame Zelda was saying, the family will be gathered in the back yard. My father will be wearing his BBQ apron and preparing to incinerate some form of meat or meat byproduct. My sisters and mother will be quaffing wine, my brothers-in-law will be sipping some form of craft beer while making knowledgeable statements as to its quality and the nieces and nephews will be running around like maniacs. It will be so damned wholesome and suburban that the only thing missing will be a white picket fence bordered with tea roses."
"Madame Zelda is very cynical this afternoon."
"Madam Zelda is nervous. The phrase prodigal son keeps echoing between my ears."
"Remember that the prodigal son was welcomed home with joy, as will the prodigious daughter. You don't think I'd get engaged to a woman who wasn't simply awesome, do you?"
"Right. Panic over, let's go meet the family."
I took her hand and we went around to the back yard, where Madame Zelda's predictions were proved true. Dad was at the BBQ, the others were doing something, somewhere and my sister Abby was leaning on the back deck railing watching the kids at play.
I waved at Dad, who got a very funny look on his face, then snuck up behind my sister. I put my hands over her eyes, making sure to press my breasts into her back and said "Guess who?"
"Wha?"
"No, Who's on first, Wha's on second."
"Lauren?"
"Nope, it's Lori. With an 'i'."
She spun around and looked me over from head to toe. Dad was just about to bust a gut laughing at our antics and Aida was smiling.
I was enveloped in a hug, but some part of my mind noticed that we both instinctively averted our faces to avoid messing up our makeup. That same part worried that I had overdone the makeup expecting an intimate dinner and not a backyard BBQ.
"Well I will be damned. You look good, girl."
"Anything for my adoring public," I said in Lori's voice. "Meet my fiancée, Aida."
"Charmed. You've certainly brought out the best in my little brother."
At this point the word had spread and everyone was surrounding us. Hugging ensued, as did questions. After I had answered the most important one - beer or wine? - we settled down at the picnic table and had us a fine time.
Aida was welcomed enthusiastically into the family, even if we were all in on the joke. She's that kind of person, easy to love.
Aida tells me the evening was liberally peppered with humorous references to my new self, that was a given with my family's sense of humor. Not to mention their curiosity as to how I managed the change. I didn't get to hear much of it because I was buried under a heap of children. If I needed practice speaking in Lori's voice, I certainly got it that night. Once they got the idea that Uncle Lauren was now Aunt Lori, I was drafted as storyteller-in-chief.
When my voice voice began to fail, I became tickler-in-chief, struggling mightily not to have my skirts end up over my head. I count myself lucky the kids were too young to have learned 'I see London,I see France…' Even if I was now Aunt Lori, I had to remain vigilant concerning certain vulnerable areas of my body.
That's when I realized that, other than the breast forms and makeup, nothing had really changed all that much. Lori was simply a part of me that I had given permission to manifest, not some artificial construct imposed from without. Could it be that Aida, in her frustration with her mother, had seen that part of me and found a way to help let it out? I wasn't given much time to process this revelation as the conversation was still going on and I had to be able to be part of it.
The party broke up early, after all my sisters had young kids to put to bed. Aida and I helped Mom clean up the mess and wash the dishes, not because I was looking like a woman, but because that's what I was taught to do as a child. Dad was right there with us, no sexual stereotypes here.
We finally had time for that relaxed chat and it was wonderful to talk about how my life had changed since Aida came into it. She seemed to open up in the love of a family and spoke of how she was raised as almost an afterthought. It taught her to be strong and independent, but never really knowing love had made for some disastrous choices in men. I could see from the smile on Mom's face that she was amused that her choosing me, with my feminine tendencies, said a lot about her. Mom also was wise enough not to say it out loud.
Eventually we started yawning and we adjourned to our bedrooms to sleep. We went through our evening ritual of makeup removal, moisturizing and such and finally cuddled close in bed.
"Aida?"
"Yes, love?"
"I'm not quite sure how to say this, but there's more to us than a sham engagement, isn't there?"
I felt her body stiffen, but kissed her neck and back until she relaxed.
"I'm scared that you're right, she said quietly."
"Why scared?"
"Because every time I thought I was falling in love it blew up in my face."
"Tell me, those other times, did you start out being friends before you became lovers?"
She was quiet for a while.
"I think you've got it. No, there was always the question of how long it would be before we started screwing."
"Not very romantic."
"Lori, I never saw my parents being romantic. I never saw anyone close to me being romantic. That stuff happened in movies and on TV, not in my life."
"That's sad, but I think you were starting to figure out what was wrong around the time we met. You were not all that interested in letting Steve get you into bed, yet you had been dating for a while. What made you date him in the first place?"
"He looked like a god, he had all the moves, he had money, he had a great car. He could be funny, he could be sarcastic, too. But there was no depth, he was all surface. You're not like that."
"I really hope so."
"Do you know what made me want you for a friend?"
"I am curious about that."
"That first night when we met, when you were playing with those kids in the Laundromat. Even though I was starting to fall for Steve I was thinking that Steve would never do something like playing with kids. You cared about those kids, you wanted to make them happy even though you would probably never see them again."
"Is that so strange in your life?"
"Yes. Yes it is. I grew up in the care of people paid to keep me quiet. I grew up with parents who considered me a burden, an unfortunate result of a night of lust. I was one more chip they could turn in at the end of the night for my cash value or to impress the other game players.
"You were the first person who actually seemed to care for me just because I was me. You let me cry on your shoulder when Steve dumped me, the girl you just barely knew. You didn't go all hyper-masculine and try try to fix things, you just let me whine and moan. You knew just what to do and did it!"
"Shhhh… It's all right. You're safe, you're loved. I love you, Aida."
And I knew it was true as soon as I said it.
"How can you love me? I'm a big, ugly cow. I got you into this whole ridiculous mess because I wanted to shock my mother. And you turned yourself into a woman just to make me happy. I'm a horrible person!"
"No you are not. You are the woman I love, you are beautiful and loving and real. I told you that those personality tests showed me I was as much a woman as a man, and you've given me the opportunity to explore the half of me that I have been ignoring.
"You helped me overcome my fear of sex after that awful first time and shown me just how wonderful it can be with someone who cares for you. I don't want to live my life without you any longer. I want to make that phony engagement real. I know it's insane to propose after such a short time, but that's what I'm doing. Aida, please marry me and be my wife."
"Oh Lori. Are you sure?"
"As sure as I have ever been of anything."
"Then the answer is yes."
"Do we still do it as women to keep your mother cranking?"
"Should we?"
"The question is are you willing to spend your life with Lori? You said yes to Lori just now but I'm starting to wonder if I'm more Lori than Lauren."
"Really? I think it was the Lori part of you that attracted me even though it wasn't visible."
"But if I did find that Lori is the dominant part of me would you be able to love her?"
"You need to let her out a little farther - you're still thinking like a man. It's not an either/or situation, you are an and. Lori is you and I love you. Lauren is you and I love you. I'd love you if you got breast implants so you don't have to glue those things onto you. I'd love you if you needed to go all the way, but I'd miss your cock. As long as we do things together we will make it together."
"As my grandmother would say, you've just blown my mind."
"There's something else I could blow if you can keep quiet enough."
"Do tell?"
She told, but I'm not going to.
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
Mom and dad were merciful, they didn't disturb us until we were ready to get up. It's a good thing we had gotten used to sharing a bathroom, because it takes a while to get beautiful. We didn't go all out like the day before, Aida gave us a much simpler look for a casual day. I resolved to start learning how to do makeup magic if I had any intention of letting Lori out more often when this week was over.
The first thing that happened was we walked squarely into the path of the Mom Radar Probe. She took one look at us and said "Something important happened last night. What was it?"
Instantly I was seven years old with my hand stuck in the cookie jar because I wouldn't let go of the handful of cookies I had glommed on to. Apparently mothers can do that even when you're an adult.
"She proposed to me last night," smirked Aida.
"Wait a minute! I thought you already proposed to him?"
"That was a fake proposal. Last night was real."
"Lauren, did you really?"
"Lauren did, Lori did, I did. This time it's for real, Mom."
"Well congratulations, ¡Felicitaciones!, Mazel Tov, Complimenti and Συγχαρητήρια! May your love be as long as your life and full as your cup."
"Thank you, Mrs Cooke," answered Aida.
"None of this Mrs Cooke now that it's real. I'm Maya or even Mom if you're comfortable with it."
"I'd love to, Mom. The woman who birthed me never was really someone who I could call Mom. Your family is just what I always dreamed of having when I was growing up. You're all so real!"
"You're darling to say so. I can hardly wait for Andre to come back. He'll be so happy."
"Where's dad?" I asked.
"Off watching Lill's two for the morning. As if we could keep the doting grandpa away from them."
"And you didn't go with him?"
"I had my own child to dote on."
"I don't know, Aida. We might have to move back here for the free babysitting service."
"You aren't…" queried Mom."
"No, I'm not. Your husband can keep his shotgun in the gun safe."
"As is either of us feels the need for a gun. Penis substitutes for weak men, that's all they are."
"Shout it on the street corners, Mom!"
"After breakfast, Lori. You need your strength to challenge the patriarchy."
"Odd how I feel like challenging them lately."
"As well you should. Will it be a two bride ceremony?"
"We haven't gotten that far yet, Mom."
"I'm thinking a Pastafarian ceremony," grinned Aida. "I can be a pirate and Lori can be the bride."
"Now that idea has some charm," I said. "Think we can train a parrot to lift my train and then fly to your shoulder for the ceremony?"
"And I thought you two were crazy yesterday. It's spreading!"
"Do Pastafarians use garlic bread for communion? I kind of doubt they'd use those little bitty wine cups, either. More like beer mugs, I would think."
"Sure! We could have all the nieces and nephews with cute little colanders on their heads flinging orzo as they go down the aisle."
"Of course a choice of spaghetti or stuffed shells with meatballs for the reception. And maybe an antipasto served from a replica pirate galleon with the dressing squirting out of the cannons."
"I'm afraid the men with the butterfly nets would carry you off to Sunshine Acres before you could get too far with those plans."
"Then I guess we'll just have to settle for breakfast.
"Too late, it's lunch time."
I was up early for my appointment with the masters of disguise. Naturally they were on the other side of town and took close to an hour to get there. The building looked more like a warehouse than a place where magic was created.
Nonetheless, I ventured within and was amazed at what I found. My technician was named Mac. Seriously, he looked like a truck driver, or maybe a Mac truck, not someone who performs delicate transformations on real people. He reassured me that mine was a typical reaction, but I would be satisfied with the results.
So I removed my clothes, feeling like a fool and was measured in places I had never been measured before, defoliated, depilated cleaned, burnished and otherwise prepared for my transformation.
Mac carefully matched the color of my skin and started painting a pair of breast forms that looked so damn realistic I expected to see the blood oozing from the bottom of the things. They were far and away superior to the breast forms I had been using, and once they were attached they felt a bit lighter.
Mac got to work with something that wasn't quite makeup, wasn't quite glue, wasn't quite putty. Whatever it was, by the time he was done there was no way I could tell where my skin left off and the falsie started. Once I fastened on my bra - and I had brought one of the nice ones - I looked like I'd had boobs all of my life, and it had only taken a few hours.
We took time for lunch, then back to work. I was fitted with padding for my hips and butt. Nowhere near as realistic as the breasts, but I was not going to be showing anyone but Aida those enhancements. Likewise the gaff I was now sporting, which hid any trace of my former masculinity. Amazing how much better my panties fit with a more womanly ass. The pantyhose were less likely to slide down as well, something that had been giving my tubular body a few problems.
I had picked out one of Aida's form-fitting dresses to wear home and it looked good! Mac was beaming with pride by the time I left, and rightly so. If Aida's mother was able to clock me then just chuck me in the dustbin of history as a has-been.
Even knowing how much this whole thing had cost I was glad I did it. I felt like a woman, as close as any man could come short of surgery. Aida and I went out for a night on the town and we had a marvelous time. Since Mac had done nothing to alter my genitals, we had an even better time when we got home.
Cognitive dissonance - that's the term the shrinks use for having two contradictory ideas in your head at the same time. On the one hand I felt like Charlie Brown in his snowsuit because I was swathed in so much packing to enhance my figure. Then I looked in the mirror and saw a moderately good looking, well endowed woman. I couldn't help thinking how nice it would be to actually look like this without all the padding.
I had agreed to this as a lark, but somehow it had almost become an obsession. I liked looking like this, I liked having people treat me as a woman. Strange thoughts, indeed.
I was really looking forward to spending the week as Lori, especially as Aida had taken the time off to be with me. The last thing I expected to be doing was looking at real estate, but that's what we did. Our agent didn't bat an eye at two women looking for an apartment or maybe even a house together. He certainly did bat an eye at our necklines, but that's only to be expected.
Being engaged for real, we realized that neither of our apartments was suitable for two people, so we needed a bigger place to settle in. That led to a serious discussion of finances, so we both knew just how much the other made as a wage slave. It added up to a comfortable total, neither of us were big spenders and we will be able to save enough to pool for a down payment. With any luck we could afford a washer and dryer and no longer meet at the Laundromat.
No, the ideal home didn't fall into our laps or anything like that. We had only been looking for a few days and the weekend was already full.
Friday morning, after having been out all week as Lori, I breezed into the special effects workshop in a very good mood. Mac just took one look at me and started to laugh.
"Someone's gone way beyond the 'having a fling as a female' stage and is living the dream."
"You know, Mac? You're right. I am very much afraid I won't want to go back come Monday."
"So you aspire to be a quick change artist?"
"Can you be a quick change artist if you don't want to change?"
"A profound question, my friend. There are ways to make the changes permanent if that's where you want to go."
"I know. Not the details, but anyone who has watched TV knows that there are plastic surgeons who can put tits on a bull."
"So they can, but it often takes hormones to make the hips and waist over, but that sort of gelds the bull, if you catch my drift."
"Not thinking that far ahead yet, Mac. One step at a time."
"And the next step is to check you out and see how your skin is tolerating the prosthetics. You felt any itching or pain?"
"Itching sure, but nothing like pain. The most frustrating thing is I can't feel it when my girlfriend grabs my bum."
"Just be glad she still wants to grab it, some girls take off when you go down this road."
"I suppose that it isn't for everyone."
"In the long run, implants will cost you less and feel much better. Enough chit-chat. Strip off, lady."
A couple of hours later I was reassembled and tuned up for the weekend. I felt like a million bucks, even if it was only quite a few hundreds.
Saturday morning again saw us up and moving. We had a salon appointment at ten o'clock, obviously one could not attend a Formal Anniversary Bash without one's hair being properly coiffed. So for the second time in a week I was painted, permed and primped. I could get used to this very easily. We were done in time to have a light lunch and still be at the party when it started at 2PM.
Having decided to rub our engaged status in the faces of her parents, we had our hair done in identical styles and our nails painted in identical hues. We wore identical jewelry as well. In our travels during the week we had found virtually identical dresses, one embroidered in pale rose and the other in pale blue. Nobody but us would realize the secondary meaning of that color scheme.
Naturally we wore identical three inch open toed pumps, which I was almost comfortable walking in without falling. At least they had chunky heels and not spikes, the soirée being outdoors on the lawn.
It's funny how you can get an idea in your head that just doesn't match reality. Aida had told me about her parent's place in the woods, emphasizing their bad taste, their pretensions and its isolation. Somehow, in my mind, I had placed it far, far away from where we were. This impression was aided by our packing a bag for an overnight stay. If you have to pack a bag you must be going on a long trip, right?
Nope, in fact it was a mere twenty minutes from her studio apartment. Aida slowed the car and turned on to a side road with a massive iron gate across it. Not just any ordinary gate, but one with curlicues and do-dads and angels blowing horns and cherubs flocking about as the doors majestically folded back.
"Angels?" I inquired.
"Mother was in her Born Again period when she commissioned it. It was a breach birth and only lasted about nine months, which is singularly appropriate."
The road meandered through a woodlot and suddenly opened on to a wide expanse of lawn. There was nothing Aida could have done to prepare me for the place.
Start with your generic McMansion, you can see hundreds of examples in the gated communities that infest the landscape around many cities. You know, those gigantic places covered in gray plastic siding and sporting random arched windows, Roman columns and glassed-in sun-rooms. Attach an industrial air compressor and inflate until it is about to burst and you have an idea of the main house.
But wait, there's more! Like the Barons and Earls of old, her parents had succumbed to the urge to tack on an addition to the old family homestead. Unlike the Barons and Earls of old, they had modern building materials to exploit. The addition was a glass-and-metal extravaganza of points and spikes that made me think of a tesseract gone mad unfolding, sprawling across the landscape. Through the glass I could see a gallery of modern art that was a perfect match to the architecture.
Talk about shock and awe. "You grew up in that place?" I asked wonderingly.
"The grotesque aquarium came along after I left, thank the lord for small favors."
"The thought of raising children in a place like this is enough to inspire me to celibacy."
"Perish the thought, darling. I have plans for you tonight."
"I hope the decorators they hired had more sense than the architects."
"Just close your eyes and think of England."
"I can get into the shutting my eyes part."
"Just so long as you get into me."
The conversation ended there as she clicked the clicker on her visor and one of a dozen garage doors opened. The garage door was attached to a massive garage in yet a third incompatible style, looking like an overgrown cowboy bunkhouse from the old west. There were desiccated cow skulls, pairs of horns and various iron implements decorating the building, just in case you didn't realize what it was patterned after.
Motion sensors turned on the lights and I saw half a dozen high-end cars. Not being a car freak I couldn't tell you what they were, but they were obviously expensive.
"We can take one of the show cars for a spin later if you need to get away. Maybe the convertible Caddy so we can cruise with long silk scarves trailing in the wind behind us."
"My hair, darling," I pouted. "It would simply devastate my hair."
"Spoilsport. Let's go get settled and you get to meet the parental units."
"Can I wave this pretty ring under your mother's nose?"
"Certainly, what do you think we're here for?"
"Do we let them catch us making out passionately on the couch?"
"Not a bad idea. Maybe we can leave our panties behind on the floor."
"You're bad!"
"Just taking after my fiancée's creative approach. Put on your fuck-me shoes and let's go."
Instead of heading to the front door she led me around back, where there was a gigantic tent and dozens of worker bees in white jackets putting the final touches on the party. A large woman in a very gaudy and very short dress was faced away from us, waving her arms and issuing instructions.
"That's my mother. Quick! Inside before she sees us."
I followed through a small door and we entered the house. It was a wide hallway with an improbably high ceiling leading to the kitchen on one side and a dining room on the other. The hallway debouched on to a grand foyer with high skylights and dueling staircases. At the foot of each staircase was a suit of armor, complete with sword and lance. Between the knights was - I kid you not - a six-foot tall velvet Elvis portrait.
"If I hadn't seen it I wouldn't have believed it!" I marveled.
"Impressive, eh?" she deadpanned.
"That's one word for it."
At this point a man came from one of the several doors into the foyer and Aida ran over to him with a glad cry.
"Richards!"
He was enveloped in a enthusiastic hug. Dressed as formally as any butler in a Victorian melodrama, he looked uncomfortable to be greeted so enthusiastically in the presence of a stranger.
Aida didn't give a damn.
"Richards, meet my fiancée, Lori Cooke. You're going to love her as much as I do."
"I'm sure I will, Miss Aida. Welcome to Claridge Manor, Miss Cooke."
Claridge Manor? I wondered if the London hotel knew it's name had been used in vain.
"Thank you, Richards. Aida has told me how much you mean to her. I'm very glad to know she has a friend in the household."
"Quite, Madam. Let me bring your case to your room, Miss Aida. Shall I have Miss Cooke's luggage brought to her room as well?"
"Mother's at it again, isn't she? There is only one case and we need only one room. Mother and Father can content themselves with separate bedrooms, but Lori and I come as a set."
"So I notice. Quite a lovely set, if I may say so."
"You certainly may, old friend. I'm tempted to ask you to walk me down the aisle when we get married."
"I am flattered, Miss Aida, but I would not wish to cause any further dissension in the household."
"They're arguing again, I take it. Never known them to actually work together to make their anniversary party a success."
"It can be a challenge."
"How do you stand it, Richards? Why do you stay?"
"The job has its rewards as well as its challenges."
"I'm sorry, that was rather personal."
"Quite all right, Miss Aida. I know you asked out of concern for me, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
"You're a gem, Richards. Please never change."
"I shall endeavor to do so, Miss Aida."
Richards conducted us to the Blue Room, where he left us to resume his duties. We unpacked, ostentatiously placed our matching nighties on our pillows and freshened our makeup. Looking out the window we could see the preparations were almost complete.
"Is that your father in the three piece suit at a picnic?"
"Right the first time. Part of the staging. He will shed the suit at the right moment to emphasize his common touch. Along about the forth or fifth beer he will be getting very common and start repeating the same boring story he told an hour or so before."
"How did I end up in love with such a cynic?"
"Good fortune, definitely good fortune. Now it's time to balance it with bad fortune - time to meet my parents."
"Lead on, my dear."
"Where have you been Aida? I was counting on your help," chided the large woman in the halter-top tent with rhinestones lining the plunging bodice.
"If you had bothered to inform me about it, I might have been able to put in my schedule, Mother. I have told you that I am still unable to read your mind. Meanwhile, let me introduce you to the woman I love. Lori Cooke, meet my mother, Lakeisha Gabriel."
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs Gabriel," I lied.
"Charmed," came the icicle-coated reply.
"We'll leave you to your work and introduce Lori to Father."
"Duty, honor, country!" I whispered to my love as we left her mother. That earned me a swat on my amply padded bottom, which was less than effective.
We found her father near the bar, holding a tumbler filled with dark liquid. I'm not much of a drinker, preferring a decent IPA, or lately some wine to go with the stereotype of the proper alcohol for a woman. I had no idea which flavor of whiskey he was consuming, Scotch, Rye, Bourbon, whatever, but one look at the rosy network overlaying his nose told me he consumed quite a lot of the stuff.
Again came the formal introduction. "Father, let me introduce you to the woman I love. Lori Cooke, meet my father Raymond Gabriel."
"Glad you could make it, my dear."
He actually sounded sincere.
"Thirty years with your mother, Aida. Hope you have better luck than we have."
"Father, we get the luck we deserve, and I don't intend to let my marriage depend on luck."
"Here here! Got to go and be the jovial host. Have a drink and join the party, my dears."
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
With that he wandered to greet the guests as they arrived. We seated ourselves in the shade of the big tent and indulged in some people watching. Since most of the guests were of her parent's generation, we weren't disturbed for quite some time as guests greeted one another.
"That's old Mr Barnes, a terrible bore who owns a paper mill that pollutes miles and miles of watershed. He is very active politically trying to keep from installing anything to cut his profits along with his pollution.
"The lady in red is Mrs Dexter-Farnsworth, addicted to Good Works and Charity. A pompous old tart but she does accomplish some actual good works. Don't let her talk you into volunteering for anything no matter how trivial. You'll be on her list for life if you do.
"Then there's old McDavitt, one of the few people left who actually owns a bank all by himself. Passed down from grandfather to father to son, it is still barely viable in a very small town. His son got religion and takes the Biblical injunction about interest personally. Old McDavitt will probably sell his interest in the bank to one of the big boys when he retires, and another piece of Americana will bite the dust."
"You certainly have some characters hanging around your family," I observed.
"Just wait until Betty Jean gets here. She's a virulent women's libber but she has more money than god and spends lots of it at Dad's various businesses so he has to be nice to her. They have a lot of fun running the same arguments every time they meet. Almost as choreographed as a bullfight. She waves a red flag, he paws the ground and charges, she dances out of the way and then do it all over again until he's pricked full of holes.
"She doesn't kill him off, though, or there wouldn't be a next time. They'll sit down and try to out-drink each other and cuss the general dilapidated state of the world.
"She's sure to seek us out when she finds out we're engaged. I don't know if she'll think it's a blow for women that we are getting married or a travesty of the male-dominated patriarchy that we have to conform with the outdated strictures of marriage. Then again, if she knew who you really are it might just confuse her so much she will join my father in getting blotto by sundown.
"What an exciting way to spend an afternoon."
"Speaking of excitement, you're about to experience firsthand what it's like to get chatted up. That's Phil Barney headed toward us. He tried valiantly to date me in high school, but he's about as boring as his father. His pickup lines haven't changed since high school, either, which may account for why he's still single.
"Why Aida, long time no see. Who's your friend? Was your father an alien? Because there’s nothing else like you on Earth!"
"Hello Phil. My friend is my fiancée, Lori Cooke."
"Your what?"
"Fiancée, Phil. The woman I'm going to marry.
"No shit?"
"If you need to shit, I'd recommend the outhouses over behind the bar."
"You're going to marry a woman?"
"That's right, I'm marrying another woman."
"But why?"
"Because I love her. Besides, she's a great fuck."
I have never seen a guy shut down faster than Phil after that line. Score one for our side! We were left alone for a while after that. We switched to iced tea, which approximated the color of the whiskey that had started to flow rather freely.
It happened gradually, but we found ourselves on the periphery of half a dozen men, wheeler-dealers all, discussing some rather detailed plans to vertically integrate a business. I found myself with some firsthand proof of how men tend to discount women as anything but secretaries and eye-candy. We were completely ignored as they revealed sensitive competitive details.
Now this is just what I was paid to do - spot the flaws in a plan and offer suggestions to resolve the problems before they occurred. Finally, I couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer. I rose and went over to the group.
"Hello boys," I butted in. "I think you could use a little advice before you get too far into your planning."
You would have thought a rabid dog had just risen to its hind legs and started speaking."
"Now little lady…"
"Oh come on," I said scornfully, "cut the little lady crap and start thinking. You're talking a technical industrial product here. Getting in on Web sales could be a good thing, but if you cut out your current distributors to save a few bucks in commissions you could be strangling your own growth. If you depend on only Web sales your customers have to come to you; your reps are the people that can find you new markets and expand the business. Sure, have a Web presence, but make it a co-equal to the rep network.
"Next, you're completely ignoring supply chain issues. Sure, you can get it cheaper if you make it in your own plant, but what happens if that one plant has a problem? You're screwed until the problem gets fixed. Just look at the auto companies, thousands of vehicles sitting on lots waiting for the computer chips to make them run. If you're going to depend on just-in-time suppliers then you'd better be sure that you have more than one supplier or you could be shut down in a hurry.
"Next, what happens if you end up on the wrong end of a new technology? Remember Kodak? Biggest film supplier in the world. They invented digital photography and the big boys in the company gave it away because they made their money on selling film and paper. How far did that get them, eh?"
Well, those good-ole-boys were shocked senseless that a mere woman could come along and knock holes in their plans like a woodpecker picking bugs out of a dead tree. For that matter, if I had an axe with me I could have chopped them down like cordwood.
"I think you boys better get some professional advice before you go too much farther. You have some good ideas, but some of you have been reading those glossy magazines that tell you how to increase your business in three easy steps. You do know those things are just vehicles to sell advertising, not give real world advice?
"Think it over for a bit. Aida, I think it's time to see what's on the buffet, all this thinking has made me hungry."
"Lori, that was priceless!" Aida gushed as we sat at a picnic table with full plates and full glasses. "They didn't know what hit them, and my father was as shocked as the rest of them. I just love a dominant woman."
"Even if she isn't all woman?"
"You're a woman where it counts and a man when it counts. I can't tell you how much it means to me that you would go so far for me."
"I think I'm doing this for me as well. You may have brought out something in me that I was missing."
"You're not… having second thoughts or anything?"
"Actually, the second thoughts are how I will miss being Lori when Monday comes."
"Oh, my!"
"But I shall live in the now and not the past or future. And right now these heels have got to go. My feet hurt."
"Poor baby. I wouldn't mind switching to flats myself, we've made our first impressions."
"Then let's clean our plates and go up to our room."
"Maybe a foot massage?"
"I just can't wait to get my hands on your body."
The house was strangely quiet after the bustle of the party. Aida showed me the back stairs - servants should not be seen or heard by the Lords Of The Manor - and we crept up them in bare feet. I wasn't kidding about my feet hurting in those stilts. We reached the first landing and Aida put a hand on my arm. "Hear that?" she whispered.
I listened and there soon came a distinct moan. I recognized that moan because I had heard one much like it when Aida was getting ready to climax.
"That sounds familiar…" I whispered back.
Her only answer was a wicked grin and before I could stop her she was creeping up the stairs to see whence the sound emanated. Prurient interests aroused, I followed her. The moan was soon joined by a rhythmic slapping.
Peeking around the corner we saw a sight that is burned into the overloaded synapses of my brain, never to be erased or removed. Her mother, all two hundred fifty pounds of her, was bent over the back of a conversational grouping, her too-short skirt flipped up over her back and panties pooled around her ankles with one of her breasts swinging where it had escaped her bodice. Behind her was a gentleman, not her husband, with his pants pooled around his ankles and and the tails of his white shirt flapping around as his enormous cock was plunging repeatedly into her mother.
Right there in the open area overlooking that monstrous entrance foyer.
I was frozen in shock. Aida simply reached into her purse and extracted her cell phone. With a few taps she started filming the action.
I doubt that that mini-movie would have any commercial value - porn stars seldom belong to her mother's weight class - but there was a look of grim satisfaction on Aida's face as she captured her mother bucking away while her paramour kept pumping until he grunted and froze, buried deep within his lover.
Aida stopped her camera and whispered "I guess we're going to have to wear these shoes a while longer."
We retreated to the back stairs and left the scene of the crime. When we had settled in a quiet and remote spot, I just looked at Aida and said "That was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. Why the hell did you want to capture it on video?"
"Blackmail, my dear."
"With your mother?"
"You bet. I have been waiting for the other shoe to drop all afternoon. You can be sure that my dear mother will be taking me to task for the impropriety of marrying another woman. Think of the scandal, the moral outrage, the effect on her position as a pillar of the community. She's very good at moral outrage. You should see her at the county legislature, lecturing them on whatever foolish crusade she's currently heading."
"And when she gets going full steam ahead you haul out the cell phone and play the video."
"You bet your ass! I'm going to really enjoy her reaction."
"Remind me not to piss you off ever again. You can be lethal, woman."
"You bet your ass!"
So we left the house and circulated around the tent. Actually, it hadn't been quite as deadly as Aida had predicted. Even if her parents were not my favorite people, they did seem to know some interesting folks in addition to the moneyed slobs.
I was approached by several women who had seen my little lesson in business management and they were very curious as to who I was and how I had the nerve to take on all the so-called leaders of industry. Naturally I couldn't tell them that I did such things every day of my working life, after all Lori Cooke was not the one employed at my firm. I think I learned as much about being a woman from these casual conversations as I could have in some formal course in woman 101.
I think what surprised me most was the easy scorn so many of the wives and help-meets of my parent's generation had for their hubbys, combined with an acceptance of having to manipulate the guy when he got out of line. The whole inequality thing didn't seem to bother them too much, they just took it as a part of life and ran with it.
I came to realize that I wasn't 99.44% pure in my own attitudes toward women, either. I suppose an ideal is what we strive for but never quite reach. I resolved to use my experiences as Lori to make Lauren a better man.
The other major topic of conversation was me getting married to Aida. Now that got a lot more interest. Once again, there seemed to be a division by age. The older set were sometimes shocked, sometimes bemused, sometimes curious. The younger set were far more accepting. Listen to me - in my early thirties and talking about the younger set. I must be getting old.
The usual question was a variation of why? The usual answer was simply because we're in love. I tried my best to stress that it was mutual, not I love her but we love each other. Those with the nerve to ask about sex got an enigmatic smile and a version of try it, you'll like it.
That line went over better with the women than it did the men. Go figure.
It was getting near sunset when Aida cut me out of the herd and said we should swipe one of the cars and go watch the sunset together. Not a bad idea, so we headed for the garage only to be intercepted by her mother towing a young man in her wake.
"Christ!" my love exclaimed. "That woman just does not get it. Want to bet if she's going to interest him in you or me?"
"Do you think he has his registration so I can determine make, model and cash value?"
"You aren't thinking of giving him a test drive, are you?"
"I think he wouldn't be satisfied with what I have under the hood."
"Funny… I appreciate your horsepower."
"Aida! Just a minute," called her mother.
So we waited until she came puffing up. The guy with her looked really embarrassed.
"Darling, I wanted you to meet Kirk here. He's such a lovely boy." Yeah right, boy. The guy had to be in his late twenties, just like us. "Kirk, this is my daughter Aida and her friend."
"Mother, will you give it up? This my fiancée Lori, as in we are engaged to be married. Note the ring?" She waved her hand at her mother. "Note the matching ring on Lori's hand? You can stop shoving every unattached male you meet into my path."
"But darling, you…"
"But me no buts, Mother. I'm taken.
The poor guy looked really embarrassed now.
"I'll tell you what. We'll take Kirk off your hands and let him off the hook. We were just about to go cruising and take in the sunset. Want to come along, Kirk?"
"I don't know…"
"It's OK, Kirk," I said. "You look like a nice guy and that's good enough for me. We can let Mrs Gabriel cling to the false hope that you can steal her from me on a romantic sunset drive in the hills."
Aida took one arm, I took the other and we led the poor man to the garage. Aida decided the Porsche 911 Carrera S ‘Centro’ was the car she needed to drive off her frustrations.
Now I'm certainly no expert in sports cars, but even I know that the name 'Porsche' can easily be translated to 'obscene amounts of money' in just about any language. Since this was the first car I had ever seen with the steering wheel in the middle, I knew it had to be way out of my pay grade, and those serious seat harnesses made me wonder what I was getting into.
I give my love full marks as a damned good driver, but I think I left my heart and San Francisco and my stomach in Milwaukee the way she took those curves and slammed the shifter around. I looked across at Kirk and he was looking rather pale; I suspect he was thinking how lucky he was that he wasn't going to be getting romantic with Aida.
We finally topped a hill where she hit the brakes and swung on to a small dirt road. How that low-slung dirt-rocket made it over the bumps is purely a mystery, but we ended up at an overlook just minutes before the sun sunk below the horizon.
It took a couple of minutes before I could be confident of remaining upright, but the shakes subsided and I didn't give a damn if my panties were exposed crawling out of the back seat. Kirk was in no condition to notice. In fact, I had to give him a hand before he could stand up straight. I'm glad the drive helped Aida to relax, but I think Kirk and I absorbed all of her tension and then some.
Nonetheless, the sunset was beautiful and Kirk turned out to be a nice guy when he could speak coherently. We did have something in common - he was constantly bombarded with his parents trying to get him married off. Once he figured out we were a lesbian couple - we weren't going to correct that impression - he admitted he was gay and his parents were deep in denial.
On the whole, I really appreciate having parents who aren't living in a dream world.
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
Now we come to the reason Aida and I spent the night - attending church in the morning. My cynical self couldn't help but compare the Gabriel clan with those B movie mobsters that spend week raping, pillaging, boozing and blackmailing, then go to church on Sunday to thank the lord for their blessings. That has to rate right up there with getting fucked by some dude at your own anniversary party. I wondered if we should sit a few pews away in case there was an unseasonable lightning strike.
My family were not churchgoers, in fact the last time I had been in a church was when I was in the Scouts. The troop was sponsored by a church, so we all attended that church once a year as part of our service to the community.
I couldn't really tell much difference between that long-ago service and the one I was sitting in. I didn't know the hymns so I just stood up when everybody else did and sat when they sat. I tried not to laugh at the loose logic in the sermon, after all a lady should be ladylike in church. Surely it was mere coincidence the topic was the sanctity of marriage as defined as one man and one woman.
The service finally ended and all was revealed. The Gabriel clan probably didn't give a damn about getting into heaven, but at the social hour after the service we eligible (according to their lights) women were introduced to the eligible men. They tried to be subtle, but really, could they think we were all that stupid just because we were female?
Apparently so.
The dog-and-pony show over, we returned to the family manse. We attempted to pack up and take our leave, but it was not to be.
"Aida," her mother spoke. "We need to talk."
"About what, Mother?"
"I'm sure your friend is a very nice person, but have you really considered how it looks for you to be engaging in such outrageous behavior?"
"And what behaviour are you referring to?" came the answer on a cold Arctic blast.
"You surely can't be serious that you want to marry…"
"Stop right there, Mother, before you make any bigger a fool of yourself than you already have."
"How dare you!?"
"And I suppose you are going to tell me about the sanctity of marriage?"
"Well, Reverend Charles did speak…"
"And how much money changed hands to have him bring up the topic? How large was your free will offering, Mother."
"That need not concern you, you ungrateful child."
"I am quite grateful that I am now an adult, and have been for some years. With the sterling example of you and Father to guide me I am taking a great chance getting married myself."
"What do you mean?"
"Simply this, Mother. You and Father have betrayed your vows and cheated on each other since I have been old enough to notice. Perhaps you would like to see how you celebrated your anniversary yesterday?"
"What do you mean?"
She took out her phone and pressed the buttons, then handed it to her mother. If I thought Kirk had gone pale yesterday, Mrs Gabriel could have been one of those lily-white maidens in those old English folk songs. If she was a maiden, that is.
"He does have some nice hip action, doesn't he mother? I'd recommend being a little more vocal if he manages to get you to orgasm, men like to be encouraged in thinking they're great lovers."
She removed her phone from her mother's shaking hands.
"Just remember I have this the next time you get all high-and-mighty about morality or are tempted to push one more poor boob on me for inspection. If you do, then your Reverend Charles will be getting a copy of this little escapade. Is Betty Ottney still the President of your Garden club? I'm sure she would be very interested in who was planting his seed in her Vice President, don't you? I have my mate, I will be marrying her and that's final."
We continued on to the garage, leaving her standing there. I drove, because like a beach ball that has had its little inflater thingie opened, she collapsed in a puddle. I had to buckle her in and we left, at a far slower speed than last night's drive.
I moaned about Monday earlier in this scribbling. This Monday I have to invoke good old BF Skinner again, because cognitive dissonance was the order of the day. Aida and I had spent a good part of Sunday night carefully removing all of Mac's good work, along with the guise of femininity I had worn all week.
The good part is, with prosthetic flesh gone, I had a spring in my step and felt a lot lighter. Mostly because I was a lot lighter. I no longer felt like a Charlie Brown clone. The bad part was I missed the woman who had been looking at me in the mirror for what seemed like forever.
Was it only a week?
No dresses, no skirts, no heels, no bra. I felt half naked. The only vestige of Lori that I permitted myself was a pair of gold hoops in my ears.
At least Aida had the morning to recover from that final confrontation with her mother, working the late shift again. Me, I had to dress like plain, boring old Lauren and go into work, where I just knew there would be a long queue of files waiting for my inspection. 'You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave,' in the words of that old song.
Actually, work was a great anodyne to the funk I was feeling. I made it through the morning, interspersed with greetings from my fellow workers. I had lunch and took the ribbing about my ears gracefully. I had just pressed the SEND key on a fairly simple solution to someone's problem when my boss sat himself down in the visitor's chair.
"I see you still have that rock on your hand."
"Sure do. Only something strange has happened, it's no longer just a joke. I proposed to her and she accepted. For real."
"You certainly use your time off for some pretty interesting things. Speaking of interesting things, we had a call from Harrison P LaChance this morning. He's the CEO of Streeten industries."
"Sure, Wire and cable, long line repeaters for telephone and internet equipment."
"Trust you to know who he is. Seems Mr LaChance attended a big anniversary bash over the weekend, where he ran into a woman who knocked his socks off with her analysis of some plans a bunch of bigwigs were tossing around. She also seems to have gored a few pet bulls, but he thought that was just fine.
"This Lori, he continued, "is the fiancée of the daughter of the guy who threw the party. Lots of gossip about two women getting married, as well as lots of comment on the rather spectacular figure this Lori had. Seem she and her fiancée took his son Kirk for a ride to see the sunset in some kind of Formula 1 race car or something and impressed the hell of of the son."
This couldn't be happening!
"In any case, he called and wants to talk to Lori Cooke. Took him all morning to track her down, following up on some hints the kid got in talking with the ladies. He's assuming that our Lauren Cooke is his Lori Cooke."
"Oh shit!"
"Am I right that you are, um, intimately acquainted with this Lori?"
"You could say that. I suppose you're going to have to know all about it."
So I took out the phone and found the picture of Aida and me at the party. I thought it was a damn good picture, but it wasn't one I wanted to show to the boss.
"Meet Lori," I said and handed him the phone.
"Jesus! I was hoping… That is you?"
"The one on the left."
"Well I will be god damned."
"So several people have told me."
"Go to hell. What are we going to tell LaChance. It could be a big account."
"I suppose that Lori could go to see him at his place, that way we won't have to explain my other personality."
"I knew you were crazy, but schizophrenic?"
"Actually it would be closer to multiple personality disorder. Schizophrenia is more hallucinations, unfocused behavior and sometimes motor difficulties."
"Is there anything you don't know?"
"Uh, how I get into situations like this?"
"I don't know. I want the business but there is so much to go wrong."
"Boss, there may be a silver lining in this. I have been considering whether I should make the transition, but I wasn't going to say anything until I was sure. I know just how much trouble it will cause."
"It just gets better and better. You wouldn't want to take another vacation until I get over my headache?"
"I've got some Midol if you need it."
"Go to hell! Let me think on this for a while. Obviously you're so convincing as Lori that he was very impressed. At least I won't have to worry about someone figuring out you aren't really a woman."
"Boss, I'm starting to wonder if I really am more woman than man. Not your problem, and I'll do my best not to make it a problem for the company."
"That's about all I can ask. Get back to work."
It took three days, but in the end Lori and the Boss were going to visit Streeten Industries the next Tuesday. I guess I was going to have to invest in a skirted suit. Got to be professional, you know.
I spent a good deal of time over the next few days researching Streeten Industries, I needed to know everything I could about their products, sales models, corporate culture and financing. I also spent a good deal of time worrying about how I would present myself. If I can do research and tap my connections for information on them, then I had to assume some smart cookie at Streeten could do the same for us.
Applying my professional expertise to the problem I could reach only one conclusion: there was no way that Lori and Lauren could remain separate identities. This meant that Aida and I had some serious discussions about our future. We had had quite the lark being a same-sex couple, no doubt about it. But I had learned that it was more than a lark, Lori had become an important part of me.
The question was, could Aida be happy if I became Lori? The first part of the decision was simple, we both enjoyed sex just as I had been born, neither of us wanted to change that part of my body.
Trying to be objective about myself was probably a doomed project, but I did try to think clearly about our future if I chose to transition. The big question: could Aida live with me if I actually had the surgery for permanent breasts and maybe even butt implants?
We had lived together and made love for a week with my body as close to looking female as possible and we had enjoyed it. But forever? I was becoming more and more sure that that was where I wanted to go, but I wasn't going to go there without Aida.
So we talked, and talked, and talked some more. Then we slept on it. Saturday morning I awoke to find Aida up before me, happily brewing coffee in an attempt to entice me from the bed. Since she wasn't in it…
"How much vacation do you have? She asked when I was semi-coherent.
"I think about two weeks left."
"Good, then you can take a week to recover from the implants and a week for the honeymoon. We need to set a date, don't you think? How long will it take for the bruising to go down so you can show off your pretty tits in your bridal gown?"
When Aida comes to a decision, she doesn't mess around. Just ask her mother.
For that matter, ask me.
"You're sure?"
I'm not as quick to make most decisions. I like to think things over and be sure.
"I'm sure, and not just because you're so good in bed. You're good for me, you're good to everybody. You were even good to my mother when she was being a bitch to you. You were good to that poor guy Kirk that got foisted off on us."
"And look where that got me."
"It got you to realize who you really are. It may get you a juicy contract. It got you me. What's a little grief at work when you show up in a skirt?"
"You make it sound so easy."
"No, it won't be easy, but I've got your back, kid. You need to get dressed, we're supposed to be looking at a house by eleven o'clock."
"Eleven? Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"
"You needed your beauty sleep. You've been a might stressed this week."
"No shit."
"Too bad you can't wear that sundress without your high-tech tits. I rather liked how you look in it."
"I haven't got a thing to wear!" I wailed, just to wind her up.
I got dressed in record time.
Having looked at quite a few places over the last little while, we were not expecting anything earthshaking to happen. Once again, The Fates, or The Hand Of God, or maybe Mr Murphy poked their noses into our lives. The place was exactly what we wanted. Enough room, two bathrooms, a yard small enough that it wouldn't require massive maintenance, not too far from ether of our jobs and only mildly extortionate in price. We put in an offer before someone else could snap it up.
When we signed the papers we were giddy. How much change could you cope with over a single weekend? Now about I could do was bite my nails waiting to see if I had a job Monday afternoon so we could afford the mortgage on the house we wanted to live in.
And I couldn't even bite my nails, Lori didn't want to look like a raggamuffin.
This time it was my turn to plop down in the Boss's chair, after knocking of course. He is the boss.
"You got a few minutes?"
"For you, of course."
"Well, actually I lied. This is going to take more than a few minutes."
"Don't tell me, let me guess. You're quitting and this Lori is taking your place."
"Jeez, you take all the fun out of it. You're supposed to be shocked and flustered."
"Did that with the last transgendered employee."
"You did?"
"I did. Of course, she was a new hire so we just didn't say anything about who she was in the past. As far as I know she hasn't had the slightest bit of trouble."
"Does that mean…"
"It means I've been talking to HR, just in case you decided to transition. Actually, after we talked last week I would have been surprised if you didn't. The only real problem I can see on site is bathrooms. I just don't know if any of the women here will object. We do have to take them into consideration."
"It's a pain, but I'm willing to use the handicapped facilities up front so no one gets excited."
"That will help, but I'm more concerned about how you will be able to work with your customers and everyone else here. You interact with just about everyone in the place at one time or another. I'd be a fool if I didn't expect there will be some of them who won't like the change."
"I suppose with the customers we can just have someone else do the presentation if my appearance would cause a problem. I can do the research and problem solving and remain in the background. I suppose the bigger problem is working with people who know Lauren. We will just have to deal with that on a case-by-case basis. I'll do whatever it takes.
"As far as the people here, there are a couple who might be a problem. I'd like to keep things civil even if we can't be friends."
"I hope that's the way it works out. Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think too many people will be shocked when they find out about Lori."
"I haven't really been projecting a very masculine aura, have I?"
"You could say that. More neutral, I would think. Actually I appreciate not having to cope with grunting guys or flirting females. We are running a business here."
"Would working from home for a little while help? If I'm only here once in a while until I sort of become part of the wallpaper it might help."
"No, I'd rather take care of this directly. Like I said, you aren't the first and won't be the last. I want our non-discrimination policy to actually work."
"I'll do what I can. I suppose I need to visit HR and fill out reams of paperwork."
"Actually no. Since you're not changing your name, just your nickname, there's nothing that needs changing."
"No paperwork? That's more shocking than me turning into a woman."
"Out! Go do something useful and Lori?"
"Yeah?"
"Best be very professional looking tomorrow morning."
"You got it, Boss!"
Ryan Mondalmi
Photo by Kyle Roxas: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-in-blue-off-shoulder-long...
So we spent most of Monday night gluing Lori back together. We didn't bother with the makeup since I wouldn't be showing any seams. For all the good it did, Aida gave me a titty squeeze to welcome Lori back.
Tuesday I put on my new skirted suit with a lavender blouse, much like I had worn in my dreams. Hair just so, dangly earrings, a single bracelet and those three inch pumps. You can be sure I had my flats in my tote bag.
I tried to make my entrance to the company as quiet as possible, but wouldn't you know that a security guard stopped me and asked for my ID, not having seen me before.
I showed him my ID. He was skeptical, so I referred him to my boss. He was polite, but I wasn't going anywhere until I was cleared. A few minutes later the Boss made his appearance, thanked the guard for his vigilance and escorted me to HR for a new photo and ID. He also sighed and told me he wished it was the good old days so he could give me wolf whistle without getting sued for sexual harassment. I am exceptionally blessed to have a boss who is both tolerant and gifted with a perverse sense of humor.
With the ID issue resolved, I sat at my computer and read the company-wide e-mail welcoming me to the group and providing a link to the company's diversity policy. Someone in HR had achieved just the right tone in that missive.
I only had time to talk to a couple of people before it was time to head out for Streeten. I slung my purse, hefted my briefcase and followed the Boss to his car.
We tried to go over just what we wanted to accomplish there, but since Mr LaChance had just said he wanted to talk we we could only guess as to what we would encounter. I was nervous, but the Boss treated me no differently than he ever had, listening carefully to what I had to say.
We went through the usual front office folderol and eventually were shown to a small conference room. I immediately recognized Harrison P LaChance from the party, and even remembered talking to him as part if a group.
The CEO got right down to business, explaining the project and what he wanted from us. I can't tell you much more than that, as we had to sign a confidentiality agreement before we got any details. I can say that it was particularly ambitious and Mr LaChance realized that it was going to take considerable outside help to bring it off. As the meeting went on others joined with their expertise and we dug into the reasons why they needed this project and the results they expected.
I was the only woman in the room most of the time, but I was treated as a valuable resource and detected not a trace of male chauvinism. Quite the change from the ambiance at the party.
At last we said our goodbyes and received promises to get back to us ASAP. I think they were impressed.
Out in the car, the Boss turned to me and said "I've known you for what, three years, right?"
"Just about."
"How in the world did you hide Lori for all that time?"
"I really don't know. Lori has always been there, but I have always been told I was Lauren, mainly because the doctor said I was a male when he slapped my bottom."
"Interesting. Lori, you just put on a display of expertise that amazed even me. Lauren was good, but somehow Lori was able to slip past the barriers those guys put up and show them just what we can do for them. Even if we don't get the contract, I am absolutely sure that Lori is going to be even more valuable than Lauren."
"I was pretty much scared out of my gourd. I haven't had sustained attention like that as Lori."
"Yeah, I can see where that would make you nervous. You handled it beautifully."
"Thanks."
"So, when we get back write up everything you can think of from the meeting and let me know how you think we should proceed. And Lori…"
"Yes?"
"I really hope that people accept the change without giving you grief. If they don't, I want to know about it before it can get out of hand."
"I will.
The other thing that needs telling was by the time I had settled back at my desk my phone pinged. Our offer had been accepted by Streeten.
As they say, your mileage might vary. Most of the office got used to Lori after a few weeks. There were some who remained cold, but didn't cause any real trouble; they were balanced by several who were supportive. I won't name names, but there were two women who were genuinely interested in why I chose to transition, one of whom became a good friend outside of work.
On the home front, we went down to the bank to apply for a mortgage. Having Aida be a major depositor in the bank with her trust funds certainly didn't hurt, but there was some concern about my being transgendered. Bankers are pretty conservative folks. Aida made it clear that if we were rejected they could kiss goodbye to her trust finds. Bankers also know on which side the bread is buttered; there was certainly no financial reason to deny the mortgage as we both had sterling credit.
Not that it was simple, there were inspections, title searches, and fussiness galore to finally get everything in line. It took two months to get it all done, which I'm told is pretty good. I can only say if I were to pass judgement on the way all these disparate interests worked together I would tell my client to bail out and stay out.
The contract with Streeten was much simpler in comparison. We got it and I headed a team that worked long and hard with them. It would take years before the project was a success, but it did succeed.
The next few months left me feeling like juggler with too many balls in the air. Those marvelous, expensive breast forms had gotten to be a bit of a pain. Yes I liked how I looked, but I was sick of gluing and ungluing. We did some research about breast and butt implants and were amazed to find we could actually fly to South Korea for a medical vacation, have the procedures done and then return home for much less than the procedures alone in America. I'll simply observe that medical care in the U S of A sucks and leave it at that. Even with the cheaper procedures it was going to pretty much empty my savings account.
Ball #2: in order to fly to a foreign country you need a passport. I had a passport but it has that annoying little 'M' on it. I could just see some hulking border patrol officer trying to reconcile my breasts with that M and chucking me out of the country to live homeless in some South Korean airport lounge.
So, more research. To my immense surprise, as of June 2021 all you need to do to change that 'M' to 'F' is fill out the paperwork and write a check. They have to take your word for it! I'm sure they fired the ass of the faceless bureaucrat that made it that easy to deal with Homeland Security, but I sent in my application and a new picture ASAP before they changed their minds.
Ball #3: Assuming I can get there and back, I need to find a surgeon and schedule the procedure from half way around the world. The Internet has plenty of advice and connections, but do I want to trust my tender body to what could turn out to be the medical world's version of the Nigerian Prince who needs my help?
Now I've developed an extensive network of contacts to do my job, but they were of absolutely no help in this situation. I doubt the AMA was going to be a good resource either. Would you believe that The CDC has web pages with advice for just this topic? Damn! Two government departments with useful information and helpful people. What is this world coming to? There's even an academic site devoted to research on medical tourism.
It's a good thing I spend most of my working life doing research, it took quite a bit to satisfy myself that I would get what I wanted and return to the country safely.
I was mildly surprised that there were so many people in the South Korean hospital who spoke good, idiomatic English. I had been worried about that. Apparently they get a lot of business from Americans who can't afford our screwed up medical system. They even were set up to use Skype, thus saving some serious money in international calling rates.
Ball #4: Good thing this isn't baseball, there's still a lot to get done. We had a wedding to plan. After due consultation we decided that there was just too damn much going on to get married.
Ball #5: The new house. Even with all our worldly goods from our two small apartments, we needed furnishings and decoration for the new place. This led to frequenting thrift stores on weekends, then filling my old apartment with whatever bargains we found.
Then there were utilities to turn on, garbage pickup to arrange, and a host of other things that apartment dwellers take for granted.
Ball #6: Family. Now that Aida and I were official, the parents and sisters wanted to see more of her. I seemed to come along as a bonus prize, but then with two older sisters I was used to stuff like that.
Ball #7: Jobs. Right, both of us had to squeeze a few hours into our schedule to go to work and earn the money to pay for all those balls.
Ball #8: Sleep. Forget that one, it went flying off to nowhere and there wasn't enough time to retrieve it without dropping all the other balls.
It was in early fall when Aida and I were finally able to move into the new place. No matter how much we loved each other, two women (one and a half?) in a studio apartment was an unstable situation.
When the place was finally ours we hired a moving company and watched them do all the heavy lifting. We were overwhelmed when my parents and sisters, complete with families, appeared at our door to help. Aida had a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile because she had arranged it all as a surprise for me. I love the woman, but sometimes…
My sisters had a great time critiquing my wardrobe choices, or should I say our wardrobe choices. What's mine is hers and what's hers is mine, as long as it doesn't go on our feet, that is. Do you know just how weird it is for a former boy to have her mother sorting through her lingerie? It got even more surreal when Mom wanted to know where I got one particular bra so she could get one for herself.
It was a madhouse. The guys were assembling and moving furniture, the gals were measuring for curtains and the kids, too young to be of much help, were racing around the place playing tag until shooed out into the back yard. At one point I found Aida standing in the kitchen, simply looking at the clean counters with our appliances neatly arranged and our cupboards full. She was sniffling softly.
"What's wrong, Hon?" I asked.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Is this what it's like to have a family? A real family, not a house full of nannies and servants and spiteful parents? Lori, not only do I have you but I have a family for the first time in my life."
"This is the good part of having a family. Just be glad you didn't have to go through the fights over who had to do which chores or the teenage boyfriend traumas to get here. And you haven't seen Mom or Dad when they got pissed at me."
"But you have love despite the fights. That's something I never had before I met you."
"We have love, Aida. The past is gone away, we have a future, don't we?"
But the quiet moment had passed, Lil tracked us down to ask where we wanted this thing put.
One thing remained to be done before we collapsed into our bed. We ceremonially loaded our very own washer with our underwear and ended and era. No more Friday nights at the Laundromat.
We had barely unpacked the boxes before we locked the front door and headed out for three weeks in South Korea.
That's right, three weeks. I was going to do the whole enchilada, breasts, butt and hips. With top surgery I could have pushed it by only taking a week off, but the butt enhancement meant I was not going to be allowed to sit for prolonged periods for a week or two. Once again my Boss proved to be a gem. Not that I didn't take a bit of good-natured grief about my 'womanly problems,' but he arranged for medical leave along with my remaining vacation. It certainly helped that modern computer communications allowed me to remain in the loop even when halfway around the world.
Look, as much as I wanted it, surgery is not a fun experience. Aida and I did get a couple of days to explore Seoul before the procedure, but spending weeks wearing an ugly bra and what amounted to a medical panty girdle to keep the implants in place is not something you want to think too hard about.
It hurt. It ached. It looked just awful when I got to see myself in the mirror. There was no comfortable way to sleep. I was jet lagged and hyper on pain medication for the first few days, then aching and wishing the damned doctor would give me a couple of more happy pills. I know all about addiction and such, but dammit it hurt!
The phrase this too shall pass occupied my thoughts a great deal. Naturally, the researcher in me wanted to know where it came from, so I searched the all-knowing Internet and found it had several sources. Not the Bible, to my surprise, but 13th century Persian folklore, 19th century Jewish literature, and Abraham Lincoln, of all people. You learn all kinds of things when you have time on your hands, and at that point my hands were one of the few places that didn't hurt.
Ironically, the phrase was given a new meaning when it came time to take a dump. You do not want to know the details. Suffice it to say the among the medications was a course of laxatives.
As I felt better we did things like visiting the National Museum and touring the DMZ. I have to say that mostly I thought of all the wasted time, money and men such foolishness has cost humanity. All this because a small group of power-hungry men need to control others to make themselves feel important. And it's always men, when was the last time you heard of a woman starting a war? I found myself inordinately pleased to have severed myself from men as a class. I know that's stupid, illogical, shortsighted and childish but I just don't want to be even a little like those miserable excuses for humanity. We have our stupidities in the USA, but at least we haven't got fortified borders.
Yet.
And indeed the pain did pass. Having been warned about the problems with prolonged sitting we had booked the flight home in three stages. I am still wondering if it only prolonged the agony or prevented worse agony.
I'm a woman now, I get to whine.
So OK, I'm being sexist, too. Sue me.
Our pretty little house was a welcome sight. We both collapsed and slept for hours on end, trying to reverse our metabolism for the second time in a few weeks. I have a good deal more sympathy for the Flat Earthers, if they were right then we wouldn't have time zones, but reality has a way of biting you in the ass. After all the trouble I want to to get this nice new ass I do not want anyone chewing on it.
So OK, I'll make an exception for Aida.
The time came to return to work, and other than still walking a little funny nothing much had changed other than I no longer needed to glue on my tits and ass. Said tits and ass were still in no condition to show off, it would take months for my body to do its thing and mold itself to them properly. At least I no longer looked like a victim of domestic violence.
Time went on, as it always does, and I got used to my new body. I no longer marveled at having breasts and my padded tush became something normal. After cutting the lawn the first time we hired a service to keep the yard up. I could walk normally, but going round in circles for an hour was just too much.
By thanksgiving I was able to wear a low-cut top and let the world see my cleavage. I have to admit I was like a little kid with a new toy, being able to show off my new breasts. They still weren't perfect, but they were getting there.
Aida was glowing at Christmas, her first in the bosom of a loving family. Her eyes often gleamed with happy tears, knowing she was loved and cherished. We heard not a word from her parents, and I was happy to leave it that way. We were content, we had each other and we had a loving family. What more could anyone ask?
Having used up all our time off and then some as medical tourists, we had opted to put off the formal ceremony until the next year, allowing us to take time for a honeymoon. Also allowing my body to recover fully for the rigors of the consummation. We tossed around various dates until we realized the ideal time would be one year after we met in the Laundromat.
One problem solved, but where to hold the ceremony? Neither of us were churchgoers and Aida was certainly not interested in having Reverend Charles - he of the purchased sermon - come anywhere near us on our wedding day.
I asked some of the people at work if they had any ideas and was flabbergasted when Sam told me that the Boss was an ordained minister.
"The Boss? Ordained?" I asked.
"Yeah, in the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, also known as Pastafarians. I didn't believe it, but it's a real church and the ministers can legally conduct marriage ceremonies."
"That is just too weird. We were twitting my parents about holding a Pastafarian wedding a while back, just to see if they would swallow the tale whole. I've gotta ask the boss to do the ceremony just to see the look on my parent's faces."
"You wouldn't!"
"We certainly would. I just saw some stuff on Facebook about the Spaghetti Monster. I can't believe it’s a real church."
"Actually, it started when a guy named Bobby Henderson took on the Kansas Board of Education and demanded equal time for the Flying Spaghetti Monster if they were going to teach creationism. Of course it was satirical but, as these things sometimes do, it went viral and is a gathering point for those who try to promote rationality above fanaticism. Since there is no law in the good old USA defining what a church is, then a church is anything you want it to be. The closest the government comes to defining religion is in the IRS code that lists some of the things that makes a church a church for tax purposes."
They were my kind of people.
I had to do it. I plunked myself down in the Boss's visitors chair and asked him if he would marry me. The Boss is no slouch, he just asked if we had gotten the license yet. He even knew of a recreation hall that we could use.
So that's how Aida and I ended up standing in front of the Boss, his head adorned by the Holy Colander of Pastafarianism. Since Pastafarians also revere Pirates as holy beings the Boss did offer to include pirate regalia in the ceremony. We decided the colander was enough for us.
Thus we were married before all of our friends and relatives, with the notable exception of Aida's parents. Richards did the honors for Aida, my father walked me down the aisle and we were showered with orzo rather than rice.
Now that's what I call a happy ending - or maybe a beginning. Aida stopped taking her birth control pills last week.