Be My Valentine

I sat at the bar and for the umpteenth time, looked at my watch.

I had long gone past the stage of wondering whether I would be clocked…

Angelby
Susan Brown


Image Credit: Separator licensed free for all uses and publishing from Photoshopgraphics.com. ~Sephrena.


 
 
I sat at the bar and for the umpteenth time, looked at my watch.

I had long gone past the stage of wondering whether I would be clocked.

For the last ten years I had been living as a woman full time, I knew that I was one of the lucky ones that “passed”. A few of my friends didn’t pass very well and would only go out with us in a group; safety in numbers, I supposed.

For the record, originally, I was Phillip and now I was legally Phillipa and very happy to be so.

Glancing at my watch again, the hands hadn’t moved much. The music was a muted sort of muzak, easy on the ear, but hardly good enough for me to start tapping my three-inch heels too.

I was pleased with my dress; it was my favourite LBD and it fitted me like a glove. Luckily I was thin—ish, kept myself fit jogging and going to the gym and I was a good girl as I only ate naughty food every other day. So I didn’t have those unsightly bulges, which can ruin the effect of a dress like the one I was wearing.

I had gone all out this year and had had my hair and nails done in my favourite salon. At thirty years of age, I still didn’t look too bad and the cracks and crannies hadn’t started to appear on my face yet; so meticulously applied makeup did more to enhance what features I had, rather than hide the ravages of time.

‘Another drink Miss?’ asked the man behind the bar, looking at my cleavage rather than my face.

‘Yes please, a gin and tonic would be nice.’

‘Coming up.’

I looked around the Royal Hotel Ballroom from my vantage point of propping up the bar. I had been hit upon by a few men, but I put them off saying that I was waiting for my boy friend.

‘Boy friend’, that sounded nice and made me smile. I glanced at my watch again and showed no real movement since the last time I looked at it, about thirty seconds before.

The red balloons, ribbons, hearts and other decorations proclaimed the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and made a rather austere Victorian room look bright and friendly.

Many couples were sitting at dining tables already and only a few people were still at the bar.

‘Here you are Miss,’ said the barman with a smile directed at my reasonably ample bosom.

I was rather proud of my breasts, I’d grown those beauties all by myself and had grown attached to the nicely proportioned, pert little beauties.

‘Thanks,’ I replied as I paid him and then turned back to scan the people arriving.

No sign of him yet.

I sighed.

For something to do, I fished through my handbag and found the well-read letter. Taking it out of the creased envelope, I read the contents, which to be honest, I knew by heart, but still…
 
 



Dear Phillipa,
It was so nice to hear from you on Wednesday. The Love You Lot’s Introduction Agency (what an awful name!) has come up trumps this time as speaking to you, it’s clear that we have a lot in common. I know that we sort of left it in the air about when and where we should meet, but I was wondering if you are free on February the 14th as there is a dinner dance on at the Royal Hotel.

I know that it’s Valentine’s Day, but what better day is it to meet than then?

My sister Anne tells me that she and her husband have been to the dance on many occasions and it’s a nice place to go to and have some fun.

Please let me know as soon as possible as the tickets are very popular and go like hot cakes.

Yours in anticipation,

Mark.
XXXX


 
 
The enclosed photograph showed a handsome man who I knew was just a couple of years older than me. His deep blue eyes and easy smile made my heart sort of flutter, if that isn’t too corny a phrase in this day and age. It was sweet that we had communicated by snail-mail rather than emailing and texting. It just seemed a bit more romantic like that.

The fact that I was transgendered hadn’t mattered a jot too him. As he said during our brief initial telephone conversation, ‘it’s the person inside that matters, not the packaging. Mind you,’ he continued, ‘judging by the photo, your packaging seems rather nice!’

I smiled at that memory.

When I applied to go on their books, I had been open and honest to the introduction agency. They didn’t feel that my gender situation would be a problem because they had a number of people in their database that would fit my needs wants and desires, as they put it. They evidently prided themselves on their ability to match anyone one and everyone, no matter what the circumstances were.

Smiling, I put the letter back into my handbag.

I, of course, had replied that I would be delighted to go with him to the dinner dance…

Someone touched my arm.

‘Hello.’

I turned around and smiled.

‘Hi.’ I said rather breathlessly.

His photo didn’t really do him justice, as, in the flesh, he was handsome beyond belief.

‘Shall we find our table?’

I nodded, strangely feeling slightly shy and tongue tied. Picking up my drink, I was led over to a table in the corner and it was rather nice that he helped me into my seat before sitting down opposite me. Who said that the days of chivalry were dead?

‘Sorry I was a bit late,’ he said, ‘the traffic was awful and I didn’t allow enough time.’

‘I was a bit early anyway,’ I replied.

I think that strangely we were a both a bit shy, but we soon got talking as the waiter came up with the menus and we decided what we were going to order.

We decided on a bottle of champagne, as that seemed the right thing to do because of what day it was.

The meal was nice and we both had the same, Pá¢té for starters followed by a nice steak and all the trimmings. None of your minute French type portions for us. We capped it off with forest gateau and coffee.

We talked of many things; our interests, desires and dreams and while we talked I could see why I was so attracted to this man. He was, if you like, just about the perfect companion for me. He was fun to be with, slightly self-deprecating and above all a very nice person.

We had similar tastes in music and the theatre; although, being a doctor, he had limited time for having much of a social life. This didn’t bother me too much as I was a reasonably successful fiction writer and was well used to being in my own world for much of the time. This meant that the times we were able to be together would be all the more precious.

After letting our lovely meal go down a bit, he looked at me and smiled.

‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked, as the real live band struck up and took over from the not so live muzak.

Looking around, many couples had started to occupy the dance floor. I was glad of that, as the last thing I would have wanted was to bring attention to ourselves by being the first ones to dance.

‘Yes please,’ I replied.

We spent about an hour on the dance floor and it was lovely, as I only managed to step on his toes a couple of times!

All too soon, my feet started to ach a bit and I was grateful to sit down again. I don’t know how some women torture themselves with four-inch heels, three seemed to me to be the limit for me. Mark went to the bar to order the drinks as I did a bit of people watching.

I wondered if there were any other people who were as happy as I was at that moment. Mark was a wonderful person, full of life and had wonderful personality. The fact that we had found each other through a lonely-hearts agency didn’t matter one bit. I had always been slightly shy and the thought of going out and bagging a man somehow, was something that I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing.

Mark was a busy man and as such hadn’t had the time to go out and ‘play the field’ and in any case, he had told me when we first spoke that he was a bit shy around girls and hated the possibility of rejection; although the thought of anyone rejecting such a catch as him, was strange to say the least.

‘There you are.’ He said as he arrived back at the table.

‘Thanks,’ I replied as I picked up the G&T and had a sip.

He had a whisky and soda, a drink that I can’t stand, so that was one thing that we didn’t agree on!

‘Well Phillipa,’ he said, holding my hand across the table, ‘have you had a nice time.’

‘Yes, it’s been lovely.’

‘You know that I love you, don’t you.’

I loved to hear that from his lips.

‘I love you too,’ I replied, smiling.

It all seemed so natural and wonderful to say those words. Here we were two people in a crowded room that had found each other and fell in love almost at first sight.

Who said that romance was dead?

There was a time when I thought that I would never find someone who would love and respect me for who I was. The fact that I was born a boy, physically anyway, and my subsequent changes meant that options for me were somewhat limited. Oh, I knew of some men who chased trans-girls, many for sexual gratification, but like Mark, I was never in it for the sex (although that was nice). No, love was the overriding consideration for both of us, in a relationship.

I remembered, during my ‘real life test’ period—when I had to live and dress as a woman before they would consider SRS—that I went out with a few other girls to a club. There was a mix of LGBT’s there, but also men who tended to pester girls like me. Being naíve, I didn’t know that there were men like that, who seemed to get their kicks out of picking up girls like me and seeing how far they could go. I got the feeling that ‘love’ wasn’t on their agenda, but something more basic…

At that time, I didn’t want to experiment with my sexuality in any case, as I was trying to cope with a lot of things all at once, not least of which was my acceptance by others including my family and friends. Most of my old friends dropped me, which hurt, but more than that, my parents didn’t want to know me. Only my sister gave me any sort of support and I loved her for that.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’

‘Oh, just thinking about my past. It’s strange how one decision can change your whole life.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, the fact that my transitioning cut me off from almost all the people I loved.’

‘Some people can’t accept things as they are. They want everything to be as they want and not as they should be.’

‘So you think of me as?’

The question hung in the air for a moment and then he held my hand again.

‘You know the answer to that. I think of you as the prettiest woman in the room.’

‘You do say the nicest things,’ I giggled.

‘Only because it’s true.’

All too soon it was the last dance and we joined everyone on the floor and danced to that old favourite, ‘Lady in Red.’

As we danced, I drew closer to Mark and found my head up against his chest. I could feel his heart beat strongly and rather fast. I looked up at him and then before I knew it, we were kissing.

It was wonderful kiss and took my breath away. The music stopped, but we still stood there, almost oblivious to others around us.

It was only when hundreds of red heart balloons and rose petals fell about us that we broke from our loving embrace, both grinning like Cheshire cats.

Everyone laughed and clapped and the leader told us that it was the end, but not to forget to come back next year.

I didn’t want it to end and nor did Mark.

‘Shall I see if we can stay the night?’ he whispered breathlessly.

I looked up into his eyes that were full of love and I simply nodded.

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The room was lovely, spacious and elegantly decorated. The bed was a king sized one and seemed soft and inviting. On the pillow were two red roses, intertwined. At the base of the bed was a lovely red satin nightdress and a powder blue set of pyjamas.

‘They think of everything,’ I said enthusiastically, and then with tongue in cheek continued, ‘I’ll take the PJ’s,’

‘No you won’t,’ he retorted, laughing.

Mark kissed me deeply and then said,’ I’ll get ready first as you will probably take a bit longer than me.’

‘Okay,’ I replied.

When he came out of the bathroom in his pyjamas, it took all of my control not to do something naughty to him. Tapping my rear end as I passed, he said, ‘don’t be long.’

‘I won’t,’ I replied giggling, as I flashed my lashes at him seductively and then went into the bathroom.

I quickly stripped and naked, I started to get ready for bed.

There were quite a few toiletries in the bathroom including makeup remover and it was a matter of moments before my face was clean. I never went to bed wearing makeup and Mark would see my face in all its nakedness!

After brushing my teeth and using the loo, I slipped on the nightie and shivered as the liquid satin slid down my smooth body. Finally, I brushed my long blond hair and then carefully spritzed myself with some Obsession by Calvin Klein; not too much, as it could be overpowering, if used anything but sparingly.

One last look at myself and I was ready.

As I walked into the bedroom, Mark was waiting for me.

‘You look lovely,’ he said as he opened his arms and I fell into them.

Our lovemaking was gentle and prolonged. Mark wasn’t into three-minute sex and nor was I, for which I was eternally grateful. He explored my body from the toes up, using his lips, tongue and hands to full effect. I shuddered as he touched and caressed parts of my body that I didn’t know were erogenous zones.

After some time I decided that I should help Mark and I slowly proceeded to take off his pyjamas, as he helped me to remove my nightie. His member was large, proudly erect and throbbing. I pushed him back on the bed and then proceeded to gently stroke him…

Our love making that night was wonderful and I cried, not with pain, but with the pleasure that we were able to give to each other. We reached peaks of ecstasy that I had never felt before and I wondered at the strength and stamina of this wonderful man. Not that I was backward in this respect and I believe that I gave as much as I received on that wonderful night.

Eventually, we fell asleep in each other’s arms; physically and mentally exhausted, but very, very happy.

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I awoke the next morning and turned over. I felt for Mark, but he wasn’t there. Opening my eyes, I saw a red rose on the pillow and a hand written note under it.
 
 



‘Sorry Honey, an emergency at the hospital, I’ll contact you later.

I love you.

Mark
XXX


 
 
Sighing, I sat up in bed. That was the trouble with being a doctor always on call, they get called out!

Mark was a consultant neurosurgeon, not bad for someone who was just thirty-two, but I knew that the needs of his patients far outweighed my needs, so I would just have to wait a while before I could be in his arms again.

After a shower, I had a leisurely breakfast in the room and then checked out. The room had been paid for, so I didn’t have to worry about that.

My car was in the car park and I unlocked the door and sat in it for a few moments.

I had so much enjoyed my Valentine’s Day and night and I hoped sincerely that I would be back with Mark again next year.

I started the engine and made my way home through the morning traffic.

I opened the front door, let myself in and immediately went into the kitchen. I was in need of a restorative cup of tea.

After making my drink and grabbing a few hob-nobs from the jar, I went into my study and sighing, I carried on writing the twentieth chapter of my latest novel; although I found it difficult to concentrate for some reason…

I was busy all day, except for a quick sandwich at lunchtime and a brief call from Mark to say that he would be tied up with a tricky case for some hours.

The afternoon stretched into the evening and as it was getting late, I debated whether I should go to bed. I spoke to my sister for a while to see how things were going at her end and then as Mark hadn’t contacted me, I assumed that he was still in the operating theatre. This happened often, as much of the surgery that he was involved in was complex and time consuming.

I gave in to tiredness and went to bed.

I read a book for a while and then, as it was past midnight, I turned off the light and went to sleep.

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I awoke with a smile, as I felt a hand cupping my breast.

Turning over I smiled.

‘Hello honey,’ I said sleepily.

‘Hi darling.’ said Mark.

‘How did the op go?’ I asked.

‘She’ll live and should be okay. Maybe next time she goes on a bike ride, she’ll wear a helmet.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Ten.’

‘Oh Lord.’

‘So,’ said Mark, ‘did you enjoy Valentine's Day?’

‘Yes, I always do.’

‘How many times have we relived our first meeting in that hotel?’

‘Including the original time, nine.’

‘Shall we go for ten next year?’

‘You bet!’

‘When do you pick up the twins from your sister?’

‘After eleven,’

‘In that case, we have time for a bit of fun…’

‘Oh Mark, you are naughty, but I love you…’


Fin





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