by Kelly Ann Rogers
I opened it up and pulled out an eight by ten-inch photograph - a photograph of me - in full drag. I was dressed to the nines, wearing a bright red spaghetti strap cocktail dress that was made out of tiered layers of chiffon.
Hey gang! I’ve got a new story! I think it’s pretty good. It’s been five years since I posted something new, and I can only blame real life and my apparent inability to write anything shorter than 50,000 words.
One of the nice things I’ve learned about writing is to share the process of creation with others. It’s not just that this keeps me from writing badly, but also because it’s fun to engage other writers. As a result, there are several people to thank. First and foremost is Jill MI. She’s a great editor and put in more time than I could ever thank her for. She has posted many of her own stories (some as Angel Rasch) and edited the work of a number of the writers who post here, and she surely must be one of our community’s biggest supporters and assets. Matti Berliot (who you may know as Dee West if not, check out Home on the Range or a Touch of Palm on FM) is a terrific writer and has been my dear friend for quite a while. She not only helps me avoid mistakes and missteps, but pushes me towards my strengths as well. Dimelza Cassidy, who’s Cornering was (deservedly) such a big hit here recently (read it if you haven’t yet) also contributed insight and much needed advice. I also have to thank Ellen Hayes, my sharpest critic, for pushing me closer and closer to reality, even if I don’t get close enough for her tastes.
With that out of the way, let’s get on with the show. I’m going to post this in thirteen chapters. This is both logical and selfish. Logical because the chapters break the story into logical and easily digestible chunks, selfish because I want to keep the story in your minds for more than just a couple of days, and this is a way of spreading over time. Happy reading.
An unfinished Symphony
by Kelly Ann Rogers
Chapter I It wasn't my fault
"Omigod! Michael, that was delicious," Rebecca said, patting her lips clean. "I really didn't think having you work from home would pan out, but it did, and with delicious side benefits as well." She arched a knowing eyebrow at me as she neatly folded her blue, red, and yellow striped napkin and placed it next to her empty plate. When she looked up, her warm, generous smile was all the reward I needed, especially because she had seemed tense and annoyed with me when she had gotten home.
"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," I replied, quietly thrilled by her compliment. "It's a new recipe I've been dying to try. Didn't you love the way the cilantro and ginger perked everything up?"
"Ummm. Yeah." she replied, getting up from the table. She had changed from her business suit into jeans before dinner and I watched with quiet pleasure as her lovely ass unaffectedly swiveled towards the living room. It was Friday night and we didn't have anything planned for the weekend.
*Yes,* I thought, as I turned to collect our plates. *This arrangement really is good for both of us.* We'd decided to try it about two years after we had both left our corporate advertising and marketing jobs to start our own company. Rebecca was our CEO and public face. She ran the company, did all the negotiating, and most of the meetings with clients. Her good looks, warm, funny personality, and piercing intellect made her perfect for this job. She was quick to size up both people and situations, and rarely hesitated to make a decision once she figured out what she wanted to do.
I, by contrast, was the artistic one. I was by no means a dummy, but I didn't love the negotiating, personnel work and shmoozing as much as Rebecca. Instead, I did most of the actual design work. I had a great eye and confidence in my esthetic judgment, so I was quite comfortable with artistic decisions, but those were about the only ones I made easily. My sister Leah, a corporate attorney, who, if anything, was even more decisive than Rebecca, always told me that I was too passive and too often just waited for things to happen.
With our creativity and complimentary skills, Rebecca and I had each been big players at the midtown Manhattan advertising firm where we worked. We met on a big project for a Fortune 100 company, which turned out to be hugely successful because of our efforts. That put us on the fast track, both to corporate success and love. After a year, we married, and started saving up the money we eventually used to bank roll our own company, which we call Mind Games. After nearly three years on our own, we had built a solid client base, mostly of small startup companies. They can't afford the big guys with their plush midtown Manhattan offices, but they wanted edgy, eye-catching logos, ad campaigns and product packaging nonetheless. Now, we had six full time employees and a team of about a ten really good freelancer graphic designers, many women with children, who we brought on as we needed them and they were available.
Rebecca oversaw the work of our administrative and copy-writing staff, and I was in charge of the graphic design group. I had always gotten along easily with women, and there was a real feeling of community that allowed the creative juices to flow easily among us. I was really careful to always share the credit with my team, and if one of the freelancers came up with a key concept that helped to make a campaign work, she got a bonus. This kept everybody engaged and eager, and made sure that mine wasn't the only brain on the job.
When we had to bring on a seventh full-timer, we ran out of space at our beloved office/studio. We had both instantly fallen in love with it, which helped convince us just how perfect we were for each other. While we were trying to figure out where to move our offices, I suggested that I work from home. That way we could keep our headquarters in the turn of the century loft we already owned. It was in a building that had once been a factory in a small manufacturing neighborhood in the southern Connecticut town where we now lived. Once totally abandoned, this area had now become quite trendy. Artist galleries, fancy shops and chic restaurants now fill up the lower floors of the old factories and warehouses, while the upper floors have newly renovated condos and lofts. With me at home, we would have room for Roger, a clever young copy writer Rebecca had been trying to recruit for six months.
In order to convince Rebecca that working from home was a good idea, I had promised to handle the housework, shopping, and cooking. It wasn't such a big deal; I was doing most of it anyway. Sadly, I was the neat one. If I didn't keep things neat, no one would. Rebecca's penchant for dropping things wherever she finished using them just drove me nuts; she was like a teenager. What that meant was that while I loved the sexy lingerie that Rebecca wore, I hated picking it up from wherever she had tossed it the night before. But truth be told, once I had gotten the house in order, it just didn't take that much work on a daily basis to keep things neat. And besides, I hired a wonderfully effective cleaning woman to do the heavy stuff.
The other reason I really liked this arrangement was that it gave me plenty of time to dress. I just love women's clothing and the feeling of femininity they give me. Rebecca knew about it; I had fortunately told her not long after we began dating seriously. She wasn't entirely enthusiastic about it, but after we satisfied her curiosity that I wasn't a freak, she was tolerant. She had simply decided it was like a minor disability, something like a limp. We had even made love as women a few times, which she seemed willing to put up with as long as I spent a good deal of time with my tongue in her delicious cunny. But basically, it was my activity, just as teaching Sunday school at our synagogue was hers.
She, of course, immediately understood why I wanted to work at home, and my promise to essentially become the homemaker was the quid pro quo for all the dressing she knew I would indulge myself with. But there were ground rules. First, I had to be completely presentable, and as passable as possible, whenever I was wearing any women's clothes. That meant no panties under my work suits, no pantyhose over unshaven legs, and no dressing like a hooker. I had gone out dressed many times before we met, and was damn good at it, even though I was hardly model-thin, and didn't have the delicate features of some of the real TG beauties I had met. What I did have were large eyes, a killer smile and almost no bulk.
"When you're a man, be a man," Rebecca had said when we discussed it. "But when you're a woman, be a real woman; no caricatures or stereotypes. Take the time to do it right."
Given that first rule, however, I thought the second rule was rather strange. Rebecca didn't want me to wear my breast forms when she was home. She couldn't explain why, but somehow breasts on me really bugged her. At first it annoyed me to take them off at the end of the day, but after a while I thought I had figured it out: the more feminine I looked the more uneasy she felt. My hunch was that Rebecca would put up with my dressing as long as my femininity didn't start to bring hers into question, or something like that. With some experimenting, I soon came to realize that if I was in slacks and a simple blouse or sweater when she came home, she was much more comfortable than if I was in a dress.
I appreciated Rebecca's generosity in this, and I wanted to make it easy for her. So when she was home, and I wanted to dress, I mostly wore women's pants and simple tops. I especially enjoyed a pair of low-cut Diesel jeans with a big, cream-colored, cable-knit turtle neck sweater. I wore either my white Keds, a pair of pink and blue running shoes or any of a number of flats I owned. Underneath would be panties and a nice camisole. In fact, that's what I was wearing this evening. I hadn't done much with my hair, which was collar length with a slight curl at the ends and long bangs that I could sweep over one eye or the other, for a nice feminine look. When I was dressed as a guy, I combed it straight back with gel. Women seemed to like it that way, and I got many compliments, probably because they could easily see my big blue eyes.
My eyebrows were neatly trimmed, with a bit of an arch underneath, but not obviously feminine (at least without makeup!). Tonight I was wearing some smoky brown eye shadow you could hardly see, a touch of mascara, and very light blush, just enough to bring out my rather high cheek bones. I probably looked more androgynous than feminine, but I didn't care. I was dressed in a way that delighted me and didn't appear to make Rebecca feel uncomfortable.
Finally, there was the last rule: keep it private. I wasn't, for example, allowed to have a web site, like so many of my T-girl friends. And I wasn't to go out dressed as a woman. The one exception was that I did get to go to some of the t-girl conventions, as long as they were far away. This was all fine with me. I got to indulge myself more than almost all my online friends, and Rebecca and I had found a comfortable compromise we could live with.
"So what's worrying you?" I asked as I settled into the blue leather wing chair just opposite the matching couch where Rebecca was sitting. She had her favorite pillow snuggled to her chest, with her legs curled under her. With a shake of her head to throw her softly curled dark brown hair off her equally dark eyes, she motioned to the large manila envelope lying on the otherwise artfully arranged coffee table.
I opened it up and pulled out an eight by ten-inch photograph - a photograph of me - in full drag. I was dressed to the nines, wearing a bright red spaghetti strap cocktail dress that was made out of tiered layers of chiffon. It was a flapper style that did a lot to hide my lack of waist and hips, and it had the most adorable fabric belt that rode low around my hips, and closed on the left with a big, red, fabric rose. Of course I was dripping in rhinestone jewelry and gorgeous in full make up. My head was adorned with what had then been my favorite long blonde wig, which had a delightfully feminine spray of bangs, but otherwise was parted in the middle and fell straight top the top of my shoulder blades. I was looking over my bare shoulder, my face full on to the camera. I had a big smile on my face, and I looked great, having emerged from a professional makeover just an hour earlier. I knew just where this had been taken.
As I looked at it, becoming increasingly uneasy, Rebecca said, "Phil Jacobson gave it to me today. He recognized you."
"Ohhh shit," slipped softly from my lips. Phil was one of our biggest clients, and a good friend. Losing his account probably wouldn't kill us, but its steady work made it our backbone account, and we'd really have to hustle to make up for it. And how could I face him now? We hung out together a lot, and were even racquetball partners, typically showering together after a match.
"But honey," I said, feeling both appalled and full of guilt. "I wasn't out in public. That was at the Southern Comfort convention two years ago. You knew I was there."
"Yes, but I didn't know you were posing for pictures. You promised you wouldn't," she said, a hint of anguish in her voice as the fine laugh lines that she hated, but which I loved, showed at the corners of her eyes as she stared at me.
"I wasn't," I protested, my voice starting to rise in indignation. "You can see there are people all around who were cropped out. This must have been someone just taking pictures of the crowd."
"Whatever, you broke your promise, and now Phil knows."
"What can I do? I'll do anything. Did he threaten to drop us?"
"No, he didn’t say anything at all like that."
"Well what does he want? I don't get it."
Rebecca let out a big sigh, glanced briefly down at the picture, which I had carefully placed back on the table so I could easily look at it. Frankly, it was one of the best pictures ever taken of me. She then looked back up at me, sadness in her eyes. "He wants you, my dear. He wants to take you on a date."
"What?" I squeaked again. "I'm not gay. I can't go out with him."
"That's just what I told him. He claims that he only wants you as a companion for the evening. Consider it a business dinner." Her voice was starting to quiver a bit and tears glistened in her eyes.
"Rebecca, this is crazy. I can't just..."
"Yes… you… can," she said firmly, clipping off each word so they were perfectly clear. "Women do this all the time. They go out with clients, behave like the guy is terribly interesting, and if he’s been nice give him a quick peck on the cheek at the end of the evening. And that’s that."
I sat there staring at her stupidly. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My wife was insisting I go out on a date with a male client, and a friend of mine at that. "I can't," I said again.
"You will," she replied instantly, raising her voice. "Your little," and she said ‘little’ in a way that let me know she meant big, "secret has gotten out, embarrassing me to my core. How do you think I felt when he showed me that picture?"
I looked up, helplessly shaking me head, having not a clue about what to say.
She went on quickly, saving me from saying something stupid. "No, don't guess. Let me tell you. I was humiliated, absolutely mortified. My worst fear had come true. You were supposed to keep your ‘little’ secret, secret. But you didn’t. You selfish shit!"
Bristling at her accusation, I started to respond, “But I didn’t… ,” Then I noticed the tears in her eyes and the frustration on her face. I shut my mouth and grimaced, trying to show her with my eyes how bad I felt for her. It hadn’t been my fault that the picture was taken, but I didn’t have to go to the convention either. My own narcissistic need to show off my great feminine look created the situation that allowed the picture to be taken.
Rebecca was right though, and I would do whatever it took to fix things with Phil.
“You've had your fun and games, and now it's time to pay your dues. You've humiliated me, and if you have to humiliate yourself to make up for it, then so be it," she said sharply.
I flinched at the tone of her voice, and she immediately changed it. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I swore I wouldn't yell at you, and I did anyway. Come here and sit by me," she said with a pained look on her face, and sounding really remorseful.
So I got up and stepped over to the couch, carefully sitting down beside her. I didn't know what to expect and felt totally awkward. Normally when dressed in women's clothes, I would press my thighs together and shift my feet off to one side, sometimes even crossing one ankle over the other. But given the circumstances, I was afraid to look too feminine, and was caught between genders for a moment. Finally I just sat with my legs apart.
Rebecca watched my confusion, apparently amused. But as soon as I was settled, she shifted her position so she was looking straight at me, and took both my hands in hers. "This isn’t a punishment," she said apologetically. "It should be a lot of fun, and I've decided to help you. I don't want you to be embarrassed; I want you to get in the mood and do it as a lark. We've both wined and dined lots of clients, and you know it can be fun if you're in the right mood. And Phil promised he would be a gentleman. Wouldn't it be fun to have a real date with a real guy? Isn't that something you've always wanted to do?"
*Well, yeah, I've had my fantasies about being out on a date with a guy; but I never actually imagined it could happen,* I thought to myself. And doing it with a guy who knew me just seemed all wrong. How could it not be embarrassing? What would I say to him? I mean, we did all kinds of things together. We had gone to football and hockey games, savored unblended scotch and ogled pretty girls, evaluating their various assets. *One thing's for sure, Phil likes long legs and trim assess - just like mine,* I thought ruefully.
I guess Rebecca could see the thoughts flitting through my mind because she pulled me close to her and hugged me. "We'll do it right," she said. "Get you some gorgeous clothes and a full make over - hair, nails, makeup, everything. We'll make you perfect, so no one can read you. You'll love it."
"You're going to help me?" I asked unsurely. "I thought you weren't all that fond of this," I said, spreading my arms and looking down at my femininely clad body. When I saw myself, I almost gagged, because without thinking about it, my legs had come together and shifted themselves to my right, and my left ankle had wrapped itself around the right. *Do I do that when I'm dressed as a guy?* I wondered. But I couldn't dwell on it because Rebecca was answering my questions.
"I wasn't; it's your thing. It doesn't really do anything for me. But I always thought it was mostly harmless, and often rather sweet." She gave me a small smile. "Besides, I figured out long ago that it's a part of who you are, and it probably helps to make you the person I love. Really, I can deal with it." And she gave me one of those anchorwoman nods, which usually annoy the hell out of me, but in this case felt really reassuring.
She went on, "I wouldn’t have decided by myself to let you go out, but since the opportunity presented itself, I started to think that maybe things need to change. It’s time. Now you can help us both by being the sweetest and most feminine girl you can be. In the past, it was always selfish - what you wanted, whether I did or not. Now that Phil is pushing it, and since I think it might be good for both of us, it's something I want to help you with. Really, it is time."
I looked at her slightly askance, not quite sure what I was hearing. Even though I really wanted to believe she was going to help, she was still calling me selfish. Worse, I felt ashamed of myself. Even though I had always known that my dressing was a really self-absorbed thing to do, I had suppressed that knowledge so I could engage in my fantasies guilt free. At the same time, however, I was excited by the prospect of having Rebecca really supportive of Sara, my femme self. I was so happy to hear what I was hearing, I didn’t even bother to wonder why Rebecca had changed her mind about me being Sara or what had changed to all of a sudden “make it time.”
I guess my uncertainty was stronger than I realized because when I asked, "How much time do we have?" I sounded like I was asking how long till my walk to the gallows.
"Oh, don't be so glum," she scolded, cupping my cheek in her soft palm. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime for you. You can wear whatever you want, even a pair of those four-inch heels you love. I’ll bet you can’t wait to show off your legs in some really short skirt and seamed stockings."
The idea of high heels perked me up. I loved them at least as much as Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, although I didn't own any of the Manolo Blahnik's she so adored. But at five nine, my favorite four-inch stilettos put me well over six feet. When I wore them out, I towered over just about everybody else.
But Phil had to be at least six four. As a guy, he dwarfed me, so as a girl, even in my four-inchers, I'd still be shorter than him. But he wasn't just tall, he was big, a former line backer for the New York Jets before two concussions convinced him that selling high end computer systems was a great career move. No doubt about it, even a tall girl like me would seem dainty next to him, or at least a good fit.
My mind started to drift for a moment, imaging the two of us together. As soon as the image had formed, however, I snapped back to reality. *What am I thinking?* I wondered, slightly startled. I had just imagined myself in a little black dress and my favorite black heels, the ones with the t-strap over the arch. I was standing next to him and he had his arm around my waist and I was looking up at him adoringly.
And then it hit me. "Wait," I almost shouted, snapping my head up to look at Rebecca. "Why in the world would Phil Jacobson want to go out with a crossdresser?"
"He said he likes T-girls. He said he prefers full time shemales, but a hot crossdresser would do in a pinch," she giggled, like a teenage girl telling her friends about the first time she ever held a penis.
"What?" I squeaked again.
"It's true," Rebecca replied doing that stupid anchor nod again. "That's exactly what he said. He didn't even blink. I think he's telling the truth."
"Is he gay? I always thought he had the hots for you."
Rebecca rolled her eyes at me just to be sure I understood how clueless I was. "No, my dear, it's you he's had the hots for. I've seen the way he’s looked at you. And how often do you two go off without me? And what about all those gifts he buys you? He's even given you cologne and jewelry!"
"But those bracelets are copper. They're supposed to keep me from getting arthritis!"
A smile spread slowly over Rebecca's face. "And what would you think if he bought me a bracelet?"
*Holy shit! Was I that clueless?* "You never said anything."
Rebecca paused for a moment and then said, "I just put it together today. The whole thing seemed so far-fetched, I couldn't believe it."
"So he is gay."
"No, bi. According to him he sleeps with women all the time, and enjoys them, although he'd rather be with a guy. One of the reasons I believe him is that he told me a lot about himself, things that could be damaging to him if they got out. I think he purposefully made himself vulnerable to demonstrate that he was on the level."
"Shit, if he likes guys, he's gonna to want to...."
"Michael! Of course he won’t. Would you sleep with a friend’s wife?”
I shamefully shook my head no. I don’t know what I was thinking to say such a thing.
And besides, he said he wouldn't. But he also said that if you want to, he won't say no." Only the twinkle in her eyes gave me any hope she was teasing.
"Well that's not going to happen," I said with as much confidence as I could muster. Unfortunately, it sounded hollow when it came out. Still I went on. "First of all, I'm not gay, and second, there's no way I would cheat on you. I haven't and I won't."
"I know sweetie, and I trust you,” she said patting my knee in what I thought was a rather condescending way. But aren't you in the least bit curious?"
Actually, I was curious; it was something I had first considered not long after I discovered my inner girl. But there was no way I was going to admit that! Instead I lied brazenly. "No. I'm not. I've seen hundreds of men undressed in locker rooms and I never once felt the least little bit of attraction to any of them. Women turn me on, especially you!" At least that was true!
"Oh you're so sweet,” Rebecca replied, this time sounding like she meant it. Then she clinched the deal by putting one hand on my thigh and leaning in to kiss me. Then, with her tongue in my mouth, she reached up with her other hand and started to play with my hair. I spent a lot of time caring for it and it was soft and smooth. After a few moments, I just let myself melt into her.
When she emerged for air, she put both hands on my shoulders, cocked her head flirtatiously and looked at me carefully. "Hmmm, if Phil thinks you're hot, maybe I've been missing something. Wanna go get dressed up for me?"
With that, she dropped her hand to my crotch, and rubbed gently. There really wasn't much to feel because with these jeans I had to do a complete tuck. Nonetheless, her hand on my crotch had the intended effect and I started to swell. I had to shift my position to try to get comfortable.
"Mmmmm," Rebecca replied, her voice soft and sexy. "Does my little Sara like that?"
Sara loved what she was doing. As I looked into her eyes, though, I began to wonder whether Rebecca was up to something. She had never given me any reason to doubt her love for or loyalty to me, but this situation was making me a little paranoid. It was one of those things that seemed too good to be true, although I couldn’t think of anything she might gain from having me go out on a date as Sara — unless… it was some kind of test, or perhaps she was trying to get rid of me. But there was absolutely no evidence for that, so I let go of that idea as quickly as it had appeared as she continued to fondle me.
"What should I wear?" I replied a little breathlessly as I leaned back in to kiss her again.
"I just love your little black dress, the one with the mid-thigh skirt," she said, pulling slightly away from me and talking between little kisses. "And put on some sexy lingerie, including a garter belt. Oh, and your breast forms. I'll see if I can find something just as cute and we'll meet back here in half an hour." Then she kissed me once more and said, "Scoot. Time's a' wastin'."
Even though I took more than forty minutes - I just had to put a quick coat of polish on my nails - I beat Rebecca back downstairs. So I put on some soft music, set the coffee table in front of the couch with wine and cheese, and sat down carefully to have a glass.
*God, a hummingbird’s heart couldn’t beat this fast,* I thought, feeling small and anxious, vulnerable even. *On the other hand, I do feel delicious.* As I settled onto the couch, I rubbed my thighs together to feel the sensuously luxurious joy of one stocking caressing the other.
Rebecca came down ten minutes later. By then I had finished the glass of wine, and gotten up and was standing in front of the three quarter length mirror in the foyer, admiring myself, turning to and fro so that the chiffon skirt of my dress swished around my legs. In addition to the dress, I was only wearing my black pumps and black nylons. I had underdone my makeup except for my red, red lips and darkly lined eyes. My nails matched my lips.
Since I wasn't watching the stairs, the first I became aware of Rebecca was when I heard, "Hey babe, lookin' good."
I spun around, deeply embarrassed to be caught admiring myself, and saw Rebecca standing before me with a smirk on her face. But she wasn't dressed "cute." Instead, she was wearing tight black jeans, a stretchy, figure hugging, black turtle neck sweater and a short black leather jacket. She was wearing her ankle boots, which had sharply pointed toes and a spike heel. She had on no makeup and her hair was pulled severely back into a pony tail low on the back of her head.
*Omigod! She's a dyke.*
"Whatsa matter babe? You too good to talk to me?"
"N..n..no," I stammered, trying to get my voice right. "I...I'd love to talk with you. Would you like to join me for a glass of wine? I hate drinking alone." I pointed to the living room. *I can play this game. If she wants to role play, I'm willing to see where it goes.*
"Sure babe. What's your name?"
"Uhh.., uhh, Sara," I finally replied. *Why am I so nervous?*
"My name's Becca," the black clad woman who was trying to pick me up replied.
*Becca? Rebecca hates it when people call her that. I guess she's not going to be Rebecca tonight.*
"Becca, huh?" I like that. It's a strong name."
"You bet babe."
*Babe?* I thought. *I'm four inches taller than you.*
"And I'm gonna take care of you tonight," she went on. "Just you wait."
I didn't have to wait long. After a couple of glasses of wine and a few dances, which we at first stumbled through as she tried to lead and I tried to follow, she ravaged me - first on the couch, and then later in our room. She insisted on calling my penis, clittie, and refused to let me use it for its intended purpose until the very end. By that time, she had me flat on my back, and before she finally impaled herself on me, she made me beg her to fuck me.
As we fell asleep, I was still wearing my garter belt and stockings. I was too exhausted and too sated to move from the now wet spot where she had finished me off.
. . . . I was just trying to figure out if I had enough clothes for a week. I may have to go shopping."
Rebecca laughed. "Sara, you have more clothes than I do!"
"I do not," I complained.
In the morning, Rebecca was back. As we sat at the black granite kitchen counter, an unusually bright autumn sun shining through the window over the sink, we sipped our coffee and munched on English muffins, mine with butter, hers with orange marmalade. As she finished her first half muffin she said, "You know Sara, I'm really worried about you. Once someone gets you hot, you'll do anything to get laid. I bet Phil has you on your back and begging for it before you know what hit you."
"Rebecca? How can you say such a thing? That was for you, not anyone else! Especially not Phil!"
By then, a huge smile had taken over Rebecca's face and I realized she was goofing on me. But thinking back on the events of last night, I must admit that a little doubt was creeping into my mind. I literally had been out of control. Becca had played me like I was a violin and she was a virtuoso. *It had just been for her, hadn't it?* I wondered.
Rebecca broke into my thoughts, "We've got eight days,"
"Huh?"
"Eight days Sara, before your big date. I want you in girl mode 24/7 until then. And I want you to wear your breast forms, so having them on is second nature to you."
"Uh huh," I muttered offhandedly, because I was already thinking about what I was going to wear after breakfast, along with the clothes I would have to buy to make it through a whole week. I’d need all new stuff! Then realizing what she had said, and that it was a real change in the rules, I finally replied, "I can?"
"Oh geez, where is your head? Did I fuck your brains out last night? Did I turn my Sara into a little bimbo," Rebecca teased me.
That got my attention. "No," I said, indignantly. I was just trying to figure out if I had enough clothes for a week. I may have to go shopping."
Rebecca laughed. "Sara, you have more clothes than I do!"
"I do not," I complained.
She just smiled at me indulgently. "That doesn't mean you don't have to go shopping, but don't you dare try to go without me," Rebecca shot back. "I want in on this game too. If last night is any indication, this WILL be fun."
I smiled up at her demurely. "If Becca visits again, I'm sure it will be," I said as dreamily as I could.
***
We spent most of Saturday and Sunday at various Malls and shopping centers far away from home. I was dressed as Sara, starting off in a blue denim mini, pale pink, long sleeve tee with eyelet lace around the collar and cuffs, and Rebecca's snow white short quilted ski jacket with fur around the hood. With a colorful scarf tied round my neck and my makeup dominated by pink, I felt like a femmy little (well no so little) pouf. Rebecca, dressed just as she had been the night before, was Becca. She wore heels and I wore flats, so she was actually a little taller than me. I hung on her arm as we walked, just like a woman might do with a man.
The two of us had a great time filling in the imagined gaps in Sara's wardrobe. The truth was, I already had a rather healthy collection of very sexy lingerie, more than a dozen fancy dresses, an array of shoes, including five beloved pairs of four-inch heels, and a good collection of jeans, slacks, skirts of many lengths, and tops like the one I had worn yesterday. I mean really, I could have gotten through two or three weeks without buying anything. But you know what? I hadn't bought anything since last spring, and how could any woman (or at least any self- respecting crossdresser) pass up an opportunity to add to her wardrobe when she really needed clothes for a new season?
So I updated. I got a couple of skirts, one of them quite short and flirty, and an adorable, red, crinkly broomstick skirt with yellow roses printed on it. There was also a daringly tight black pencil skirt that stopped just at my knees and nearly hobbled me. Becca loved it. I got a great looking silky, white, button front blouse to wear with it. To go with the other skirts, I got tees, twin sets, cotton sweaters and some stretchy turtle necks. Best of all though was an eyelet lace, French cuff white shirt that was hemmed to wear over pants. With a couple of buttons undone, and the way its darts pulled it in at my waist, it was really sexy. I got some low-heeled shoes and a pair of great over the calf black boots with a three-inch heel. Shopping with Becca was just about the most fun I had ever had. At least that's what I thought until I remembered the previous night. That was the most fun I had ever had, for sure, but this was great in its own way. I’d make sure to thank her appropriately.
I wanted pants, but Becca would only agree to a pair of really tight, low cut jeans and some capris. I also got some workout clothes, including sports bras, leotards, and tights that would go with my blue and pink cross trainers. I insisted on some nylon running shorts as well, although Becca really didn't approve. "But I want to see your cute little butt," she teased, grabbing it as several women looked on. I hoped they believed they were watching two cute lesbians.
"But do you also want to see my cute little bulge?" I whispered, surreptitiously brushing the back of her hand over my crotch to make sure she got the picture. Her eyes went wide for a moment, then she giggled. But without saying anything else, she immediately pulled a couple of pairs of nylon shorts off the rack, selecting more vibrant versions of the navy and cranberry I had selected.
Finally, we looked for something for me to wear to my dinner with Phil. We looked at stuff that was either hot and sexy, flowingly romantic, or very dressy, like the long emerald green gown with the stunning side slit that we were now studying. But then I realized that we were approaching this the wrong way. "Becca, this is all wrong," I whispered as I ran my fingers lovingly over the silky fabric. I don't want to make myself alluring for him. I just want to look feminine and presentable.
"Huh?" she replied, looking at me like I had two heads. "Your date is taking you to one of the trendiest new restaurants between here and Manhattan, and you're not going to dress up for him?"
"That's not what I said; I just don't want to look sexy. Can't I be modest and demure? I mean, what about a Chanel style suit or something like that?"
"Hmmm," she considered, cocking her head in a way that was sort of her trademark, and looking back and forth from me to the dress. "Are you telling me that you don't want to be strutting into the restaurant, with your black stocking-clad leg thrusting through this slit while all the men turn and ogle you? What kind of transvestite are you?"
"Rebecca! Please! Keep your voice down!" I was still whispering, but she was talking in a normal tone of voice. "I'm a girl," I said, emphasizing the word girl, "who doesn't want her date to think she's available. You can be pretty without being sexy. You do it everyday."
"Ahhh, flattery will get you everywhere my dear," she said reaching over to kiss my cheek. “I see your point. I guess I was getting carried away. You want to dress for a business date. I guess I was thinking about how I would like to dress to go out. I wear business clothes every day so I want to dress up prettily when I get the chance."
She carefully hung the green dress back on the rack, straightening the skirt as she slid it back between the other long dresses. Then she turned to me and said, "We're in the wrong department. Come with me."
We continued to look, but didn't find anything we liked. I was dejected, but Becca wasn't. "That's okay," she chirped. "We'll just have to go out during the week until we find something."
I looked at her like this was going to be an impossible task.
"Don't give me that look," she said, condescendingly, like she was talking to a idiot. "I simply can't believe you aren't dying to go out shopping again."
I gave a guilty smile and a shrug, and with my eyes lashes fluttering, I said, "When?"
"Oh you," she responded, throwing her arms around me in a big hug.
***
On Tuesday night, I took Becca out with me to look at the dresses I had scouted out over the last two days. I was already dressed in a simple jumper and turtle neck sweater, and assumed Rebecca would wear something casual as well. But she was in her new Becca uniform, tight black pants, this time with a nearly sheer white blouse, black leather jacket, and high, high heels. I took one look at her and I fled back into Sara's room to change. She laughed at me, taunting, "Can't my little girl decide what to wear?"
*Now that's a first,* I thought. I guess I had teased her often enough when she couldn't figure out what to wear, so I had to laugh at her payback. "No," I shouted back through the door. "Besides I have no intention of looking like a shlub when you look so hot. I want to look good for you so your eyes don't wander."
It was her turn to laugh. She often accused me of looking at any attractive woman who happened to pass by while we were out. While I was still undressing, she knocked on my door, and without waiting for me to answer, opened it.
"I want you looking sweet and feminine," she said, "I'll pick your clothes." So that's how I ended up with my brand new pale gray and charcoal abstract print mini, a delicious wrap around chiffon blouse that had no buttons but tied at the waist, and black pumps with two-inch heel. This made us the same height. The blond wig from the picture was tightly pinned to my head, and Becca did my makeup so I looked like an innocent, doe-eyed teenager, with sweet, glossy pink lips. I was a sharp contrast to her bright red lips and other wise severe image. Anyone looking at us could tell who the top was in this relationship.
It didn't take us long to figure out that we still had clearly different ideas about how I should dress for my date with Phil. Despite our previous conversation, Rebecca wanted me in a little black dress, something she discovered in a bias cut matte jersey that was flowy, clingy, and sexy. I'm not even sure she was thinking about how Phil might react. Instead I think (I hoped) she saw me as her sweetly feminine, sub lover, and she was dressing me for her own pleasure.
I, however, was having none of it. I wanted something structured, in a thicker fabric that would not cling to my non-existent curves. I wanted to look like a woman, not a girl, and like a business woman, not a sex object. The way I saw it, I had to look elegantly feminine, and be passable and attractive. My evening with Phil was going to be hard enough without putting any untoward thoughts into Phil's, or anyone else's, mind.
So we struck a deal. I would select what to wear on my date with Phil, my first ever date with a man, but she would select something far sexier, for a date with Becca. *What the hell, What kind of trannie would turn down a sexy dress?* So when I nearly swooned over a short dress with tiers of chiffon over the skirt and virtually no back, Rebecca immediately had me try it on. What made this dress special to me was that it had two long straps of rhinestones that crossed once just after they arose from the rather modest bodice and then ran over my shoulders, only to cross again halfway down my back before attaching again to the bottom of the draped back, right above my ass. I would have to glue my breast forms on to wear this. No way I could wear a bra, but God, what a sexy dress.
I had taken only two steps out of the dressing room before Becca made me do a twirl, and then said right out loud for everyone to hear, "You're buying that one, and I'm taking you out dancing tomorrow!"
I nearly blanched when I saw everyone who was nearby turn to stare at us. But then I figured, what the hell, and ran to her in slightly mincing steps, throwing my arms around her shoulders and saying, "Oh, would you?"
There was a forty something couple directly in my line of sight and I almost laughed out loud when I saw the man's jaw fall open, while his wife rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm. "Oh grow up, will you Robert? It's not like you've never seen lesbians before." she scolded.
Not being able to resist such juicy moment, I winked at him, and after a moment's hesitation, he smiled back at me and then turned to go with his wife, who by this point was doing all she could not to laugh out loud. The last thing I heard was his voice saying, "But she was cute." I just beamed. It never even occurred to me that he might have been talking about Rebecca.
I then disengaged myself from Becca, who was looking at me the way a starving man looks at a steak. In a teasing response, I used my fingertips to grab the edges of the dress at mid thigh level, lifted it slightly, and ducking my head, I bobbed a little curtsey, something I had perfected years ago because it seemed like something a good trannie should know how to do. Back when I had first started going out, I and a few of my T-girl friends started calling ourselves trannies even though many crossdressers and transsexuals find the term an insult. We figured that we could use it as a way of sticking our fingers in the eyes of those who used it as an epithet. I’d never call anyone else a trannie even though that’s how I thought of myself. "Now that we've got the dress you want, let's find the one I need."
We found it two stores later. It was a dark blue and silver satin brocade in a subtle paisley pattern. The simple high-waisted, hip hugging skirt fell straight to just above my knees, and the matching four button peplum jacket, which gave me the illusion of a smaller waist and wider hips, was perfect. Although the neckline didn't show any cleavage, it actually showed a good deal of skin because the notched collar was cut wide towards the shoulders. My fake black pearls would look perfect with it. Becca insisted I buy the smaller size, which I barely fit into at the waist because she said, "The jacket fits better and we can fix your waist."
I wasn’t sure what she meant.
Once I had paid for it and a couple of pairs of stockings to go with it (no pantyhose for you Becca declared), I thought we were done. I already had a perfectly good pair of four-inch black pumps. But Becca declared, "One more stop." We eventually ended up in a custom lingerie store, where I looked around in awe at the absolutely gorgeous bras, panties and other stuff, and then almost gagged at the absolutely earth-shattering price tags. In the meantime, Becca talked quietly with the one saleswoman.
"Okay, hun," the woman said turning to me. "Let's get your measurements." With that, she led me into the back and had me strip down to my undies, which didn’t even cause her to blink, but which sent my heart rate way up. We left an hour later, each of us with two very beautiful (and expensive!) sets of French lingerie. Becca had wanted to buy me a corset, but I resisted and ended up instead with a less scary looking waist nipper. It took me in almost three inches without much discomfort, but would be cut so that I could be taken in six inches eventually. I made it clear to Rebecca that there was no way that was happening unless it happened to her too. "We'll see," was all she said. In any case, the skirt would now fit easily.
I got through Wednesday and Thursday in a state of barely restrained anxiety. I dressed up in a dress and heels each day, as Rebecca had suggested, and spent a good deal of time in front of the mirror, working on my gestures and movements. Dressing only for myself for so long had left me a little rusty. At the same time, I kept up a constant patter of conversation, practicing both my voice and my choice of words, and rehearsing how I would respond to various things I imagined Phil might say. I knew from past experience that when I got nervous, my voice tended to crack, and I wanted to be sure that didn't happen because I knew I would be nothing but nervous around Phil.
An Unfinished Symphony
By Kelly Ann Rogers
Chapter III - A Surprise Date
"Don't be mad, sweetie," she replied, offering me my martini. "I told you I would take care of everything. And I think I did. Here you are at a wonderful new restaurant where everyone thinks you're a woman and you haven't spent even one moment thinking about passing, have you?"
She was right - the sneaky bitch. She had swept me along so adroitly that I never did have a chance to worry. "But they think I'm a lesbian," I whispered back, although I had no idea why I said it.
"So? You are, aren't you? A woman who loves a woman?"
At about 3:00 on Friday afternoon, Rebecca called. "Hi, babe, it's Becca."
"Uh, hi Becca," I managed to reply in my best feminine voice despite my surprise. "What's up? If Rebecca was going to be Becca, something just had to be up.
"I want you to get dolled up. I'm going to take you out for a romantic dinner."
"What?"
"Well, sweetie, you're going out on a date tomorrow night and leaving me home alone. If that's the way it's gonna be, I want to have some fun tonight." Then she hesitated for a beat before saying in the most lascivious tone I had ever heard, "And you're it." I've already picked the place. Wear the little black dress along with your new lingerie."
Mmmmm, my new lingerie. I knew just which set I wanted to wear. The exquisite Simone Perele's we just bought, including a full coverage bra (to hold my breast forms securely), full cut panty (to hold the rest of me securely), and a matching garter belt. They were a deep red, open Calais lace, with the softest dark burgundy inserts. I started to get hard just thinking about it. As soon as I remembered what it cost, I got soft again.
"Sara? Are you there?" Becca broke into my thoughts.
"Huh? Oh yeah. I just got distracted for a moment."
"You were thinking about your Simone Perele undies weren't you?" she teased.
When I didn't respond right away, she jumped in with a triumphant, "I knew it! You are such a tart!"
"I...I'm not. I'm not!" I insisted trying to recover from my embarrassment.
"What eeever," Becca replied dismissively. "Just plan to be ready by 7:00. I'm going to change here and then pick you up."
*That's weird, but what the hell, she's obviously planned to whole thing already.* "Yes dear, whatever you say," I responded, trying to sound sarcastically submissive. Her snort in reply made it pretty clear that she wasn’t impressed. But as I turned to the bedroom to get ready, I realized that I couldn't wear a bra, my new dress was backless. I'd have to attach my forms and they'd bounce with every step. What had I gotten myself into?
***
"Sara, I'm home! Are you ready?"
I was. In fact, at that moment I was standing in front of the mirror, playing with my blonde wig, turning this way and that to make sure everything was just right. I was a little appalled that I was going out in this dress. My breasts were unfettered, the skirt was short and there was no back. I couldn't imagine where Becca was going to take me dressed like this. I was both scared and loving it at the same time.
"Omigod!" I gasped as she walked into the room. Becca was dressed in a black silk, man-tailored tuxedo suit. Her hair was pulled back into a tight chignon on the top of her head, and her make up was dark and steamy. She was in tall, tall heels and carried a top hat in the crook of her right arm. Her nails were longer than I'd seen them in a long time and painted deep red to match her lipstick.
At about the same time, she said, "Don't you look adorable? "You really out did yourself tonight."
I blushed with pride, curtsying and replying demurely, "Thank you kind sir." Here I was dressed like a sexy call girl looking to get laid, while Becca looked commanding and powerful, and very sexy. The difference between how we looked couldn't have been any more obvious, and I was actually feeling rather intimidated. I decided to try to surf with that feeling and see where it would lead me. Let her take the lead.
She came over to me, took my hand, winked, and said, "Give me a little twirl." I smiled shyly and did just that as she held my hand, lifting it over my head so I could spin under it. Of course, my dress fluttered prettily around my thighs as I turned. But instead of stopping me after one rotation, Becca twirled me another half turn until I was facing away from her, and then grabbed me around the waist with her free hand. She let her other hand go and wrapped it around my shoulder, pulling me close to her body. Then she leaned in and started to nuzzle my neck and ear. "Are you my little girl tonight?" she whispered as she suckled on my earlobe, flipping my dangly, clip-on earring with her tongue.
"Ooh yes," I moaned in return. I was getting seriously turned on. Maybe we wouldn't go out at all!
"And you'll do whatever I say?"
"Ooooh yesss," I shuddered under her touch, goose bumps starting to form on my bare shoulders and arms.
"Good girl. I'll take care of everything,” she whispered. Then she let me go, took my left hand in her right, twirled me back to face her and said, "Come with me."
We went into the living room and I saw several boxes wrapped with bright silver ribbons. Becca handed me the first one, obviously a shoe box. I opened it at her urging and discovered a beautiful pair of black leather sandals.
A laugh started to burst from my lips, but I managed to stifle it to a single giggle. The shoes were gorgeous, and I was already starting to take off my own 4-inch black pumps to try them on. What had made me laugh were the heels: they were at most an inch high. Becca really wanted to be taller than me tonight!
The next box, a really small one, revealed a gold ankle bracelet. It had a small gold plate that was engraved "Becca and Sara." The two names were intertwined in a heart.
"Oh Becca!" I gushed. This is gorgeous. Thank you sooo much." And I reached up to kiss her, which is just what she wanted, for me to have to reach up that is. She looked down at me with a barely contained look of triumph on her face.
"Would you put it on for me?" I asked, trying to put a small pout in my voice.
"Sure babe, put your foot up here," she said, indicating the cocktail table that was holding all the boxes.
So I lifted my right foot for her.
"This is to remind you that I love you no matter what," she said emphatically.
"Oh, I do so love you," I replied equally as emphatically. And I pulled her into a tight hug as soon as she had finished with my ankle.
She returned the hug for a few moments and then broke away. "We need to go soon, so let me give my girl the rest of her gifts.” The third box held a white orchard, which she quickly pinned to the right side of my head, pulling the hair back slightly from my face as she did so.
I watched intently in the mirror as she worked, my knees weakening as I understood the utter femininity of the look she was creating. Tears started to form in the corners of my eyes, but when Becca noticed them, she quickly grabbed a tissue and blotted them gently, saying, "None of that now. We don't have time to redo your makeup." And she winked at me!
The final box, which was by far the largest, held the biggest surprise. It was what looked like a silver fox jacket that would just cover my ass. I was absolutely floored.
"Omigod," I breathed out, my hand over my mouth. "Is that real?"
"Don't be silly,” Becca said as she held it open for me." "It's just a real good fake. I can't afford a real fur coat! Especially for you!"
I was actually relieved. "But it's still gorgeous," I replied, snuggling my cheek into the big soft collar. "And you're just amazing. Doing all this for me."
"Yeah, I don't know what came over me," she giggled. "But I wanted to be sure you knew how a man should treat you before you actually start going out with them."
"Oh. You mean they should buy me jewelry and furs?"
She cocked her head at me and considered me for a moment. "Well, maybe eventually, if you really get real serious with one. They don’t give this stuff away easily, you know." There was a strange tone of regret in her voice. I didn't understand it, and was afraid she meant I hadn’t given her those kinds of things, even though she had always insisted she didn’t want them. But before I had a chance to dwell on it, Becca reached back into the box, pulled out a long black and silver silk scarf, which she wrapped around my neck so one end was over my shoulder, hanging down my back, and the other hanging down the front, and a pair of bright red leather gloves, which I quickly pulled on. As soon as I had slung my small evening bag over my shoulder, she caught my hand in hers, and ushered me out the door.
We drove about 30 minutes to Greenwich, where a very hot restaurant had just opened. We chatted aimlessly on the way over and I thrilled to the touch of Becca's hand on my thigh as she drove. She was always a confident woman, but tonight she just exuded strength. I felt protected, and I loved it.
I was feeling great until the moment when the valet opened the car door for me. Then I froze, turning towards Becca, for what I didn't know. But she just rolled her eyes at me and flicked her head up in a gesture that said, 'Just get out of the car.' When I turned back to the door, the valet's hand was waiting for mine, so I put my fingers in his palm, swiveled my hips so my legs were out of the car, and let him help me up.
"Thank you," I said quietly, without looking at him, because I was feeling intimidated. But he didn't let go of my hand right away, so I had to look up. Feeling insecure, I first glanced up through my eyelashes before actually lifting my head. He was a young Latino man, neatly groomed and very attractive. After a small smile, I gently pulled my hand from his and turned to look for Becca.
She was standing by the back of the car, her top hat tilted jauntily on her head, and a brilliant smile on her face. "Come love," she said brightly, as she walked up next to me holding out her elbow for me to put my arm through. "Stop flirting with that cute young man."
I blushed furiously, I could just feel my face and chest heat up, and hurried to take her arm so we could get out of there.
"What did you say that for?" I whispered urgently as soon as we were at the door, which was held open for us by a smartly dressed middle-age man who examined us both carefully with a big smile on his face. "Ladies," he nodded to us as we had entered. Then he turned and left.
"You little tease," she said with a small laugh. "I can't believe what you did to that poor boy. You've already showed me that you're an easy lay, now I discover that you're a shameless tease. Thank goodness I never let you go out before." Her laughter tinkled like fine crystal, but I wasn't at all sure what she was teasing me about.
"He was so rude," I whispered insistently as we entered the spare, Japanese-style lobby. It was done up in pale wood, with a small fountain in the middle. Black sand surrounded the water, with a few rocks scattered artfully about. But a chill ran through my body as I looked up and noticed that seemingly every eye in the place had turned to us. The blood drained from my face and I grabbed Becca's arm even tighter as I suddenly realized what they were seeing: the very femmy lesbian girlfriend of a beautiful woman dressed in a top hat and tails. Not to mention that my breasts bounced with every step. Of course people were looking at us.
I wanted to die, or run, or have the floor swallow me up. But Becca held me in place with her arm, and standing straight up, calmly scanned the room, giving everyone a good chance to study us. Then she turned to me, lifted my chin with her hand and kissed me firmly on the lips. "Come love," she said clearly. "Let's see if our table's ready."
She sauntered casually to the maitre d's desk, leaving me no choice but to hurry along next to her, my heels clicking along with hers on the pale hardwood floor.
"Matti," she said enthusiastically as a somewhat petite, red-head, dressed in a tight black dress and high heels, approached the desk from inside the restaurant. She really was quite striking, with pale skin, rich dark red lips, and even darker eyes.
"Rebecca!" Matti smiled back, hurrying over and pulling Becca towards her so she could air kiss each cheek. "And you must be Sara," she said turning an incandescent smile on me. “I'm Matti. I own this place."
"Uh, hi Matti," I mumbled, totally confused.
"I love your work," she went on, her voice an unusual mixture of breathy, hoarse, and husky. Then, holding my arms, she reached up to do the air kiss routine with me. She couldn’t have been more than 5 feet six inches tall, even in her heels. "I'm so glad you're here because I want Mind Games to take over my marketing."
*Huh? Mind Games? She knew my work? That could only mean.... Shit.* But I did my best to accept her greeting in the warm spirit in which it was offered, and then turned to allow her to take my coat. Before she pulled it off my shoulders, however, she gently touched the orchard, and cooed, "So pretty." Then when she had slipped my jacket off one shoulder and onto my arm, she bent in and kissed the shoulder.
I literally shivered at her touch and turned to look at her. She had pale freckles on her nose and cheeks, and a, I don’t know how to describe it, a shy but somehow lustful look in her eyes, as she touched my cheek gently, almost lovingly, I thought. "You are just lovely, yes, quite lovely," she said so only the two of us could hear.
I caught Becca's eye while this was going on and glared at her as Matti finally took my coat and gloves. I had decided to keep the scarf. But Becca only smiled at me benignly, making me even more angry. Then she put her hand low on my bare back, a feeling that totally surprised me, and made me shiver. Again, goose bumps rose out of my flesh as I realized how uncovered I was. But that was nothing compared to how I felt as Becca turned me to go into the bar with her hand on my butt. As a man I had done that to her because I just loved the feel of her shapely behind and because I thought it was a sexy thing to do. Now that the roles were reversed, I felt really vulnerable. I wasn't a man at all, I was a woman possessed by someone stronger than me. I had to shake my head to clear it of the dissonant images of me as a man holding Rebecca's butt, and me as a woman being held by her.
"How could you?" I accused her once we had settled into a small cocktail table in the bar. "She knows who I am."
"Yes, isn't she exquisite?" Becca said, leaning in close to kiss the tip of my nose.
"Don't do that," I snapped in a hoarse whisper pulling my head back. "This is serious. You were the one who insisted I keep this secret. How could you tell her?"
"Oh calm down," Becca said dismissively, as she sat up so the waitress could put our martinis on the table. She had gin with olives. I had Stoli Orange with an orange slice. Once they were safely on the table she lifted hers, indicating with her eyes that I should do the same, and then toasted me. "To the most beautiful girl in the world - the apple of my eye - may you always get what you wish for." Her face was glowing with love, and I could feel myself falling into her warm dark eyes.
I sat paralyzed for a moment, a warm flush mounting onto my face. I was completely disarmed. "Oh Rebecca..." was all I could get out. But even though I couldn't think of anything to say, I knew what I wanted to do. Without breaking eye contact, I put my glass down to my right, took Becca's from her hand with both of mine and put it down to the left so the middle of the table was clear. Then I tilted my head to the side and leaned over the table. She understood immediately and leaned the rest of the way in while tilting her head the other way. Then she found my lips. We kissed gently for a few moments, our hands in each other's before we sat back up.
I was feeling dreamy until I realized that complete silence had overtaken the bar around us. It was only then that I remembered that we were two girls kissing in a public restaurant. That probably wasn't exactly what people expected when they showed up for dinner. Then I heard someone behind me say, "Wow, that was some kiss.”
Another voice replied, “They shouldn’t be doing that in public.”
I whispered to Becca, "Yes we should, but why did you set me up like this?"
"Don't be mad, sweetie," she replied, offering me my martini. "I told you I would take care of everything. And I think I did. Here you are at a wonderful new restaurant where everyone thinks you're a woman and you haven't spent even one moment thinking about passing, have you?"
She was right - the sneaky bitch. She had swept me along so adroitly that I never did have a chance to worry. "But they think I'm a lesbian," I whispered back, although I had no idea why I said it.
"So? You are, aren't you? A woman who loves a woman?" And she cocked her head and an eyebrow at me, a gentle smile and little creases forming at the corners of her eyes warming her look.
A lesbian — is that what I wished I could be? Is that what I wished for Rebecca? Is that what she wished for? Is that why she introduced me as a woman? I had to ask. "Why did you tell her?"
"Matti is interested in hiring us. She much prefers to work with women, so I thought we would make more of an impression if she saw you like this."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Nope. She used to be a chef out in LA, but followed her lover, here to Connecticut so she could start this restaurant with him."
"God, I'm like the company slut," I moaned, trying to sound aggrieved. "First you set me up with Phil, and now Matti. Next you're going to tell me, 'It's only business.' Right?"
"Well, it is," she insisted. "Other than that, you're mine." She seemed quite pleased with herself.
We only had a couple of minutes to sip our martinis before we were called to our table, so, I drained mine before I got up, figuring I could get another as soon as we reached our table. I was really self conscious and needed the bottled courage. I was hoping for something in a corner, so we could be all romantic with each other in private, but Matti had other plans. She put us at one of the most visible tables in the place. "You two are gorgeous," she said. "I want everyone to be able to see you." I could only blush at the idea. And as she pulled my seat out for me, she said, "It'll do wonders for business; consider it the first phase of our contract. I'll even pick up dinner."
I turned towards her, surprised at her generosity, and as I did, she slipped her hand around my waist, pulled me towards her just a little and kissed the side of my neck. Then she patted my behind, and urged me to sit. I was too dumbfounded to do anything else.
We were a little less openly affectionate than I had planned, but had a wonderful dinner just the same. The menu featured wonderfully complex Asian fusion fare, obviously influenced by Matti’s many years on the west coast. We sampled the appetizers and split a main course, fire grilled Ahi tuna with some kind of amazing raspberry salsa.
The food was the least of it. I discovered that it was kind of fun being the center of attention, at least while I had someone around to look after me. Being here with Becca felt nothing like when I used to go out by myself before we had met, or more recently at the conventions I occasionally attended. Then, all I really wanted to do was blend into the woodwork and hope no one would out me.
But tonight there was no place to hide, and Becca made it clear that if I tried, people would really wonder about me. "A beautiful woman is proud of herself and pleased to show herself off to others," she declared. So I sat upright, smiled as often as I could, and moved with all the feminine grace I could muster. Becca kept plying me with wine, which, on top of the two martinis, got me rather giddy. I guess that buzz was what led to the high point of the dinner, which came right before dessert. Becca dared me to catch the attention of four guys who were at a table that was sort of on the way to the restrooms. I’m sure (really I am) that I wouldn’t have done this sober, but I really wiggled my butt as I passed them on the way to the ladies room. On the way back, I turned up the wattage, which actually elicited a quiet whistle as I passed them. I couldn't help but glance back over my shoulder, give them a smile and a wink before turning my head slowly around and strutting back to our table. I don't know where I got the courage. Well, yes I do, and it taught me two important lessons. The first, which I should have known anyway, was that it's really easy to lose control if you're drinking and in a good mood. The second, which really was new, was that it doesn't take much more than a wiggle to get men to pay attention to you. That was a little scary.
After dinner, we chatted briefly with Matti, who couldn't seem to keep her eyes off me. At first, I reveled in it, but after a few minutes, I started to feel a bit like a bug under a magnifying glass. Finally, while Becca and Matti were engaged in a discussion about a potential contract, which didn't stop Matti from giving me the eye, I felt just like the little wife, decorative, but not terribly useful, which was fun, in a weird sort of way.
After dinner, we left the restaurant, but instead of heading for the car as I had anticipated, we went in the other direction. This was an old Main street, which, like so many others, had started to die as new malls drew shoppers out of town. But more recently, this once abandoned area of several blocks, which held many buildings of architectural interest, was undergoing a renaissance, and the old buildings had been renovated into clubs, shops and restaurants, some with condos on the top floors. Two blocks away, we reached our destination. It was barely lit, except for the name, which was in pink neon lights: Dawn's Sunset. It didn't make much sense, but seemed amusing. Becca knocked at the door and a peephole opened. "You've got to be kidding," I whispered to Becca, who shushed me like I was an annoying child. A moment later the door opened.
It only took getting through the door to see that this was a lesbian club. As we stood there, waiting for our eyes to become accustomed to the dim light, everyone nearby studied us closely. That wasn't much different than the straight restaurant we just left. Still, it was something I'd never experienced, so I inched closer to Becca, who put a protective arm around me as she smiled brightly and said hello to the women who were nearby. I was scared to death. Lesbians often don't like T-Girls, and the last thing I wanted was to be outed here. So I sighed a mixed breath of relief, when one beefy short-haired dyke looked me up and down after I had taken my coat off and said, "Mmmm, aren't you a tasty morsel."
"Sorry, love. She's taken," Becca cut in, folding my coat over her arm. "But maybe you can get a dance later."
My eyes flew open and I turned on Becca, who was doing everything she could to not laugh. "Relax babe", she said. "You don't have to worry. You can dance with whoever you want. Just remember, I'm the one taking you home."
Our new friend smiled at us, and taking a sip off the Budweiser bottle she was holding by the neck with just her index finger, she winked at me and said, I’ll see you later hon.” Then she walked away.
I glowered at Becca, who just laughed.
As Becca deposited my coat in a seedy looking coat room, the kind that makes you think anything nice you leave there will be stolen, I took the opportunity to check the place out. It was not only dark, but like the coat room, rather seedy looking, with a long, old, beat-up wooden bar on one side and tables on the other. But it had a classic metal ceiling, now painted black, very intricate moldings around the top of the wall and all the doorways, and beautiful wainscoting on the walls. This had once been a very elegant room. Between the bar and the tables was a small raised dance floor, which was about the only place with any light on it. Despite its lack of esthetic appeal, there was quite a crowd. The most obvious women to me were the ones who seemed to be what most people think about when they say the word dyke. They were doing the best they could to look and behave like men. But there were more than a few pretty, feminine girls there as well, and just about everything in between. Very few people were at all dressed up, which really made Becca and me (especially me!) stand out, but they all seemed relaxed and comfortable with each other.
Dressed as we were, it looked like Becca and I had been dropped here by mistake after having been teleported from a wedding or something. But no one really seemed to care, except perhaps to check us out, which I figured was okay, because I was busy checking them out as well, especially the scene on the dance floor, which was pretty frenzied.
"You've got to be crazy, bringing me here," I whispered to Becca.
"Huh," she replied off handedly. "Speak up I can't hear you."
"You have to be crazy," I repeated, my face right in hers so she could see my lips. "I could get killed in here."
"Well," she smiled back at me. "You better keep your date happy or she might start loaning you out to the natives."
"Stop teas.... Oh look there's some people leaving that table. Let's grab it."
Once we had settled ourselves in, Becca went to the bar to get us some wine, and women started to arrive at our table to hit on me. It was only a slow trickle, but it never really let up till we left an hour later. These women apparently lived in some kind of 1950s world, where the idea that you could steal someone else's date if only you had the balls to do it, still existed. And let me tell you, these women all seemed to have way more balls than I ever did.
I couldn't escape the irony of the situation. As a guy, I would have reveled in the attention of all these women because I would have been the one to give out the favors. As a woman, I just didn't know what to think. It was obvious I was an object here and that I had none of the power I naturally assumed as a man. All the power relations were flipped upside down and while I was flattered at the attention, it made me feel small and vulnerable, and quite anxious.
Becca remained aloofly amused as I dealt with these predatory women. One actually came over while she was sitting there, and the others were not just more aggressive than I'd ever been, but they carried themselves more aggressively as well.
"I guess you just never tried very hard," Becca teased me when I pointed that out. "They're trying real hard. Just about as hard as you're trying to be a woman." And then she laughed, although I wasn't quite sure what was so funny.
"You just better be sure you ravage me tonight," I taunted back. "because I've already turned down a half dozen offers."
"I don't think you'd like what they have to offer," she teased back. "You've never actually been on the receiving end of a strap-on, have you?"
"You wouldn't," I responded with more than a little anxiety. She just cocked her head at me in that familiar way and winked, holding her hands about a foot apart, pursing her lips and shaking her head approvingly.
"Perhaps if you dance with me, I might keep you to myself," she said, in mock seriousness. "I'll lead, of course."
*Of course,* I thought to myself, gulping down my wine in the absurd hope it would make me graceful. "How 'bout another?" I asked urgently as I pushed my glass over to Becca.
"First we dance. C'mon, babe," Becca said as she stood and grabbed my hand, dragging me with her.
A moment later we were on the dance floor, where we started to shake and shimmy to a fast techno pop song. I was stiff and awkward at first, but Becca urged me to imitate the other women, some of whom were really letting go in a sinuously provocative way, and after a couple of minutes, I started to become more fluid, and, I hoped, although I wasn't sure why, more sensual.
Then the music shifted to a slow ballad. Becca held up her left hand and put her right arm around my back. At first, I couldn't figure out which hand to put up, even with her guidance, but eventually got it right, even though it felt awkward. It turned out that we both felt awkward and despite our attempt at practice the other night at home, Becca was still somewhat uncertain about how to lead. But then, she just wrapped both hands around my back, leaving me little choice but to put mine around her neck, and we swayed together in time with the music.
After a minute or so, Becca's hands slowly found their way down my bare back to below my waist, which made me shiver. Then they found their way to my ass, which almost made me swoon. By the time she pulled me tight to her body I couldn’t get enough of her hands, and even started to rotate my hips to encourage her to rub my dress over my pantied ass. What the hell, I thought, and I laid my head on Becca's shoulder.
And there we were, looking just like every other lesbian couple on the dance floor, holding each other tightly and enjoying the warmth and affection of someone else's embrace, and probably dreaming of getting laid.
It turned out that Becca was thinking just that because when the music stopped she said, "Let's go. I've got plans for you at home."
And she did too. And they took a good couple of hours to carry out. But by the time we were done, we were both fully satisfied, falling asleep in a tangle of arms, legs, and French lingerie.
…"Honey," she replied. "It's downright sad. I've always thought that there's nothing sadder than a transsexual who's afraid to be who she really is…"
…Not only would my expensive panties stay hidden, but now they were starting to feel like a brand on my ass. It said coward. . .
Although we had stayed up well into the wee hours the night before, we couldn't sleep all that late on Saturday because I had so much to do to get ready for my date with Phil. My God! It was probably easier to plan the president's inauguration. And things started off badly. Right after breakfast, I had to run to the bathroom for the second time that day because my bowels were acting up. This had been a problem of mine since I was a kid. When I got really anxious, I tended to get diarrhea. When I was 12, I took a trip with my class to Washington D.C. and almost didn't make it onto the bus because I couldn't get off the toilet. Although I've only rarely had that problem recently, it was now back. I had to laugh. Going on a date with a guy had regressed me to the emotional status of a 12 year old. And that image of vulnerability made me shiver.
Because of my little problem, we left the house quite late. Our first stop was to the drug store so I could get some Imodium. From there we ran to the store where I got my waist nipper. “What are we doing here?” I asked.
“Just you wait and see,” Rebecca replied as she approached a trim older woman with great posture named Dorothy, who led me to a back room where, Rebecca said, they had a surprise for me. I wasn't sure I wanted any more surprises, but Rebecca, it turned out, had bought me new breasts, sinfully expensive Amoena Tria Plus forms. While I hadn't realized it, I had been measured for them at the same time I had been fitted for my other lingerie. After some very unconvincing objections - I mean I had to seem like they were forcing me didn't I - I lay down so they could be attached to my chest.
When I sat up, I didn't know what to think. They sagged down with a most delightful bounce and even bulged slightly into my arms. I turned left and then right to see how they moved, and sure enough, there was a slight delay before they caught up with my turn, then some overshoot, and then the opposite on the way back. The women both giggled when I looked up with a big, stupid grin on my face. "Oh my," was all I could think of to say.
"Oh my indeed," Rebecca replied, admiration in her voice. "Aren't you something? Let's get your little corset on. I want to see the full look."
This was a serious garment, made of what appeared to be satin, but was also very sturdy. Mercifully, Dorothy only laced me in two inches. But still, who with diarrhea would wear even a small, loose waist nipper? What we trannies do to look beautiful! Even for a date we don't really want to go on!
"Pull it in another half inch in about three hours," Dorothy told Rebecca, just as I was reconciling myself to the nasty thing, "then the last half inch three hours after that." Then turning to me she said, "You should have plenty of time to get used to it and still be comfortable when you are out tonight."
"Uhh, thanks, I think," I replied. Two inches felt plenty snug. If that was enough to allow my skirt to fit, that's where I wanted to stop. I was a little worried about the look Rebecca was giving me though; she looked like she was just dying to squish me down further. *No way,* I thought to myself.
After selecting several new bras, because my old ones no longer fit, I redressed. I was only wearing high-waisted jeans and a stretchy turtleneck top, which now encased a busty young woman with a slim waist. We paid for our purchases, now having spent well over a thousand dollars in this little store over the past week, and headed out to have a light lunch before going to the salon. I was due for a complete make over, starting with my toes and ending with the top of my head. With my new figure I was starting to get excited about the prospect.
I discovered I had little appetite, and was worried about eating anything that might set me off again in any case. Some toast and yogurt was about all I could handle, and it sure didn't leave me feeling satisfied. *Still, better safe than sorry,* I thought.
Sara then drove me about a half hour away to a salon that specialized in makeovers for T-girls. This was a full service operation, almost like a day spa, and they gave me the works, trying to find the butterfly inside my caterpillar. You should have seen everything they did for me. Even though I was nervous, I felt like a princess!
Rebecca had set the whole thing up and left me to enjoy myself, which I fully intended to do. The pampering was as delightful as I had anticipated, and being mixed in with real women, who basically ignored me except for an occasional conspiratorial smile, was fun. The only problem was that I had way too much time to think. It seemed that every time I began to relax, images of me and Phil invaded my consciousness.
The first time it happened, I was just finishing up with my body waxing. The operator, Rosa, had just finished with my bikini line, leaving only the smallest patch of hair above my penis. "You don't want anything sticking out from the edges of your panties, do you?" Rosa asked when I questioned the extent of the work she had just done, as if I could get the hair back.
*Well, no. I guess I don't,* I thought to myself as I simply shrugged to her. And then, as she finished up by massaging a wonderfully aromatic and soothing lotion into my skin, I drifted into a day dream. I imagined myself standing in front of Phil, naked except for my small corset, stockings and heels. My new breasts hung alluringly over the top of the corset, and my slightly engorged penis hung below it. Phil was staring at it.
"You really went all the way for me, didn't you, darlin'," he asked, a bit of lust in his voice as he reached down and tickled my remaining pubic hair with his fingers.
I giggled from his touch, and looked up into his eyes. "Isn't there something else down there you want to get your fingers around?"
"You are just the cutest little sissy," he replied, now hefting my penis, which was beginning to come to life. “Just wait until you see what I have for you.”
"Sara, this isn't very ladylike. Is it for me?" Rosa giggled.
I looked down and could see that the erection I was beginning to get in my daydream was in fact real. I blushed furiously, and could only smile at her with a totally embarrassed look on my face. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her what I had been thinking, which surprised the hell even out of me. "Your touch is quite lovely," I half whispered, half choked out, trying to somehow recover some dignity. "I'm sorry."
"Oh don't be silly," she said, flicking her wrist at me to show she was just teasing. If this was going to scare me, I sure as hell wouldn't be working here. And we both giggled. "C'mon, I'm done with you. So I pulled my panties back on, admiring, the smooth, hairless skin that surrounded them, wrapped myself in the baby blue robe with pink piping they had given me, and followed Rosa to my next station.
"Big date tonight, hon?" a rather large woman in a crisp, baby blue smock asked me as I settled into her chair.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that," I replied, as I realized that Veronica, which is who her name tag said she was, was no more female than I. But even though she was nearly six feet tall and rather large boned, she had an unmistakable air of comfortable femininity about her. Her long, bright, orangey red hair was worn in large, loose curls that bounced with remarkable body when she moved her head, which she did in quick little motions, like a bird. Her makeup was exquisite, emphasizing her large pale blue eyes and ample mouth, and there just wasn't any evidence that she ever had a beard. Because she talked so much with her hands, it was easy to see that she had gorgeous nails, quite long, with intricate airbrushed art on them. I wondered what those might look like on me, but then shook it off because I had already decided that I wanted my nails no more than a quarter inch past my finger tips, and in a simple deep red that I thought would go with my dress.
As we discussed what my nails should look like, Veronica, who insisted, "Call me Ronnie," said, "What do you think of this color?" She was holding up a pearlescent dark blue polish called Lustre. "I checked out your dress,” she went on, “and this coordinates with it perfectly." And then she pulled out a plummy colored lipstick that didn't exactly match the polish, but complimented it perfectly, and then some earthy-plummy eye shadows. "See?" she went on. "Everything goes together. And I think these colors will be great with your skin. You really should go to a tanning parlor you know. You need more color."
I sat there studying the colors as she applied them to the back of her hand so I could see them together. *What the hell,* I thought. *I would never pick anything like these, but there's no harm in being a little daring.* I smiled up at her, "Okay, I love the idea, let's go for it. But I want my nails to be ovals, just a quarter inch past my finger tips, okay?"
"Oh that's just wonderful," she gushed. "So many of my clients are just too stuffy to try anything avant garde. The men will all be drooling over you and the women will be jealous."
"I guess," I replied, not sure whether that's what I wanted to happen.
"You just relax. I'm going to give you a facial, and while your mask is on I'll do your nails. Your wig is already done, but we’re going to trim and touch up your hair anyway. Then we'll do your makeup and you'll be good to go."
"Sounds too good to be true," I smiled at her, and then lay my head back as she lowered the chair to a more horizontal position.
The feeling of her fingers on my face as she worked on me was just exquisite, and even though she kept up a constant prattle, by the time she applied the aloe-cucumber mask, I was drifting in and out of a comfortable semi-consciousness.
Phil was again in my dreams. This time, he was oohing and ahhing over my beautiful nails as he held my hand in his and lowered his head to kiss it. I shook my long blond hair off my face and looked up at him longingly. His eyes devoured mine, and he reached around my back with his other hand and pulled me tight against his body, kissing me deeply. As I gratefully returned his kiss, I could feel his erection growing against my belly. It was like touching a magic wand, and a warm feeling spread out to the rest of my body from where it touched me.
Then, without warning, he pushed me away and in a harshly cutting tone said, "I always knew you were a faggot, you little sissy." And we were suddenly surrounded by hundreds of people who were pointing and laughing at me, calling me sissy or faggot. I searched for a way to flee, but I was trapped.
I snapped my eyes open and shook my head. I could feel the tightness of the hardened mask on my face, and my heart was accelerating into a range that would give a hummingbird a heart attack.
"You okay hon?" Veronica asked.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. I think I just had a bad dream."
"Well, let me get you a glass of wine to relax you," Ronnie said standing up and starting to turn away from me.
"No, no," I insisted. "Don't." I was pretty sure my sore little tummy wouldn't be real happy with alcohol right now.
"Oh. You're nervous about your date. How precious," she gushed again (it seemed to be her only way of talking), as her hands fluttered all around her face like escaped butterflies. "Just like a teenager going to a prom."
"Well, maybe," I allowed. "Anyway, I'm okay now, why don't you continue."
So I settled back down and Ronnie picked my hand back up and started in again on my nails. Now, however, I was rattled. All my fears of humiliation were now dancing wildly in my mind.
*How am I going to get through this? I'll come downstairs after Rebecca lets him in, and make my grand entrance as the two of them stand next to each other watching me. I guess Rebecca'll be supportive; she's been great all week. I hope she'll be proud to see what a lovely woman I make. Or will seeing me as a lovely woman threaten her or make her think less of me as a husband, even though she had a big hand in getting me to this point. Aack!*
*And Phil?* He'll think to himself, *What a little sissy. He didn't even have the guts to turn down my little offer of a date. What a pansy.*
*And that's what I'd be,* I thought dejectedly, *a pathetic little pansy. At the rate things are going, I'll probably have an accident right there in my panties.*
And then I thought of Ronnie. *Obviously not a born-woman, but one who seemed to revel in her femininity. She's just herself, even though she's not perfect. Hmmmph. Where does she get her self-confidence?*
I was starting to feel even more insecure, realizing that even with all my intelligence and financial advantages, I didn't have anywhere near the confidence she did, or the courage to just appear as I wanted to, something she had clearly done. *You're pitiful,* I thought, and I almost started to cry. And then, to make things even worse, I could feel my stomach start to cramp up, which, inside my corset felt like the build up to an explosion, and I knew I had to get to a toilet, fast.
So I started to get up again. "Veronica, I need to go to the bathroom, now," I said urgently.
"Oh! Oh! You poor dear. Here let me help you up. It's right over there next to the changing room. She hurriedly escorted me to the restroom and then stayed there, repeatedly asking if I was all right. Actually, this was the easiest it had been all day, and I had a hopeful feeling that this might be the last time I needed to go. Surely, there couldn't be anything at all left.
I emerged from the restroom feeling embarrassed. l really didn't need anyone witnessing the humiliation of my anxiety driven bowels. But Ronnie was right there, looking very concerned and hovering around me like a mother bird at her nest.
"Well," I said. "I think that might have been the last one. There couldn't possibly anything left inside me."
"That's great!" she replied, as if I had just won the lottery. This woman's enthusiasm knew no bounds. "Now you won't have to douche your pussy to get ready for tonight." She really seemed to be pleased for me. "Here," she said, handing me a tube of anti-inflammatory cream. Use this. It'll help."
"Do you have diarrhea a lot?" I asked, surprised that she was so prepared for this particular eventuality.
"No, silly," she said blushing and turning her head down and away in a most fetching manner. "I keep this for when my boyfriend get really hot and poles me till I'm raw."
My eyes widened at the image, but I couldn't be sure if she was putting me on until a moment later when she wiggled her ass at me in a most kittenish way (*What a great move,* I thought. *I've GOT to learn it.*), with a look on her face that was a priceless mixture of pride and embarrassment. After a moment's hesitation, we both started to laugh.
"What are you telling me?" I squealed.
She leaned in close as if we were long time confidants. "Well, honey, don't tell me you're going to all this trouble to get ready for a date and that you don't intend to get laid?"
"What?" I squealed again. "No. I don't intend to get laid! I'm going to do everything I can to avoid it."
"Huh?" Her face fell, and it was obvious that she was truly confused.
"Oh shit," I muttered, raising my hands and dropping them to my sides in frustration. "Veronica, it's complicated. The truth is, I'm a happily married, heterosexual and the guy has promised to be a perfect gentleman."
She still looked confused.
"Ronnie, you seem to be a dear, but I don't really know you, so I'm not quite ready to dish everything. Just know that I love to dress, and this make over is like the coolest thing I've ever done."
Disappointment now shared her eyes with the already present confusion, but she took my hand and led me back to her station. It didn't occur to me till later that I had been holding hands with a guy.
As I sat down, I felt like I had to tell her something, "Ronnie," This is my first real date with a guy, but the circumstances are kinda weird. I mean I've always dreamed of going out on a date just to see what it was like to have a guy treat me like a woman, but..."
"You mean, be careful what you wish for, or you may get it?" she interrupted.
"Exactly," I replied, relieved that I didn't have to tell her any more. "And on top of everything else, I've got diarrhea."
She looked at me, her face grave for about two seconds. Then her hand flew up to her mouth as she tried to hold in her laughter. But it was no use. It came out in gales. And a second later I was laughing too. When you thought about it, it really was ludicrous.
When we had both calmed down, Ronnie got a glass of wine for both of us and we shared a few sips before she settled back down to work, and I settled back down to figure out how I was going to handle the evening. Before I settled fully back, I lifted my head and said to Ronnie. "You know, I'm wearing $100 panties, but I'm not letting anyone see them. Seems, too bad, somehow."
"Honey," she replied. "It's downright sad. I've always thought that there's nothing sadder than a transsexual who's afraid to be who she really is."
She said it wistfully, as if she wasn't talking about me; after all, here I was getting a make over so I could go out on a date. But it stunned me like a slap across the face. Without knowing it, Ronnie had effectively gutted me. A deep gush of shame ran through my soul, and I didn't want to talk about it any more. So I put my head down, saying as I closed my eyes, "Why don't we finish up. I still need to get home before I go out." I grimaced inwardly at how harsh I sounded, but I was too upset to really care.
Lying there, again near tears, I thought to myself, *You're a hypocrite. A hypocrite and a fraud.*
*No, my life is okay the way it is,* I argued back.
*No. You're a wimp, a wimp and a coward. You never commit wholeheartedly to anything. You're afraid to give up being comfortable, even when a little risk will lead to something really fulfilling.* Now I was on a roll, punishing myself. *What you are is dishonest and sneaky. You've pushed the envelope just a little by dressing at home, but you never reveal your true self. You feel embarrassed, shamed even, not only of who you are, but because you sneak around too. You feel humiliated because you're afraid to stand up and be who you are.*
A sob caught in my throat. I tried to cover it up by pretending it was a cough, but Ronnie apparently caught it. "You okay hon?" she asked, her brows going up in alarm. When I didn't answer for a moment, she went on, "Don't be sad that you won't be sleeping with your date. If you two like each other, there'll be plenty of time for that later."
"Yes, yes, of course," I mumbled, trying to avoid a conversation. *Its amazing how she gets things to totally wrong, yet seems to see right through me anyway.*
She looked at me dubiously, so I closed my eyes and she went back to work. I continued to think. *Stop being a fool. Be what you are and like yourself. You're not a bad person. Why do you treat yourself like one?*
I knew the answer, of course. I was projecting onto myself how I thought my family and society would judge me if I let them know about Sara. After all, wasn’t being transgendered somehow an inherently evil thing, like looting damaged stores after a hurricane? Hadn't Rebecca just told me that she had been "absolutely mortified" when Phil handed her the picture of me at Southern Comfort? Why would she be humiliated by that if there wasn't something dreadfully shameful about it?
*Oh shit,* I realized suddenly. *Rebecca's part of the problem. Until this past week, she had hidden Sara at home in the same way that people used to stick their deformed relatives in the attic or the barn, as if they were a stain on the family. I wasn't just my own stain, I was hers as well. We both bought into the shamefulness of my very nature. I never had the courage to face the potential scorn that being an admitted trannie would certainly bring (wouldn't it?), and neither had she.* Not only would my expensive panties stay hidden, but now they were starting to feel like a brand on my ass. It said coward.
. . . I discovered this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
"Yeah, right," I had muttered.
. . . but I gave them a little finger wave, and then, tossing my head back in the direction I was headed, I swiveled my way out of the room, my hair flowing behind my head
I thought I heard one guy almost choke as I left.
. . . Even after I had described it to Rebecca in excruciating detail over some hot tea, I still wasn't sure what it all meant. I did know, however, that I really wanted to go out again with Phillip. . .
Alright folks, whether you think this is femdom or not, try to accept at least this chapter just as it appears. It is what it is, Sara's first date with a guy. I hope you enjoy it!
And if you haven't been reading my blog, you might want to check it out. I reveal my deepest, darkest secrets and have an interesting conversation with readers.
Chapter V - My Date With Phillip
"Phillip! So nice to see you," I said as brightly and sincerely as I could despite the butterflies in my stomach. I had decided to call him Phillip because Michael called him Phil, and I wasn't Michael. I was Sara, and Sara hadn't met him before so being more formal was appropriate. Besides, I thought the use of his full name would make me sound more like his sister or his mother, rather than his girlfriend, which is what I was afraid he was thinking, or at least hoping, I would become.
Phillip and Rebecca had been standing next to each other watching as I descended the staircase, my long blonde hair hiding my face as I looked down and turned slightly sideways. I was holding my tight skirt up slightly so I could actually navigate the steps without falling, and I trailed a navy blue and silver chiffon scarf in my other hand. Walking down the stairs like this was first and foremost a safety measure, but the whole scene made me feel deliciously feminine, and, I thought, made for a boffo entrance. And now, as I closed the last few yards towards them, carefully placing one foot in front of the other so my hips would sway, they both shared a slightly stunned look. I wasn't sure whether I wanted it to be a reaction to my apparent confidence and assertiveness, or, how terrific I looked. Ronnie really was a genius with makeup, and they had curled the ends of my old blonde wig, the one from the picture that Phil had found, the one that he had requested that I wear, so it looked really romantic. I enjoyed the view for a moment, and then, shaking my head to throw the long blond hair off my face - even though I just loved to have it fall by my eyes - I held my hand out to Phil to shake his. I angled it slightly down, as many women do, with my arm fully extended, and waited for him to take it.
He hesitated for a second, and then broke into a big grin while his giant paw swallowed up my hand, with its lovely sparkly blue nails. Once he had me in his firm yet gentle grip, he said, "Sara, you look lovely. I'm so pleased to meet you at last!" And with that, he pulled my hand towards his face, dipped his head, and kissed the back of my hand, just like in my day dream.
He allowed his lips to linger just a bit longer than necessary, and then he continued to hold onto my hand. I have to admit it: the lingering touch of his lips and hand on my skin made me tingle and I think I might even have blushed a little. At the same time, I thought, *At last? How long has he known?* But even though I was somewhat surprised at his warm and familiar greeting, I could see he was flabbergasted. He had obviously gotten more than he had anticipated. *Score one for me.* I had spent my time since getting home from the salon really working on my attitude, and at least for now, it was paying off.
My encounter with Ronnie left me looking gorgeous, but in a piss-poor mood. In an attempt to chill out, I spent some time surfing the web before my bath. While scanning the site of a post-op transsexual who I had always admired for her simple, unadorned good looks and stick-it-in-your-face positive attitude about who she is, I discovered this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
"Yeah, right," I had muttered.
It wasn't until I was sitting in the tub, luxuriating in a deliciously aromatic lavender bath oil, that the import of that quote hit me. For the second time today, I felt like I had just been slapped across the face. *Of course!* I thought, *How could I have been so stupid? When I played racquetball with Phil, he almost always won, sometimes he creamed me. But I never felt embarrassed about it. Why not?* It only took a moment for the answer to become clear. *Because I knew that losing didn't make me any less of a person. I once even encountered someone who had been watching who sniggered at me as we left the court, shaking his head as if I should be taken out with the trash. What I wondered was, *What's his problem?* not, *What's wrong with me?*.
But I was afraid that if someone sniggered at me while I was out as Sara I would fall apart, feel absolutely humiliated and look for someplace to run. I wouldn't have to ask, "What's wrong with me?" The answer would be obvious: I was a trannie. But sitting in the tub after my little lesson from Ronnie, and some reinforcement from Mrs. Roosevelt, I had decided that it was stupid of me to buy into society's view of my transgendered self. If I couldn't be proud of who I was, I should at least not be ashamed of it.
I now understood that it had always been me who humiliated me. I was like the long-gone cartoon philosopher Pogo, who once said, "We have met the enemy and they are us." The only person I had to fear tonight was me. I vowed that tonight would be different. I was pretty sure Phil wasn't going to be a problem. In fact, he would protect me if I needed it. And, surrounded by the smell of lavender, and with water beading up on my brand new tits, I had decided that I was going to enjoy this evening, going all out to be my most feminine self. Tonight, Sara would have her first date, and just like the morning sun signaled the day lilies and morning glories to open their petals, this date was going to be my signal to blossom.
"You look absolutely beautiful," Phillip went on. "I'm a lucky man tonight."
"You are," I replied lightly, using the back of my index finger to flick the blonde hair of my wig off my face as I shook my head again. "What do you think of my dress?" And I gave a quick spin in my four-inch heels, letting my hair fly around my face. The dress, of course, went no where. There really wasn't anything soft or flirty about it, although it was gorgeous and did have a spectacularly smooth satiny lining.
He burst out laughing. At first I was appalled, thinking I had completely misjudged him and he was making fun of me. But before I could really react, he grabbed my hand, lifted it over my head, and spun me around again. "Stunning," he said, obviously admiring what he was seeing. "Absolutely stunning. Rebecca, you didn't tell me about this.”
"I didn't know. I just didn't know." Rebecca replied, looking at me like a proud parent. But then she broke into a big grin, and said to me, "Sara dear, you're amazing."
I looked at her for a second trying to see if she was putting me on or not, but the glint in her eye made it clear she was just enjoying the show. I couldn't help but give a small dig in return. "There's lots about me you don't know, darlin'."
As she turned to the closet, she admitted, "I guess so. Let me get your coat and you two can be on your way. I have plans tonight too, and I need to get moving."
So as Phillip and I stood there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do now that we were past our initial greeting, Rebecca disappeared for a couple of seconds before returning with my new fake fur. A few moments later, I had slipped the scarf around my neck, Phillip had helped me on with my coat, I had slung my bag on my shoulder, pulled on my new red gloves, and we were out the door.
Phillip gave me the full gentlemanly treatment, holding my arm as we made our way down the walk, opening the door of his 740i for me, and then helping me into my seat. He was full of good humor as we drove along the two lane country roads towards the inn where we were to have dinner. He praised my looks and my behavior, and really seemed thrilled to be out with me. I mostly kept quiet, except for the thank you's I had to offer because of all his compliments. I kept telling myself that there was no reason for me to be ashamed or embarrassed. I was a good man and a lovely woman. The world was lucky to have me in it. I almost had myself convinced.
When we got to the restaurant, Phillip helped me out of the car, easily pulling me up from my seat as soon as I had swiveled my legs onto the pavement and laid my hand in his. We left the car for the valet, and as we turned to walk up the few broad stone steps towards the well lit entrance of the large, white, Federal-style building, he surprised me by wrapping his arm around my waist. I froze for a moment, my feet locked to the ground as I looked up at him, alarmed. But he offered me a slightly crooked, sort of embarrassed-asking-permission grin that totally disarmed me. How could it not, coming from a big rugged face that jutted out from a cap of brown hair that was just long enough to show a little of the curl. I had no idea he could be so charming. So I thought, *Sure, why not,* and I threw a bright smile up at him to let him know it was okay. With his big arm around me, I couldn't help but lean into him slightly, and as we walked through the huge oak doors, which he easily pushed open with one arm, he put his hand in the small of my back to usher me inside. Phillip was so big, this was all really rather comforting, and I kinda liked it, even though he was a man.
The inn had been built in the early 19th century, though it had been extensively renovated since then. It was warm and woody, with built in cabinetry and antique-looking nick knacks on just about every surface except the tables. We followed the formally dressed maitre d' through a small warren of intimate dining rooms that each held six or eight tables. Each was decorated somewhat differently than the others, but in each, the diners checked us out as we passed by. I loved the admiring looks I was getting from the men, and better yet, some of the not so happy ones from the women. I couldn't help but put a little extra wiggle in my walk. I could just imagine what Rebecca would say if she saw me now, "You are such a tart!" And I loved the very idea of it.
At the back of the Inn we reached a wonderful round parlor that overlooked a small pond, which was surrounded by trees that were all hung with strings of glistening white lights, giving it a sort of fairyland look. Eight tables, each set with starched white table clothes, were evenly spaced along the windows. All but three already had diners seated at them. Despite the spectacular view, with the lights mirroring themselves off the glassy smooth surface of the pond, the highlight of the room was a huge fireplace, which dominated the wall opposite the windows, filling the room with that special light and warmth you simply can't get from any other source. The setting was totally romantic. Phillip had really set this up well. Michael was a little intimidated, but Sara was thrilled. "Oh Phillip," I said, as I turned to take in the whole scene, "this is just scrumptious."
Once we had reached our table, which was not right next to the windows, but instead in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace, where everyone could see us, the maitre d' first held my chair for me, and then pulled my napkin from the water glass with a big flourish, folding it into a neat rectangle before handing it me with a slight bow. "Madame," he said. I almost giggled. He then took our drink order. I was still really anxious, so despite the tenderness of my tummy, I decided that I just had to have one of my favorite Absolut Mandarin martinis, while Phillip asked for a BIG glass of Johnny Walker Black. The maitre d' took his leave with a, "Very well, sir."
As soon as he was gone, Phillip leaned forward over the table and looked at me earnestly. Without hesitating, he said, "Look Sara, I really want this to be fun for you. I'm not doing it to embarrass or humiliate you."
I was already pretty sure he wouldn't, but there was some old business to deal with. "Well then," I said frostily, "why did you go through Rebecca to set this up instead of just asking me?" I punctuated my question by tossing my head to throw my hair behind me, in what, I realized immediately after I had done it, could only be seen either as flirting, or a silly little feminine gesture of pointless defiance, which probably looked like flirting anyway.
Phillip looked absolutely delighted with my response, supporting my worst fears, and I almost cringed outwardly because I was sure he was enjoying the helplessness such a gesture suggested. I steeled myself, waiting for him to say something like, "You're so cute when you're angry." But thankfully, he didn't say anything. Instead, his face lost its smile, and he became impassive for a brief moment.
"I was afraid to ask you," he went on defensively, trying to look a little like a sad puppy, and, surprisingly, pulling it off despite his size. "What would have happened to our friendship if you had gotten angry and turned me down? He looked and sounded totally sincere, including the small embarrassed grin that flitted across his face as he finished.
Just then a neatly dressed busboy came to fill our water glasses, and he fell silent, although it was obvious he had more to say. I just sat there quietly, my hands in my lap, waiting for him to continue, and hoping that I wouldn't do anything else to embarrass myself. Phillip just looked at me and shook his head slightly. I wasn't sure what that meant, and in response, I reflexively looked down and tucked my hair behind my left ear. I was just too nervous to sit still. *Where IS my drink? * I fretted.
When we were alone again, he went on, his voice even lower than before. "Look, you now know that I'm bi, more gay really, but I work in a very conservative industry and both men and women look at me as some kind of super macho hero because I played pro ball for a few years. The men want to take me out drinking so I can tell football stories, and the women just want to get me into bed to see if my cock is as big as the rest of me."
It was. I had seen it when we showered at the gym.
"They both convince themselves that they are somehow better or more important by basking in my supposed celebrity. They're both using me," he went on sourly, crinkling his nose in disgust when he finished. He was either a really good actor, or he really did feel used.
"While my life may seem ideal to most guys," he said as if the way he lived was the heaviest burden in the world, "it's not for me." He looked up plaintively, and then lowering his voice even further said. "I'd rather be with a cute guy who was unabashedly after my body and could care less about football or all the rest of it," he finished up, waving his hand like a magician trying to make the world around him disappear. "But because of all that other stuff, I just can't be seen going out with cute guys. So over the years, I've sorta collected a few companions, some are female, but more recently they have more and more been convincing T-girls, who I can take to parties and stuff. I share something with even the most femmy transsexuals that I've just never found with a real woman."
He pursed his lips and thought for a second. Then he took a sip of water. "But you know what? I've never been able to find a T-girl who was bright, clever, and not running her own agenda. Just like the men and women who think my fame projects onto them when they're nearby, they're all looking for something from me; they're not really friends." And he stopped again.
I could see this was hard for him. "Yeeaaah?" I urged gently, pointlessly resetting behind my ear hair that was already there, and hoping he would continue.
He gave me a small smile and went on. "You and I have always gotten along; we share a lot of the same interests, and you're certainly not overwhelmed by my so-called football heroics..." He hesitated and I could see something going on in his eyes. "And when I discovered you were a really attractive cross dresser, I just couldn't resist asking you out."
"Ask me out?" I shot back at him in a hoarse whisper? "I hardly call what you did, 'asking me out! You had my wife do it."
"Well, would you have done this if I had simply asked?" he responded reasonably.
We both knew the answer to that, so I just shrugged.
He nodded knowingly. "I need a friend," he said quietly. “Someone I can talk to, someone I can do things with, someone who I know won't try to take advantage of me. We've been like that haven't we?"
"Sure, but..."
He held up his hand, to stop me. "I just wish I had a friend who I can take to fancy parties, and plays, and ball games as a date so the men think I'm straight and the women won't hit on me." And knowing that I loved steak, he went on, "We could go to Peter Luger's, or Smith and Wollensky or the Palm every time I'm in town and you'd never have to pay for it!"
I think my mouth fell slightly open, and I know my stomach lurched at what he was implying. "You mean this isn't a one time thing?" I started to hyperventilate a little, a sure sign I was anxious. Of course, with the stupid waist nipper on, I couldn't take a deep breath in any case, and my breathing was already a little rapid.
At that moment a lovely young woman with long, straight, shiny dark hair, and wearing a short black skirt, white blouse and starched white apron, approached with our drinks on a small round tray. I nodded for Phillip to shut up.
As she put our drinks in front of us, she gave us the usual kind of restaurant greeting, "Hi my name is Emily, and I'll be your yada, yada, yada. Oh you don't have any bread!" she exclaimed, seemingly as agitated as if she had just discovered a dead rat in the middle of the table. I guess that was a big no-no in this place. "I'll get it for you right away."
I immediately reached for my martini. My plan was to down it in one gulp, even though it was quite large. That way I could order another as soon as she got back.
Phillip put his hand on my wrist and said, "Hey, slow down there. Don't you think we should make a toast?"
“Phillip, if I don’t get at least two of these into me really quickly, I think I’m gonna totally freak out.”
And just at that moment, dear little Emily came back to place a basket of hot rolls on the table. The smell was heavenly. I again surprised myself when I gave Phillip an imploring, apologetic look while Emily worked to rearrange the table so the basket could go in what was apparently the only proper place for it.
"Would you like to hear the specials now?" she asked, nodding her head as if she was answering her own question. Seeing the look on my face, Phillip said, "Tell you what dear, why don't you go get each of us another drink, just like the ones we have now, and when you come back, we'll order."
"Okay?" she chirped, as if that was the best idea she had ever heard. And she turned prettily on her heel and left. I envied her unconscious grace.
I grabbed my drink and handed Phillip his. "I have a toast," I said, although I had no idea what to say. After a moment's hesitation, which seemed to me like an hour, I just blurted out. "Here's to the hunkiest guy in the restaurant," and I hesitated for a moment, gave him a half smile, which I hoped he would take as ironic, and went on, "from the cutest." And I quickly took a big gulp of my drink. *What had I just said? I must have shit my brains out at some point during the day because I was acting like a bimbo.*
But Phillip was obviously quite pleased. "You really think so?" he asked after taking a hit off his drink.
"That I'm the cutest guy here tonight?" I answered preciously, opening my eyes wide and nodding my head just like Emily. "No question." And I held my drink out to the side, my pinky out straight, and raised my other hand, palm up, as if I was taking a bow. Then I tilted my head slightly, deeply shrugged my shoulders, and threw my hair back with a quick flick of my head as I gathered all my body parts back in towards the table. I gave Phillip, who was looking at me with rapt attention, my biggest smile.
He had already started to take another hit as I went into this little act, and he almost spit it out as he started to laugh.
I was quite proud of myself, and took another hit from my own glass. It was totally yummy. And I was sooo clever!
But after he recovered, he replied. "You're not only cute," he said. "But you have a great ass and terrific legs." Now he was beaming at me.
"So that's why you spend so much time in the back court when we play racquetball,” I said, feeling quite playful all of a sudden. "So you can look at my ass?"
At that, he again burst out laughing, and I couldn't help it, I started to laugh too, looking down and hiding my mouth behind my fingertips, although I have no idea why.
That really broke the ice, and after that, it just seemed really easy to be with him.
"Do you really think I have a cute ass?"
"What I'd really like is to feel it," he replied lasciviously.
"In your dreams," I shot back. "I have a terrific woman in my life, and even though I can see that you really are quite endearing." He gave me that puppy dog look again. "I don't intend to have any men. They're just not my thing."
"But we can be friends? Me and Sara?"
"We'll see," I responded, trying to look thoughtful by wrinkling my brow and tucking my hair behind my left ear again. "Let's get through this evening first, and then we can take it a step at a time. I'm not the only one who has to make this decision."
"Oh, don't worry about Rebecca. She'll go along with anything you want to do," he said brightly.
"How do you know that?" I asked, suddenly suspicious, although the answer seemed obvious. They had discussed it. Still a shiver or paranoia ran through me. What was Rebecca up to?
Trying to recover from his apparent gaff he went on quickly. "I mean she loves you and everything, so I just... uhhh... I just figured she would do what ever you wanted."
"Uh huh," I replied noncommittally, still suspicious.
"No, really, I didn't.... I mean we didn't... we didn't talk about it all. Really."
"Phillip," I responded, as if I was talking to a child, "I think you better just shut up. You've done enough damage already." *On the other hand,* I thought, *If what he says about Rebecca is true, this could mark a real turning point in our relationship. Sara could become a much bigger player.* But I decided to ditch that line of thought as Emily came back, looking eager as a puppy. As she placed my second martini on the table, I dug into the menu. We had, after all, promised to order when she came back.
Dinner was exquisite, and totally fun. We had the classic caviar appetizer with blinis, chopped egg and capers. Phillip, of course, had steak, and I had a lobster. I didn't even have to go through the effort of getting it out of its shell. Oh no. This they did for me, and arranged it just so on top of some kind of exquisite polenta, with radicchio, and asparagus, seasoned in a way that made the lobster even more exquisite than I had ever imagined, although I had thought that melted butter was the only way to eat lobster.
Despite the second martini, we had a bottle of wine. By the time we were done with dinner, I was totally lit up, and Phillip was looking like some kind of minor god: he was handsome, charming and funny, and had me totally relaxed. Hell, he was so good, that by the time we got to dessert, he had me feeling almost like a minor goddess.
Unfortunately, this goddess was drunk. I discovered this when I decided it was time to pee. As I got up, I teetered a bit. He jumped up to help me, and I accepted his hand as I steadied myself. Then I focused carefully on the door to the women's room, which was just outside the parlor where we were seated, and started off. I don't know what I was thinking, but I somehow fell into my best I-wish-I-was-on-a-catwalk strut, and when I got to the door, I turned over my shoulder to see if he was looking.
He was! And he had the biggest grin on his face. Not only that, but each of the three guys in the room whose seats were facing the door were looking too. My face just lit up in a big smile. I don't know what I was thinking (actually, the next day, I decided I hadn't been thinking at all), but I gave them a little finger wave, and then, tossing my head back in the direction I was headed, I swiveled my way out of the room, my hair flowing behind my head
I thought I heard one guy almost choke as I left.
The women's room was just gorgeous, but I really didn't have time to appreciate it on the way in. Thankfully, the stalls were open, because I had really waited too long to go, and was on the verge of a disaster by the time I got my skirt up and pantyhose and panties down and let go. I sat there with my face in my hands, wondering what the hell I was doing, besides peeing that is. I knew I was doing that.
As I sat there, I started to think about the other women in the room. One of them was really tan, but wore a shade of coral pink lipstick that looked just horrible next to her skin. Thinking of it made me wrinkle my nose. Maybe I should recommend that she see Ronnie. Her husband was also quite tan, but he had a rather obvious and totally unattractive pot belly. Thinking of it made me wrinkle my nose again. Then there was the woman who must have been nearly 60, judging by the crow's feet around her eyes, but her ultra blonde hair was exquisitely coiffed, making me feel like a dorky teenager with my simple style. Her husband also looked gorgeous: tall, trim and perfectly groomed. If I was into older men. . . . And the woman at the table next to them was rather plain, but she had diamond studs in her ears that were as big as Phillip's BMW. And come to think of it, a shiny deep blue jersey dress that swept around her body in an enviable way. She had curves I could only dream of. And here I was stuck in my well constructed suit. I was really envious. But I didn't much like her date. He was dressed rather too casually for this place and couldn't sit still. He would have driven me crazy in ten minutes if I had to go with him. And when I had looked back into the room while strutting out, he was leering at me in a creepy way.
I took my time fixing my makeup, being especially careful with my lipstick, which had totally worn off by now. The pencil line was still there, so I filled it in with a brush, and then, just as Rebecca had taught me the other night, I added a touch of lip gloss right in the middle of my bottom lip so it would stand out a little. I studied myself in the mirror for a moment, and quickly reached into my purse for a comb. Patting my hair into place, I had a stunning revelation. I had studied the other women, but not as a man. I was interested in their hair and clothes and their dates, who I had evaluated as potential dates! Sara really was the one on this date, Michael, apparently was no where to be found. So, after taking a big breath, and promising myself I wouldn't do anything else to embarrass myself, I headed back to our table.
As I entered the parlor where we were sitting, I adopted a slightly more modest version of the catwalk strut I had used on the way out. But no one was looking. They were either around our table, or watching the action as Phillip signed autographs and chatted comfortably. It suddenly struck me that perhaps no one had noticed me on the way in - maybe they were all looking at Phillip, the football star! One of the people at the table was a very curvy brunette showing lots of cleavage, and she was in my chair! That just wouldn’t do.
"Hi Phillip, I chirped as I got back to the table. The girl who was in my seat stared at me blankly, perhaps thinking I was another fan, but she didn't move. "Would you mind," I asked archly, planting a hip next to her face and staring down at her.
"Uh…, uh," she stuttered, before finally deciding to get up.
"Thank you so much," I said sarcastically as I pulled the seat out to get into it without ever looking at her, but instead turning a big smile towards Phillip who was still writing.
The others had melted away by now, but the brunette was still waiting. After a moment Phillip handed her a piece of paper, and said, "Here you go, Courtney. Thanks for stopping by." She gave him a full smile, turned to me, shot me a dirty look, and left.
"Don't tell me you were jealous," Phillip said with a big smile. "Were you afraid my dear friend Courtney was going to steal me away from you?"
Yes, I was, for a moment anyway. But I wasn't going to admit that to him. So, laying my napkin back on my lap with an exaggerated pat of both hands, I said, "I think I'm drunk. Perhaps you better take me home before I try to take advantage of you."
He laughed briefly, and asked, somewhat snidely, "Don't you have that backwards?"
"No," I exclaimed as quietly as I could, while I reached my foot up and rubbed his leg with the pointy toe of my shoe. His eyes went wide and I quickly pulled my leg back under my chair. Then, I started giggling.
"Damn, you are drunk. I had better get you home before you make me do something to break my word to Rebecca."
So we skipped dessert, and headed home. The cold air in the parking lot must have sobered me up some, because when we got into the car, I felt really embarrassed, but I still couldn't keep my mouth shut. "Phillip, I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't embarrass you in there. I don't know what came over me. I've never behaved like that before," I babbled.
After a few minutes of more of the same, Phillip almost shouted, "Sara. Shut up."
Stunned, I clamped my hands over my mouth.
He burst out laughing.
"Phillip! Don't make fun of me! I must have humiliated both of us. I was so anxious I just lost control. I've never been like that. Really! Usually when I drink, I just get quiet."
"Sara," he soothed. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. Really." He nodded his head at me, just like TV anchors do, although for some reason, when he did it, he didn't look quite as stupid as when they do it.
"Are you sure?" I asked, really needing to be reassured.
"Yes. I'm sure." And he patted my thigh. Because my skirt was pulled up a little, his hand landed on skin protected only by nylon. I was so startled by the feeling that I felt almost as if I had been branded.
I looked down, aghast, my heart accelerating, and my mouth going dry. That was way too familiar! But his hand was already back on the steering wheel, and his eyes focused on the road, like nothing had happened. I myself really wasn't sure what had happened, but he had either just treated my like a woman friend he was familiar with, and who needed a little reassurance, or he had just come on to me, just a little. I had no idea what to do. But I had to ask.
"Phillip?"
"Yeah," he replied, slowing down to take a curve, and sounding like nothing was amiss.
"What did you just do?"
"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, turning his head quickly to glance at me. "I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean anything by that. Really." He turned to me again. "It was just a reflex. You were so uptight and I wanted to help you calm down. Really. I won't do it again I promise!" And he almost missed the next curve, forcing him to break hard.
"Really," he exclaimed again after we had passed through the turn. "I was just so comfortable with you I forgot. It won't happen again. I promise."
"Okay," I replied, now much more relaxed. "Don't worry about it. I won't break if you touch me."
He looked at me quickly to see what I was talking about. Once he had turned back to the road, I patted his hand. "Really, I'm okay. I was just surprised. I don't think anyone has ever patted my thigh before."
"Did you like it?" He asked, his voice betraying a certain nervousness that kept the question from being offensive.
"Phillip, don't get your hopes up."
"Hmmph," he replied. We were both silent for the rest of the ride.
When we got home, he helped me out of the car, and escorted me to the door. As I fished in my purse for my keys, he asked, "You want to play racquetball tomorrow?"
"Huh?" I replied as I pulled them out.
"You know, hitting balls off walls with a racquet?" he replied, as if talking to an alien. "I need a partner for doubles."
"Well, maybe, what time? I need to ask Rebecca."
"Uh, we have a court at two, my new club. You haven't been there yet."
I nodded as we entered the house. I could hear the TV going in the den.
"Well, she's still up, let's ask her." I said as I turned I started to take my coat off.
"Here, let me get that," he said, helping me to take it off and then reaching into our closet to put it on a hanger. Then he took my arm and escorted me into the den.
"Rebecca, we're home," I shouted, to alert her.
"Sara," she squealed as she jumped up off the couch to greet us. "How did it go? Oh. Hi, Phil. You're here too?"
"Philip wants to play racquetball tomorrow at 2:00. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, I want to play doubles with Sara," he added evenly, causing me to choke.
"Whaa..." I started to say at the same moment Rebecca said, "You're going to play racquetball as Sara? That's so totally awesome."
"No, wait! I didn't say that!"
"We can go out shopping for an outfit for you in the morning!" Rebecca went on. That will be so much fun!"
"But I never..."
"Sara!" Rebecca interrupted. “It'll be perfect — a great experience for you. You've just got to..."
I looked back and forth at the two of them. Had they set me up again? I couldn't tell. Rebecca was excited and Phillip simply smiled. Did I want to do this? "Call me in the morning Phillip," I said clearly. "Let me see how I feel?"
"Sure, I’ll call around 11:00. I have no intention of getting up any earlier than that anyway."
"Well, that's something we can both agree on. Why don't you leave me alone with Rebecca, so I can try to figure out what happened tonight."
"Sure Sara, you're the greatest," he agreed. Then with a big goofy grin on his face he turned to Rebecca and said, “She’s quite the young lady.”
“Who knew?” Rebecca giggled, leaving Phillip and me just standing there awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.
Finally, but in a rather haughty tone of voice, Rebecca said “Sara. Haven’t you learned anything yet? The polite thing for a young lady to do is to show her date to the door. If you're lucky, maybe he'll give you a goodnight kiss." Then she laughed outright, apparently quite impressed with her own sense of humor.
Giving her a rather sour look, I turned to Phillip and said, "Don't you dare.” He just gave me a don't-be-silly grin, so I took his arm, which somehow seemed safer than his hand, and led him to the door. When we got there, I turned to face him and said, "Phillip, thank you for an amazing evening. I really had fun. Maybe we can do something like it again, but even if we don't, I want you to know it's been one of the highlights of Sara's life."
Then, I thought about what Rebecca had told me about how women might end an evening like this, and closing my eyes, I leaned up and gave Phillip a quick peck on the cheek. Thankfully, he accepted it gracefully, saying, "Sara, I really want to see you again. You're terrific." And he turned and opened the door, stepped out and headed down the walk without looking back.
"Shit," I sighed to myself as I closed the door. "What the fuck happened tonight?"
Even after I had described it to Rebecca in excruciating detail over some hot tea, I still wasn't sure what it all meant. I did know, however, that I really wanted to go out again with Phillip.
By Kelly Ann Rogers
. . . Then, looking down at my own chest, I realized what they were really looking at. My nipples, the nipples which Rebecca had insisted I glue to my breast forms, now jutted aggressively through my sports bra. They were calling to the men like the Sirens called to the lost sailors in the Odyssey.
. . . He had never turned his personality on like this when I was a man. Now, he was totally engaging: a force of nature, nearly. I knew that if I continued to look into his eyes, he'd melt me, and all I'd want to do was caress his face with my hand, and then pull him down into another kiss. But I just couldn't let that happen. . .
. . . And as long as I was rebelling, I decided to leave my toes, figuring that no one would see them anyway, and I could wait until they chipped to clean them up. At least that's what I told Rebecca. I really thought that once they needed to be redone, I could just switch to another color, and no one would see that either.
Chapter VI Sara's Got Game
When Phillip called the next morning at 11:00, Rebecca and I (which is to say Sara) were already up and dressed and finishing a light breakfast. I was only a little hung over, which, I believed, was because I had started my little binge last night with vodka instead of scotch. Had it been scotch....
Although I was totally sure I didn't want to do it, Rebecca insisted I go play racquetball with Phillip, after I went shopping with her for some "really cute" outfits. I must say that Rebecca always looked totally put together at the gym, while I always looked like I had just arrived from Albania in the hold of a junk freighter. So after Phillip, who Rebecca coerced into paying for everything, and I arranged to meet at his new club, Rebecca and I were off to shop for Sara's first racquetball wardrobe.
We headed straight to the Ski and Racquet Station, which was well known for its large selection of sexy athletic wear for women. It also had a great selection of racquetball equipment. All the serious local players shopped there.
When I left to head for Phillip's club, I was wearing the cutest, hooded, powder blue warm-up suit, with three hot pink strips down the arms and legs, and curved pink panels on the sides of the jacket, which Rebecca insisted gave it a slimming look. Underneath, I had packed my nuts up into my groin and tucked my penis back between my legs, a gaff holding them all tightly in place, I hoped. A sturdy black sports bra with a T-back squashed my breasts close to my chest, although, as I turned from side to side, imitating my swing to test it, it didn't seem tight enough.
"Honey, Rebecca said, holding up a really cool, printed tank top, "this would look terrific over that bra, really hot."
"Not a chance. I've seen too many women wearing combinations like that and they are hot. The only thing you forget is that I don't want men staring at me. I’m sure you don't either."
"Well, how do you know you're attractive if men don't look at you?" she asked, looking me up and down and leering like a man might.
"Rebecca, stop teasing me! I'm wearing this: I held up a pale pink, cotton-lycra, short sleeve leotard that zipped from the neck to the navel and snapped at the crotch, layering a slightly oversized reddish-purple tank over that. I added midnight blue compression pants, figuring that with those, the leotard, and the gaff, I was pretty sure not to pop out. Deep violet nylon running shorts, and racquetball shoes with hot pink inserts finished me off. This was a lot more complicated than my usual jock strap, ratty shorts, and torn cotton tee, but damn, it sure looked better. Rebecca was thrilled, flitting around me like a hummingbird that had just discovered a dish full of sugar water. Hell, I was thrilled too.
Rebecca soon discovered a set of purplish wrist and head bands, which even I could see went perfectly with my nails. I was wearing my own hair, which I blew out carefully before we left home (I would never wear the blonde wig again), and light blush, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick, even though almost no women wear makeup to the gym. I figured I could say that I just came from a post-church lunch with my family if anyone asked. Still, I was so well dressed in all new clothes that I felt like a store mannequin, and I knew I would stand out at the gym as one of those “girly-girls," who everyone looked at with both disdain and admiration. But as I studied myself in the dressing room mirror, I didn’t care because I decided that I was totally delighted by how I looked. A new black gym bag with purple piping around the edges and some kind of deep purple abstract design printed on the fabric, and assorted other pieces of equipment, like a couple of new gloves, and I was good to go: Connecticut's first ever trannie racquetball star.
But once Rebecca had paid for everything (I couldn't very well use a credit card that said, "Michael Cohen," could I?), she pulled me back into the dressing room, and pushed me into one of the cubicles. "Here," put these on," she said, holding out her hand. In it were two rather dark brown nipples, the soft plastic kind that fit on top of breast forms to... well you know. They weren't gigantic, maybe a quarter inch long and twice as wide, but they would show clearly through my bra and leotard.
"Not a chance." I shot back, horrified.
"Ohhh yes, I insist." Rebecca replied calmly.
I looked at her like she was crazy.
She cocked her head in that way that she does and smiled back at me in a kindly way, creases forming at the corners of her eyes.
"But why?" I asked plaintively, slowly beginning to understand that the argument was in fact over and that she had won. "I'll be embarrassed."
"Have you ever stared at a woman whose nipples had hardened under her workout clothes?" she asked, arching one eyebrow at me and again holding out her hand. "Welcome to our world."
What could I say? What could I do? I started to undress. A few minutes later we were back out in the store, but under all the clothes I was wearing, no one could see anything, even though I felt like I was wearing a set of laser beams on my breasts.
I got to the gym a little early, and after parking, walked up to the big front doors. There I was, reflected in the mirrored glass in all my glory. Really, I looked great. But all of a sudden I got really anxious. *What was I thinking?* I thought. *How can I possibly convince anyone that I'm a girl once I start playing? How in the hell does a girl play anyway? * And as my anxiety drove me to start fluffing my hair out with my fingers, in the reflection from the door I saw, people coming behind me. *Shit.* I rushed to open the door before they could ask me why I was just standing there.
I entered the busy lobby with a big, fake smile pasted on my face and those laser beams on my chest. For a moment, a very long moment, everyone looked at me. *Oh shit! They can tell.* Of course they couldn't, and after quick, appraising once-overs, the women went right back to what they were doing, as did most of the men. In fact, they turned away so quickly that my smile fled from my face, as I suddenly started to worry that I was unattractive, not even worth looking at. But thankfully, a couple of the men looked a little longer, clearly checking me out. One looked even longer than the rest and gave me a big smile when I noticed him looking. Relieved that at least one person found me interesting, but not at all willing to get into a conversation with a stranger, I returned his smile with a perfunctory thin-lipped smile of my own, and headed over to the racquetball courts to warm up and watch people play.
I had just straightened up from a calf hugging straight-kneed hamstring stretch when I was enveloped from behind by a gigantic force, which was kissing my neck before I knew what had happened. I almost jumped out of my skin as I spun around, right into Phillip's face. He looked thoroughly amused by my response, and I could tell he was just about to laugh.
"Don't you dare laugh!" I said, trying to sound put upon while at the same time keeping my voice in its girl range, as I pushed him away. "And who said you could kiss my neck?"
"Darlin', you are just too delicious not to kiss," he drawled, as if he was from Nashville instead of San Francisco
Inside I beamed, but I knew what Phillip's game was and I refused to flirt back. "Shit, shuga," I snorted, turning on my own really lousy southern accent, "Y'awl better keep your hands to yourself, or you'll be one lonesome cowboy."
In response, he went into that sad puppy look he did so well. Two beats later he laughed, and gave me a big hug.
I couldn't help it. I laughed too. *What am I going to do with him?* I thought as I put my arms around his upper back to return his hug as chastely as I could. *He is just irrepressible. And I can't help it; he just makes me feel great. I just wish he'd stop pushing my boundaries; there's no way I can let him go where he wants.*
"Hey Phil," a wiry fellow with long dark hair and what was either a short beard or simply a three-day unshaven growth, called out just as I started to take off my warm up pants. I knew him; he was one of the "A" players who hung out at several gyms around the area. He was a more than couple of steps out of my league.
*Shit, we're gonna play him?*
Then, as he and Phillip were greeting each other warmly, another guy showed up. He wasn't any taller than me, but must have weighed a good 200 lbs, was unshaven, and had unwashed hair that hung around his ears. I had no idea who he was. Phillip introduced me to Bobby, his friend, and Bobby introduced us both to Buster. *Bobby and Buster?* I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. They both took their time sizing me up, lingering on my tightly packed breasts.
I knew just what they were thinking - 'How would those babies look if they weren't all squashed down by that bra?' But I was thinking, *Can they see my nipples?* Finally, they managed to look up at my face, and Bobby said, "It's real nice to meet you Sara."
I gave him a nice smile, but, because we were going to be sharing a small humid cube for the next hour, the only thing I could think of was whether Buster had showered recently.
"I'll take the backhand," Phillip said after they had already walked onto the court. "That should pretty much neutralize Bobby. Buster's pretty good up front, but you're way faster than him, and you have better shots," he grinned at me.
"Maybe, if I can actually run the way I'm tucked."
I could see Phillip mentally double clutch, and then he started laughing again. And for a moment he looked like he was going to hug me. So I turned away to reach into my bag for my new glove, and mumbled, "You think I'll be able to get in front of him?"
"Don't worry, he can't go backwards very well, and he's pitiful against ceiling shots and three wall junk. If you get stuck behind him, just throw it into the back corner," he said nodding at the forehand side of the court. "And try not to hit anything that'll come up short on the left. Bobby'll just eat it up."
I rolled my eyes and started to put on my glove so I could go warm up. When I stood up, I could tell he had been looking at my butt. He grinned sheepishly when he realized he had been caught, but just shrugged his shoulders and said, "I can look can't I?"
Given the number of times I had said that to Rebecca when she caught me looking at some attractive woman, I could hardly be angry, but I had to say something. "Well, if you take care of Bobby and we win, you can look all you want. If not, I'm gonna start wearing granny dresses, and you can just eat your heart out."
"You really know how to motivate a guy," he replied lightly, his voice full of playful sarcasm. And then turning towards the court, he went on. "Let's go get em, darlin', and after we win, I'm gonna buy you the tightest pair of black leather pants you ever saw. And then I'm gonna walk behind you for an entire day."
I beamed at him despite myself. He'd done it again. I was giggling to myself and looking forward to holding him to his promise. After a brief hesitation, I said, "Shoes too - high heeled boots," and winked at him.
With that, he opened the court door and gestured for me to enter first. But just as I did, I gave him that wonderful little butt wiggle that I had learned from Ronni just the day before, having practiced it in the mirror while I was waiting for him to pick me up for dinner. I was rewarded when I heard his shoulder bump into the door because he was looking at me instead of it. Still giggling slightly, I turned and stuck my tongue out at him, turning back to the court quickly before he could do anything else. And as I turned, I saw Billy and Buster smirk at each other like this was going to be the easiest win they'd ever had. Not only was I behaving like a ditz, but I had poor Phillip all flustered.
I warmed up slowly, trying to be careful about my new body, and soon discovered that breasts as large as mine did make a difference. They weren't so much a problem on my forehand, where my swing was entirely below them, but the back swing for my back hand was right across my chest. The first one was a real surprise! I could even feel the nipples as I brushed them with my arm. After a few minutes, I basically forgot about them, perhaps because running and turning started off uncomfortably. After a while, I felt freer, perhaps the adrenalin starting to pump into my blood stream as I got ready to play just shriveled everything right up, thank God.
Have you ever seen doubles racquetball? At its best, it's like a ballet choreographed by a madman. Theoretically, the players hit their shots and then move out of the way so their opponents can hit theirs, and visa versa till the point is won, which usually doesn't take long, five shots would be a lot. Teammates usually play side by side, one on the forehand side of the court, and the other on the backhand, although they sometimes switch so one is covering the front court, while the other covers the back. But the game is almost always won by the team that controls the front court, where it's easier to hit outright winners. So when the score gets close, there's often aggressive jockeying for position up front, and things can get physical. Then, it's more like demolition derby than ballet. Phillip and I had played many games of doubles together, and we were a good team, knowing intuitively where the other would be in a certain situation.
As a girl, I should have been immune from the physical stuff. But it turned out that I was a much more skillful player than Buster, so he eventually decided that what he couldn't accomplish with good shots and clever strategy, he could achieve by physical intimidation. I found myself in the same position endless numbers of women before me had found themselves in. I had to figure out how to outsmart some small-brained asshole who thought he could beat me just because he was bigger and stronger than I was. In essence, I had to be twice as good as him.
They came at me right away, trying to jam me into the back corner and hitting hard shots to my body no matter where I was standing. And much to my surprise, I was tentative, uptight, and generally not very good. Shit. I was playing like a girl! They were already up 8 to 3 by the time I calmed down. But when I did, I was able to follow Phillip's advice and started hitting junk shots to the back right hand corner, and, just as Phillip had predicted, I soon had Buster tangled up in his own feet. He hit weak returns, which we put away easily. So by keeping Buster back to give me clear shots in the front court, and with Phillip and Bobby playing even - Phillip was amazingly fast for someone his size - we eventually won the first game, 15-12.
In the second game, they changed tactics. Bobby started to race down everything in the back court so Buster could stay up front. This meant no more weak returns from the back - Bobby could hit winners or great defensive shots from anywhere - and worse, I no longer had free range in the front court. I was having a real hard time getting around Buster, who was alternatively hitting winners or keeping Phillip in the back court, where he was less effective. So they quickly went up 7 to 2, and I was really frustrated. Plus, I was dripping sweat. My carefully blown-out hair was now a wet stringy mess.
To counter, Phillip and I adopted a similar strategy. I would mostly take the back court, and he would play up front. I was a good enough player to ensure that we didn't lose points from the back court, and the momentum changed quickly. Phillip's size and speed intimidated Buster, who started hitting the ball weakly while retreating, instead of blasting it while attacking. By pounding the ball to him, we were able get a bunch of weak returns and were catching up quickly.
That's when things really changed. Because Phillip had forced Buster back, I started to get around him again. I guess the straw that broke the camel's back for him was when he tried to hit a splat into the left corner. I saw it coming and charged forward, skipped past him on his left, and turned what he thought was going to be a sure winner for him into a point for us. It was now 9 all.
I crouched there near the front wall, grinning at Phillip, my hands on my knees, panting from the exertion of that all out sprint. My top was now totally drenched in sweat, and, I realized, as I looked at my breasts heaving with each breath, that I would be much cooler without the leotard.
"Hey guys, gimme a minute," I said, careful with my voice as I tried to catch my breath. Everyone just nodded and I left the court thinking I would run into the women's locker room and take off the leotard. But just as I left the court, I saw a young woman pull her tee shirt off over her head, leaving her with nothing on underneath but her sports bra. In fact, a number of women in the gym were only wearing sports bras. So I figured I didn't need to go into the locker room to pull off the leotard.
Quickly bending over to hide what I was doing I unsnapped it. Then I pulled off my tank top, unzipped the leotard, and just like that other woman, I peeled the leotard off over my head, twisting my torso first to the left, and then to the right as I peeled the leotard up and over my body and then each arm.
In the moment that the leotard covered my head, while my hands were raised, the right above the left, and my body tilted left as I wiggled free of the tight, wet garment, I realized that there wasn't a sound to be heard around me even though it had been quite noisy just a few seconds before. A second later, as my head reemerged into the light, I could see that most of the guys hanging around waiting to play were staring at me.
*Oh fuck, what have I just done* And the image of Brandi Chastain pulling off her top after she scored the winning penalty kick in the World Cup popped into my mind. *At least I 'm not in the Rose Bowl, with 90,000 people watching.*
Then, looking down at my own chest, I realized what they were really looking at. My nipples, the nipples which Rebecca had insisted I glue to my breast forms, now jutted aggressively through my sports bra. They were calling to the men like the Sirens called to the lost sailors in the Odyssey.
I started to freak, embarrassment quickly flooding my awareness. This, I thought in horror as I looked at my chest, is why Rebecca wanted me to wear the nipples. She wanted me to experience what a woman experiences when her nipples show through her clothes.
Then, three things happened at once. First, I got a little turned on. *Whoa, that's really sexy,* I thought, and I imagined myself wiggling my shoulders to show off even more. As soon as that thought had flashed into my mind it was replaced with, *Omigod! I'm sexy!* At the same time, I realized that it made me look like a real woman. After all, nipples suddenly showing through a bra could only happen to someone who had real breasts with nipples that could get turgid.
I started to calm down as quickly as I had started to become embarrassed. *Why am I embarrassed? Women's nipples often show through their clothing and you don't see them running for cover because of it. In fact, it usually looks like they're not even aware of it.* So I just shook the hair off my face, straightened my bra by pulling down at the bottom in a few spots, and put my tank top back on. After grabbing a dry head band, I headed back onto the court. There was a big guy standing right by the door, one of those guys who obviously worked out a lot, and wore a tank top to make sure everyone knew it. As I approached, he just couldn't wipe his stupid grin off his face. My first thought was to give him a dirty look. But something came over me, and as I opened the door, I turned and winked at him!
Before, I had wondered how I could look feminine while playing racquetball, but now it seems that Rebecca had figured it out for me, although perhaps feminine was not exactly the right word. But no one in this gym would ever think I was anything but a girl, and, in fact, I became something of a minor legend around the racquetball courts. As in, "There goes Sara, the one who did the striptease outside of court 5."
When I closed the door to the court, Buster and Bobby were looking at me with slightly stunned expressions on their faces, and Phillip just shook his head like, 'I can't take you anywhere...' For the rest of the match, we also had a good crowd watching us. I could just imagine why, "She looks great with her hands over head, twisting her body like a stripper, but can she play?"
The game kind of got stuck for awhile after that. Neither team could score (unlike tennis, in racquetball you can only win points while serving), but Buster was getting his courage back as he came to realize that Phillip wasn't going to deck him on every point.
Then he got stupid. Phillip blasted a cross court backhand, which Buster cut off. But he only hit it weakly into the front right corner. I again started to rush around him, tasting another point, but just as I started to slither past him on the right, he stuck his hip out and knocked me into the wall. I literally bounced off, with an audible squeak escaping from my lips as I fell on my side and rolled over towards the middle of the court onto my face.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Buster said immediately. "That's a hinder (if you prevent your opponent from getting a fair shot at the ball, either of you can call a hinder, and the point is played over).
Phil hovered over me to make sure I was okay, which I seemed to be, although we had to get a couple of towels to wipe up all the sweat I had gotten on the floor. "Did you see that?" I whispered hoarsely to him. "That wasn't an accident." He nodded in agreement.
And then, on the very next play, he decked me again, only this time he didn't use his hip. I was standing just behind him to his left, hoping to get in front of him, when he turned towards his left, as if to look over his shoulder, and caught me with an elbow, right across the top of my chest, just above my breasts. Again I went down, this time flat on my back. Again I squeaked as I hit the floor.
It was clear Buster had been planning this one because as I lay there, he turned on me and shouted, "Why can't you stay outta my way. You gotta give me room to play!"
"What?" I shrieked in disbelief, trying hard not let my anger lower the tone of my voice. "You deck me with an elbow, and then blame it on me? No way in hell."
He snorted at me and turned away.
Now I was fuming. I wanted to jump up and punch his lights out, but while Michael might have tried that (probably to no great effect), Sara couldn't even dream of it. Still, smoke was coming out of my ears. "I'm gonna get that asshole," I whispered to Phil as he again helped me up and made sure I was intact. "And you better back me up."
"Just stay cool. He's trying to get you angry, to throw you off your game. And watch your voice."
*Watch my voice?* I screamed in my head, knowing he was right. *That mother fucker just decked me with an elbow and all you can do is tell me to watch my voice?*
"I think it's time for him to understand just what kind of game I have," I said in a husky falsetto, as I walked back to await Buster's serve. *Just let him give me something I can hit out on, * I wished. I guess he thought he had me pretty rattled by then, because he tried to drive a hard serve into the right hand corner, even though I had been killing that serve all match, usually passing him on his right through the space between him and the wall.
He again failed to stick the ball right in the corner, which is the only chance he had of beating me on that serve. It's just like in baseball, when a pitcher tries to throw a fastball low over the outside corner of the plate, but leaves it further up and in than intended, a good hitter is going to cream it, and that's just what I did. I had a full swing with all my weight over my front foot, plus the momentum from his hard serve. But instead of shooting for the right corner, I hit it right at the back of his pudgy left thigh.
On a shot like that, I probably hit the ball around 100mph (racquetball is a fast game), and even though the ball is made of soft rubber, it stings like hell when it hits you, and leaves a long-lasting, nasty black and blue mark.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I exclaimed sarcastically in my best girly voice, after the ball exploded against his skin with a rewarding ‘thwak.’ "I so thought you were going to move."
He just glared at me.
That's all he could do. People get hit all the time by accident, and the etiquette of the game and the macho rule for guys say that you just absorb the blow and go on. His next serve was a nice soft lob, something I couldn't get a clean forehand drive out of. But I did hit a three wall shot that ended up bouncing crazily in the corner behind him and he hit a weak return that Phillip simply devoured. Now it was our serve.
Phil served first and Bobby killed it from deep in the backhand corner. My serve led to a brief rally that seemed like it would end when Bobby passed Phillip with a hard backhand drive, leaving him lunging at nothing but air.
But I was there. I caught it on my backhand, simply trying to direct it into the front left corner as its speed almost tore the racquet out of my hand. Bobby was trapped in the back court, and there was no way Buster could get around me in time to get it. But that's not what he had in mind. Instead, he just ran over me, yelling, "Hinder," a moment after he knocked me over and then grabbed me by my left bicep to keep me from hitting the floor too hard.
I shook loose angrily, turning on him and hissing, "That's no hinder. You had no chance to get it."
He looked at me blandly and simply said, "I thought I did."
Again Phil came to collect me, although he refrained from even looking at Buster. As he helped me up, I looked at my arm because it felt achy. It was quickly obvious why. Buster had grabbed me really hard; his hand print was clearly visible in red on my arm.
We lost our serve after that, and Bobby stepped up and hit three straight aces into the back corner so close to the floor that God couldn't have returned them. We won the next point though, and now Buster was up again. I prayed he'd try that hard drive serve again, but he hit one off of three walls that died right in the corner, leaving me no swing. It was now game point for them.
But this time, dear old Buster again answered my prayer. The moron tried another drive serve; he apparently just couldn't believe that he couldn't overpower a "mere" girl. Realizing I was going to kill it, however, he moved closer to the right hand wall, so I had no angle to hit it past him.
In that situation, in a friendly game, I would have called a block, which, like a hinder, allows you to play the point over and keeps people from getting hit needlessly by the ball. But this wasn't a friendly game, so I hit it as hard as I could.
I'm really not sure how it happened, really, I'm like so totally not, but somehow I failed to get it past him, instead nailing him again on the inside of his left thigh. *What a delicious sound,* I thought to myself as the sickening thwack of ball on skin echoed in the small court.
But my joy was short-lived. He turned on me and snarled, "You bitch."
"What's your problem?" I asked, inching over towards, Phillip. "You're the one who moved in the wrong direction. Off hand, I'd say that was as much of an accident as this," and I help up my arm, which now had clearly visible welts where he had grabbed me.
"Hey! Phillip shouted, stepping between us, but finally facing Buster. "This has gone far enough." Then, lowering his voice to a threatening whisper and glaring directly down into Buster's eyes, he went on, "If you two can't play without trying to hurt each other, I just might get a little careless myself."
There was little question about who would suffer if Phillip got careless. But by then, Bobby was there to pull Buster away, which not surprisingly, was remarkably easy to do. It was my turn to snort.
"Listen, Buster," Phillip went on, always the reasonable one, "I'm twice your size, but Bobby and I haven't collided once. There's a lesson there. Learn it."
*Ooooh, my hero,* I thought, batting my eyelashes at Phillip in sarcastic thanks as he turned to walk to the back court. Then I tried telepathy. *You're supposed to beat the shit out of him,* I beamed at his brain. He must have sensed what I was thinking because he turned to me and just stared me down. *Okay, be like that."
We took back the serve, but couldn't score any points, and Bobby served out the game. We broke for some water and to get ready for the deciding game.
By now, there was quite a crowd around our court. It's not that often that women get knocked down, and certainly never more than once, and it has probably almost never happened that a woman who just did a strip tease for the fans, attacks the guy who decked her. Sex and violence, plus a really competitive game, what more could you ask for? People wanted to watch.
"Phillip, what the fuck is your problem?" I bitched as we sat next to each other toweling ourselves off. "That asshole is beating the shit out of me and you're not protecting me."
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked plaintively. "I can't haul off and deck him. I'm way too big for that."
"You mean to tell me that my partner is a former linebacker and I have to get beat up because he's too big to protect me? How fucked up is that?"
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Why don't you just knock him down once, they way he's been knocking me down?" I responded, pissed off at his lack of empathy.
Just then we heard an "ooofff," and turned in time to see Buster stagger. He had been knocked off balance by the big guy I had winked at, who was now staring down at Buster. "We don't knock girls down here. Know what I mean?"
Again Bobby was there quickly to prevent it from going any further.
"See?" I whispered to Phillip? "At least one guy knows what to do." And I gave a little finger wave to my new best friend.
"Careful Sara, he probably has a real good idea about how you can thank him."
I started to lecture him, "Phillip Jacobson, I'm sure you have the same idea, but neither of you is gonna get anything." I threw my towel back onto my bag and grabbed a dry glove. After putting it on, I turned back to Phil. "If Michael was here, he could protect himself, but Sara can't. I need your help." I hesitated a second or two before going on, "Especially if you want to have even a glimmer of a hope of seeing me in those tight leather pants you're hoping to buy me."
He gave me a little grin.
"And by the way, the price has just gone up. It's not just pants and shoes; I get a jacket too. I need something to cover my bruises." And I help up my arm.
"Oookay, I get the message," he replied, rolling his eyes as if he was the most put upon man in the world.
We were back on the court a few moments later. Bobby was really popping his drive serve into the back corner and got three quick points before Phillip was even able to return one, which he ripped off for a splat into the left hand corner. Now, it was back to Buster and me.
He started with a lob, which I returned by hitting a mediocre cross court shot that bounced to the middle of the court. All Buster had to do was take one step to his left and he could cut it off with his backhand. But as he did, Phillip took a step to his right and they collided. Buster literally went flying back to his right, hitting his shoulder against the wall as he fell.
At first I was elated. Phillip had finally started to protect me. But Buster didn't get up right away, and I immediately started to feel remorse because it was my fault he got hurt. But he pulled himself up just as Phillip got there to help him. Phillip whispered something to him as he helped him up, lifting him easily from the floor to his feet. Later, Phillip told me what he said, "We can play or we can fight, your choice."
I, of course, didn't know this, as I ran off the court to get a couple of towels, one for Buster and one for the floor. While I was out there, my new friend gave me a thumbs up. "I see your boyfriend got the message," he said, as if it was what he did that inspired Phillip to knock Buster down.
I just raised my shoulders and my eyebrows at him in a questioning way and scurried back onto the court. When I got back, Buster was already up, leaning against the wall. So I threw one towel to Phillip and nodded towards the wet spot. Then I walked over to Buster and handed him the towel. I realized that there was an opportunity here for a little bad cop - good cop routine that might really keep Buster off balance. So I tried acting a little deferential.
Trying to sound concerned, I asked, "Are you okay? You really don't want to get Phillip riled up. The last thing we want out here is him in linebacker mode, know what I mean?"
He looked at me dubiously for a second as he started to test his arm, wincing slightly as he raised it over his head. "He did that on purpose, didn't he?" Buster surprised me be asking.
"Oh, I didn't actually see it," I lied.
"Well, he better not get in front of me. You're not the only one who can hit a forehand drive into someone's thigh."
That was such a remarkably stupid thing to say that I was stunned for a moment, standing there with my mouth partly open. Trying to figure out how to make the most out of this, I indicated to Buster that I would take his towel, and then turned to get Phillip's towel from him, throwing them both out the door. As I took my place, to await Buster's serve, I said loud enough for all of us to hear, "Phillip, you better be careful, Buster said he's shootin' for your legs."
Phillip looked at me as if to accuse me of lying, which, given the way racquetball is usually played, actually made more sense than anything else. I mean, no one in his right mind would announce they were going to intentionally try to hurt someone, and certainly not someone as big as Phillip. And even a flea would be smart enough not to say it to the partner of the guy you were threatening?
"She's making that up, right?" Phillip asked Buster.
For a beat, then two, there was silence and you could almost hear the gears working inside Buster's brain. Then he blurted out, "Yeah, she's just trying to blame me for what she did herself." And he glared at me.
But it was obvious to everyone that he had hesitated because he needed the time to figure out what to say.
Phillip just looked at him and said, "Don't do it." Bobby stood at the side of the court shaking his head. I had everything I could do not to laugh.
In any case, Buster didn't run into anyone or hit anyone with the ball for the rest of the match. Plus, he had lost his nerve. Without him threatening me and trying to push me around, I had a pretty free reign on our side of the court, and, as Phillip had noted at the outset, I was better than Buster.
Too bad he wasn't the only one we were playing against. For whatever reason, Bobby turned his game up a notch and was really outplaying Phillip. So after 15 minutes of all out play, we finally got the serve back with them ahead 12-10.
As Phillip got ready to serve, I went over to him and put my arm around his really thick and disgustingly sweaty shoulder and turned him to the front court so Bobby and Buster couldn't hear us talk. "Hit him some lobs, will you? He's killing your drive serve. Don't be as stubborn as Buster and keep hitting something he's gonna kill."
Phillip furrowed his brow at me. He and Bobby had been pounding the ball at each other all match. They were like two heavy weights, slugging it out. It was like there was some unwritten code that the only way you could win was to be tougher than the other guy, even if being smarter made more sense.
"Huh," he grunted in a noncommittal way, as if I had just pointed out that his shirt was wet. But when he served it was a nice soft lob that forced Bobby to hit a defensive shot. This drove Phillip all the way to the back wall as well, but Phillip hit it to Buster, who hit a decent but not great shot back to Phillip. Phillip in turn hit it back at Buster, and this time, Buster hit a much weaker return. I had the front court all to myself and was able to cut his shot off and easily put it away. Two more of those and it was 13-12.
When I couldn't score on my serve, Bobby was up again. Quickly, he hit his low drive into the backhand corner. It was perfect, bouncing twice before Phillip could get to it. But Phillip did get the next one, and after a brief rally, I again found myself all alone up front and hit another winner, this time hitting a hard drive past Bobby's backhand as he charged towards the right front to get the shot he thought I was going to hit. Phillip and I grinned at each other. If Bobby wasn't serving, we still had a chance.
But Buster finally beat me in the forehand corner, his knee high drive serve hitting right in the crack, spinning out, and leaving me swinging at the air like an uncoordinated ditz. Game point for them. Fortunately, even though he was only about one for ten on that serve, he tried it again. All of us, including Michael, would have done the same thing. You just want to win on your best serve, not some wimpy lob. Instead of trying for an outright kill, I hit a defensive shot to the back corner, which Buster never expected and he had a hard time turning to get back there. Bobby, realizing that Buster might not get there, also charged over and they ran into each other. It was 13-14, but now, it was our serve.
Phillip got ready for his serve, crouching down to hit his drive serve again. "Hey," I urged gently, shaking my head.
He pursed his lips at me, like I was some kind of annoying teacher who had yet again caught him talking to the cute little girl in the next row, but he stood back up and thought for a second. Then he ripped a hard three wall serve that caught Bobby by surprise as it took a weird bounce out of the backhand corner. Still, he managed to return it, driving me back to the wall on my side. I hit a defensive shot that put Buster in the back corner, and even though he hit a pretty decent return, Phillip was all the way up front and ripped it for a kill.
In racquetball, you have to win by two, so even though the score was tied, we still had our work cut out for us. Phillip had now figured it out and hit another three wall serve, this time much softer, that not only took a weird bounce, but left the ball way up high, where Bobby could only hit a defensive return. This led to a brief rally that ended when Phillip again took a shot out of the air and killed it.
Phillip's next serve wasn't as good as the previous two, and Bobby was able to kill it even though he was deep in the backhand corner. I could only shake my head in wonder. I had to be six feet closer to the front of the court to hit a shot like that, and Bobby was skinny. Now it was my serve. I knew better than to try a drive serve, so I just hit a lob that Buster returned into the back corner, forcing me to the wall. I tried to hit it to the back corner again, but didn't catch it clean, leaving Buster a chance for a kill. But his splat to the right corner was a little high and Phillip dug it out, forcing Buster back again. This time, though, Buster had Phillip trapped up front, so he hit a low drive off the middle of the front wall that angled towards the backhand corner, passing Phillip.
I don't know how I knew where it was going, woman's intuition perhaps, or simply good game sense, but as the play developed I slid to the left side of the court, behind Phillip. As Buster's shot passed him, it came right to my backhand. My position gave me a perfect angle for my favorite shot, a splat into the front right corner, and I started to set it up, my backswing passing over my chest and compressing my fake boobs.
But again, something told me what to do. At the last moment, I switched directions and hit the splat into the front left corner. And just as it left my racquet, Bobby flew past me angling left to pick up the shot he thought I was going to hit towards the forehand corner, and which would bounce left. Even though my splat wasn't perfect, in fact, it was pretty mediocre, it didn't matter. Both Bobby and Buster were out of position and it bounced twice for a winner.
Our game 16-14, and our match 2-1. Phillip turned to me with a big smile on his face, and then threw his arms around me in a big wet hug. At first I was thrilled, caught up in the joy of winning a hard set and tickled by his enthusiasm. But a moment later, I realized what he was doing - hugging me with his gigantic, hot, sweaty body.
"Phillip!" I sort of squealed. "What are you doing?"
"Celebrating our victory," he said, his voice still full of joy.
"You're gross!" I complained, figuring that was better than saying I didn't want a man hugging me while I was at the gym.
"I'm gross?" he boomed at me, as Bobby and Buster looked at us mildly dumbfounded at what was going on between us. We were not behaving like racquetball partners.
So he let go of the hug and instead put his hands around my ribs and lifted me into the air so we were face to face. "You're terrific, Sara Cohen," he whispered sincerely right to my face. "Why did it take me so long to meet you?" And then he planted a big wet kiss on my lips.
Before I could react, he let it go, leaving me gasping, open-mouthed, and, although I couldn't admit it to myself right then, thrilled. It was only in retrospect that I understood that had he held it a moment longer I might have opened my mouth for more.
"Put me down, you gigantic monster," I managed to splutter out. I somehow thought I should be angry even though I was as far from angry as a person could get.
"Sure, darlin'," he replied confidently, lowering me to the floor as if picking me up in a huge hug had been no different than briefly saying hi. I was trying to glare at him, which is hard to do when you're staring up at someone. But just like last night, he wasn't going to let my little scene bring him down. He continued to smile at me like a teenager.
He had never turned his personality on like this when I was a man. Now, he was totally engaging: a force of nature, nearly. I knew that if I continued to look into his eyes, he'd melt me, and all I'd want to do was caress his face with my hand, and then pull him down into another kiss. But I just couldn't let that happen. So I straightened up, turned away and headed for the door of the court.
I had been sitting on the bench, having loaded all my gear into my gym bag and trying to dry myself with my sweaty towel, when he came out and said, "So, Sara, my love, when are you gonna let me buy you those tight black leather pants?"
Every eye and ear in the place instantly snapped onto me, the stripper queen, to see how I would respond.
After recovering from nearly having choked on my own saliva, it was easy. Really, it was easy. As long as they're not touching you and making your tummy go all gooey, guys are a snap. I stood up slowly, grabbed my bag and made a big deal of hefting it onto my shoulder. Then, I straightened myself out, and as clearly as I could, I responded, "In your dreams." Then I turned and sashayed towards the lobby, swiveling my hips for all I was worth.
The place exploded in laughter behind me, and I couldn't help but let a huge grin over take my face. It hadn't been my plan to just leave Phillip behind like that, but the scene was too good to give up. So I just got in my car and drove home. I figured it would take him about an hour to call. Despite what I had said, I fully intended to get those leather pants. And I knew just where to find a pair of oh-so-soft glove leather ankle boots with three and a half inch spike heels. I was sure Rebecca would help me with the jacket.
***
"Rebecca, I'm home," I shouted as I came in the door, keeping my voice in its girly range. I dropped my gym bag by the steps in the foyer, like I always did.
"In here, love," she called back from the sun room we had added behind our living room. It was one of our favorite places to work on the weekends. Its all around windows, airiness, and comfortable furniture made it irresistible. I'd little doubt she'd be there.
So I bounded into the room, thrilled and delighted with myself, and still out of breath despite the 20 minute ride home from Michael's club.
"Oh my! Look At you!" Rebecca exclaimed as I fairly burst into the room. My hair and clothes were soaked, but my face was radiant, flushed with both exertion and exhilaration. The whole afternoon had been an incredible high. "How did't go?" she asked, looking eager to hear my story.
"It was great!" I replied bouncing up and down on my toes, my hands fluttering around my face as if they had a life of their own. "We won this great match and I played great and Philip promised to buy me these great leather pants if we won so he could walk behind me to watch my ass and everyone saw my nipples!" I started to take off my warm up jacket and jut out my chest to show her how they looked.
Rebecca looked at me as if I was a Martian. "Whoa, Nelly," she said, "Slow down there a bit could you?'
"Where should we go for the pants?" I asked, peeling off my jacket, without any awareness of her cute attempt to get some control of the situation. "He's gonna buy me boots and a jacket too!"
"Sara, honey," she replied slowly, running her hand through her hair, "Are you on cocaine or something? You really do need to slow down."
It was starting to sink in. "Huh?" Was all I could say through my dim realization.
"I see you had a good time." Her raised eyebrow-cocked head-rueful smile combination finally brought me back to reality.
"Uuhh... Yeah. I did." I grimaced, finally starting to talk at about the normal speed for an adult. "But I think I became a legend at the gym."
"Well, my love," she countered gently, "you're already a legend here, so I'm not surprised."
Suddenly, I realized who and what I really was: a sweated-through, crossdressed husband talking to his wife after returning from a racquetball game, which he had played in drag with a guy partner he claimed he didn't want to be with, but who made him feel exhilarated. And he had just blurted out that everyone had seen his nipples, which his wife, who was now standing in front of him, had made him put on.
"Omigod!' I blurted out. "Am I horrible?"
"Oh no, love!" She replied instantly. "You're amazing, and totally surprising. But what happened to your arm?"
"Oh, that," I replied, glancing down at the obvious red welts. It's amazing how it stopped hurting after we won. "Buster thought he could win by trying to beat me up. But we took care of him!' I was starting to get excited again.
"I'll bet you did," she responded quietly, obviously not interested in the details right now. "And just how did everyone see your nipples?"
I threw back an embarrassed, grimace-like smile, and then pursed my lips tightly together, like I was trying to make a hard decision. "You set me up, didn't you? You knew I would eventually have to show them." And just like I had with my t shirt at the gym, I peeled off my tank top, and pushed out my chest, making the nipples clearly visible through my sports bra.
Rebecca burst out laughing. "You hussy!" she screamed. Did you do that at the gym?"
I grimaced again. "Well, sort of, I guess," I said softly, allowing my chest to deflate, although that did nothing to hide the nipples.
"So? Tell me!" Rebecca immediately responded. She obviously thought this was going to be fun to hear.
So I told her. I really was clueless when it happened. I mean, it was unintentional, but in the retelling, it somehow took on a more lurid cast, which could only have come from my dirty little mind.
But Rebecca didn't seem the least bit upset, simply shrugging her shoulders. "I'll bet Michael would have loved to have seen that, wouldn't he?"
I wasn't sure what she was getting at, so I imagined myself watching..., and immediately snorted out a laugh. But then I had an inspiration. "Specially if it was you!" I said, as lasciviously as I could.
“Ohhh, you do have a dirty mind don't you?" She replied, a smile lighting up her face.
"I love to think dirty thoughts about you," I responded, wiggling closer to her.
She wrinkled her nose as I got within arm's length and said, "Well not right now. You really do need a shower, and until you take one, you can forget about touching me."
I wasn't going to be put off that easily. "Not until you tell me why you made me wear these nipples!" I shot back, again thrusting out my chest and wiggling my shoulders so my boobies would bobble in front of her nose, except they didn't because of the sports bra.
She cocked her head and hesitated for a moment, ensuring she had my full attention. Then she said, "You're really very cute, you know! Not only do I have a sexy husband, but I have a girlfriend as well, and she apparently thinks she's a teenager!"
"What does that mean?" I asked, not positive I wanted to hear the answer.
She got up out of the chair she had been reading in and came over to me. She kissed me gently on the cheek and took my hand in hers. "C'mon honey. You really do need a shower. We can talk after that.”
It always feels good to peel off sticky gym clothes, especially once they have started to dry and harden against your body. This time was a unique treat. First to go, with great relief, was the intentionally too tight sports bra, which, I discovered with some dismay, had left some impressively deep welts around my chest. Removing the gaff and freeing my cock and balls from their even tighter prison was even better. Reflexively at first, but then gratefully as I became aware of how good it felt, scratched, rubbed and stroked them as they finally unfurled down between my legs. It took almost a minute before they felt normal again. When I had finished, I was glad that I was in the bathroom with the door closed. For some reason, this little celebration of my newly unbound masculinity on my otherwise feminine body embarrassed me when I became aware of what I was doing. Not wanting to think about it, I jumped into the shower and enjoyed a thorough cleaning. I especially enjoyed washing my latex nipples, and making believe they were real.
*Real breasts, is that what I want? And if I had 'em what would Rebecca think? Could she deal with that (them!), or...* I stopped right then; there are some questions that just don't have to be answered.
Rebecca watched me emerge from the bathroom rubbing my hair with one towel and with another tied above my breasts. I had already applied eyeliner and lipstick, a nice coral red this time, and had plucked a few more hairs from under the arch of my brows. I really wanted to keep going, but I also realized that if I did, I would end up a little too femmy looking when I wanted to pass as a guy.
"Aren't you just the cutest thing?" she teased, sitting propped up by pillows on our bed.
I was still in a great mood, so I flashed her a huge smile and dropped a small curtsey. "Thank you ma'am. I like to think so." You know all those pictures of t-girls you see on the web? You ever notice how few of them are smiling, and how the ones who have great smiles look the most like real women? I guess I was just lucky, but I was blessed with one of those of smiles, and I learned early on how to use it, which was frequently. Men, of course, will fall all over a woman for a smile. Women respond to men pretty much the same way.
"I think you are," Rebecca said thoughtfully. "I really do think you are. It's amazing."
That of course got her another huge smile.
"You gonna do something about that?" I asked, dropping my towel I had been using to dry my hair and swiveling over to the bed. "I'm clean, sweet smelling and sanitary?"
"Uuuhhh," she replied, clearly not sure what to do. Then she gave a slightly pained smile before saying, "You know what love? I think not. I'm afraid I still don't find those fake boobies of yours much of a turn on."
I stopped, standing over her right next to the bed, and my face fell. That had totally shattered my sweet illusion. A dispirited "Oh," was all I could get out.
"But how 'bout if I dry your hair for you, and finish your makeup. And I think I know just the place for you to buy those leathers you were talking about," she finished, nodding her head and smiling, obviously trying to make up for her previous comment with a consolation prize of non-sexual attention.
"No," I replied, sounding petulant in spite of myself. "Maybe it's time for me to be Michael again. I forgot that you found me selfish when I indulge myself like this." By the time I had finished I was sounding downright sarcastic.
"Oh Mic... Sar... Michael, don't. I really do like Sara. Really. It's just hard for me to have sex with her. There're lots of things Sara and I can do together without having sex aren't there?"
"But what about Becca? She liked to have sex with Sara didn't she?"
She gave me another one of those of pained smiles. "Honey," she began, in a way that made it clear this wouldn't be good news either, "Becca was very hard for me to pull off. It was kind of a rush, and lots of fun, but she's just not me. I really don't look forward to being her again."
"So you'd be just as happy if I was never Sara again, wouldn't you?" I half asked, half accused, my resentment again slipping out.
"Truthfully?" she asked, then hesitating to see what I'd say. But that hesitation was all the answer I needed.
"I'm changing," I said. I can see I've already had too much fun this weekend."
"Don't you dare be petulant with me! This has been one of the best weeks Sara has ever had, and I feel like I've been very generous, and I'm willing for it to continue. I think you just need to accept the fact that I don't really want to have sex with Sara, especially not when she's wearing fake boobs. Can't you accept that?" she finished almost plaintively.
The look on her face made me realize how selfish I had just been. She was right. I did have a great week, and she had been not only been supportive, but enthusiastic as well. She had stayed home while I was out on a date, and then, essentially a second date this afternoon. I felt like a heel. "I'm so sorry," I said. "You're right. You have nothing to apologize for. I guess I just got carried away by my enthusiasm." And then after a brief pause, "And I do love you, and it felt so intimate, the way we were teasing when I got out of the shower, I just naturally..." And I held my hands up to my sides, palms up, showing I had no more to say. But before she could say anything else, I blurted out, "Can you forgive me?"
She gave me one of those indulgent smiles women use on men when the guy realizes he has done something thoughtless, like leave the toilet seat up, and then said, "Oh honey, of course I do. I told you last week that I want this to be fun for you, but I guess we'll have to figure out how to deal with some issues. Having Sara around so intensively is new. We'll figure it out. I know we will." And she threw her arms around me in a big hug, which I gratefully accepted. At least until I felt her breasts press against mine, and then I felt uncomfortable because she said she didn't like them, and I pulled back a little, as if I could hug her without our breasts touching.
"Don't be silly," she said, pulling her head back and looking into my eyes. "Women hug all the time, and we really enjoy the intimacy." She emphasized the word intimacy, drawing it out. I guess she was trying to teach me that there were different kinds. "But you well know..., or maybe not, cause you're a man," she tossed me a pitying smile, "you can be intimate without it leading to sex. Now give me a wholehearted hug. I need it. I haven't seen that much of you over the last two days."
So we hugged and just by readjusting my point of view a little, I could almost see what she was saying about being intimate without it leading to sex, although I was still sure that having it lead to sex was better. As for right now, the hug felt pretty good.
***
Phillip called about 30 minutes later, and we arranged to meet him at a boutique that Rebecca said had great leather. By the time we were done shopping, the morning's racquetball win turned out to be the most expensive ever for Phillip. But he could easily afford it, so I didn't care. I was totally thrilled, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, with my new pants, cropped jacket, and three inch spike-heeled boots, I thought I would just cream in my pants. I was hot! And I started to wish I had long blonde hair. I imagined myself tossing a corn-silk blonde mane off my face as I turned around to confront some guy who had been staring at me. He creamed in his pants. I smiled smugly.
Looking at me, and then apparently seeing, or at least imagining, an envious look in Rebecca's eye, Phillip decided that he had to buy her something too. She of course objected, but he was persistent, finally arguing that she had fixed him up with one of his best dates ever and she deserved a reward. She selected a stunning pair of red crocodile-print sandals with a tall heel and several thin straps that crossed over her instep. They weren't Jimmy Choo's, but for what they cost they might have well been.
Then Rebecca and I decided we had to take Phillip out to dinner. We decided on a local steak house that was one of those real guy places: wood paneling, cigars and big steaks with expensive cabernets. It was a good pick too because Phillip met several friends and acquaintances, and was just beaming with pride as he showed off his two dates. The tall, thin one in the striking black leathers, and her slightly shorter but much more attractive friend, in her red mini and fuck-me sandals.
Sunday night finally found me sitting cross-legged on my bed, using a solvent to remove my beautiful blue nails. I hated the way my hands looked when I was done and decided I would grow my nails out a little more even when I had to be in guy mode. When I was a kid, my nails were very soft, and broke easily. But as I matured, they started to harden. At times, I had grown them out to half an inch, and they would be hard and strong. But my pattern was that I would let them grow overly long, though I never manicured them into a feminine look, and then cut them all the way back to a standard guy length. I hated to cut them. Now, I decided to grow them out and leave them longish. I felt very proud of myself. And as long as I was rebelling, I decided to leave my toes, figuring that no one would see them anyway, and I could wait until they chipped to clean them up. At least that's what I told Rebecca. I really thought that once they needed to be redone, I could just switch to another color, and no one would see that either.
. . . This realization made me quietly buoyant. It freed me from the transvestite prison of being my clothes, and opened more attractive options for defining my personality
. . . Everyone could see me changing but me, and I was having so much fun I was blind.
. . . I, of course, was clueless, perhaps willfully so, about her feelings, just as I had been clueless about my increasingly femme image.
By lunchtime Monday, it was as if the previous week had never existed. We were back on the work treadmill, beginning with our standard Monday morning staff meeting. We caught up on old business, made sure everyone was keeping up with their assignments, solved problems and discussed approaches to a new account we were pursuing. During the day on Monday, it never even entered my consciousness that my toe nails were painted. I only realized it that night, when I took off my socks. I must admit that I delightedly wiggled my toes at myself, but that’s as far as it went. And the rest of the week just flew by the same way, even though I was mostly at home. Because Rebecca had been so generous with me last weekend, I made sure I was in total guy mode when she arrived home each evening. And it paid off. She was relaxed, warm, and very attentive and joyful in bed.
I didn't expect to see Phillip for at least two weeks because he told me he was off on a west coast swing, and typically spent only a week or ten days in New York each month in any case. Often he would be away for six weeks at a time. And indeed he was gone for two weeks. But when he came back he wanted to see Sara again, and Rebecca graciously consented, telling me that as long as Michael was so attentive to her, she thought it would be okay if Sara went out to play with Phillip now and again. I was thrilled! This was a great deal! It took no effort at all - in fact it was a joy - to be attentive to the woman I loved, and I was thrilled to be able to go out with Phillip because I got to be as feminine as my heart desired. Rebecca even helped me with things like accessories and matching my makeup to my outfit. She said her purse and jewelry collections were always open to me. I was really touched by her generosity.
Veronica and I became great friends because each time Phillip came to town, I needed a make over. I was going from boy to girl and back to boy and back to girl again on a fairly regular, though not terribly frequent basis. And true to my word, I let my nails grow, and then, my hair as well. Veronica insisted that I get my ears pierced, and Rebecca finally went along, “as long as it’s only one hole in each ear.” I was in trannie heaven, with both a loving and accepting wife and a boyfriend who took me on dates, but demanded no sex, though he was very playfully affectionate.
Out of Rebecca's sight, we were like teenagers overcome by their first infatuation, and I'm sure many people who saw us together assumed that we were lovers. Phillip often copped a grope of my ass, which, after I began to relax at his touch, I really sorta liked, and it was a constant (though very enjoyable) battle to keep his hands off my faux breasts, something that seemed important to do for propriety’s sake, but that at the same time felt silly. I mean, they weren’t real and I couldn't feel anything in any case. Still this often led to a good deal of semi-public twisting and squirming and swatting and pushing whenever Phillip felt like teasing me, which seemed to happen whenever he thought no one could see. And as I half-heartedly, though insistently tried to divert him there was something about seeing my manicured hand on his chest or his arm that really made me feel really special, in an attractive, sexy, vulnerable way. I came to realize that this was one way Phillip and I could safely express affection for each other, and I enjoyed it. And though I probably would have denied it at the time, it turned me on. So we slowly became chastely intimate. I let him hold my hand, or I took his arm in my hands, or cuddled under his massive shoulder. After a few months, touching was no longer a big deal between us, and I savored being sheltered by his gigantic presence.
This all led to me become quite comfortable as a woman and as I relaxed, I began to explore various ways to present myself, looking for the real Sara somewhere within me. I started off timid and demure, and my hair and clothing were conservative and constructed. But that wasn’t really me, and I moved through phases when I tried to be elegantly sexy, softly romantic, an artistic gypsy, and on rare occasions, even provocative, in very short, clingy, backless dresses and high, high heels. The few times I tried that particular persona Phillip and I went out to guy places, where I could be shown off as a trophy date, but where we weren’t likely to meet people we knew. I found it both thrilling and frightening, and Phillip really seemed to have great fun showing me off, but that wasn’t me either. I started to feel like I would never find the real me.
And then one day, as I watched Rebecca get ready to go with me for a long-planned sixth anniversary evening of dining and dancing, it hit me. I could be any of those kinds of women, any time I wanted. She had come home very distracted, and in a hurry because we were late. Her movements were tight and hassled-looking. She was dressed in her usual business suit, some pedestrian brown pumps with blocky heels, her hair up in a tight French roll, and wearing very light makeup, as she typically did during the day. Then, after a quick bath, she seemed much more relaxed. She slipped on a most delightful set of lingerie and then sat at her makeup table. She unpinned her hair and let it down, before using hot rollers to give it some bounce and lovely little curls at the ends. She darkened her makeup, and slipped into the most romantic dress made of several layers of transparent chiffon over a rayon lining. When she was done, she stood up and gave me a twirl, a huge smile lighting up her face. “Come Michael,” she said, slipping her arm through mine as I looked on beaming, “I’m ready for a romantic evening with my favorite husband.”
In less than an hour, she had gone from being a rather well dressed and attractive, though intense and harried, business professional to a relaxed, vibrant curvy babe, but she was still Rebecca. It was then that it hit me. I couldn’t pick a persona by what I was wearing, and my clothes certainly weren’t going to be able to define who I was. I would be who I was; I didn’t have any choice about that. On occasion, I could be whoever I wanted to be, or whoever the situation suggested I be, and then switch back again or to something else altogether, no matter what I wore. There had to be a me there to begin with, and that me could be dressed up any way I wanted. Although I understood that I still hadn’t found my authentic Sara, it was then that I learned that I could play at, and dress like, whoever I felt like being. The clothes didn’t define me.
This realization made me quietly buoyant. It freed me from the transvestite prison of being my clothes, and opened more attractive options for defining my personality. This night for example, I was dressed as Michael, wearing a softly constructed black suit, dark charcoal silk tee shirt, and soft, black dress loafers, very urban hip, but clearly a guy. Earlier in the day, however, I had been wearing a pale pink, short pleated skirt, a figure hugging purple tank top, with a white cotton gauze shirt over it. I had spent four hours working on a series of design problems without ever once thinking about what I was wearing, except to pull my skirt under me when I sat down. And the me inside these two different sets of clothing hadn’t changed, although the way I moved and talked and held myself certainly had.
By the way, we had the most wonderful evening, both of us basking in the glow of each other’s love. We truly felt like soul mates.
After that, I paid much more attention to the things I did and said. They, I realized defined me far better than anything I was wearing. Sure, I was still hyper-aware of my clothing, but I discovered that Sara was a woman very much like Michael was a man. I liked being nice to people. I was attentive to and empathetic with their emotional needs, even if that only meant a nice smile or a gentle touch in return for a small courtesy. I wanted people to like me, and was willing to go the extra yard to make myself likable. And I wasn’t at all eager for confrontations, which, of course, is why Rebecca did all our negotiating, and tended to be the dominant one in our relationship. I was somewhat shy and far more comfortable when I was dressed more modestly than when I was at all provocative. And as I learned to be myself, the whole experience of being womanly took on a different dimension for me.
My nurturing impulses blossomed. So instead of being somewhat embarrassed that I was the “neat one” in our family, and cleaning up guiltily (how bizarre is that?) or resentfully (which is, of course, far more typical), I began to see my nesting instincts as an expression of my femininity and let them have full reign, which allowed me to enjoy them far more than I ever had. Now, when I was straightening up the house, or arranging some flowers, or cooking a dinner, I didn’t have to dress like a woman (although I still loved to and often did), because I was doing something that felt like an authentic expression of my femininity, which was a far more meaningful and enriching then just dressing up.
I started to imagine myself as Rebecca’s housewife, and reveled in my ability to make her life easier, to comfort her when she was angry or depressed or upset, and to take care of the little things, like buying gifts for her to give to our employees so that she didn’t have to worry about “little stuff” like that. She was my queen and our home was her castle. I knew this was a rather old-fashioned view of what a wife was supposed to be, but as time went on, I could see her confidence, optimism and energy flourish. It made my heart feel so full! Then, if I happened to be wearing one of my now favored longer skirts - perhaps an ankle-length pleated crinkle skirt in gauzy cotton paired with a spaghetti strap cami or wrap front halter, it was icing on the cake, rather than the whole cake, which is what it used to be.
And unexpectedly, my work started to change. My designs lost some of the assertive edginess that had been one of my trademarks, and became much more liquid and sensual, exploring curves and interconnections in new ways, while being more peaceful. This turned off some or our potential clients, and some of our existing ones who left us, but it attracted others, and over the course of a year or so, we found ourselves with a rather large portfolio of women-run businesses, or at least of businesses that had women making decisions about marketing. Rebecca and some of our staff were uneasy for a while because our style had changed, and they didn’t know what we were selling. But after a rough period that lasted a few months, things got evened out and everyone was content again, knowing who we were.
I was also getting increasing numbers of strange looks and responses from people. I know now, and would have known then had I not been in denial, that those looks were due to my increasing femininity, and to the increasing invasion of my male life with feminine gestures, expressions, and mannerisms. In my heart, I must have understood that people now perceived me strangely, but I also remembering thinking, ‘What’s his problem,’ ignoring the obvious. The staff at work didn’t seem at all concerned, and if anything, my relationships with them, or at least most of them, seemed to get better.
And for that year, the whole thing seemed to be working. Things with Rebecca seemed fine, sometimes even really great, our business was prospering, and Sara had great adventures with Phillip. When he took me to the ballet at Lincoln Center, I got to wear a long velvet gown for the first time. And when we went to a Knicks game, sitting only three rows from the court, I wore my leathers, and drew the attention of not just the fans, but a couple of the players as well. I went to a couple of fancy parties in flirty cocktail dresses, and a few times, just had quiet dinners out with Phillip, who was always gracious, attentive, and protective. The problem was I came home from nearly every excursion exhilarated. This apparently happened even when I sometimes came home the next day, after staying in the spare bedroom at Phillip’s corporate apartment on Seventh Ave and Central Park South. And each time, though I didn’t see it, Rebecca would become a little more distressed.
Everyone could see me changing but me, and I was having so much fun I was blind. Phillip was becoming an increasingly important part of my life, and while I was having great fun going out with him in what seemed like a big game, I was also growing emotionally closer to him, peppering my conversations with “Phillip this” and “Phillip that.” Not surprisingly, Rebecca could tell what was happening and became increasingly anxious and threatened by the whole scene.
I did question her about how she felt rather frequently; I could sense when she was upset, impatient, or distant, but she always dismissed my concerns airily, saying that she had no problem with two guys being good buddies, even if it was in a rather strange way. Sadly, I believed her. I was having too much fun to want it to end, so I never probed below the surface, even when Rebecca would become withdrawn or short with me for no apparent reason. After awhile, we were both lying to each other and keeping the best face on our marriage and working relationship even as strains started to grow.
Rebecca eventually told me that each time I came home from one of my “dates,” she used the word bitterly, I behaved just like a teenage girl who had a crush on some new boy and couldn’t wait to tell her sister, all about it. “I thought I was watching you fall in love,” she told me. “And I was heartbroken. I didn’t know what to do. How could I compete with a man?”
I, of course, was clueless, perhaps willfully so, about her feelings, just as I had been clueless about my increasingly femme image. Even though I had never been what anyone would call macho (I was much too “artistic” for that) I was gradually becoming more and more feminine with my longer (although publicly unpolished) nails, long, smooth, shiny hair, and carefully trimmed eyebrows. Now, looking back, I have no doubt that feminine gestures, phrases, and movements often crept into my behavior, and most of the world probably thought I was gay. This must have been terribly embarrassing for Rebecca, though she didn’t let on to me for the longest time.
In the end, it was our contract with Matti that blew everything wide open. I had already agreed, initially at Rebecca’s urging, but later because it was what I wanted to do, to meet with Matti only when dressed as a woman. But we always met with her away from the office, often at her restaurant. We all got along great, and she seemed to especially like me. It was if we had some special affinity for each other. We had an easy, teasing, relationship, and I somehow seemed to understand just what she was looking for in a marketing approach. Although her contract wasn’t very big, we all felt our approach was really exciting, and Rebecca and I were terrifically proud of it. But that wouldn’t have changed anything, if it hadn’t really been as good as we thought it was. A few months after we rolled it out, an east coast trade journal noted it briefly, but admiringly, in a sidebar to a bigger article on small advertising firms. We, of course were delighted because it was free publicity, and it did indeed lead to an up tick in business. What we didn’t foresee at first, but which became all too apparent later on, was that this increased publicity would lead to increased scrutiny as well.
A month or so after that story appeared, we got a call from a much larger, national business magazine that was doing a story on restaurant marketing. They had decided that our approach for Matti was on the cutting edge of a new trend, and they wanted to interview us. Despite the new business that might bring, we said no, this time understanding the risks. But the reporter was insistent and eventually agreed to meet with us and our staff one day when, at the very last minute, I turned out to be “unexpectedly out of town.” The reporter was really interested in what we were doing and how we worked, and Rebecca thought the interview had gone really well until the story actually appeared two months later, just after Labor Day. Actually, the story was really very complimentary and we would have been basking in its praise, except for one little detail. It also included a picture of Sara.
Although she swore up and down that she had nothing to do with it, I was sure Matti had set me up because the picture was of the two of us, sitting at one of the little cocktail tables in her bar. We had hit it off so well while working together that we started to get together socially. It wasn’t a big deal: we’d have lunch or shop for an hour or two. She always had wonderful ideas about what would look good on me. Sometimes, when I wasn’t too busy and the restaurant was quiet, as on the day of the picture, we’d have tea. The junior staff, trying to show off for their boss, made us delightful little snacks, and we sampled all kinds of exotic teas. I had no way to know for sure if it was her; one of the staff who knew I was coming might have set it up. Still, I didn’t see her for a very long time after that.
The picture was, in fact, quite flattering. I was wearing a tight, long sleeved tee shirt and a colorfully printed silk robe-like jacket over it. My hair was in a high pony tail, tied with a ribbon that picked up the background salmon color of the jacket, and I had arranged carefully curled tendrils around my face (I had no idea how to make them - they took me forever!). I had on dark eye make and very red lipstick. The picture was taken from behind Matti, and I was gesturing animatedly about something, a big smile on my face. The major saving grace was that they didn’t use my first name, describing me only as M. S. Cohen, co-owner and artistic director of Mind Games. Whether I wanted to be or not, I was now out.
Over the next couple of months, as word got around, the shit really hit the fan. Rebecca was nearly frantic, the staff was in turmoil, our neighbors were aghast, our families freaked, and I was appalled. I spent hours and hours talking with people to explain, as best I could, who I was and what was going on. But to do this, I had to first figure out what to say. Rebecca pushed the subject the very night the article was published. She came home early and found me sitting in the sunroom, dressed in shorts and a tee shirt, my hair in a low pony tail. I had been trying to figure out what to do, and in fact had spent some time cursing my bad luck, feeling sorry for myself and crying. My eyes were red.
“What’s your problem?” she asked sarcastically as soon as I looked up.
“Fuck you,” I hissed back. “If you’re here to fight, I’ll just lea… — No! Wait! I didn’t mean that. I’m really sorry for what’s happened. I feel bad for myself, but I’m mortified about how it’s going to affect you and everyone we know.” Then I looked down, my shame preventing me from looking her in the eye.
I could see her legs shift, and she came over to the sofa and sat down next to me. “Oh honey, what are you gonna do? What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know Rebecca. I really don’t. But I think I have to decide whether this is just some crossdressing game I’ve been playing, and then rein it in, or whether I really am transsexual, and just go full time to see what that means.”
“I….” and I looked up at her helplessly, holding my hands out in a gesture of futility. That’s just what I’d been trying to understand all afternoon, but by now, I couldn’t figure out what was in my heart and what was in my head, whether it was riskier to do nothing or to go full time. Whether I should tell people dressing is just something I enjoy doing, or that I think I’m a woman.
Rebecca, bless her heart, leaned over and gave me a hug. “Let’s talk,” she said softly. “Maybe together we can work it out.”
We talked for hours, and that’s when I learned about all of her fears, and her anger and her frustration. She understood she had some responsibility for what had happened, especially by introducing Sara to Matti, but was adamant that I was responsible for everything I had done: the way I had enthusiastically gone out with Phillip every chance I got, the way I had pursued increasing femininity, and that I seemed unable to restrain my feminine impulses, giving little thought to the implications of what I was doing.
At first, I listened impassively, then resentfully, and finally with increasing hostility. *How dare she accuse me like that?* I thought to myself. *This never would have happened if she hadn’t pushed me into it.* But as we talked, things became clearer to me. Just because she had forced me to go out with Phillip once, didn’t mean I had to go out with him over and over again. Just because she had become lenient with my dressing at home didn’t mean I had to push the envelope every chance I got. And it certainly didn’t mean that I had to be blind to the effect it was having on her and everyone else around me. I was becoming wracked with guilt.
“I’ll quit,” I finally said. “I just can’t do this to you any more.”
“No you won’t,” she replied, evenly. “You won’t be able to. Not only that, I won’t let you. It would be stupid of me.”
“What are you talking about?” I responded, trying to sound offended. “Don’t you think I love you enough to stop doing this?”
She cocked her head in that way of hers and looked at me sadly. Then taking a deep breath and straightening up, she said, “What I think Michael, is that you are really Sara. And that if we force that little bird back into the cage she just escaped from, not only will she die, but she’ll take Michael with her.” By the time she had finished, she was crying. Still, she went on, “And I can’t bear the thought of doing that.”
Of course, everything I knew about crossdressers told me that I would never stop entirely. I could purge and suppress it for a while, but it would inevitably come back. In the meantime I would be miserable, especially after all my recent freedom. Apparently Rebecca understood that also. And looking into her eyes in that moment, I understood that what I wanted to do more than anything in the world was live full-time as a woman to see if I was in fact transsexual. Could I do it day after day, in every activity, in front of all people? But before I could say that, Rebecca started talking again.
“Michael — Sara — I don’t know who you are any more, and I can’t go on like this. I need to know one way or another. Are you a guy who likes to dress like a girl or are you a girl? Do you even know?”
All I could do was shake my head sadly.
“Then I think our path is clear,” she went on, obviously having made up her mind. “You have to become Sara full time. If you do that and discover that you’re really Michael, then maybe we can continue our marriage. If you discover that you’re really Sara, however, I’d rather know that sooner rather than later.” Her eyes were filled with tears, and she had a pleading look on her face.
My lips quivered, but no words came out. l felt stupid, culpable, guilty, and worthless all at once.
But Rebecca wasn’t waiting for me to reply, she was only trying to get control of herself so she could continue. After a deep breath, she went on. “I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t stand the way things are.” She hesitated for a few moments, and then went on, “And besides your hand has been forced. It’s just impossible to continue on the way the way you have.”
“I know,” I mumbled dumbly, trying to imagine what I would say to my parents. All of a sudden my life didn’t seem like such a big adventure any more; it had turned into a bad dream an adventure in the Twilight Zone.
That night, as we got ready for bed, Rebecca placed a sweet spaghetti strap, knee length nightie on our bed. “Wear this,” she said, when I had come out of the bathroom. “And then cuddle up with me in bed. I need to feel you near me.”
So I did and we did. But cuddle is all we did. We didn’t have sex. Rebecca pointed out, gently but firmly that she wasn’t a lesbian, and if I was a girl, well, we could be intimate, but it was hard for her to imagine how that would lead to sex. I don’t know whether Rebecca intended it, or was even aware of it, but I saw another message embedded in what she said. If I became Sara our marriage would be over.
CAUTION!! This chapter may require tissues.
. . . Look,” she said, patting the seat next to her so I would move over there. “We always thought you were a little, errr, different. You were always a little effeminate, you loved art, I don’t know. You just weren’t terribly manly.”
. . . What kind of a wife lets her husband turn himself into a woman? Couldn’t you satisfy him?
. . . But it still makes me really uptight to see you kissing a man,” she mumbled.
The next day, I called my parents, and made arrangements to drive into Manhattan to visit them. My father was a senior partner in a small investment banking firm, and they lived in a really nice, rather large apartment on the upper west side, which they had moved into once they had gotten me and my two sisters off to college. My mom was delighted to hear from me and wanted to go out to dinner, but I insisted that we meet first at their apartment and then decide what to do. *Good,* I thought, *word hasn’t reached them yet.* I could deliver the bad news in person.
I drove into the city early and spent most of the day shopping and trying to figure out what to say to them. No matter what I imagined, it turned out bad. My dad especially worried me. As I made my way, I picked up a few copies of the magazine that now held my picture. By the time I got to the apartment, I was dressed androgynously in a pair of tan women’s slacks and a pale blue polo shirt, with my fake crocodile women’s loafers on my feet, and my hair pulled back neatly, but no makeup. Underneath, I had on panties but no bra.
My parents met me at the door and I gave them a quick hello. They told me how pleased they were that I had decided to just drop by as we walked from the small foyer into the living room. You just had to stop as you entered that room. It was large by Manhattan standards, and the far wall was nearly all windows, which, even with gauze curtains over them for privacy, filled the room with light. A baby grand piano, which as a child I had considered as an instrument of torture as I failed at piano lessons, sat to the right of the entrance way. A brightly colored couch, like something out of the summer catalogue from Pottery Barn, only way more expensive, dominated the wall just past the piano. Several comfortable chairs and small tables faced the couch on the other wall.
But none of that really characterized the room. What did was on the walls. Art covered nearly every square foot of wall space above the furniture. Most of it came from one of two places: paintings from Cape Cod and pottery from the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, which is something you don’t see much of in New York City. My parents, who liked to vacation in both places, were, as it turned out, very astute collectors. Paintings that had cost a couple of hundred bucks when they were purchased on Cape Cod 30 years ago were now worth tens of thousands. Museums now displayed pottery purchased for a song from young potters in the Blue Ridge Mountain artist colony at Penland. Their collection filled the entire apartment, and as always, it startled me when I saw it again. I shook my head; no wonder I had become an artist.
But I couldn’t linger, as I loved to do, because I had business to attend to. I handed them the article and told them to read it while I “went to change.” They were perplexed, but just shrugged and nodded.
When I came from the guest room 15 minutes later, my hair was loose and fluffy because I had back-combed it to give it some volume. I had on full, though light makeup, with a pale blush and lipstick. A pair of brand new A cup forms (I didn’t want to scare them) were in a bra I had just bought to hold them, and I wore a soft, jade green silk camp shirt that draped fluidly. Two gold bracelets adorned my right wrist, a small watch my left, and I sported dangly, multicolored glass earrings and a matching pendant. Their color was perfect with the blouse. A pair of casual dark green pumps with a two inch stacked heel completed my outfit. I felt really pulled together. And scared to death.
“What’s going on here?” my dad asked the moment he saw me. Anger tinged his voice.
“Honey?” my mom said plaintively at the same time.
“Did you see the article?” I asked, in my normal voice. They both nodded studying me carefully, and with some alarm, as I stood before them. “Well,” I said, switching to my girly voice, “this,” and I held my hands out and did a twist from one side to the other, “this is going to be me for the foreseeable future.”
“I told you he was gay,” my father hissed at my mother.
“Honey?” my mother asked plaintively. “What’s going on?”
“Anyone besides me want a drink?” I asked, turning to head to the small bar on the other side of the room, so they could see how I walked. I heard a strangled noise come from my father, so I turned and gave him an expectant smile.
“Yes!” he blurted out. “Make me a martini — in one of the big glasses.”
“Arthur!” My mother said, aghast. “You know what Dr. Bernstein said.”
“Diane,” my father responded tartly, “If Dr. Bernstein was here she’d want one too.”
My mother just said, “Hmmphh.” And a moment later, “I’ll have one too.”
After I handed them their drinks and perched primly on one of the chairs, my father said, “So, Michael,” he emphasized the Michael quite emphatically. “What’s going on?”
“Will you listen?” I asked. “And let me finish before you start to respond?”
They both nodded.
As I daintily rearranged myself on my chair, they watched stiffly from the couch, something not terribly easy to do because it was big and soft and just swallowed you up if you sat back on it. When I had settled myself I told them my story - how I had always thought that I might be a girl, how I had always cross-dressed and how Rebecca knew and accepted it, although it didn’t thrill her. I didn’t tell them about Phillip, although I spent a lot of time explaining that I wasn’t gay.
“See, I told you,” my mom said smugly to my dad, as if it things had turned out okay since I wasn’t gay.
I went to great lengths to explain that the picture had been taken without my knowledge or permission. I apologized for surprising them and for any hurt this caused them.
“Okay, I’ve heard you out,” my dad said when I stopped. Now you hear me out.”
I had to admit, he had been a very good listener, something not usually in his behavioral repertoire. I nodded.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he exploded, jumping up and stalking towards me. “Is this some kind of a sick joke?” he went on gesticulating wildly. “You can’t just go around changing your sex whenever you feel like it. You’re not my daughter; you’re my son. I don’t want to see you like this.” He turned away from me, and paced to the piano. Resting his hand on it, he turned back. “I’m no fool; I’ve read about this stuff. And I’m not naíve. I live in Manhattan! But I will not permit it in my family!” And with that, he spun around and stalked out of the room.
I just sat there a little stunned by his vehemence, though not by his attitude. But my mother didn’t seem terribly concerned, so I had some hope for her being more accepting. “Oh don’t worry about him,” she said, waving her hand in the direction he had gone. “He adores you. Sometimes he couldn’t relate to your sisters at all, but you were always his son and that always made him so proud. He just needs some time.”
“Mom?” I asked, although I didn’t really know what I was asking.
“Look,” she said, patting the seat next to her so I would move over there. “We always thought you were a little, errr, different. You were always a little effeminate, you loved art, I don’t know. You just weren’t terribly manly.”
“That’s not true,” I objected. I played all sorts of sports well, and dated lots of girls, I couldn’t help it if some people looked at me questioningly.
“Be that as it may,” she went on, “look at you now. Even after you married Rebecca, we still wondered.”
“But she’s Jewish,” I said teasing. “You always said you wanted me to marry a Jewish girl.”
She looked at me as if I had just developed small pox. Perhaps joking wasn’t the best idea given the current circumstances. “Don’t worry,” she finally said, “You’ll figure it out. Once you see how lousy it is to be a woman, you’ll be happy to go back to being Michael again, and we can forget all about this.” She gave me one of those indulgent-mother smiles and then one of those hopeful but vacuous TV anchor nods, as if we had just discussed nothing more important than changing my hair color. But after a brief, pregnant pause, she rolled out the heavy artillery. “We’re still waiting for grandchildren, you know.”
With that, she tuned me out entirely, which is what she did whenever confronted with a difficult emotional situation. “Michael,” she said, putting her hand on mine, and then pulling it back suddenly, as if she had put it on a spider. “I just assumed we’d go out for dinner, so I don’t have a thing to eat. And I don’t think your father wants to be seen with you the way you are.”
Then she paused, which meant it was my turn to say something. It only took me a moment to figure out what she meant. I’d had years of training in reading her indirection. “Okay mom. I guess you’re right. I should get going.”
She nodded thankfully, and after quickly collecting my things, I fled.
I really didn’t want to drive back to Connecticut right then, so on a whim, I dialed the number of Phillip’s apartment. But the answering machine picked up instead of Phillip. I smiled briefly to hear his voice, but didn’t leave a message. Instead, I headed out of the city, disconsolate, but not totally defeated. At least my parents hadn’t actually thrown me out of their apartment, or told me they never wanted to see me again.
***
“So I guess that didn’t go so well, did it?” Rebecca said when I got home way earlier than either of us had anticipated.
“What do you mean?” I asked playing for time to see what she was getting at.
“Your mom called,” she responded flatly. “And Leah.” Leah was my older sister, a married corporate attorney, who, at 37, still didn’t have children, much to my parents’ oft-expressed dismay.
“I’m sorry,” I said, brushing my hair off my face with a finger as my shoulders slumped. I could see that being outed would produce a lot of collateral damage, and that Rebecca would be the major victim. A bolt of white hot guilt shot through me, not just because of the pain it would cause her, but because I now clearly understood that even if I had known I would be outed, I wouldn’t have changed anything I had done. I had been just like a smoker, who intellectually understands that she might get lung cancer some day, but who manages to emotionally quarantine that horrid outcome in some kind of neuronal bunker that keeps it from her awareness.
“You better be.” she came back at me. “They’re both ready to blame me for what’s happened, either because I caused it, or because I didn’t stop it. You know what you mother said?”
I shook my head, afraid to guess.
“What kind of a wife lets her husband turn himself into a woman? Couldn’t you satisfy him? If you had given him children this wouldn’t have happened.” And she started to sob, something she must have been doing a lot of judging by the size of the pile of crumpled tissues next to her on the couch.
“I’ll set them straight,” I said a little hotly. It infuriated me that they would blame Rebecca.
“You’ll set them straight?” she replied angrily, looking up into my eyes with more questions than I could answer. “Who the hell is going to set you straight? Or me for that matter?” I sure as hell don’t know what happened.”
“Rebecca?” I pleaded. “What can I do? I didn’t plan this. I didn’t want it to happen?”
“No, you didn’t plan anything did you? And you sure as hell didn’t think about what might happen as you were out there having a grand old time playing party girl!” She spat her words out at me. “You’re a fool. A selfish fool. And I’m an idiot for letting you go as far as I did.” She paused for a second and looked down, her curls hiding her face. When she looked up, skewering me with her eyes, she added, “And you were irresponsible for letting me do it.” She glared at me, tears running from her red-rimmed eyes.
And before I could say anything, she added ruefully, “But you do look cute in that blouse. Does your mother appreciate what a great sense of style you have?” And she started to cry again. Then, as I moved to her side and sat down next to her on the couch, she said, “Michael, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know hon. I don’t know. But I do know I’m going to protect you. This is my mess. There’s no reason why you should have to clean it up.”
But I couldn’t protect her. As the weeks went on, and the world began increasingly to encounter me as Sara, everyone Rebecca ran into asked her what I was doing. At first, it was only business associates who had seen or heard about the article, but after a while, as the word spread, and more and more people saw me, and we started spreading the word ourselves, wherever she went, the dry cleaner, the supermarket, to business meetings, in her gynecologist’s waiting room, wherever, people asked about me. Although we had decided to tell everyone some version of, “He always thought he might have been a woman and now is the time to find out for sure, and yes I support her,” it was hard for her. I had some idea of just how hard because I fielded the same questions. But because of the guilt she felt, and her defensiveness about her own role, which I absolutely forbade her from revealing, she was not only assaulted with all kinds of painful inquiries, but was reading all kinds of hidden messages into what people were saying.
Rebecca heard them implying that the reason I had changed genders just had to be due to some kind of lack of nurturing, failure, or actual manipulation on her part. I mean, a real woman makes her man feel virile and manly, doesn’t she? What, then, had she done to me to make me feel all girly instead? When her morale ebbed, she interpreted this to mean that she had been a castrating bitch who drove me to it, though how she had managed to pull that off remained unclear. And just to be sure all bases were covered, there were the kind folks who just had to ask if my nascent femininity didn’t it threaten hers, which, actually, it did. That’s why she didn’t want me wearing breast forms at home.
And, of course, many wondered what kind of man would do this to begin with? I must have been a total sissy when she married me, and certainly a flaming faggot, and, needless to say, completely perverted in ways normal people couldn’t even comprehend.
Frankly, gay would have been a step up from what some people really thought of me. At least if I had come out “only” as a garden variety gay man, I would still be a man. Although it wasn’t true - lots of people actually were kind and accepting - it seemed that most people were either threatened by me or angry with me. To men, I seemed to represent the fragility of their own masculinity. And to women, who knows? I seem to have crossed some forbidden border to a land where men were not supposed to go. Or maybe, I liked to imagine, I simply made an attractive woman, rather more attractive and put together than most in fact, and they were just jealous. At least, that’s what I liked to imagine.
Of course, not everyone thought Rebecca had controlled things, some people, both men and women, assumed she had been victimized. She should have been outraged that I had hidden this from her for so long From their perspective, lying about my sexuality was as bad as having an affair Why, these people wanted to know, did she continue to stay with me? How could she possibly put up with it, my obvious and shameful betrayal. Telling them that they were wrong about all of that seemed to do little to change their minds.
But in the end, even the interactions with people who understood or who were supportive, and they were by far the largest group, took a toll. It is of course better to have someone tell you that you are brave “to go through something like this,” but that carries its own costs, especially when people then started to share their problems, as if by having a transsexual husband, Rebecca had suddenly acquired some unique insights into the world.
So, over a period of about two months, I watched helplessly as my lovely, brilliant, tough-minded wife first became stressed out, then started to lose her self-confidence, and, finally, her joy de vivre, which by the end, seemed to be fading visibly on an almost daily basis. It was like watching Tinkerbelle die in Peter Pan, her light slowly fading. Only this time, simply clapping wouldn’t bring her back. Things were bad enough for me, with all the snickers and stares and disbelieving questions, but eventually, more than anything else, I just couldn’t bear the thought that I was literally destroying the one great love of my life.
***
Coming out to my parents was only the first of many explanations I was to give over the following months. I had to call Leah the morning after visiting my parents to confirm that my mother had indeed gotten it right and to castigate her for being unkind to Rebecca. Leah and I hadn’t been terribly close as kids. First, she had to baby sit for me, which cramped her style, but even when I got older, she just didn’t want her “creepy” little brother hanging around. She belittled me in front of her friends to make sure I wouldn’t hang around to bother them. But after we became adults, we discovered a real fondness for each other, and a new way to relate that had nothing to do with who we had been as kids. By now, we were comfortable enough to tease each other about who would produce the first grandchildren, thereby getting the pressure off the other.
“So,” she started off, right after I said hello, “does this mean the burden of grandchildren is solely mine now?” That little joke was the highlight of our conversation. By the time our conversation had ended, it was clear she no more accepting of me than my dad. While she hadn’t been as explosively angry, she was far more cutting and dismissive of my “choice.”
My younger sister, Courtney, who, for no justifiable reason, had always adored me, and who I, of course, had always taken for granted, was much more accepting, although she wasn’t quite sure the whole thing was for real. “This is a joke, right?” she started off, calling between surgeries. In the end, I had to promise to visit and hang out with her as Sara before she would pass judgment. But she lived in Chicago, working about a thousand hours a week as a third year surgical resident, so getting together would have to wait. But she had decided to go into plastic and reconstructive surgery and volunteered to do my face, if it came to that.
“How about my breasts?” I asked, only half joking. There was a kind of garbled noise from the phone, and then a moment of silence. “Ahhh…, I don’t think so,” she finally said. That would be too weird. And besides you should get a real expert. If you need help finding one, let me know. I’ll help you.” Then there was a long pause before she said, “I think.” At least she was taking me seriously.
The people at work were as easy going as Courtney. Of course, they had seen me gradually change over many months, so they knew something was up. Two of the women actually praised me in private for my courage, and promised to be “girlfriends.” Of course, I was their boss. Still, no one quit. Our clients, not surprisingly, were a different matter. We lost a few right away, and Rebecca got furious with me. “You see,” she shouted one day a week after my coming out, when two had called up to say they were looking for ‘other creative avenues.’ “You see what you’ve done?”
Actually, the magazine article helped us far more than it hurt, and we started to get more inquiries than ever before. Many of those who called expected to work with Sara, and only a very few changed their minds when I told them who Sara really was. And a second, smaller group of inquiries came from companies that called because they knew just who Sara used to be. So even though we were losing some clients, we actually gained more than we lost, and in the end, we were terribly busy trying to keep up with the work. This turned out to be my greatest blessing. Work became a refuge, a place where I could experience camaraderie, work hard next to people who liked me, wanted to protect me and took me at face value. Thankfully, it ate up most of the day. Still, it took months, well after the New Year actually, before we hit an even keel again and could turn those inquiries into paying clients. Over the short run, we worried that we wouldn’t have enough cash flow to keep ourselves up and running. We dug a little into our savings to keep all our staff,
In the meantime, it took me two weeks before I listened to the advice I got in my support group and wrote out my explanation in the form of a letter and mailed it to literally everyone I knew. At first, I wasn’t sure I felt ready to do that, but it only took Rebecca about 15 minutes to convince me that I had to do it, and to add a whole bunch of other names, those of her friends and family and all the people we did business with, to the mailing list. It must have taken me about four hours to write what turned out to be a one page letter. Walking into the post office with a large shopping bag full of letters almost did me in. Having done that, however, people knew what to expect when they saw me or Rebecca. I still got all kinds of different responses, from support to hostility, especially from some of my male neighbors, and I still had to explain why I did it almost every time I saw someone for the first time as Sara, but it did allow me to avoid that initial embarrassing moment when someone would look at me, trying to figure out how they knew me, and then become totally stunned when they did. For Rebecca, it compressed the time it took for the whole thing to play out, and it also lowered the emotional tone of her interactions with people. But still, our lives were incredibly stressful.
Like our personal and work lives, our social lives were in disarray. Some long-time friends shunned me, something I had seen once before when one of the couples we were friends with split up because the guy simply walked out. Others, close and not so close, came calling out of curiosity, the way people gather round to look at a bad car wreck. What worried me the most, however, was that I could feel Rebecca slipping away. We spent a lot of time talking, trying to figure out what we should do and what kind of relationship we could have. By turns, we embraced the deep yearning we both had for each other, and then vented anger and resentment at each other. Given the way the situation had developed, we each had plenty of ammunition to use against the other.
We still usually ate and slept together, and I tried to make sure Sara was never very femme when we were at home. But there were times we were so angry with each other that I would get really femmed up just to piss her off! On those nights, of course, I slept in the guest bedroom, not that I actually did very much sleeping, using the time instead to beat myself up for ruining our lives. So it just seemed inevitable that over time Rebecca would grew increasingly short and impatient with me. She didn’t want to discuss clothes or makeup, and stopped sharing the little observations and thoughts that make living with another person rewarding. She didn’t only stop making small talk with me; she eventually stopped touching me as well. Our relationship became cold and barren; our home stopped being our refuge and instead became a source of pain. I had put a huge amount of stress on both of us, and Rebecca was resentful as hell. Who could blame her?
But I also knew that she knew that she had to bear some responsibility for what had happened. So instead of being able to vent her anger entirely at me (and she did plenty of that), and be the victim some urged her to be, she was furious with herself as well. And so one night, five months after I came out, as she paced around the living room, ranting and raving, I made a decision. “Would you like me to leave?” I asked quietly.
“NO!” She shouted back, twirling around to face me. “What kind of stupid idea is that? What would it accomplish?” She glared at me for what seemed like forever, and then broke down in tears, kneeling by the side of my chair. As she cried into my lap I stroked her hair. Finally, she looked up into my face. “Yes,” she said tearfully. “I need a break. If we stay together like this, I don’t know what I might do.”
“I understand,” I said quietly. And I think I did. I had become like a splinter that had caused an infection. If you don’t remove the splinter, the infection never heals, and might even lead to blood poisoning. Leaving, I thought, created the best chance to save my relationship with Rebecca.
“Would you like me to leave tonight, or can you give me a couple of days to set something up?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” she cried, as if I had proposed ripping her arm off. “I want you to live in my house and sleep in my bed.” That night I did, and I think we both felt wonderful holding each other. But I clung to her the way you might cling to someone going off to war, fearing in your heart, but not being able to admit it consciously, that once you let go, something horrible would happen. I slept fitfully, and each time I woke up, I grabbed hold of Rebecca, fearing it might be the last time I would touch her.
The next morning, I got up early, and got ready for the day. I put on makeup, blew out my now more than shoulder length hair, and dressed in a long sleeve purple top and long white cotton skirt. Then I made breakfast. When Rebecca finally made her way to the kitchen, she gratefully thanked me for doing it, and we sat together to eat. We kept looking into each other’s eyes, as if we would find something there other than the reality we both knew. Although both our hearts ached, we couldn’t find anything to say.
But before she left for the office, Rebecca did the most amazing thing. She asked me to sit on the couch, and then knelt down in front of me, scaring me to death. I sure she was going to tell me to never come back. Instead, she held out her hand to me palm up, saying, “Remember this?” It was the ankle bracelet inscribed, “Becca and Sara,” that she had bought for me the day of our last giddy date with each other, just before I first went out with Phillip. “Wear it for me please?” she asked, her voice choked.
A bolt of lightning shot through my heart. My brain melted, my eyes teared up, and I my throat closed tight. Even if I could have spoken, there wasn’t an articulate thought in my brain. All I could do was nod at her dumbly. So she gently wrapped the slender gold chain around my right ankle and clicked the clasp closed . Then she rotated it so the thin gold plate holding the inscription rested on the outside of my ankle. “There,” she managed to splutter out through her own tears. “Now everyone will see it and know you’re mine.”
I started crying, but I put my foot on the floor, fell to my own knees on the soft carpet grabbed her for all I was worth. We sat there hugging each other for many minutes, before she cleared her throat and started to disengage from me. “Now we have to redo our makeup,” she said, almost sounding as if she might be teasing. But I understood what she meant, and we both managed to get up, still blubbering, but no longer uncontrollably. Forty minutes later, we couldn’t even get a word out as she gave me a warm hug and lingering kiss. Neither one of us had the heart to mention that I might not be there when she got back.
After cleaning up, I called Phillip on his cell. I knew he would help me. A couple of weeks after the magazine article outed me, on the day that turned out to be the second anniversary of our first date (he remembered, not me), we went to dinner. We just planned a quiet meal in a small Italian restaurant that was short on ambiance - straw covered Chianti bottles on tables covered with vinyl table clothes printed with images of olives - but which had a brilliant chef who was well known among local lovers of Italian food. After we had finished eating, while we were sitting there fiddling with perfect cannoli and sipping cappuccinos, he told me he couldn’t see me any more. “Sara,” he said, his eyes looking so sad I first thought he was going to tell me he had fatal cancer, “I need to stop taking you out. Being seen with a famous transsexual wouldn’t be good for my reputation. It could ruin my business.”
I just ducked my head, crushed my cannoli with my fork, and nodded sadly.
I started steaming, but didn’t want to make a scene in the restaurant. Instead, I waited until we had seated ourselves in his car. Then, as soon as he had settled into the driver’s seat buckled his seat belt and started the car, I really unloaded on him. I turned to face him, my own seat belt trying to haul me back to my side of the car as if it didn’t want me to do it, I shouted, “You selfish son of a bitch. It was okay for me to take the risk of going out with you as Sara to protect your precious reputation as Mr. Macho, but as soon as there’s any risk to you, you drop me? What kind of person are you?”
For a moment his mouth just opened and closed as he tried to find words. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting that. “Sara?” he half pleaded. “This is my livelihood we’re talking about. I thought we both understood while we were going out that it was just a game. I mean, anyone else who had been out with me as often as you, would have been in my bed many times, but I never pushed that on you.”
“What did you say?” I screamed into the nearly soundproof environment of his new 750Li. Now I was really seething. Startled at my own anger, I lowered my voice, but let the intensity stay. “Is that what you expect? A quid pro quo? Well, you already got it buster! You got the safe date you wanted, one you could relate to, and who wouldn’t be running any scams on you. Surely you didn’t forget about that? And look at what it’s cost me! I’m trapped in this now and have been publicly humiliated!”
“Sara, Sara, okay already,” he pleaded, raising his hands defensively. “That was stupid of me. I didn’t mean it. Really. I was feeling defensive. Forgive me, please?” And he looked at me with such a pained, apologetic expression, that my heart went out to him.
“Alright,” I said, somewhat disgustedly, “I’ll forget about that last crack, but it still doesn’t excuse you from dropping me just because I might tarnish your precious reputation. That’s just chicken shit. And besides, lots of people already know you’ve been out with me. Some have even seen us more than once. All you need to tell them is that you knew I was TS, but that you thought I made one gorgeous babe. I bet they see you as courageous, rather than anything else. Probably make you seem even more macho. Who,” I asked sarcastically, “but someone who is really sure of his masculinity would risk going out with a transsexual?”
“I don’t know,” he replied dubiously. “Let me think about it, okay?”
“Well you better think about this while you’re at it. What kind of a person drops a friend because she all of a sudden becomes a little inconvenient? Someone who would do that is no friend at all. He’s a user, a manipulator.”
I could see by his expression that the idea deeply wounded him, so, despite the fact that I was hyperventilating and on a total adrenalin rush that wanted me to close in for the kill, I managed to keep control of my breathing and my mouth. I settled back into my seat and straightened my skirt and coat. Then I just sat there silently.
After a few moments, in a whisper so soft that the very quiet whoosh of the car’s heater almost obscured it, he said, “I don’t manipulate people.”
I tried to restrain myself, but I was still furious, though more under control than a few moments ago. So matching his quiet tone, I replied, “It’s one thing to talk the talk, it’s another to walk the walk. When you figure out which you plan to do, please be so kind as to let me know.” My anger was still so hot I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice, though I cringed when I heard myself.
I felt defeated. There was only one thing that could be done at this point. So I said, “But in the meantime, just take me home.” I tried to settle myself in the slippery leather seat, believing that I had just severed our relationship. In the darkness of the exquisitely appointed car cabin, the smell of new leather filling my nostrils even through my sniffles, tears began to wind their way down my cheeks. I didn’t try to stop them or wipe them away.
The restaurant was only about 20 minutes from our house, so he slipped the car into gear and headed off. The winding two lane roads of Connecticut, which require a lot of attention in most cars, slip by silently and smoothly in a big BMW. But the tension between Phillip and me seemed huge. Instead of being relaxing, the quiet ride of the car now became oppressive, like a weight pressing down on me. It reminded me of when I had been a child and desperately wanted to say something to my father while we were at Shabbat services, but because it was during the silent meditation that preceded the Torah reading, I had to hold my tongue. I didn’t really know why, but the powerful silence that surrounded me kept me mute.
After about ten minutes, panic started to overtake me. What would I do if I lost Phillip as well as Rebecca? The silence became too much; I couldn’t take it any more, “Philip,” I said, my voice first catching in my throat, and then finding a way to come out gently, “I’m doing something really hard. I need all the friends I can get. I thought we were friends. I don’t really have anyone else. I need you.”
He glanced over at me and nodded, but I had no idea what he was thinking. My heart became heavier by the second. By the time we pulled into my driveway, I had just about given up hope that he would ever speak to me again. I tried to imagine how he would end it: would he be straight-forward, or would he behave like a typical man and tell me he would call, only to disappear forever.
*Why?* I cried in my mind, *had I ever been so foolish as to attack him like that. Now he hates me.*
As the car came to a halt and the sound of the gravel crunching under its wide tires disappeared into the trees by the driveway, he finally said something. Turning to me, the left side of his face illuminated by the security light over the garage, he put one hand on the back of my seat and the other on my thigh. I didn’t expect that and it felt huge and hot. But before I could even begin to consider what it meant or how to respond, he said, “Sara. I am your friend, and I won’t abandon you. We’ll go out and play racquetball and do the other stuff just as before. And if anyone ever tries to knock you down again, physically, like that first time we played, or metaphorically anywhere else, they’ll have to answer to me. Will you let me do that for you?”
“Ok..kay,” I replied, stuttering over the word as my throat tightened up and tears started to flow freely yet again. I had prayed for this, but didn’t even dare hope for it. I put my left hand over his on my thigh, and sort of spluttered through the tears that were now fully formed, “Phillip, you are the sweetest man. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“And you Sara Cohen are a terrific, talented woman. It breaks my heart to see you and Rebecca go through this, and I will forever be ashamed of what I tried to do this evening. I don’t know what go into me.” Tears glistened in his eyes.
What could I do? I sat there for a long moment, savoring the feel of his hand on my leg his words in my mind, and then reached up, put my right hand on his cheek, pulled him closer to me, and gave him a warm kiss on the lips. It just felt like the right thing to do, and it felt right doing it.
“Thank you,” he said, graciously pulling away from the kiss before it could develop into anything more than a thank you. “I mean what I say. You can count on me. I was a fool to have said what I did. I’ll always regret it.”
“Thank you,” I responded, before leaning back to him and giving him another short kiss. I thought I knew what kind of man you are, and now I’m sure. Please call me every so often, okay?”
“Sure babe, he responded, dropping into a rather bad, though recognizable, Humphrey Bogart imitation. “If you need anything just, whistle. You do know how to whistle don’t you? You just put your lips together and blow.”
“Hey,” I responded huffily. That’s supposed to be my line. It was Bacall who used it, not Bogart.”
“Sorry dear,” he teased back, “I got to it first.” And turning back towards the steering wheel, he went on. “I gotta go. You take care, okay?”
“It’ll be easier now,” I replied, serious again. And then I reached for the handle and got out of the car.
A moment after I got into the house, feeling quite heartened, but emotionally drained, Rebecca called out, “That was quite cozy. Are you two becoming a hot item now that you’re done with me?”
“Rebecca, what are you talking about?” I responded as I walked towards the kitchen. She was standing by the sink, which had a clear view of the front yard and driveway.
“That looked like a pretty hot make out session to me,” she replied hotly, turning on me as she did.
“It was two little kisses, that’s all,” I said angrily. “And what were you doing spying on me?”
“Two little kisses my ass,” she shot back. “And I wasn’t spying on you. I came into the kitchen to get a drink just before I heard Phil’s car pulled in. After a while, when you didn’t come in, I looked to see if it really was you. And sure enough, there you were, with him draped all over you and you leaning in to kiss him.”
“Oh shit. That’s not what happened.” I responded despondently. “Can I please explain?”
“Explain what?” she asked angrily. “You think you can convince me that I didn’t see it?”
“No,” I said evenly, trying to control my voice so this stupid argument wouldn’t escalate. “But I can tell you exactly what did happen, and then maybe you’ll have a slightly different take on it.” Her face remained hard. “Please?” I pleaded.
“Oh, alright,” she said, with a little less edge on her voice. Then she turned and headed for the porch, saying, “Bring me a glass of wine. This oughta be good.”
A half hour later, while Rebecca cried, appalled at her behavior and the way she had jumped to a totally wrong, though in some ways not entirely unexpected conclusion, I sat next to her, one arm over her shoulder, and the other holding her hand. “But it still makes me really uptight to see you kissing a man,” she mumbled.
“It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” I replied quietly. “It wasn’t sexual. It never will be. I’m not attracted to men and I never will be. Remember when you taught me how women could be intimate without it leading to sex. I guess I’ve learned to do that with Phillip too.”
She just nodded, looking defeated.
“C’mon,” I said, “Lets go to bed. It’s been a hard day.”
“Every day’s a hard day,” she said sadly, turning to look at me to see if I was still mad at her, and giving me a small smile when she saw only concern on my face. I helped her up and we went upstairs hand in hand, she in her jeans and sweatshirt and me in my heels, flirty skirt, and twin set.
***
Although out of town for a while, Phillip immediately agreed to let me use one of the spare bedrooms at his corporate apartment in Manhattan. On the one hand, I was relieved to have a place to stay. On the other, I was crushed because now I really did have to move out. In my mind I understood that I had to find a place to stay so I could give Rebecca the space she needed. But I had hoped it would take longer so I didn’t have to leave right away. Of course Phillip couldn’t know that, and as a good friend who couldn’t read my mind even though I tried as hard as I could to let him, he did what I asked, not really knowing the pain in my heart.
Feeling I had no other choice, I packed my bags and loaded the car. I backed out of the driveway with tears in my eyes and by the time I got to the highway, five minutes later, I was was so disconsolate I had to pull off the road. I stopped on a bare, rocky stretch of ground next to the ramp where I had often seen trucks parked, and tried to get control of myself. As cars and trucks sped round the curve past me, I cried and blew my nose, and sobbed and blew my nose some more. When I had cried myself out, I looked as horrible as I felt. My eyes were rimmed in red, and my nose was as red as Rudolph’s. I tried to cover the mess with makeup, took a deep breath, pulled carefully back onto the ramp, and headed for Manhattan.
Before I knew it, the bellman had my bags stacked in one of the spare bedrooms in Phillip’s apartment and was handing me a key. I gave him twenty bucks, I knew I was going to be there a while and wanted him to be my friend, locked the door and burst into tears again. An hour later, I called Rebecca, but she wasn’t home yet. I left a simple message telling her that I would be staying at Phillip’s so she wouldn’t worry, and then felt totally lost.
For my first evening alone in a strange apartment, I changed into warm socks and a soft cotton, eyelet lace nightgown that went all way to my ankles. Then I went to look for something to drink. All Phillip had was a collection of very expensive single-malt scotches. Normally I wouldn’t think of drinking someone else’s expensive whiskey by myself, and I certainly wouldn’t have loaded up a glass with ice. I had always thought it a sin to ruin the exquisite taste of an aged scotch by diluting it more than just the little bit you needed to let the taste open up. But nothing was normal tonight. I consumed almost half a bottle of a 12 year old McCallan before getting drunk enough to pass out.
By Kelly Ann Rogers
. . . Why aren’t you sleeping with him?” he asked as we shared coffee one morning. It’s quite clear he’s got a huge crush on you. Guys like me wouldn’t even be here, if you just got in bed with him.”
“I’m not gay,” I responded evenly, . . .and I’m married and hope to stay that way.”
“You mean you got yourself a woman who wants you to be a woman too?”
“Well, not exactly.”
. . . Were you two really in the changing room together?"
Their voices became too soft to hear, until I heard Courtney say, "No, not yet. But I bet they will be soon though."
Chapter IX Watch out for that first step
“Ronni, I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?” she asked, teasing. She knew exactly what I meant. For the past eighteen months, ever since I had moved out of my house, we had been talking about giving me a new hairstyle, but I so loved my long hair, I just didn’t want to cut it, except to keep the ends neat and even. It hung down almost to the middle of my shoulder blades, the ends cut straight across. I kept it parted simply in the middle, with just a couple natural waves that I could easily blow out if I wanted to look really sleek. I never believed it could happen, but I got bored with it. If I had been more adept at putting it up, perhaps I wouldn’t have felt that way, but I haadn’t yet learned how to do it, and most times I either didn’t do it very well or just gave up in frustration. Like the fox who couldn’t reach the grapes, I had decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. In any case, my long straight hair looked like something a teenager would wear, and it had been quite a while since my teen years. I wanted something more sophisticated.
There had been so many changes in my life. For a couple of months I had been thoroughly depressed and terribly lonely. Phillip, good to his word, did what he could, spending much of his time with me when he was in town. We went out on occasion, just as before, played racquetball when we could, and really carried on pretty much as we had been. Now that I no longer lived with Rebecca, however, Phillip and I now spent a good deal of our time together staying in, doing things like cooking for each other and watching old Fred Astaire movies. He loved the dancing and I loved Ginger Rogers’ spectacular dresses. When she danced, every one of them flowed around her like they were enchanted. They must have been because even though they were almost always ankle length, they never got caught on anything, even when she twirled like a figure skater in heels. Astaire was the most elegant and debonair dancer ever, but he didn’t have to wear heels! Had the Greeks invented a goddess for trannies, she would have been Ginger Rogers, or more appropriately perhaps, her dress designer.
Not surprisingly, the relationship between Phillip and I grew closer. Without Rebecca as my anchor and support, I gratefully allowed this sweet and attentive man to take her place. Even though we had often touched, and even lightly kissed, when I first moved into his apartment I found myself rather uncomfortable with him physically. I guess it had been easy to be relaxed while I still lived with Rebecca, because Phillip knew he and I were simply playing a game, and I knew I was going home to my wife at the end of the evening. Now I had no where else to go, and the touching took on whole new possibilities.
One night, Phillip literally pulled me up off the couch and danced me around the room as Fred and Ginger twirled around the screen. He danced really well and quickly had me feeling comfortable in his arms as he spun me around backwards, my hair whipping around my face as I spun. His large left hand just enveloped my right, and when I leaned onto his right hand, which was on my back, I felt like had leaned onto a warm wall. The sight of my own hand, with my brightly polished nails, on his massive shoulder made me feel exquisitely feminine and small. When the song finished, he pulled me into a spin that finished with my back to his front and his arms wrapped around me, as we both laughed. I tilted my head back to look at him, and our eyes met. For a moment we looked at each other with no inhibitions and I could see the affection in his eyes.
I realized that had I been doing this with Rebecca, that look would have led to a kiss, and at just that moment I longed to feel his lips. That thought caused me to blink and the moment passed. I quickly suggested we have a drink, just to get me away from him. I longed for the protection of his arms but at the same time feared what might happen if I actually let myself slide into a deeper relationship with him.
Another night, Phillip and I were sitting on the couch, his arm resting comfortably on my shoulder watching Julia Roberts flirt with Hugh Grant, who quite frankly, I found adorable. He had his arm around Julia’s shoulder for few moments until she turned to face him, and after exchanging deep looks, they kissed. Just then I felt Phillip’s arm shift, instead of simply resting on my shoulder, it began to pull me towards him. In response I started to turn to look up into his face thinking how lovely a kiss would be. But when I saw his face, and realized it was Phillip instead of Hugh Grant, and that I was Michael (not even Sara) Cohen, not Julia Roberts, I nearly jumped right off the couch.
So instead of becoming lovers, our friendship took another turn. I related to him a conversation I’d had with Rebecca, when she told me that she didn’t want to have sex with Sara, but that we could still be intimate. I like to think that’s where Phillip and I went, sharing intimacy, as friends. Despite all my fancy rationalizing, I revisited scenes like that many times over the following months as I lay by myself in bed trying to fall asleep. I knew I had let a wonderful opportunity to experience a new love pass by. Would I ever get one like it again - with anyone?
I was lonely and insecure, and he was warm, gentle, and patient (I couldn’t imagine how in the world such a sweet man ever excelled at football, and as a linebacker no less), and I decided that being physically close to him shouldn’t be off limits. Other men I wasn’t so sure about, but Phillip I could deal with. So when we watched movies, we continued to cuddle together, sometimes with his arm around me and my head resting on his chest or shoulder. When we were together, he would reach for me reflexively, as if the most natural thing in the world was to put his arm around my shoulder or my waist, and soon it was. Our relationship was like the one you have when you’re really close to your best friend’s lover: warm, emotionally intimate even, full of shared feelings and activities, but no sex.
I often wondered about sex with Phillip, even though I knew I would never let it happen. I had always been curious about what it would be like (what trannie hasn’t been?), and, frankly, I was horny. Besides, after what he said to me in the car when I gave him a hard time about being my friend, I couldn’t get the thought that I owed it to him out of my mind. That's what happens between men and women, isn't it, especially if they're very close, and they’re… unattached?
There was the rub. In my mind, at least, I wasn’t unattached. I was still married to Rebecca and had every intention of getting back together with her. Would sleeping with a man betray my vows to Rebecca? I was sure of it. It’s not the sex of the person you’re with; it’s the fact that you’re having sex with anyone at all. Isn’t it? Besides, if I ever had sex with Phillip, it would have to be more than just sex. We had too close a relationship now - just the kind of relationship that marriage vows said should never become carnal.
But I didn’t really know how to be a woman around a man in any case. Just what were the proper behaviors? When we danced, could I lean on his chest, reach my arms behind his neck and allow our bodies to melt into each other? Or should I stay some discrete distance from him, totally upright, the way the girls in my etiquette class danced with me when I was fourteen. Is it okay to tease, to flirt, to grab him around the chest as we stood in the kitchen together because I was so grateful just to have someone to be with? How does a woman create and share emotional intimacy with a man she’s can’t be romantically or sexually interested in? I just didn’t know.
It didn’t end there. Everything about living with him challenges me. How, for example, should I dress around the apartment when he was there? Should I always keep my breast forms on? Did I need to be modest, or were low-cut jeans, bare belly buttons, and heels acceptable? What did it mean when I went out of my way to look attractive, which I almost always did because more than anything else, attractive is what I wanted to be. Besides, what’s the point of being a trannie if you don’t want to dress up? And what did it mean on those days when I just didn’t have the energy to make myself up, but still wanted to be around him? How should I dress then? Should I be dressing for myself or for him, and what did he want anyway? I was clueless, and my women’s magazines didn’t have articles about it.
Having decided I wouldn’t sleep with him, I felt like I had to pay him back for his kindness in other ways, and here I felt more comfortable. I would nurture him. I would make the apartment more like a home. Because it looked like a sterile crash pad when I moved in, I made him go shopping with me for accessories that would warm the place — oriental rugs to brighten the parquet floors, lamps to create some warm light to fill in the dark places not illuminated by the harsh flood lights that shone from the ceilings, throws and pillows to soften the leather furniture, and a few things to hang on the walls to give the rooms some visual interest. I would have done it myself, but it was his apartment and I didn't want to buy anything he didn't approve of. Actually, he shopped very enthusiasticly, and over the first few months, he bought far more than I ever would have, and the place started to feel like a home, warm and welcoming, rather than just a Motel 6 with expensive leather furniture.
The other way I showed him how I appreciated his kindness was through food. I loved to cook anyway, and he was always eager to eat, which he did like a human vacuum cleaner. Better, he wanted to learn to cook himself. When I arrived, there was hardly enough stuff in his kitchen to boil water. By the time I left, all that had changed. He gave me carte blanche to buy the best cookware, so I purchased a good set of All-clad stainless pots and pans, with a few pieces of Calphalon non-stick thrown in, the best Wustoff knives, a powerful Kitchen Aid food processor and other appliances as well. Bowing to his taste, most of the appliances had what he described as manly (and which really were expensive) stainless steel finishes. He insisted he had an image to keep up and it was his money. Men.
Whether he wanted it or not, I guess I domesticated him a little while allowing my own nesting instinct to express itself. Trying to be homey without being overtly feminine was a challenge. I found hard to do because I so wanted to distinguish myself from the man I used to be that I wanted to surround my self with feminine things. But I worked at it, especially because it was fun pretending to be part of a couple making a nice place to live together.
I also insisted he not change his dating habits, and that he continue to go out with women, as well as men. I just had to assume that people figured I was transsexual, so he had to be seen with women to maintain his image as a real guy's guy. Strangely, even though I knew he was essentially gay, and that none of these women could snare him, I couldn't help being jealous. Worse, I lusted after some of those hotties myself. And when I say hotties, I'm not just talking about the cute, young things with perfect bodies and artfully highlighted blonde hair who were always throwing themselves at him. I'm talking about full-grown, sophisticated, successful women — writers, news anchors, and corporate lawyers, who probably thought bedding him added a notch to their belts. Since they mostly pursued him, I guess it did. I tried to stay out of sight when he had a woman over because I didn’t want to have to compete with them in any way. It would have been stupid of me. They had me outclassed in every category, or so I thought.
I found it hard, bunkered in my bedroom, to listen to Phillip and his dates carrying on. It felt worst when they were in the living room, because of its nearness to my door. At least when they were in his bedroom, things were quieter. But, you know, there's hardly anything lonelier than being so close to two people who are enjoying themselves with each other while you are both physically and emotionally miles away from the one you love.
Being around those women embarrassed me. Even in the morning, when they emerged disheveled, they were so feminine. And what was I? A freak, a transvestite, not even really a transsexual, no matter how carefully I did myself up. In fact, the worst times were when they weren’t made up, which made the differences between their natural femininity and my aritifice all the more apparent. But not one of them ever did or said anything to make me feel bad. They were by turns complimentary and empathetic, curious about what I was going through and why, or indifferent. Many months after I moved in, and with not a single bad interaction, I realized that Phillip must have told them to behave themselves.
And then there were the guys. It quickly became obvious that Philip’s taste for guys ran mostly to sweet young things, who were so handsome they might have been called beautiful, *sort of like me,* I thought, *‘except more attractive, and they don’t even need makeup.*. And by and large, these guys were even nicer than the women, and I certainly felt more comfortable around them. I particularly remember Bradley, a little taller than me, but thinner, with blond hair and fine English features.
“Why aren’t you sleeping with him?” he asked as we shared coffee one morning. I always seemed to be the first one up, and so ended up acting like the housemother. “It’s quite clear he’s got a huge crush on you. Guys like me wouldn’t even be here, if you just got in bed with him.”
“I’m not gay,” I responded evenly, “and I’m married and hope to stay that way.”
“You mean you got yourself a woman who wants you to be a woman too?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“Well then, what are you waiting for? He’s a terrific lover. Have you ever seen his cock?”
I nodded.
“Dearie, you just can’t imagine what it feel like inside you,” and he wiggled his butt on his seat.
I thought for a moment and then crinkled my nose and said, “That’s alright, I’ll leave that for you.”
“What… Ever, I sure hope I get to see you again.”
“You do?”
He leered at me. “Yeah, ‘cause that means I’ll see him again.” And then he laughed.
These guys always made me wonder just what I was missing. It seemed clear that Phillip was a terrific lover, and I just assumed that he was as attentive to people’s needs in bed as he was to mine out of it. That would explain it no matter how big his dick was.
As curious as I was, I had no intention of ever getting into bed with Phillip even though he was dear to me, and served as my emotional life preserver. Other than him, I didn’t have much of a social life. During the first few months, I was not only depressed, but I also worked really hard. We had all that new business, which was great, but we had to deliver, which was exhausting. With my commute between the city and Connecticut, and my depression, I was tired, and I rarely made an effort to do anything fun after work. I had some friends, ones who had been supportive from the outset, and acquaintances, who I’d met since then, who stopped by or took me out to dinner or to a show when they visited the city. Unfortunately they were mostly far away, and I was emotionally spent and eager to retreat into a protective shell after a long day of interacting with people and trying to seem pleasant and attentive, neither of which I felt. Unless I made a real effort, I was often difficult to engage, and really not that much fun to be with. Not surprisingly, even their calls and visits became increasingly less frequent.
I had another reason not to see people. I started to get laser hair removal treatments almost as soon as I moved out of my home. My dark hair and only slightly olive complexion made me a good candidate. I had to let my beard grow slightly a day before, and then my face was quite red and irritated afterwards. Better, I knew, to do this out of sight of the rest of humanity. So when Phillip travelled, I rushed to the clinic to have my face nuked. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. I started off with laser, which got most of my beard fairly quickly, and then I added electrolysis for those hairs too ornery to be killed by the laser. I lost lots of hair quickly, but still, it took months before I was really clean, and even longer to finally mop up the stragglers.
At about the same time, I started on hormones. I had many complex rationalizations for doing it, like wanting my skin to be smoother after electrolysis, and wanting shinier hair, but I think in my heart I understood that I would never go back. I just couldn’t yet admit consciously what my behavior already made quite clear.
Of course, I still had to see Rebecca almost every day for work. In the first month, as I tumbled into depression, she seemed to be loosening up and regaining her confidence. I was delighted for her, after all, I had moved out because of the effect my life on her, but I it made me totally miserable. If getting me out of her life made her feel so good, what chance did I have of ever getting her back? Still, even though her warmth comforted me, and she obviously worried about my well being, she kept our conversations on inconsequentials things, like a new outfit or perfume. We certainly didn’t talk much about us. We were still very raw, so it was just too dangerous.
It didn’t take too long for my moodiness to cause problems with clients. You can’t very well sell yourself when you’re depressed and distracted all the time, even if you had, like I most certainly had, spent an inordinate amount of time trying to look dishy for them. So after about a month, Rebecca told me that she didn’t want me interacting with clients any more. That worked just fine for me, even though I knew it was a symptom of my declining mental health.
On the day of our 9th anniversary, Rebecca took me to lunch. After trading gifts, I gave her a David Yurman bracelet and she gave me lovely antique pearl earrings, she said to me, “You’re depressed. Get into therapy to deal with it. I did, you know.”
I didn’t know.
“If you screw up our business because you refuse to deal with your depression, I’ll kill you.” She smiled to let me know she wouldn’t really kill me, but I was only slightly reassured.
I had my psychologist recommend a psychiatrist. The psychologist, who I saw every week, and my support group meetings, which were only once a month, were the only things I had been doing with any regularity. The group had turned me onto to the psychologist in the first place. It really supported me as a new member, and because my femme presentation was so good compliments were plentiful. Several had also been turned out by wives, girlfriends or families, and had real insights into what I was going through. Had I allowed them to, they would have been really good for my mental health. But when I first joined, still wallowing in my misery, I kept my emotional distance.
A few of the girls weren’t too enthusiastic about my “woe is me,” shtick, which made it easier for me to rationalize my emotional separation. They just couldn’t understand how someone so femme could possibly have anything to be depressed about. They didn’t realize depression doesn’t discriminate according to how passable you are, something that is apparently hard to understand if your greatest aspiration is simply to go out as a girl and not freak anybody out.
I did as Rebecca demanded, and my T-friendly psychiatrist, Dr. Martin Binder, a very cute, very well turned out sixty-five-year old man with a full head of white hair and the most wonderful eyes, taught me that brain chemistry really can be destiny. After interviewing me for forty minutes he said, “My dear, you have the classical signs of depression, and the reason Dr. Randall sent you here to get you on antidepressants. Here’s what I want to do. I’m going to give you a combination of drugs that should be effective and minimize any side effects. Many people find that they lose their libido and ability to climax with these kinds of drugs, and I doubt you want that.”
I laughed.
He frowned in response.
“Doc, I’m just not gett’n any. I’m separated from my wife, sharing an apartment with a gay man, and don’t have any intimate friends. Sexual side effects are just not going to be a problem for me. In fact, not feeling horny would be a good thing for me right now.”
He nodded as I spoke, but when I finished he said, “Don’t be so sure, my dear. You’re very attractive, as I’m sure you know,” which made me blush and look away, “and will probably have things sorted out soon. You’ll be on these medications for at least six months, and probably a year. Do you plan on remaining celibate that whole time?”
“God, I hope not,” I blurted out. We both laughed and his eyes sparkled. He really was cute.
“But,” he cautioned, “it may be six or eight weeks before anything happens, so you’ll have to be patient.”
So I stopped by a pharmacy on the way home and filled the three prescriptions he had written. When I got home I took them. Nothing happened. *Sort of like starting hormones,* I snorted to myself. *It’s huge step, but then nothing happens for a long time.*
In about ten days, however, my sense of desperation started to lessen. Another week or two, I don’t know, the sun seemed a little sunnier. After a month, I one day found myself whistling as I walked to my car to drive home. I couldn’t remember the last time I had whistled. It shocked me and delighted everyone around me to see how quickly my mood started to improve once I started taking antidepressants. After a couple of months, I was pretty much back to my old self, with a little help from my new “vitamins.”
When I told Dr. Binder how well I felt, he said, “I’m a genius! Don’t you feel lucky to be in the presence of such a brilliant doctor?” I looked at him like he was crazy, and he chuckled and gave me one of his darling little smiles. “Okay, truth is, you’re what we call a good responder. I gave you a medication regimen that has worked well with other of my female patients, and it’s obviously good for you too.”
“Female?” I questioned. He knew perfectly well what I was.
He just shrugged his shoulders, and flashing that little smile again, he said, “Intuition - women aren’t the only ones who have it you know.” Before I could reply he went on. “If you keep progressing like this we don't need to do anything else. Come back in six months. But if you find yourself getting depressed again, I want you to call me right away. There’s lots more we can do if this combination stops working. Okay?”
I responded as I got up to leave, “You bet. But I don’t think we’re going to be seeing much of each other.”
As I turned to the door after shaking his hand he said, “And don’t you dare stop taking these medications until I tell you to, do you understand? I’m not kidding.”
“Yes doctor,” I replied submissively, bobbing a quick curtsey before I had even thought about it. Once I did, however, my hand flew to my mouth. That must have looked so totally stupid.
He just smiled and shook his head. Then he flipped his fingers to hurry me out. “Out, out. If you do anything else like that I may have to take you home and turn you into my maid. Would you like that?”
I vigorously shook my head no, and we both laughed as I let myself out. For some reason, having his official opinion seemed important to me, as if it gave me permission to reengage with life. My improved mood may have been chemically induced, but what the hell, it was sooo much better than it had been.
So, after having lived as a woman 24/7 for nearly nine months, my life only approximated normal. And on top of everything else, I remained infatuated with the whole dressing thing. I loved selecting clothes in the morning, wearing different outfits for different activities, putting on makeup and playing with my hair, even though I could barely braid it evenly, and a French roll was a total mystery. All of those activities elicited a little sexual thrill, and still felt a little naughty, as did experimenting with new feminine behaviors. I even became something of a flirt at times when out alone in public. I always wore heels or wedge-heeled sandals, along with short, flirty skirts or skintight jeans. I thought my little butt was quite tasty in a pair of DIESEL’s, though, truth be told, I really liked my much cheaper DKNY jeans, which also did wonders for my ass and had the cutest embroidery on the back pockets. On the weekends, l took to sitting in the window of a Starbucks a few blocks from the apartment and watching men as they watched me putting on lipstick while I sat with my legs crossed, back straight, and head cocked just so. I simply gorged on the attention this brought me, reaffirming my belief in myself as a woman, and keeping me slightly turned on all the time.
I felt so good that at the end of June I decided to fly out to Chicago to visit my sister, Courtney. Then I realized that I would have to go through airport security with Michael driver’s license. I’d die if I had to dress as a guy, and as I thought about going en femme, I realized that I could be searched and interrogated by some nitwit TSA storm trooper in full view of all the other passengers. Instead, I convinced her to come to New York.
“What do you want to do,” I asked, planning really full days in my head.
“Sleep!”
“I’ll give you eight hours both nights. Plus you can sleep on the plane - both ways. That’s like four extra hours.”
I heard her giggle and we set a date for the end of June, when she had four days off.
The next day I went shopping. My bedroom had to be more feminine, as did hers, and I absolutely needed casual clothes! This would be so delightful. Two sisters together for a three-day weekend! My first ever! Sadly, Phillip would be out of town, and I really wanted Courtney to meet him.
***
I made her take a cab from LaGuardia. I refused to fight that traffic, even for my baby sister. She arrived at about 8:00 Thursday night, and when she got to the apartment, I threw the door open to greet her. I had been preparing all day for her arrival. Early in the morning, I had started cooking a Bolognese, carefully sautéing the onions, carrots and celery so they didn’t brown, and browning the meat just the littlest bit so it lost its raw color. I then cooked it all with wine and then milk to keep the meat tender and juicy. After I added the tomatoes -okay, I admit it, from a can - I let it simmer slowly in the deep, Le Crueset cast iron pot I had bought just the day before at some absurdly expensive shop nearby. Four hours at a minimum, I thought. Then I made the dough for the pasta. I considered kneading it by hand, but, what the hell, I had only recently bought the gleaming Kitchen Aide food processor, so I took the short cut, finally wrapping the dough in wax paper and putting it in the fridge for later.
Then I went out to get my hair and nails done, and to pick up the ingredients for the small antipasto and salad I had planned. Don’t you just love it when you’ve just come from your salon and look like a goddess -or at least feel like one - and guys are twisting their necks to get a glance at you? In my jeans, black high heel boots, and short black leather jacket, I looked like a total babe. I couldn’t help it; I strutted shamelessly, swishing my hips as I stalked down the sidewalk.
I went all the way down to Prince Street in the West Village just to shop at Dean and DeLuca. They say all the fruit there is perfectly shaped, and one of the other shoppers apparently thought mine was too, because I felt a hand rest on my butt at one point as I reached up to take my Volpe Genoa salami from the guy behind the counter. I managed not to freak. Instead I savored the feeling, and let the hand stay for just a moment too long before I turned to check out my admirer. I almost burst out laughing. A woman! - just about my height, very trim, with her hair cut really butch, and wearing not so tight jeans, bulky sweat shirt, and Timberland boots. She just had to be a dyke.
She winked and said, "Verrry nice."
I almost curtsied in thanks for the compliment she didn't even know she payed me. She thought I was a woman!
It’s not true, as Courtney never tires of asserting, that I had tried on twenty-three different outfits before she got there. Maybe as many as ten, or maybe just six or seven, who can remember? Anyway, no one had planned “casual” any more carefully than I had that night. No one had ever fussed with her hair more, or tried on more jewelry for a sister’s visit than I did. I wanted everything to be perfect! The food was ready, I was ready and Courtney’s room was ready.
No jeans. I wore a skirt. I really wanted to be a little sexy, but reluctantly decided that a normal sister would only be casual. So I finally ended up in my denim mini and a big, white cable knit sweater than came down to my hips. I even managed to stay out of heels. For the longest time I had on my white Keds, but couldn't stand it, I had to have something more feminine on my feet. So I switched to a pair of wedge-heeled espadrilles. Sure, they had a heel, but only two inches, and they would certainly be considered casual on the streets of Manhattan. Oh yeah, and I put on pantyhose. It only took me two tries to find the right ones. First I tried dark blue, but they looked yucky with my shoes. Nude, however, looked just right.
Once the doorman called to announce her, I opened the door, and tried to stand there as I waited for her to appear from the elevator. But I was too excited and bounced up and down on my toes as I took deep breaths to calm myself. All of a sudden, the doors opened with their usual thump, and my little sister stumbled out, looking around in confusion until she saw me and knew which way to turn. The brown hair dangling around her shoulders looked like it hadn’t been cut in months, and her jeans were so baggy at the knees they looked like they hadn’t been washed for at least that long. The huge black circles under her eyes made it seem as if she hadn’t slept in months either.
“Courtney!” I nearly shouted.
“Mi…Sara?” she sort of whispered back, dropping her bags beside her. “Omigod, I. . . . I never. . . . I couldn’t. . . . You. . . . You’re like so cute!”
“And you look exhausted. Come. . . .” I grabbed her bag. “Let me give you some dinner. Let’s talk. I’m so glad you came!”
And as we fell into each other’s arms, we laughed and cried for joy.
After I had hustled her inside and showed her the bathroom so she could shower, I went to put the finishing touches on dinner. This would be so great!
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from her room, dressed in a set of green scrubs that she had apparently “liberated” from the hospital. Even with her hair still wet, she looked much better. I sat her at the table, and poured a glass of the wonderful Chianti my wine merchant - as he liked to be called - had picked for me.
We munched on warm Italian bread and cold antipasto, and talked of nothing in particular, except how wonderful I looked, and how drained she looked. We reveled in our wine and each other’s presence. Really, she seemed totally delighted to be with me, even though she was seeing me for the first time as a woman. I coldn’t have been more thrilled, or hoped for any more.
“Go sit on the couch,” I said. “I just need to finish the pasta.”
She gave me a wan smile, which I ignored because of the excitement of having her with me and having her treat me like her sister. She moved to the big leather couch where Phillip and I sat to watch movies. I could see her head, but was really focused on dinner as I continued to jabber while I put the finishing touches on my casual masterpiece.
I put everything on the table, turned down the lights, lit the candles, and then went to the couch to get Courtney.
She was sound asleep.
My first gentle nudges didn’t rouse her. Even saying her name didn’t work. I guess if you can sleep in a noisy hospital while you’re on call, you can sleep in a quiet apartment when you’re not.
I was crushed.
What could I do? She mumbled and grumbled as I got her up and into her bed, but never really woke up. I ate my half of our delicious dinner alone, cleaned up, finished the wine myself, and essentially pouted my way to bed.
Tomorrow better be better.
***
“Where am I?” Courtney almost shouted when I woke her just after 10:00 the next morning. I had given her twelve hours of sleep, which I though was enough, even though she showed no signs of waking up on her own.
“Relax sis,” I replied, sitting on the edge of her bed.
“Oh! Mich…uh… uh… Sara, it’s you. Oh right, New York. Omigod, I fell asleep while you were cooking dinner didn’t I?” Her eyes begged my forgiveness.
“Yes my dear, you did,” I said calmly. “You must have been very tired.”
“But you said you worked on it all day! I can’t believe…. That’s so rude of me.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get even with you,” I teased lightly. “And besides, I said it cooked all day. I didn’t watch it the whole time. But forget dinner, right now you have to get up. We’ve lots to do. I’m taking you shopping.” I sort of expected her to object, but instead she appeared thrilled.
“Great,” she replied happily. She threw the new yellow duvet cover off as she sat up - still in her scrubs. But then a frown crossed her face. “How did you get my bra off?”
“Oh, I called mom and had her come over to do it,” I replied earnestly, furrowing my brow and nodding my head at the same time, like I was really serious. I mean, how did she think I got it off?
Glancing at my chest, she asked, “Are those real?”
I shook my shoulders provocatively to set them in motion. “Why don’t you just come over here and find out,” I challenged. It was a line from our childhood that often led to friendly wrestling matches, which typically ended with her in gales of laughter as I tickled her mercilessly.
“I’m not as small as I used to be,” she shot back.
“Well neither am I,” I teased sticking out my chest again.
“Oh you,” she spluttered, throwing her pillow at me.
“You don’t think I’m going to let you get away with that, do you?” I shrieked, grabbing the pillow and turning on her with it. Just like when we were children, we ended up struggling with each other, in our playful way. Well, not exactly - I couldn’t help but notice the way my breasts moved around or how it felt to press them into Courtney’s. And she wasn’t as small as she used to be, and the tickling went both ways. She eventually managed to - okay I let her - pull off my t-shirt, and then when she had it in her hand, holding it aloft like a prize from battle, her face furrowed in concentration and she sat there, staring at my chest and my bra covered breast forms.
“May I?” she asked, lowering her arm and handing me my shirt.
I pursed my lips and started to to cover back up, but for some reason, I figured what the hell and reached around to undo the hooks.
“You do that like you’ve been doing that since you were a teenager,” she commented. I gave her a small shrug and shy smile before letting the bra slide down my arms. As good as they were anyone could see I was wearing breast forms. “Glue?” she inquired, reaching out to touch one.
"Tape," I nodded.
While my sister examined my faux titties, I felt as shy as a fourteen-year old virgin being fondled by a boy for the first time. They were something that really shouldn’t have been there, and I felt a flush of shame as Courtney’s hands explored them, getting their feel.
“Is this what you really want?” she asked, as she let her hand fall from my breast and rest on my hand, which rested on my lap.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “If it was just me, I’d say yes, but I just don’t know yet. I don’t want to lose Rebecca, but I’m afraid if I keep going like this I will. I’m very confused. That’s what this living apart thing is all about. I have to figure out who I am before I can even begin to imagine how to create a relationship with her. Don’t you think?”
“I didn’t know how I would feel when I saw you, but now I see you’re still the same sweet person I always knew. You were a nice older brother, and I’m sure you’ll make a nice older sister too.”
“Thank you, Courtney," I croaked, a lump rising in my throat. I reached down to grab my bra, pulled it up my shoulders, and leaned forward to seat the forms in the cups. “The rest of the family is still pretty freaked out,” I went on, sitting up straight and reaching behind me to fasten the hooks, “So I really appreciate your support. You have no idea how much.” I think I had tears in my eyes ‘cause everything got a little blurry.
“C’mere big sister, big sister Sara, c’mere and let me give you a hug. I’m afraid this is going to be a bumpy ride for you.”
“Going to be? You have no idea.” She opened her arms to me and I fell in them gratefully, cherishing the unqualified love of a family member for the first time in far too long.
A minute or so later, as she gently disengaged from our hug, Courtney asked, “So, are we shopping for you or me?”
“Why you, silly,” I replied somewhat dubiously. I couldn’t figure out what she was really asking.
“Uh…, like, uhh… Do you actually know anything about clothes? Women’s clothes I mean?”
“Excuuuse me,” I replied with mock outrage. “You come in here looking like you haven’t changed clothes or had a haircut in your entire life and you have the nerve to ask me if I know anything about clothes? Don't you know anything about trannies? If there's one thing we know about, it's clothes.” And I gave my head one good nod, said "Hmmphh," as if I had been really insulted, and then began to giggle.
I don’t know what I was thinking, but I went on. “Do you have any idea how many perfect outfits I tried on before you got here?”
“No, my dear sister,” she said with an evil grin. “Tell me, how many? Ten, twenty, thirty?”
“No where near thirty,” I squealed, trying to sound indignant.
"You mean you tried on twenty outfits only to end up in a denim skirt and cable knit sweater? Like, that’s the most basic outfit of all.”
“I wanted to look nice for you,” I pouted.
“You did sweetie, you did. Don’t go worrying your pretty little head about that,” she went on sarcastically. “But if it took you twenty-three outfits….”
“Twenty-three? Where did you get twenty-three? I never said that.”
“No, but you haven’t denied it yet either.”
"What are you, a lawyer?” I laughed. “I thought you were a doctor.”
“Twenty-three outfits,” she said again, as if it was the most amazing thing she had ever heard. “Who has twenty-three outfits any way? Besides you and Paris Hilton?”
I hit her with a pillow, but that didn’t stop the twenty-three outfit story from being born. I knew immediately Courtney would tell it to everyone who would listen. It was silly, but with something more to it.
It spoke, in a brilliant way, both to me and any woman she would tell it to. Viewed one way, it complimented my femininity, and welcomed me to the club, emphasizing the underlying need I shared with other women to look good. It also played into the insecurity that many women feel as they get dressed, especially if they are doing it for others. What woman hasn’t changed outfits at the last moment because of some imagined imperfection? What man does that, unless he spots something as egretious as a ketchup stain on his tie? So I was included in that club - another woman insecure about her looks, different from men because of the lengths she’s willing to go to look good. The days of throwing on the jeans and the nearest t-shirt were over.
From another perspective though, I could feel a subtle put down. She might as well said, “No real woman would need to try on twenty-three outfits to find something casual to wear. Only someone who isn’t a real woman, and doesn’t understand how she looks would need to change that many times. What makes her think she can be one of us?”
“Well, my dear sister,” I responded, just wanting to change the subject, “if you behave yourself and get ready to go, you can start to catch up. Judging by what’s in your bag,” it lay open on the floor as if the insides had exploded once she’d unzipped it, “you don’t even have one yet.”
She looked down, stuck her tongue out at me and then smiled. “Okay, give me a sec.”
“A sec?” I responded dubiously.
“Yeah, a sec,” she insisted. “If you’re gonna be a girl, you have to understand that a ‘sec’ is however much time you need. That’s a free lesson, just from me.” She beamed.
“Thank you, teacher.” I smiled. “Try to make it a short ‘sec,’ okay? Don’t spend much time on your hair; I made an appointment for you at my salon.”
We had a great afternoon, shopping and bonding as sisters. I bought her a whole lot of things, mostly casual wear because she didn’t do much that required anything dressy. I got her a pair of DIESEL’s to match my own, several soft sweaters to help fend off the cold of the Chicago winter, and a pair of calf-length black boots, with chunky two-inch heels. I also insisted on a lovely little black dress, cut rather daringly across the décolletage, with spaghetti straps to hold it up. The hem stopped several inches above her knees, and the layers of chiffon that made up the skirt, swirled invitingly around her thighs. I had no trouble talking her into a cute pair of pointy-toed three-inch heels to go with the skirt.
She let Lacy, the woman who cut her hair, talk her into something sexier than she usually wore, creating a nice mid-neck length bob, the ends turned nicely under, with bangs to keep it off her face. “I’m a surgeon,” she explained. “I can’t keep brushing my hair out of my eyes while I work.”
Then we had our adventure in the lingerie section of Bendel’s. When she saw the first bra and thong outfit I held up for her she shook her head and backed away as if I had brandished a rattlesnake. “I don’t have any chance to wear something like that,” she whispered urgently. “I work more than eighty hours a week; and I need stuff that’s easy to care for.”
“So the next guy you want to attract is going to see you your white cotton Hanes for Her bra and panties that are already yellowing because you've worn them so many times?” I asked, aiming the hanger at her.
She ignored my little dig except for crinkling her nose. “I’m not sure I want to attract a guy that way.” Still she stepped forward tentatively to feel the shimmering fabric.
“No, of course you don’t,” I agreed, handing her the set, and then turning to find a saleswoman so she could be fitted properly.
By the time we were done, she had tried on at least ten different sets of gorgeous lingerie, with different cuts and colors of bras and panties. The most amazing and wonderful part of the whole experience occurred when she turned to go into the changing room to try on the first few things the saleswoman had found for her. I just stood there smiling when she said, “Aren’t you coming in with me?”
“Huh?” I replied, not even having considered it.
“Well, if you think I’m gonna buy any of this stuff without my sister’s advice, you’re crazy.” She gave the saleswoman one of those looks that said, “I don’t know where I got such a dimwitted sister.”
“Uh. . . . I. . . . uh, okay, if that’s what you want.”
“Ye…es,” she said rolling her eyes at me and reaching out to take my hand.
As soon as she had dragged me through the door, I urgently whispered, “Are you sure you want to do this? I may be passable but I’m still your brother.”
“No you’re not,” she said blithely, while she stripped off her top. “You recently told me you’re my sister, and that’s what you will be till you tell me otherwise, got it? And that’s how I intend to treat you.” And with that, she unhooked her bra and let her lovely young breasts fall free. I knew from the bras we had selected that she was a thirty four C. At just twenty eight and in magnificent shape, she awed me.
“Oh my,” I said.
“Nice, huh?” she teased, rubbing the undersides with the backs of her hands.
“Oh my,” I said again, stupidly, as I jerked my head away to keep from staring at her. She seemed totally relaxed, in contrast to my complete tizzy. “Here, take this,” I urged, handing her a bra I now really wanted to see her wear.
“So you’re a lezzie, huh?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“Well any woman who stares at boobies like that must be a lezzie,” she replied, with a teasing lilt in her voice. “Do you find them attractive?”
My mind finally got back to reality. “Ooooh yeah, they're absolutely gorgeous. If you weren’t my sister. . . .” I smiled as lewdly as I could, and then nodding, I went on. “Yes, dear sister, I like women. Men do nothing for me.”
“Well that’s good to know,” she said. “I have a lot of male doctor friends who wouldn’t mind taking a shot at someone as lovely as you.” She had a twinkle in her eye as she peeled off her new jeans. Now, I guess there’s no point in fixing you up with them.”
“Well, just cause I don't find them sexually attractive doesn't mean I'm scared of ’em. I do like to eat at fancy restaurants, go to shows, and dance,” I replied hopefully, not actually sure why I had said it. “Guys are good for that."
She looked at me a little sideways, as if trying to see if I was for real, and then rolled her eyes. "And what happens when it's time to pay them back for their generosity?"
"A gentleman would never want that," I said, as snootily as I could, pointing my nose in the air.
"Right." She giggled.
"And besides,” I went on, “who knows what I'd do for the right guy. I must admit I'm getting curious." Damn, why had I said that?
"Well now. Do tell me more."
"There isn't any more. I'm just curious. I don't find men attractive, although I can appreciate when one is. I don't know, all you women seem to find something fascinating about them, so I figure there might be something there." I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, feeling a little ashamed for some reason.
“With us it’s genetic, we can’t help it. Although I must say, having a nice cock way far up inside you is something special, and she wiggled her butt just like Ronnie had taught me to do.”
“Well I don’t have any place I’d really like to really put one,” I insisted.
“Whatever! So — I should tell them they shouldn't get their hopes up, but to take a run at you and see what happens," she teased as she started to pull down her white Hanes for Her panties.
“Wait," I interrupted. "You're not supposed to take off your panties when you try those on."
“How am I supposed to get these on over my panties?” she exclaimed holding up a teeny thong. Sort of mauve in color, cut extremely low in front, and with a delightful little lace panel that would hide nothing, it delighted me to think of Cortney wearing it. In the back, however was a length of fabric attached right at the top and tied into a small bow with the ends hanging down several inches. It had to be one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, you just HAVE to get that,” I squealed, “but only wear it when you want some guy to throw you down on the bed and fuck your brains out, ‘cause that’s what any guy seeing it will want to do.”
“Yeah,” Courtney replied looking at herself in the three-way mirror. “This is to die for. It hardly matters what the bra looks like.”
Then she tried on another set with a demi-bra and boy-cut panties in a charcoal-colored stretch netting appliquéd with purple and gray flowers. The panties had a pink ribbon woven through the fabric just below the waist band that matched the bra straps and the little bow between the cups. Courtney ooohed and aaahed over them as well.
Then, she pulled out another set and said, “These are for you. Try them on.”
“You're kidding, right? You want to see me undressed again?”
“Why not, sis? You’re look'n at me, Kid” she teased, in her best Bogart imitation.
“Yeah, but you’re real,” I tried to reason. “I’m just good padding.”
“I don’t care; I want to see you in this set. The saleswoman thinks they’ll fit.”
Actually, the full coverage bra and rather full French cut panties were a good choice, enough material to hold me in on top and bottom. The panties were pretty substantial, with some Lycra in them and black with purple roses printed all over. The bra was stretched netting with purple flowers appliqués. The petals formed the top of the bra, giving it a subtle scalloped design. I loved the way they looked, but still hadn’t moved.
“Do you need me to help you?” Courtney asked, as she closed in on me.
I rolled my eyes and started to undress, carefully pulling off my tight, ribbed sweater and simply dropping my denim skirt to the floor. As I looked up after placing the skirt on the chair, I could see Courtney examining me with what seemed to be open curiosity. I gave her a little smile and reached behind myself to unhook my bra. I let it slide down my arms, and stood with my forms hanging from my chest.
“C’mon, the panties,’ she urged.
“You’re not supposed. . . .”
“Oh poo, it’s not like you’re gonna leak any fluids on ‘em, are you?” She ended by arching her eyebrow at me.
But why do you want to see. . . .”
“Cause I’m curious how you do it. Now let me see,” she said in her little girl pouty voice that always got her whatever she wanted from Dad.
I laughed, shrugged, and skinned my rather full-cut stretch panties down my hips and legs, finally pulling them off with my feet. When I stood my penis swung forward, slowly relaxing from its compressed state, and my balls found their way back down into their sack. Courtney watched intently.
“Do you find it attractive,” I asked, mimicking the question she had asked when I had stared at her luscious breasts.
“Yeah,” she cooed. “I never knew you were so big. Now I see why Rebecca married you." She giggled, and just as I had done to her, she leered lewdly. "If you weren’t my brother. . . . .”
Instead of finishing she helped me with the bra, adjusting the straps after fastening it in back.
“Oh geez, this is just gorgeous,” I said, admiring myself in the mirror.
“Are you sure you want to get rid of it,” Courtney asked, nodding at my crotch.
“NO," I squealed. "I have no intention of getting rid of it. The very thought freaks me out. And I intend to keep it fully functional.”
“Then how are you. . . .”
“I don’t know yet. But after everything that has happened in my life, I just had to live like this for a while to see if it’s what I really want. Besides, once I got outed by that magazine article. . . .” and I just shrugged, letting out a big sigh. I began to feel a little overwhelmed by my life.
Courtney moved close to sooth me. “Oh, I didn’t mean to upset you. Come let me give you a hug.” That sounded like a good idea right about then, even if she had nothing but a sexy bra and panties and I wasn’t even wearing panties. I don’t know, maybe her training as a doctor came into play, but she hugged me without any reservation or stiffness, even after I jumped a little when my penis hit her thigh.
After a few moments, during which she rubbed her hand over the bra straps on my back, she pulled back. “I kinda like the feel of your breasts on mine. I think I could get used to this sister thing. Here, try the panties." She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling.
As I retucked myself, she asked in a worried tone, “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Not really, but it’s not exactly fun.” After I had smoothed everything into place I smiled. “Not exactly fun until I see this." I turned from side to side, enjoying the view of myself in the mirror, my groin showing no tell-tale bulge. “How do I look?”
"Like a girl in beautiful lingerie, just scrumptious."
I just grinned at her perfect compliment.
"Now try these." She had another set. This one a pale blue demi-bra with embroidered designs that looked sort of like clouds. The cups cut right above my nipples, slanted sharply from the shoulder, leaving a huge expanse of breast exposed. The bra really seemed too insubstantial to hold my forms, especially after I got it on, but the panties, an absolutely adorable, very low-cut boy panty were out of the question. "I can't wear these," I said to Courtney after trying to pull them into place. "They'll castrate me, or I'll just hang out." I frowned.
She giggled.
"And I really don’t think showing tons of silicon breast form is going to seem particularly sexy to anyone." I emphasized this by pushing out my chest, letting the overhead light glint off the too shiny surface.
"Well, you could get implants, you know.” She said it as if suggesting nothing more than that I buy a new scarf. “That way all the bra has to do is hold 'em up." she pushed her own breasts up with her hands. "Not hold 'em on." She giggled. "As for the other problem. . . ."
"Yes, doctor?" I asked sardonically. "You've already recommended one surgery, what else are you going to recommend?"
She stroked her chin, pretending to really think about it. "It would be a little more complex, and rather more permanent."
"You're a big help," I said, rolling my eyes at her. Then I pulled on the other pair of panties, stripped off the bra, and replaced it with the one that matched the panties. I was well protected, well supported, and neatly tucked.
"Your beard's not coming back," she noted. Before I could say anything, she went on, "No, really," and she paused to watch me lean forward to seat the forms into the bra. "You could get implants, and then if you don't like 'em, they can always be removed."
"And what would my chest look like then?" I asked sarcastically.
"Well, they can do the implants through an incision in the axilla."
"Huh?”
"Oh sorry, armpit." She lifted her arm to show me where. "It's your choice, but think about it, if you want to be a woman, or even live like one successfully, you have to make some choices. You can't have it both ways."
"I know," I replied, quietly, “but there's no rush, is there?
"Guess not, sis," she responded thoughtfully. "Let's get dressed and get out of here before we spend any more money." She started to remove her new panties.
“Oh, no," I said waving my finger at her. "You’re wearing your new set too. I may not be able to wear boy-cut panties, but they’re totally cute on you, so just leave 'em on. If there’s one thing we trannies know, it’s the joy of wearing gorgeous lingerie, even if no one is going to see it. You silly real girls seem to be too practical for that.” She just laughed as I stood next to her beaming. As we examined at our reflections in the mirror, two smiling sisters stared back.
***
Once we got home, we both decided a nap would be nice, but before I could even lie down, the phone rang. I usually didn’t answer Phillip’s phone unless I knew the caller, so I looked at caller ID and saw it was my sister Leah. *How great!* I thought, she’s finally calling me. “Hello, Leah?”
“Let me speak to Courtney?”
“Leah,” I nearly shouted into the phone, “can’t you even say hello?”
“Hello Michael, let me speak to Courtney.” Her tone couldn’t have been any more dismissive.
*Well fuck you too.* I thought as I went to Courtney’s bedroom. I knocked on her door and told her to pick up the phone by her bedside. When she did, I went to push the off button to hang up, but for some reason… I didn’t. I’d never done such a thing before, but I hit mute and listened. It didn’t take Leah long to get to the point.
“Why are you there? You can’t possibly be supportive of this?”
“Why not? Michael and I always adored each other and I love Sara just as much. It’s not like some kind of joke, it’s a medical condition.”
“Courtney! It’s perverted!”
“Leah! What IS your problem? Michael was your brother, you always liked him.
“Courtney, this is sick. I can’t accept it. If he’s. . . .“
“She,” Courtney insisted.
“If HE’S going to do this, I’m not just going to sit back and take it.”
“Well you better not act out when we’re at mom and dad’s tomorrow. I want to see everyone and have a nice time.”
“Why don’t any of you see what’s going on? Why are you aiding and abetting this”
“Leah, did it ever occur to you that the rest of us are right and you’re wrong?
“No,” Leah said with complete and utter finality.
“Well in any case . . . promise me you won’t make a scene.”
“Why?”
“Leah! If you ruin my one evening with our family, I’ll kill you!”
“Yeah, whatever. I don’t understand any of you.”
At that point I took my ear from the phone, breathless.
***
By 9:00 that evening, we were in a SoHo gallery for an opening. I had many friends in the visual arts community in New York, and often went to openings, though tonight’s would be my first as Sara. I made Courtney come along for support, which is why we had gotten that little black dress. Frankly, she looked gorgeous - sexy in that unaffected way a confident young woman in great physical shape could look. With her sophisticated new 'do, and carefully applied, but dramatic makeup, she was a knockout. We had played with her look for about forty-five minutes before she caved in to what I wanted to do. If you don't wear any makeup, even a little seems like a lot. In any case, she looked so spectacular I figured no one would even notice me.
I dressed in glossy dark gray, my dress a not-too-tight, simple, sleeveless column of silk that didn’t reach my knees. It was covered by a sheer duster of dark gray, very open lace that went to my ankles. Its long sleeves showed the skin of my arms and shoulders, which I thought looked pretty sexy in a demure kind of way, and the collar, when buttoned, could hide my Adam's apple, though I planned to leave it open tonight so I could wear my fake black pearls.
From the moment we walked in the door we attracted lots of attention. I had a great time introducing everyone to Courtney, who soon was surrounded by guys who couldn't get over the fact that this sexy young woman was a surgeon! The poor artsy guys were so intimidated I almost laughed as I watched. I don’t know why, it’s not like I had anything to do either with her success or how sexy she looked - well, maybe a little there - but I felt so proud watching her soak up the attention and play cute. If only I could be so unselfconscious around men.
There were also quite a few people I hadn't seen since my coming out, and they were all very curious and mostly quite complimentary. I felt at home, not having to fool anyone, or worry about being outed. No one here cared what I was, except maybe a few who guys who wanted to get me into bed, and even they made me feel attractive and good about myself. My sister was a big hit, and I got lots of compliments.
"So you’re a lezzie," one totally buff gay artist shouted out with great pain in his voice as he clutched his heart. "Does that mean I have no chance with you?"
"Sorry love," I comforted him, my hand on his forearm, before giving him a kiss on the cheek.
He whispered dramatically. "Well, if you ever change your mind I'll be there in a heartbeat. I just love putting little sissy boys through their paces."
I gulped as he gave me a little finger wave and wandered off towards the bar. *Sissy boy? Is that how people see me?* I wondered glumly. The very concept appalled me and my sense of self confidence evaporated. All I wanted was to be an ordinary woman. Did people really consider me a sissy? I didn’t like that idea alone bit, and just the thought of it made me clutch my arms around my chest. One thing for sure though, no way anyone would ever put this girl through any paces. I threw the remainder of my drink down my throat just to prove my toughness.
As I stewed over that, and tried to recover from the stupid move of throwing too much alcohol down my throat, I spotted Rebecca just inside the door. She took my breath away. I don't know what others saw, but she absolutely stunned me, no one had ever been so luminous. It looked like someone had shined a spotlight on her, and the rest of the room had faded away. Her hair was up, her lips bright red, and her eyes smoky dark. She wore a short, strapless, red dress that hugged her curves and came to mid-thigh. It seemed to me the room went silent as people caught sight of her.
I'm not sure how long the sight of her mesmerized me, it might have been only a second or two, or it could have been an hour.
Then I noticed her date. That broke the spell.
A big, good looking guy in black trousers, silver sport coat and black turtle neck, he had his arm around her waist as if he owned her. She snuggled into his left side as if she loved that he owned her. I recognized him - Martin Strauss, the PR guy for one of our clients. I had worked with him not two months ago on a project. He was very sharp, knew exactly what he wanted, and charmed my pants, or by that time actually, skirt off. He’d even made me giggle like a teenager. He could be really charming and especially good with women. As I watched, she snaked her right arm up and around the back of his head, pulled him down as she twisted her neck back and up, and gave him a quick kiss and then a huge smile.
I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.
I turned my back on them, walked over to Courtney and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
But . . . as Courtney turned to look at me, she spotted Rebecca over my shoulder and began to wave and call her name.
Rebecca immediately turned our way and spotted Courtney. She waved back and started to move in our direction. Half way through her first step, she spotted me as I turned to fully face her. She seemed to hesitate for just a moment, the expression on her face changing from delight to concern to that decisive look she got when she knew she had to do something that maybe she didn’t want to do. She set her course, reached around to take Martin’s hand and started in our direction.
“Shit,” I muttered, as plastered a smile on my face and prepared to deal with her arrival. It never occurred to me she might show up here, and from the look on her face, it hadn’t occurred to her I would.
“Courtney!”
“Rebecca!” they shouted simultaneously, as they moved into each other for a hug.
As I thought about it, I realized they hadn’t seen each other in a couple of years. As they embraced, I had no alternative but to turn towards Martin and say hello.
He beat me to it, reaching out his hand, apparently to shake mine. Much to my surprise, once he had my hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. He looked back up into my face with that killer smile of his. “Sara, how delightful to see you again; you look absolutely lovely. That's a great outfit."
His gracious greeting and wonderful compliment so took me aback that I actually felt embarrassed. I turned my head, and looked down, feeling a huge blush work its way across my face.
He didn't stop there. As he slowly releasing my hand he said, "Now that I have you here, I must tell you again that your work for us was outstanding, just brilliant.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. After being showered with his compliments, I could have kissed him! I had been prepared to hate him, after all, the son-of-a-bitch was out with my wife. But he so charmed me, he had me totally flustered. I felt like a fish flopping in the bottom of a boat. “Eh. . . . Ah. . . . Ah. . . . Martin, you're so sweet. You know we always try to do our best.”
“Yes, you and your former wife make a remarkable team. Doesn’t she look lovely? I feel privileged to be her escort tonight." He dropped his voice into a fake whisper. "Plus . . . I wouldn't have been able to get into this opening if she hadn't invited me.” He flashed me a big smile, which, by now, I totally believed was sincere.
Just as I started to tell Martin that Rebecca and I were still married, Rebecca and Courtney turned towards us. "Who's this cutie" Courtney asked, looking Martin up and down with a delightful smile in her voice.
"Uh, oh, I. . . ." I started.
But before I could collect myself, Rebecca beat me to it, giving me a glance and rolling her eyes as if to say, get with it, girl. “Martin Strauss, this is Dr. Courtney Cohen, Mi. . .uh. . .Sara's sister.” She then turned to Courtney and in dead serious tones said, "He's mine. You can't have him," which made us all laugh.
As Courtney and Martin said hello to each other, Rebecca turned to me. With a big smile, she took my hands and leaned in to kiss me. . . except it was a girl-style air kiss, not the kiss on the lips I hoped for. She did hold it a rather longer than necessary to let me know it wasn't just a thoughtless social gesture, but still. . . . When she pulled back, she looked at me for moment. "Sara, you look magnificent." She leaned back in to kiss me, this time on the lips.
I reveled in the feeling, but I was ws only getting more confused.
"Where did you get that gorgeous outfit?" she asked.
I beamed at her compliment. "Do you really like it?"
"Yes. It's both elegant and sexy. You look great, radiant almost. Your depression seems to be pretty much under control, huh?"
I ignored her question. "But look at you. I swear a hush fell over the entire place when you walked in. You look perfectly stunning."
She actually blushed, and then turned to Martin. "How 'bout that drink you promised me? You two need refills?"
Courtney and I looked at each other and nodded. Right about then, I knew for sure that more would be better.
"Sure,” Courtney said, brightly, reaching for my hand. "I don't go back on call for two more days."
I wanted desperately to get away from Rebecca and Martin; they seemed so comfortable and familiar with each other. They had no inhibitions about where their hands roamed, but Rebecca and Courtney seemed intent on hanging out with each other, and I couldn't figure out a polite way to flee. So, ten minutes later, I found myself still alone with Martin as we examined one of the paintings, waiting for Rebecca and Courtney to bring us more champagne.
“How’s the transition going?" he asked. "You seem to be taking to this girl thing like a duck to water." He seemed completely sincere.
Again I found myself off balance. I wanted to hate him. The bastard with my wife was being really nice to me, solicitous even, like he really did care about me! It just didn’t compute.
What could I say in reply anyway? I didn’t think of myself as transitioning, although I could easily understand why people might think that. Hell, he even thought Rebecca had divorced me. But really, aside from zapping my beard, taking some hormones, and dressing as a woman all the time, I hadn't done anything else - if you didn’t count therapy and my support group. In my mind I wasn't in transition; I had ensconced myself in a holding pattern, so far unwilling to go too far in either direction.
"It's kind of lonely, actually. I really miss Rebecca." Surprised at my candor, I threw my hands up to my mouth. "I'm so sorry," I blurted out. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
He tilted his head and looked at me for a second, as if trying to understand something important. Then he totally surprised me. He reached around my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. Speaking softly, so only I could hear, he said, "I'm so sorry. I can only imagine how alone you must feel, but I'm the one who needs to apologize. Here I am with your wife, and… well… it's only just occurred to me how that must make you feel. If I were you, I think I would be furious."
I could feel tears start to form in my eyes as I looked into his face. "I want to be," I replied, as he handed me his handkerchief. "But you won't let me." I gave him a rueful look. "You're being too nice." As I stepped back out of his hug, I said to him, "There is one thing you should know, however, Rebecca and I aren't divorced - only separated."
Obviously surprised, he said, "Oh, I guess I just assumed. . . . I mean. . . . when Rebecca asked me to be her date tonight. . . ." He had a pained look on his face.
I put my hand on his arm. "It's alright. We both have lots of things to figure out, and one of them is what we need in a mate. I know she needs to experiment." I gave him a small smile and turned towards Courtney, who had just arrived with Rebecca. "Hey, sis, how ‘bout showing me how to use the little girls’ room?" I asked with a forced smile.
"Don't be silly," she replied, still looking at Rebecca with a big smile on her face. "You can…. Oh. I see. 'kay." Once she had seen my face, she quickly realized I needed help .
"Be back in a jif," she said to Rebecca, as she took my arm, and turned to search for the ladies’ room. As soon as we had gotten a few steps away, she whispered, "Are you okay, you look a little ill."
"I don't know what I am, but I just can’t bear to hang out with Rebecca and Martin for even one more moment. It’s too sad and too confusing and they were both being really nice to me."
Unnerved, I struggled with my skirt, pantyhose, panties and gaff, just so I could sit to pee, as if I had never done it wearing women’s clothes before. And when I finished, I lingered in the stall. I sat there with my elbows on my knees and my hands under my chin thinking about what Martin had said about transitioning. Should I? Could I if it meant losing Rebecca? Could I not, no matter what happened? Wasn’t I doing it already?
“Sis? You okay in there?” Courtney called out, startling me out of my reverie.
“Uh… yeah.”
“Well are you coming out?”
I didn’t want to, but figured I didn’t really have a choice.
By the time we had redone our lipstick, and fixed my eyes, which had become a little blotchy from the tears, my self-control was back and I felt ready to go back into the main room to face Rebecca and Martin again, but they were gone. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or guilty, so I got another drink, thinking that it would be best if I couldn’t feel anything at all. After spending about an hour that I spent drinking too much and Courtney spent exchaning phone numbers with eligible men, we too left. I cried all the way home in the cab, though I wasn’t quite sure why. I just knew that I really missed Rebecca and that I hated Martin Strauss, a very nice man who didn’t deserve it.
***
Because she so rarely got to New York, our parents had planned a family gathering at their apartment so everyone coud see Courtney. I had spoken to my mother a few times since I had come out to them, and she had been very cordial, though she clearly hoped I would change my mind. My dad’s anger had dissipated as well, and he felt so embarrassed about his behavior the night I came out that he had offered to take me out to the restaurant of my choice to make it up to me and show he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with me in public. Still, we hadn't seen each other, mostly because I hadn’t been brave enough, and they hadn’t pushed it. As with Rebecca, I felt really guilty about putting them through such a difficult time, even though, and to their credit, they hadn’t laid a guilt trip on me.
I hadn't had any communications with my sister, Leah, although I had spoken to her husband Zach a quite a few times. He was friendly, very curious and apparently supportive. Even though I looked for it, I couldn't detect even a hint of disapproval in his voice or anything he said. Leah never called me back, so I really didn’t know how she felt, although I figured it couldn’t possibly be good.
Getting there had not been easy. I was so nervous I could barely eat anything and totally got on Courtney's nerves when we visited the new Museum of Modern Art because I couldn't stand still long enough for her to enjoy the paintings. As we gazed at Van Gogh’s Starry Night, with all its swirling color, I imagined that's how my brain must look. It's certainly how it feels! When I told Courtney she laughed and said, “Well no wonder you’re so twitchy.”
Once we got home in the late afternoon, I started to obsess over what I should wear. As I vacilatated for the third time between pants or a skirt, Courtney started chanting "twenty-three outfits." She thought it was hilarious, but I was not amused. With her help, however, I eventually picked a long, red peasant skirt, under a long, turquoise wool sweater that clearly showed my bust. Once I added a belt of silver circles that hung loosely around my waist and over one hip and my red cowboy boots, I thought I looked slightly southwestern, appropriately feminine, but not overtly sexy. I still couldn’t sit still so Courtney showed me how to curl the ends of my hair lightly with a curling iron. It added a nice feminine touch that I thought looked really sweet.
I tried to talk her into a skirt too, but Courtney wanted to wear her new jeans and a tight, black, ribbed turtleneck she borrowed from me. I forced her to use some makeup, somehow convincing myself that mine would be less obvious if she wore some too. She looked effortlessly sexy, like a model on her day off. I felt all artifice by comparison.
Needless to say, everyone was really thrilled to see Courtney, who I forced through the door ahead of me as if somehow that would take everyone’s attention away from me. As she moved into the apartment getting hugs and kisses from everyone and oohs and aahs over her new look, it inevitably it became my turn anyway. When Mother turned her attention to me, I thought my heart would beat itself right out of my chest from the anxiety. I had to really concentrate to keep myself from hyperventilating. I saw my life pass before my eyes as she looked up into them.
“How are you, my dear?” she asked as if she really meant it. I couldn’t help but notice she didn’t call me by name.
“I’m fine, mom,” I replied earnestly, my anxiety starting to dissipate a little. “Nervous as hell, too,-being here with everyone for the first time.”
“Oh don’t be silly,” she replied in a nicely dismissive way. “Courtney read us all the riot act and we all promised to behave.” And she gave me one of her big bright smiles, the one I remember from when childhood and had drawn something with crayons that I thought was terrific and took it to her for approval. That smile never lost its power to make me feel good about myself, and it did this time too.
As my mom wrapped her arm around mine to lead me further into the room, I thought, *Things sure have changed, now my little sister is taking care of me.* As soon as I realized what a vast understatement that thought was, I couldn't help but snort out a laugh. Still, between my mother’s smile and the thought of Courtney taking care of me, I felt so grateful I almost started to tear up.
Dad turned towards me as he released Courtney, and I could feel my heart start to accelerate again. Even though he had apologized several times on the phone since then, he had been so angry the last time I saw him, I didn’t know what to expect.
He stepped toward me with a warm smile on his face and enveloped me in a big hug. At first I just stood there, stunned. It felt so good, just like when I was a child running to him because something had scared me, and his hug let me know everything woud be just fine. It only took a moment for me to relax into him, soaking up his affection the way a dry towel soaks up water. I was a little embarrassed, however, as I felt my breasts press against his chest. *What must he be thinking,* I worried. Only later did I realize that was the biggest hug I could ever remember sharing with him.
Then he pushed away, put both his hands on my shoulders and looked me right in the eyes. “Sara,” he began, pausing to take a deep breath, “can you ever forgive me for the way I behaved last time you were here? I’m so sorry.”
I struggled in vain to find the proper words to respond. His I really needed his acceptance, but had been afraid to hope for it. I could only nod because I had a big lump in my throat. Tears rolled down my cheeks. “Oh Daddy,” I finally spluttered. As I heard myself, my eyes went wide and my hand shot up to my mouth because I couldn’t believe I had just called my father, “Daddy.” What had happened to Michael?
He gave me an indulgent smile. “Really, I’ve always thought you were a terrific person, and my response to seeing you as Sara had more to do with how I thought people would look at me than with you.”
“I still think it’s ridiculous,” Leah blurted from further in the room.
“Leah,” Zach, Courtney and my mom all admonished at once.
“You promised you would behave,” Courtney went on. “Please don’t ruin the evening for the rest of us.”
Leah glared at the others, looked at me as if I was a cockroach, and then turned toward the kitchen. “Perhaps I’d better get some hors d'oeuvres before I shatter any more fragile sensitivities.”
“Leah!” Zach said, as he turned down the hallway.
“I’m really sorry,” he went on as he turned toward me. “That was uncalled for.”
“It’s not your fault. She has a right to her own feelings. Lord knows she isn’t the only one who feels that way." I had always liked Zach. Like Leah, he was a lawyer. He was also a dedicated runner, having participated in marathons all over the U.S. and in a few foreign countries. A little taller than me, quite thin, wiry I guess would be the right word, he had a full head of curly brown hair, a slightly crooked nose and a lopsided grin that was totally disarming.
He turned that grin on me and indicated he would take my coat. “Well, I have to admit I don’t understand it, although I know you’re not the only one, so there must be something that compels you to do it.” As I turned and he lifted my jacket from my shoulders, he added, “And you are rather cute.”
I almost melted.
“Thank you, kind sir,” I said with a teeny, little, curtsey-like bob, while turning my head to the side slightly. “Unfortunately, it’s not quite that simple, as your wife just demonstrated. It has a huge effect on others, and some don’t like it." I gave him a rueful smile.
“Anyone want a drink?” Courtney called out from across the room.
Simultaneously, she got a “Please dear,” a “You bet,” and a “Sure,” from the others, and a “God yes,” from me. So Courtney went to work at the bar, but even after she’d served all of us, including the construction of several fancy martinis, Leah had still not rejoined us.
“I think I’ll go get her,” Mom suggested.
“No, let me,” I said, grabbing the chance to make peace in private. “What does she like, Zach?”
He pointed to a bottle of chardonnay he had brought. “She’s loves this. You’ll be her hero, errr, heroine.”
This time I gave him the crooked smile. Courtney poured a healthy serving, and then I took the glass, along with my martini and headed off to the kitchen.
“Just scream if you need back-up,” Courtney teased.
I stuck my tongue out at her.
The kitchen was rather large by Manhattan standards, made even larger because it had been opened up to the dining room. Instead of a wall on one side there was a counter you could sit at. The windows on the back wall of the two rooms let in lots of light during the day, and made the rooms seem even more spacious. Leah was standing in front of the sink and looking out the window. The way she was leaning and holding on made it look as if she might fall in if she let go.
“Hey,” I said softly, as I turned the corner.
She swung around, looking surprised. Her dark curly hair reminded me of Rebecca’s. It hung to her shoulders and it swung back and forth across her cheeks as she quickly threw her head around to face me. She was a real beauty, in a hot, Mediterranean way, with an olive complexion, dark eyes and full red lips. Her only flaw, according to her, was her lack of height, which she got from mother. There are a lot of women who would love to be barely over five feet, yet quite voluptuous. Men had always swooned at her feet, but she hated being so small. That’s probably why she was such a terrific lawyer. She made up for her height not just by wearing high heels, which she almost always did, but with a scary intelligence and tough-as-nails tenacity. For me, winning an argument with her was a rare event, even when I was right. I didn’t know what to expect from her now, but seeing her face made me feel like I should have stayed in the other room.
“Oh, you,” she said, looking at me like I had just been picked out of a police line-up by a rape victim. “You’re the last one I expected to see in here.”
“Ouch,” I replied trying to keep things light. “Here, I’ve brought you some wine. Zach says it’s one of your favorites.” Leah wasn’t just a good lawyer, she was good at everything, cooking, sports, and picking wines. She’s the only woman I knew with her own wine cellar.
“Hmmph,” she replied, as I handed it to her. “Just like a man, trying to buy influence with gifts.”
“Leah, why are you so angry with me?” I started to feel exasperated
“Because what you’re doing’s just not right. It embarrasses the whole family, not to mention its effect on poor Rebecca. I mean, you’re already separated.”
“Yes,” I said, as I leaned against the stainless steel refrigerator, unconsciously tilting my right knee in towards my left, leaving my foot turned inward a little. I watched her gaze go down, and could see by the way her mouth got tight that she didn’t like my feminine posture. *Take that,* I thought, as I jutted out my hip a little more. “And do you think I would do something with so many bad consequences unless I really had to?” I took a gulp of my drink. This was no time for sipping daintily. “You know me; I’m not careless with other people’s feelings.”
She gave me a nasty look.
“And,” I pouted, “it wasn’t exactly my idea to come out either.”
“Wasn’t it?” she asked archly. “You can say what you want, but you were careless. It’s easy to imagine you were hoping something like this would happen just so you could make yourself believe it wasn’t’ your fault.” Rebecca told me all about both pictures.”
Anger rose in my mouth. “Did she also tell you she encouraged me to explore this part of me, and introduced me as a woman to the woman who set up the picture?” I could tell by her face that this was news to her, a slip I’m sure she’d never make at work. “Look,” I went on, trying to be conciliatory, “I’m not blaming anyone here but me. But this is a real part of me, maybe the biggest part, and once I got outed, it became obvious to both Rebecca and me that I had to find out just how big before we could go on with our lives. We’re separated because we both know in our hearts that this is the only thing we could do if we wanted to eventually stay together.” I took another gulp. My glass was getting dangerously low, and I frowned at it as if it was its fault. Looking back up, I continued. “But that’s not why you’re so angry, is it?”
“I told you already; it’s just not right. Even the bible says so. I looked it up: Deuteronomy 22:5, A woman shall not wear anything that pertains to a man, nor shall a man put on a woman's garment; for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God."
My heart just sank. "Is that what this is about? It's a religious thing with you?" Zach and Leah were Conservative Jews, and even kept a kosher house, but still, it's not like they were Orthodox.
“Well of course it is," she hissed at me. "It’s unnatural. You…you're perverted.''
“Go to hell,” I spat back at her, my voice now rising and tears starting to form in my eyes. “You’re the one who’s ‘unnatural,’ turning on your bro … uh ... me just when I’m most vulnerable.” I took a deep breath to try to calm myself, but it wasn’t happening. “And besides,” I nearly shouted, and the male undertones in my voice broke through. I calmed myself again. “And besides,” I went on, “a couple of verses later God tells us not to mix fibers in our clothing. You don’t by chance have any silk-cotton blends in your closet do you?” I knew she did because I had bought her a silk-cotton twin set for her birthday, and had seen her wear it.
“Hey, what’s going on in here?” Zach interrupted, as he skidded to a stop after turning the corner to the kitchen. Courtney was right behind him and our folks behind her.
I spun on my heel and headed out of the kitchen. “Nothing. Just a debate about the Bible.”
Mt escape was thwarted when Courtney grabbed me up in a hug after only a step. She threw a hard glance at Leah. “You said you would behave.”
“Oh, and you think this is a good thing?” Leah shot back, while pointing at me like I was exhibit “A”.
“Leah,” Zach cut in. “Control yourself. Getting angry won’t solve anything.”
“You’re on her side too?” she asked incredulously.
“Well I am, and that’s for sure,” my father said. “And I won’t have you treating Sara this way in my house. Why don’t you just calm down and apologize. This is not how Cohens treat each other.”
“I will not apologize. All I did was call a ‘spade’ a ‘spade’ - something the rest of you seem unable to do. If my little brother,” she spat out the word ‘brother’ as if she were talking about a child molester, “wants to be a shameful little sissy, I’ll have no part of it and the rest of you are out of your minds if you do.”
“Leah!” four voices shouted in unison.
There was a moment of silence as Leah looked around the room, challenging each of us. When she finally got to me, I stood straight up, shook the hair off my face, and put my fists on my hips. In my heeled cowboy boots I towered over her, and I stared her down. I’m not sure I could have done it without the rest of my family behind me, but with their support I felt emboldened. Besides, she was a shrimp, and I was a pretty strong woman. Moreover, I had a real strong hunch that her concerns with me didn’t have their roots in Deuteronomy. There just had to be something far more important than that.
Realizing she had been defeated, she started to get a deer-in-the-headlights look, her face flushed, and the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m outa here. C’mon Zach.”
“I don’t think so,” he said calmly. “I came here to spend a nice evening with your family and get to know Sara. If you can’t deal with that, that’s your problem. I’m not goin’. I think you need to spend some time alone to cool down."
She looked at him fiercely, veins standing out on her neck as her face reddened even more. It was pretty clear he would be sleeping in the spare bedroom for at least one night. “Fine,” she hissed, and stalked out of the kitchen, almost knocking my mother over as she surged down the hallway. We all just stood there until we heard the door slam.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized to everyone. “This is all my fault.”
“No it’s not,” Zach said. “It’s Leah’s fault. For some reason she’s very threatened by you, but whatever it is, her behavior is inexcusable.”
“Oh my,” Mother said. “I haven’t seen her that angry since we told her she would have to pay off her own student loans.” She smiled devilishly. “Or when I told her she couldn’t wear that low-cut gown she had picked out for her prom.” She drew her hands from her shoulders to her naval and rolled her eyes.
That broke Courtney up. “I tried to buy Sara a bra like that on Saturday,” she said, doing the same thing with her hands our mom had done, “but she would have none of it.”
“You two went bra shopping together?” Mother asked, aghast.
“Well, ye..ah,” Courtney responded. “It’s like totally what sisters do, ya know?” She had valley girl down pat. “And besides, she was buying.”
“You bought her bras?” Mother asked me, still somewhat stunned.
I nodded.
“And we tried them on together,” Courtney added. “It was so much fun.”
“That’s was only a small part of the day,” I cut in. “I got her lots of stuff. The bras were only a few minutes.” I was afraid my mother was going to have a stroke.
“Oh geez,” Father said. “I think I need another drink. Why don’t we grab those trays and go into the other room.” That met with a general murmur of approval.
With Leah gone, the atmosphere changed entirely. I was surrounded by family warmth, though with lots of curiosity thrown in. They bombarded me with question after question, but there was no anger or hatred in them, only a desire to understand. This was way better for my mood than antidepressants, and by the time Courtney and I left, I felt almost euphoric. I wasn’t sure any one could really understand what was going on inside my head, but they were at least willing to believe that something was, and that I really felt strongly about what I was doing.
As I collected our coats, I heard Mother ask Courtney, "Were you two really in the changing room together?"
Their voices became too soft to hear, until I heard Courtney say, "No, not yet. But I bet they will be soon though."
Yet? Soon? Did she know something I didn’t?
By Kelly Ann Rogers
. . . I can trust you to behave, can’t I?”
*No!* my mind shouted, even as I calmly said, “Yes, of course.”
. . . I used to think you would be the father of my children, but now you look like you want to be the mother.”
Things got pretty normal over the next several months, at least as normal as they could be for someone who can’t figure out whether he’s a man or a woman. I focused on living as a woman, not considering the ‘man’ part of me at all. I looked good, and I felt comfortable in my skin. Nearly everyone I met treated me just like the woman I appeared to be, and the few you looked at me questioningly didn’t do much more than that.
Best of all, my relationship with Rebecca improved constantly. We were totally in synch at work and started to eat lunch together when we had time, chatting like girlfriends about all sorts of things. The office had become a great place to be. We all felt happy and it showed in our work. Frankly, we were making so much money we were a little embarrassed, and ended up giving everyone a mid-year bonus.
Towards the end of July, Rebecca asked me to stay over at our house one evening after we worked late. Needless to say, I was thrilled, even hoping that maybe we would finally sleep together again.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said comfortably. “I can trust you to behave, can’t I?”
*No!* my mind shouted, even as I calmly said, “Yes, of course.” As I settled into the guest bedroom that night, disappointed to be sleeping alone, I was still delighted with how the evening had gone. Really, it had been like old times. We went out shopping for dinner on the way home, pushing a shopping cart side by side and bumping our hips into each other’s as we playfully meandered down the aisles. We chatted like comfortable lovers, and I could feel myself becoming attuned to her rhythm. Not wanting to blow it, I kept my hands to myself. Our conversation on the other hand had been stressful, though they were eventually heartening.
I froze for a moment when Rebecca opened the door to our house. What a mess!. Strangely, I felt embarrassed, as if Rebecca’s disarray reflected poorly on me. After a moment’s thought, I just shrugged, realizing I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, I had been the one who did the housework. Rebecca didn’t give even a hint that the clutter bothered her, and saying something couldn’t possible do anything good, so I kept silent. After a moment’s hesitation, which I hoped Rebecca had missed, I just wandered in and deposited my grocery bags on the one clear space on the kitchen counter.
After dropping off her bags, Rebecca went right up to change, telling me to grab a drink if I wanted one. All of a sudden I started to feel somewhat anxious to be back in my home, alone with Rebecca. It reminded me of high school when my then girlfriend, Susan, invited me to her house while her parents were away. I just knew it couldn’t be as good as it seemed, and sure enough, the freedom to do whatever we wanted made both of us really apprehensive instead of liberated. Like I had done then, I made a gin and tonic. Back then it finally did lead me to the promised land, though I figured this time all it might do is make me a little less anxious. I found our liquor cabinet crammed with many different types of scotch, vodka, and gin, which was something new. I didn’t like what it might mean. Either Rebeceea had men hanging around, or she was drinking a lot, or both.
Unable to overcome my curiosity, I poked around a little in the living room, but all I could find was evidence that things ended up where Rebecca had used them last. I failed to turn up anything to indicate that men had been there, except for all the whiskey, and became overcome with guilt just for looking. That drove me into the kitchen, and I started getting things ready for dinner. It was obvious that Rebecca hadn’t been doing much cooking because even with all the mess on the counters, all the pot and pans were put away.
As I started to set up, Rebecca came back. “I’ve put some clothes on the bed in the guest room so you can change from your work clothes.” She had changed into loose shorts and a tank top. “That suit is far too nice to risk by cooking in it. DKNY?”
“No, Jones New York. Don’t you just love the color?” I wore a pale lavender, just right for summer. “You look relaxed.”
“If I can’t dress down in my own house when my dearest friend is here, then when can I? Go change. I promise not to ruin any food till you get back.” She gave me a sweet smile.
I headed upstairs to see what she’d left for me. On the bed, I discovered a pair of white capris, with big red roses printed all over them and a sleeveless, slightly cropped red tank top. The two had obviously been purchased to be worn together because the red of the top matched the red of the flowers; and they were my size. Looking at the tank, I knew I’d be showing the skin on my back when I bent over.
Realizing that my panties would also be showing at the same time, I wondered what Rebecca would think when she noticed the scalloped waist band of the light purple panties I had selected to match my suit. Would she find that hint of lace sexy? Or would she think that her husband was a total sissy? When she saw the shoulder straps of the matching bra peak out from the tank, how would she react? I so wanted her to find me attractive, but she liked men, and here I was turning myself into a woman.
Even my discovery of a pair of red espadrilles, with a two-inch wedge heel, that she had left on the floor couldn’t totally dispel my gloom. Rebecca had obviously planned my sleepover carefully, which I really wanted to take as a good sign. But still, I couldn’t help but wonder whether she was setting me up to get rid of me, rather than simply doing something nice for someone she loved. Why does life have to be so complicated?
Not so many minutes later, a mere moment by girl time, I reappeared in the kitchen. I had changed, freshened my makeup, raided Rebecca’s lipstick collection for something that matched the red of the top, and played with my hair. Frustrated yet again because I still couldn’t figure out how to make it look good after it had been through a long day, I had it at least looking neat.
Rebecca had started to make a salad to go with our dinner. Twirling for her, I said, “Thank you. You just happened to have these lying around, huh?”
She gave me a crooked smile and cocked her head. “I almost invited you over a few times, but I chickened out. Those have been upstairs for weeks now.”
I didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed, but decided that as long as I was finally here, I would simply be pleased. “I’ve missed you, you know, and I miss this place.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” she replied, although she didn’t move any closer to me. Instead, she turned the tables on me. “Tell me, what are you thinking?”
I sighed. “Oh Rebecca, what do you want to hear?”
At first, she simply looked at me without saying a word. Then she turned to pick up the glass of wine she had poured for herself, before straightening up, and turning to look me in the eye. “Who are you?”
“Who am I? Wasn’t that what this was all about? Who do you want me to be?”
“Oh no, you’re not getting off so easily. We’ve been separated for how long now? How many months? While you’ve been having a grand old time playing at being Sara, what do you think has happened to us?”
I closed my eyes in exasperation. “Rebecca, I’m not playing at being Sara. I am Sara.”
She looked at me like a lawyer who thinks she’s sprung a trap. “So, that means Michael’s gone for good?”
I almost shook with frustration. “Rebecca, I’m Michael. Sara and Michael are the same person. Surely you must know that by now.”
“I don’t know what I know,” she replied, a tear sliding from her right eye. Then she looked up at me fiercely. “I used to think you would be the father of my children, but now you look like you want to be the mother.”
“Rebecca, don’t. Please. I love you and I want to be with you and I want us to have children. Would it be so horrible if they ended up having two mommies?”
With that, Rebecca broke down entirely, crying in huge sobs, her shoulders heaving violently. My first instinct was to grab her up into a hug, but I hesitated. Would she accept that from Sara? A huge wave of guilt washed over me, rocking me back on my heels. What had I done? My selfish need to be something I could never really be — a woman — had destroyed my relationship with the person I loved most in the entire world. Is this what I really want? Or was I being punished for my unfortunate need - at least I thought it was a need - to be a woman.
Was it a need, a compulsion, something I just had to do because I had no other choice? Or was it something less, perhaps only something attractive that I liked to do, a compulsion perhaps, but not an obsession or a need. I looked down at myself, my colorful pants covered with delightfully silly flowers. My chest, inflated with fake tits, my hair — I loved my hair — straight, dark, and shiny, --falling next to my face and brushing past my shoulders. I had control over all of these things. I did them to myself every day. Did I have to do them, driven beyond my ability to resist?
I just couldn’t be sure. But I couldn’t lie to myself about it either; I simply loved being Sara. Now, having lived her life without interruption for so many months, I adored all the things being Sara entailed, and, I realized, with a clarity that made me shiver, there wasn’t much about being Michael that I missed, except. . . except for Rebecca.
And I missed Rebecca terribly.
I reached out and grabbed her into a warm hug, and then let her cry herself out against my breast while I stroked her hair.
When she had stopped and gained control of her emotions again, she gave me a sad little smile. “Sara, I never imagined my life this way. I’m a heterosexual woman who loves men. I love a man named Michael Cohen. I know, in my brain at least, that you’re him, but my heart, or perhaps my pussy’s not buying it. I don’t know if I could live in an intimate relationship with a woman.”
As negative as she sounded, I understood instantly that I still had a chance. “I know, and I know it’s a lot to ask, but I do love you and I believe, believe with all my heart, that you love me too. You do, don’t you?”
Again, she gave me a sad smile. Then she reached up and stroked my cheek, looking into my eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I do.”
“Well I’m not giving you up,” I said grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her slightly away from me. “What can I do to win you back? What can I do to prove to you that we should be living together from now on and for the rest of our lives? Tell me and I’ll do it.”
“You mean as Sara, don’t you?” Her question came softly, but struck me with the force of a Hummer.
I dropped my hands and lowered first my eyes, and then my head. A moment later my shoulders slumped, and my hair spilled over my face at the same time that shame washed over my heart. I was letting my one true love, Rebecca, down. At that moment, it seemed to me that my cross-dressing had brought me nothing but shame. When I had first started, as a child, I felt ashamed every time I did it. Later shame washed over me every time I got outed. Then I felt ashamed when I finally had to tell everyone I was going to live as a woman fulltime, and I was ashamed when I told my parents.
Even now, having finally reached a point where I was comfortable as Sara, I was feeling like a horrible failure because my needs caused pain for my wife. Those wretched needs had forced us apart and now seemed ready to doom our marriage. If I got what I needed, Rebecca wouldn’t. I got lost in the emptiness of that thought, as if we had already split up.
I felt a touch on my arm, which forced me to look up, even though I now had tears in my eyes. Rebecca gazed at me, her brow knitted in concern. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”
Despite the lump in my throat, I managed to croak out, “Yes, yes, I do. Of course as Sara - That’s who I am. If nothing else, I now understand that.”
She nodded, as if finally accepting something that she had been aware of for a long time. She cocked her head and looked at me seriously for an uncomfortably long time. It seemed to me that the creases at the corners of her eyes had suddenly gotten much deeper. I got nervous and wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, grinning ruefully at the mascara streaking across it. Then I looked back up and threw my head from side to side to flip the hair off my face. Rebecca still studied me. I didn’t know if she was looking for something within me or trying to understand something within herself.
Finally, with a quick nod, she straightened her head, and with a tear at the corner of her eye, said, “You want to win my heart, Miss Sara Cohen? Then do it; court me. Prove to me that I should, that I can, live with you.”
My eyebrows shot up and I rocked slightly backward. Her offer was more than I could ever have hoped for! A smile quickly spread across my face as I thought of the things I could do, the places we could visit. Sara and Rebecca could create new memories together. I almost jumped on her I was so excited. “What a great idea! I’ll do it. But you might as well know, I have every intention winning you. We’ll be raising our children together, and they will have two mommies. Let’s start by me making you dinner. I’m pretty sure I can make something you’ll love.”
Rebecca’s, “Okay,” came out a little choked with tears, but I ignored them as I swept her up in my arms.
As we sat together after dinner and I gazed longingly at Rebecca, feeling really lucky for a change, I remembered a moment I just had to share. “Rebecca, you remember Tom Olden, don’t you?”
She nodded; he was an old friend.
“When we were at the party for his 35th wedding anniversary he said something that I never really understood until right now. We were at the back of the room, on that window seat, the one that overlooks their back yard, watching Beth chatting with friends. ‘She’s such a remarkable woman,’ I said, ‘radiant, absolutely beaming.”
“ ‘Yes, she is, isn’t she? I love her dearly,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know what she ever saw in me.’ We sat silently for a few moments, and then he turned to me. ‘You know, our marriage has worked out really well, and we have great kids, a wonderful home and terrific friends. There’s only one thing I sort of regret.’ He looked away for a moment, and I just sat there waiting for him to continue. When he did, he really did sound remorseful. ‘When you’ve been faithfully married all your life, you never get the opportunity to fall in love again. The best I could do was flirt a little, and wonder.’ ”
I turned towards her and grabbed her hands. “Rebecca, don’t you see? We’re going to get that chance. The one Tom longed for. We’re going to get to fall in love again.” She looked at me dubiously, but I felt like I was on to something. “Oh, I know we already know each other intimately, but now everything‘s different. We’re new to each other. We’ll get to discover our new selves.”
I could tell by the look on her face that I hadn’t convinced her, but I had convinced myself, and I thought that would be all that mattered. Eventually, I would convince her. I also realized that if I couldn’t get Rebecca to fall in love with Sara we would divorce. So my wonderful opportunity to experience new love was also a time of extraordinary risk. I’d need to be both enthusiastic and patient, and a shiver, which could have been either from excitement or fear shuddered through me as I thought about it.
After a brief pause, Rebecca said, “I’m not making any promises. I can’t even tell you that I’m totally hopeful. Knowing that you’re going to be Sara for the rest of your life, and knowing that I love men. . . .” She looked down, shook her head, and then looked back up into my face. The truth is, Sara, if a good man comes along, I’m not sure how I’ll react. What you want isn’t natural for me, and although I love you and only want the best for you, I don’t know if I can change.”
“But you’ll at least give it a try right?”
It took her an eternity to reply, but she finally nodded her head.
“Great! That’s all I ask.”
That night we slept alone, but we were at least in the same house and we both wanted to be there.
By Kelly Ann Rogers
. . . Omigod! You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? You don’t want people to see you kissing another woman because they’ll know you’re a lesbian! You are such a fraud!. . .
. . . Sweetie, why didn’t you say something? You were the one keeping the secret, . .
. . . I met a man. . .
I decided to start slowly, thinking she would need time to adjust. On Monday she had flowers on her desk, and on Wednesday we went out to dinner. On Saturday, I invited her to a show in Manhattan, and she stayed over with me at Phillip’s apartment, sleeping in the room that Courtney had used. On Sunday, we had brunch with Phillip, along with the utterly charming and delightful young man who had spent the night in Phillip’s room. Monday again found flowers, and we shared lunch a couple of times during the week, but she already had plans for the weekend, so I would be alone.
Phillip would be in town for the weekend, so on Friday we got dressed up and went out to The Palm for dinner. Phillip had insisted that it wasn’t as good as it used to be, but I’d never been there and really wanted to try it. I wore a short, black dress with a flirty hem, along with a pair of four-inch “fuck me” stilettos. They hurt my feet after a while, but so what? I blew out my hair so it was at its glossiest best and wore dark eye makeup and bright red lipstick. When we walked in, both of us over six feet tall and looking gorgeous, everyone looked up. I just stood there at Phillip’s side posing for the crowd.
“You’re shameless,” he hissed at me after we sat down.
“Sorry love,” I replied lightly, “but I’m feeling beautiful and I want everyone to know. And I wanted them to see me showing off the hunk I’m with.” He just rolled his eyes and turned to look for a waiter so he could order his usual scotch and my orange-flavored martini. I was so excited about my new relationship with Rebecca that I couldn’t stop talking about it, except to eat, working my way through a small filet mignon while he absolutely inhaled a huge porterhouse. A lush cabernet washed it all down and gave me a nice buzz.
Later, Phillip’s arm around my shoulder, and mine around his waist, we wandered a few blocks east to the U.N. and the East river so we could look at the lights on the 59th street Bridge. After staring for a while in silence, he finally said, “Sara, you’d better be careful.”
“What do you mean?” I replied, slightly taken aback.
“This isn’t a done deal - you and Rebecca. She has real reservations about what you want her to do.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“She called me.”
“And?”
He just looked at me for a moment and turning to face me, took my hands in his. “And . . . she asked me to look out for you. Your excitement is obvious to everyone, and she’s afraid that if she can’t accept being in love with Sara, that you’ll be totally crushed.”
“I will be,” I replied quietly, lowering my head so he couldn’t see my face because I was all of a sudden feeling small and scared. Was this Rebecca’s way of trying to let me down, to have Phillip tell me? “Is there anything else she wanted you to tell me?” I asked, even though I was afraid of the answer.
“No,” Phillip replied evenly. “I think she’s enjoying what you’re doing, she’s just not sure what the outcome will be.”
“Well I am,” I replied with far more confidence than I felt. “We love each other. We’re soul mates. I think once she spends enough time with me, she’ll find her comfort level. . . . She just has to.”
***
I took Phillip’s warning more as a challenge than anything else, and vowed to not lose sight of my goal: to make the woman I love fall in love with me again. I cleaned Rebecca’s house for her and prepared meals that I put in her freezer. I was tickled to be able to do these things and found it really hard to suppress my enthusiasm. I would have picked up her dry cleaning or shined her shoes had she asked. She even teased about how much I was doing, which I took as a good sign, a sign that she was relaxing.
I also increased my doses of hormones. It was time. In fact, it was past time. I didn’t know why I had waited. My skin was nice, but I wanted some evidence of hips, a rounder butt, and I wanted my nipples to develop. I had decided that when Rebecca and I renewed our vows, something I decided we just had to do, hopefully on the anniversary of our wedding, I was going to have breasts of my own. In any case, I vowed that whatever else happened, Sara was going to be as much of a girl as she could without that final surgery.
I wanted to spend all of my spare time with Rebecca, but she was more cautious. I didn’t terribly mind when she wanted to be alone, but she sometimes went out on dates with guys. I didn’t understand why she was doing it, at least I didn’t want to, and I fretted about her finding that “good man” she had mentioned, but just kept my mouth shut. Even though I stayed at her house more and more frequently, we still hadn’t slept together. I felt like a shy teenager, afraid even to kiss her. It’s not that we didn’t touch, we hugged and held hands and even kissed each other lightly on the lips. I waited for the perfect time to really kiss her again, but the more I waited, the more difficulty I had finding that time.
One day, as we were strolling together in a mall, after having gotten makeovers together, she put her arm through mine and pulled me into the ladies’ room. Then, even though there was someone in one of the stalls, she pulled me to her and kissed me square on the lips, opening her mouth to me, inviting me in. But the toilet flushed just then so we pulled apart and started to play with our makeup in the mirror — now we both needed to fix our lipstick. I was exhilarated, and we smiled at each other enjoying the secret of what we had just done as the teenage girl washed up next to us.
As we headed for the parking lot, she asked, “Sara, why haven’t you tried to kiss me yet?”
The best I could do was, “Uh… I, I uh, I wanted it to be the perfect time, but it just never seemed to occur.” I could feel myself blushing and I looked down and away, letting my hair cover my face. “Uh, and, besides, I was scared.”
“You’re joking!” she blurted out, looking amused. This only made me feel even more embarrassed. As she gazed at me, head cocked, I could see something in her eyes, and she smiled gently. “Sara, do I intimidate you?”
“I just don’t want anything to go wrong. I’m trying not to rush anything, to let you decide the pace.” By this point we were putting our bags into the trunk of her hot, red 330ci, which was in a premium spot, right near the mall entrance. Once our hands were empty, she turned to me. “I like kissing you, I’ve missed it. Would you please kiss me now?”
“I, uh . . . here?”
She opened her eyes wide and pushed her face towards me, quietly saying, “Yes, here.” But I didn’t move. As I stood there frozen, Rebecca looking at me like an impatient bus driver waiting for me to find the exact change, I suddenly had a revelation. I was embarrassed! I didn’t want to look like a lesbian! I must have turned completely red, because my face got very hot.
“What is your problem?” Rebecca demanded, now really sounding impatient.
“N… nothing, really.” But I still couldn’t move.
“Omigod! You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? You don’t want people to see you kissing another woman because they’ll know you’re a lesbian! You are such a fraud!” She sounded amused rather than angry, but she was almost shouting.
“N… no, that’s not true. And please, keep your voice down. Everyone can hear you.”
“Of course it is,” she replied, trying to stifle a laugh. “I can’t believe it. You want us to live together as women, but you’re embarrassed to kiss me in public! And I thought I was the one with the problem.” With that, she burst out laughing.
I stood there feeling totally stupid for a few moments, and then I started to laugh too. When we were starting to calm down, and while everyone within earshot stared at us, almost certainly thinking that Rebecca was straight and I was a lesbian trying to get her into a relationship, I shrugged my shoulders, grabbed her face in my hands, and then covered her lips with mine. She immediately opened her mouth, welcoming me in, and this time I didn’t hesitate to take her offer. Her hands went around my shoulders, like they always used to and we just melted into each other.
She felt and tasted utterly delicious, and our tongues found each other in familiar old ways that made us both shudder and sigh. Within just a couple of seconds, the entire world consisted of Rebecca’s lips and tongue, which I couldn’t explore quickly enough.
We parted from our kiss less than a minute later, as Rebecca pulled slightly away and whispered into my ear. “It’s about time, you jerk.”
“I was just scared, afraid you’d reject me,” I whispered back. “I couldn’t face that.”
She pulled back even further and spoke in a normal tone of voice. “Well, now that we’ve gotten over that hurdle, let’s get one thing clear. You want me to make big changes in my life that will force me to change how I view myself. If you can’t handle all the implications of that, there’s no way, we’ll ever get to where you say you want to go. I’m certainly not going to sneak around, and if you want to be my hus…, uh, partner, you better be willing to let everyone know that’s who you are.”
“I’m sorry Rebecca. This is all new to me, too. I’d be terribly proud to be your, uh . . . partner, if you’ll have me . . . and this won’t happen again. I swear.”
“This is just too weird. Let’s get out of here.” Rebecca shook her head in disbelief and turned to walk to the driver’s side door.
After that our time together often involved serious necking. Although I desperately wanted to make love to her, Rebecca seemed content with the way things were, which I actually thought was kind of ironic, like being back in high school. Over the next couple of weeks, Rebecca became increasingly more comfortable with me, and ever more playful, just as she used to be. Holding hands, walking with our arms around each other, and kissing became normal parts of our lives. Three weeks later, she invited me stay the night, which I had done a number of times. Each time, Rebecca would leave me a gift on the bed in the guest room: clothes, lingerie, perfume — girlfriend gifts.
After depositing the groceries and grabbing a drink, I hurried up to see what she had given me. I gave a little gasp when I saw on the bed a beautiful and downright sexy set of lingerie, camisole, tap pant, and garter belt, in deep navy blue with emerald lace accents. They were lying on top of a sheer navy peignoir, with the same emerald lace, along with dark stockings and very high-heeled sandals with a bow across the toes.
I jumped when I heard Rebecca whisper behind me. “I want you to sleep with me tonight.” I hadn’t heard her walk up, and as I turned towards her, the camisole in my hand, she went on. “And I intend to take all that off you, one piece at a time.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. I didn’t want anything to ruin the growing warmth between us, and as much as I wanted to feel her body next to mine, and to hold her in my arms, I was a little worried about how she would react to me in her bed. I hadn’t told her that I had been taking hormones. There had been several opportunities, like when I had started, right after I got my beard lasered off, or when I finally realized that I would always be Sara, and had upped the dose some, or when Rebecca had challenged me to court her, when I really upped the dose, the most my endocrinologist would permit. My aureoles had enlarged slightly and my nipples had started to thicken. There didn’t seem to be much of anything going on behind them yet, but Rebecca was sure to notice the changes that had occurred.
She smiled, as if to reassure me. “Just get dressed and meet me downstairs. I’ll go change too; I’m really in the mood for a romantic evening with my new girlfriend. There’s finger food in the fridge, so if you beat me, start laying it out.” With that, she turned around and walked down the hall to her room.
My heart was beating really fast, and as I turned back towards the bed I realized my breathing was starting to get out of control as well. So I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, and then undressed. The tap pants were delicious, and it was nice to allow my penis and balls to hang free for a change. She hadn’t included a bra, so I figured Rebecca wanted me without my breast forms. The camisole, however, was so slinky as it caressed my skin that I didn’t care about being flat-chested. It only took a few moments to hitch the garter belt over my hips and get the stocking attached before I wrapped the peignoir around my body, snuggling it close to myself for a few moments. My skin tingled, and as I raised my hand up my chest, I could feel my slightly swollen nipple.
I had the cheeses, bread, and fruit artfully arranged on a silver tray before Rebecca flowed into the room. She wore a similar outfit, but hers was a pale cream color with paler, almost white lace. She gave me a huge smile and swiveled over to where I stood, open-mouthed.
“You look lovely,” she said, reaching out and caressing my cheek with her soft palm.
“S ... so do you, just gorgeous. I never. . . .”
At that moment, she lowered her hand down from my face, and then let is slip down my chest, over the slippery fabric. Before I could do anything, her fingertips ran over my nipple and stopped there. She cocked her head and one eyebrow.
“Re. . . .”
She cut me off. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked, stepping back and exploring more carefully. Then dropping her hands entirely, she asked more calmly than I might have, “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Maybe I should have thought about it longer, but I just blurted out, “I’ve been on hormones. I started on low doses right after we split up and recently went to a higher dose. A doctor is prescribing them.”
Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. “Yes, I thought so. Your skin has been so soft and your hair so full and glossy, and your features seem softer too. Let me see.”
“See?” I pulled back slightly.
She grinned to disarm me. “Yes, let me see your chest.”
I stepped forward, and eased open my robe. She ran both her hands down my chest, sending a thrill through me and causing me to gasp as her hands ran over my nipples. When she had reached my hips, she put her hands under my camisole, pushing it up as she slid her hands upwards over my bare skin. When her fingers reached my nipples, she slightly separated her index finger from her third finger and ran them along either side of both nipples. Then she twirled her thumb around them before finally lifting the camisole completely to my shoulders so she could see my chest.
I stared at her intently as she did all this, fearing all the while that she would turn and run.
But she didn’t. Instead, she let the camisole fall back into place. “Well, you have a long way to go don’t you?”
I just nodded.
A frown flickered across her face. “Does it still work?” Before I could do anything, she reached down to my crotch and carefully ran her hand over the tap pants. She smiled as she felt my partially engorged penis swell even further at her touch. She grabbed it gently, rubbing the slinky nylon fabric over it a few times until I was fully erect. “It does!” she exclaimed, brightly. Then she let go, walked past me towards the food and patted me fondly on the ass. “I’m hungry how ‘bout you?”
I didn’t know what I was, except totally unsure of myself. “Rebecca, you discover I’m on hormones, and all you can say is that you’re hungry?”
“Yes, love.” She reached out for my hand, which I gladly gave her. “I didn’t just discover it, I simply confirmed it,” she continued with a small smile. “And frankly, I’m relieved. It was something you had to do; we both know that. And as I said, there were clues.” She rubbed my smooth cheek. “I’ve read all about your physical changes you know. Did you think I’d let you do this without learning as much about it as I could?”
“Why didn’t you say something?” I asked.
“Sweetie, why didn’t you say something? You were the one keeping the secret,” she accused gently, before dropping my hand and reaching for a strawberry.
I just stood and stared at her. Why hadn’t I told her? All of a sudden I wasn’t sure. It had seemed so clear that I shouldn’t, but now I didn’t know why. Yes I do. “Because I was afraid you’d run away,” I exclaimed.
She cocked her head and looked at me, smiling slightly. “No, I don’t think I would have,” she finally replied. “You really don’t give me enough credit. You told me you were Sara and it seemed clear to me that there’s no way you could be Sara without hormones, and eventually breasts of your own, and who knows what else. You’re going to have to be far more honest with me if you want this work.”
I felt chastised, like a little girl caught lying to her mother. I wanted to run away, to cry, to just disappear. “Rebecca,” I started, without even knowing what I was going to say.
Rebecca turned to face me. “No, I really wasn’t being honest with you just now. In the past, I might have run away. You knew how I felt about you having breasts, so it’s not surprising you kept the hormones a secret, but I’ve totally changed my mind.
“Wha . . . ?”
She again put her fingers to my lips. She sighed. “I met a man.”
My eyes went wide, my mouth dropped open, and I could feel my stomach fall and heart accelerate. “You… you’re going to leave me, so you just don’t care?” A feeling of dread started to envelop me and I could see my future disappear.
“Oh no, nothing like that,” she responded quickly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry I said that. I started the wrong way. But I did meet a man; and he did change my mind.”
I could feel my heart start to slow, but I was still really anxious. Rebecca went on before I could figure out what to say.
“Don’t worry, we were in the airport and he was on his cell phone and when he got off, he was just beaming. ‘Wow,’ I said to him. ‘You look like you just won the lottery.’
’No,’ he replied, ‘better. My wife just got her bone scan results back and everything was negative. Her doc says she doesn’t need to see her for a year.’ I wasn’t sure what he meant, so he clarified it for me. ‘She had breast cancer. They did surgery and then chemo and now she’s clean. This is the best news we’ve had in years.’ ”
I nodded to indicate that I understood what she was telling me.
“I asked him if his wife had a mastectomy, because that would be so difficult.
'Two,’ he said nodding. ‘It was horrible. She was so depressed.’ And then he nodded to himself and went on, ‘And so was I. I couldn’t imagine her without her breasts. I was bitter and angry that fate had done this to me, and started to withdraw. She knew what was going on and things between us got really tense. Then, one day in my husbands’ support group, I let it all hang out, figuring I would get lots of sympathy from the other guys. Instead, they really got on my case. One of them said, ‘What? You married her for her tits?’ They forced me to tell them about her, why we had gotten married and why we were still together, and you know what, breasts weren’t on the list. I mean, I liked them and all, and frankly, seeing a woman with a nice pair is still a thrill, but how stupid would I have to be to let breasts be the thing that made or broke our marriage. She has such courage, such strength, such warmth. For reasons I can’t quite understand, she loves me, and that makes me feel terrific. When you think about what really counts, breasts just aren’t that important. Where else would I find a woman like Elizabeth?’ ”
I silently blessed this man and his wife. They’ll never know what they did for me and Rebecca.
Rebecca sat there pensively, her head down.
“That’s what changed your mind?” I asked.
She looked back up at me and simply nodded, a rueful smile on her face. “I was such a fool to make a physical trait so important.” And with that, she bent down and gently kissed both my nipples through my camisole.
I purred.
“If you want to get implants, please do.” She cocked her head and smiled slightly. “Sooner rather than later, I think. I don’t want anything to happen to this big boy while you’re waiting for hormones to work.” With that, she reached down and rubbed my penis through my panties and continued to fondle me until I was again fully erect. This is something I’m quite fond of.”
I was thrilled. This was more than I could have ever hoped for. “Rebecca. . . .” I started.
But I didn’t get any further. She put her finger to my lips. “Shhh.” Then she removed her finger and replaced it with her lips, giving me a soft kiss. “Let’s eat, and then let’s make love. And the next time you decide to make an important step in your transition, let’s talk about it. Okay?”
I slowly nodded. I wanted to talk some more, but thought better of it. So I retied my robe and stood next to her at the counter as we nibbled different things from the tray, giggling and sometimes feeding things to each other.
Later, in bed, I did my best to thank her for her generosity of spirit and she did her best to cram my cock into her as many ways as she could. By the time we were done, we were both exhausted, and she quickly fell asleep in my arms. But I couldn’t sleep, and after thirty minutes or so, I gently untangled myself and got out of bed. I pulled my peignoir around myself and tiptoed out of the room, softly closing the door behind me. Then I sat on our couch, pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them and cried. Lying in bed with Rebecca, I had realized not only how much I loved her, but how much what I was doing must be hurting her. As I sat there with my guilt, I was having a hard time living with myself.
By Kelly Ann Rogers
. . . I have more desirable men chasing me than you have shoes!”
. . . It’s all been about how you look . . . and that’s just not enough.”
. . . I am not a bimbo!”
Chapter XII
“Honey, are you okay?”
Someone was stroking my shoulder.
I was awake, jumping slightly at her touch.
She looked squarely at me as I tried to straighten out my robe and pull the hair out of my mouth. “What are you doing here?” She sat next to me and turned to look me in the eye. “I thought we had a really good time last night.”
“Oh, we did,” I exclaimed, grabbing both her hands and sort of shaking them for emphasis.
“Then what?”
A sob caught in my throat, and I had to clear it before I could look at her. “We did, we really did, and it made me realize how much I love you, a…and then how much I must be hurting you. I hate myself for what I’m doing to you. I just can’t bear it.” Tears poured freely from my eyes.
Rebecca let me go for twenty seconds or so, and then pulled my hands sharply. “You narcissistic little twit,” she hissed at me. “It’s just as if I’m not here at all. You think you’re the center of the universe and everyone else just revolves around you. I got news for you hon; you’re wrong.”
I was so startled, she might as well have slapped me in the face. “But I…”
“Exactly . . . you, you, you. You are so self-absorbed you’ve forgotten who you’re married to. Do you think I can’t take care of myself? Do you think I can’t analyze what’s going on and figure out what’s best for me? Do you think I can’t make sound decisions? Frankly, my dear, you’re the one we need to look out for!”
She stood up, shaking her head angrily, as she stalked around in a small circle until she came back to stand in front of me. I looked up at her, while nervously tucking my hair behind my ear. I was afraid to say anything. I pulled the peignoir around my legs.
She put her hands on her hips and laid it out for me. “You forgot, didn’t you, that I’m the one who kept you at a distance after you moved out. Hell,” she snorted, “I had to get you into treatment for your depression. I’m the one who invited you here. And it’s not your call whether we stay together or not, it’s mine. You, my dear, are the weak one in this relationship, and you are the one everyone else is worried will crash and burn. I’m worried about you, your family is worried about you, our staff is worried about you, and Phillip is so concerned he has just about given up his social life to make sure he’s there for you.”
I blinked rapidly, trying to absorb what she was telling me.
She slowly shook her head and closed her eyes for a second before continuing. “If I didn’t love you so much or had decided I wanted you out of my life, you would have been gone long ago. I have more desirable men chasing me than you have shoes. So don’t worry about me and work on getting your own act together.”
Her anger seemingly spent, her face lost its edge, and she smiled at me the way an indulgent mom smiles at a kid who is really proud of the crayon drawing she just made on the wall. Then she squatted in front of me, placed her hand on my cheek and leaned forward to kiss me softly but briefly on the lips. “Go start the coffee and lay out the things for breakfast, then come join me in the shower. We’re both covered with stuff we need to wash off.”
I didn’t move for a few moments after she left. It wasn’t that I was trying to understand what she had, said, I was so startled that my mind was blank. Eventually I got up, quickly started the coffee and set out everything else, and headed for the bedroom, a little worried about what would happen next. When I got there, however, it was as if our conversation had never happened. Rebecca was warm and funny, just like the day before. Not wanting to spoil the mood, I didn’t say anything either, content just to wait for Rebecca to bring it up again.
Sure enough, right after breakfast, she did. “Did you understand what I said before?” She patted her lips with her napkin.
“Not really. And I’m sure I don’t know why you got so angry.”
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m sorry about that; I guess I was holding it in a little too long. But really, you have been so totally clueless. Sure you’ve worked hard to become a lovely woman. . .”
I looked away, feeling my cheeks warm.
“. . .but aside from your job, the rest of your life is in shambles. You’ve been living in the city for over a year. Have made any new friends? Have you visited any of our old friends? Do you have any friends at all? Do you have any hobbies? Have you been to temple? Have you spoken to Rabbi Strauss? Have you spoken to your folks . . . to Leah?”
I had to shake my head no, repeatedly. I was pretty much a hermit.
“No, of course not. You spend all your time alone. Frankly, my little Miss Sara, you’re not yet healthy enough to be a partner to me. You’re not complete enough; you’re more like a teenager. All you’ve done in all this time is learn how to present yourself as a woman. It’s all been about how you look - little feminine gestures, inflections, a wardrobe . . . and that’s just not enough.”
She hesitated for a moment, stood up straight, put her hands on her hips, and then stared down at me. “You’re plenty cute, but I don’t need a trophy wife. I need a life partner. You’re really a sweet woman, but you’re nowhere near the person Michael was. There was so much more to him than just good looks and a nice dick!”
When she stopped, I realized I had been holding my breath, so I let it out in a big sigh. Rebecca had nailed me. Aside from work, I had put all my efforts into developing Sara’s look. I hadn’t reached out to anyone, and hadn’t even been good at letting people reach out to me. Now, I was beginning to see how that self-centeredness might even cost me Rebecca. With her I was like a puppy dog, submissive, constantly seeking approval and doing whatever it took to get it. Sara wasn’t really like Michael at all. Michael wasn’t tentative or submissive; he was assertive. He used his intellect to get things done; he was creative and didn’t back down from challenges. Looking at it like that, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Sara, as she now was couldn’t ever be enough for Rebecca, unless perhaps she wanted to hire me as her maid, and that didn’t look likely. I had a long way to go before Sara became the woman who could match Michael as a human being.
And in that moment, I had a little revelation. It was my fear, my old cross-dresser’s fear, of being humiliated that held me back. If I was to become the kind of woman Rebecca wanted, a strong one like herself, I would have to overcome that fear and just start to deal with people, no matter how uncomfortable, or even fearful, it made me.
“I see,” I finally managed to get out. “You’re right. I’ve been totally focused on myself and how I look to other people. I’ve been so focused on how I appear that I haven’t worked on anything else.”
“So there is a brain in that pretty little head,” she said a little too sweetly, making me wince.
“Yes, but with all the . . . uh . . . shortcomings you spelled out, it sounds more like you want to get rid of me than anything else. If you want, I’ll just leave.”
She frowned and scolded me as if I was her teenage daughter who had just thrown a little tantrum. “Don’t get petulant with me. You’re behaving like a child. I want to know what you’re going to do next. Since the time you started ‘courting’ me, as you put it, you’ve proved you can be a good and attentive maid, and that you’re totally afraid of me.”
“I’m not.”
“Of course you are. You’re afraid to do anything you imagine might offend me. You were even scared to kiss me, for God’s sakes!”
“I. . . .”
“You’ve been more tentative than a thirteen-year old boy on his first date. I want you to be an adult, and I’m willing to let you be a woman. That means you have to be an adult woman. I know we have a history together, and I do love you, but all I know about this Sara person is that she’s cute and attentive, and scared to death to be herself, whoever that might be. Why in the world would I want to be married to someone like that?”
“Rebecca. . . .” I started, my voice rising in frustration.
But she wouldn’t be stopped. “Don’t you Rebecca me you . . . you bimbo!”
“Rebecca!” I nearly screamed, jumping up from my seat. “I am not a bimbo!”
She paused for a second and seemed to deflate. Then she giggled and looked straight at me. “No, I guess you’re not,” she said clearly but quietly. Then raising her voice to a more commanding level, she went on, “A bimbo wouldn’t just think about her clothes and makeup, she’d think more about sex. You haven’t even tried to come on to me. Until last night, I was beginning to fear you didn’t find me attractive anymore.”
“Is that what this is about? Sex?”
Her pupils dilated, and for a moment she was speechless, so I just kept going. “Cause if it is, you made it perfectly clear that wasn’t going to happen — until yesterday.” I was so frustrated my voice broke down into a lower register, which left me feeling mortified. I was instantly reminded of who and what I really was. My hands flew up to my mouth, and I could feel my face redden.
We both glared at each other for a moment, our eyes wide and my hands over my mouth. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t believe I had yelled at her, and given all she’d said, I feared I had completely ruined my chance to get back with her.
Then she giggled, and smiled, the small creases she hated formed at the corners of her eyes. I wanted to stay angry, but I giggled too. And then we were both laughing. A few moments later she threw her arms around my shoulders and pulled me to her.
“No, it’s not about sex,” she told me while holding me close. “It’s about the kind of a person you’re going to be.” Then pushing me away to arms length, she said, “Do you have any idea?”
“I. . . . I. . . I thought Sara would be just like Michael.”
“Well then, why doesn’t she start acting that way?” She cocked her eyebrow and tilted her head.
“I thought I was,” I whispered because it hadn’t been obvious to me I wasn’t. “I didn’t know.” Which was true.
“So now you do, what are you going to do about it? I want to know the authentic Sara Cohen, not some clothes horse by the same name.”
By Kelly Ann Rogers
I'm sorry this has taken so long, but for reasons I don't really understand, posting this chapter has affected me as deeply as sending my kids off to college. This story is one of my children, and now I've sent it out into the world.
Thanks for reading it.
KAR
Six months later
“That went great!” I sighed, leaning back on the front door, which I had just shut after saying good night to Barry and Diane, the last to leave. Diane had given me a lingering hug and Barry surprised me by adding a kiss on the lips to his own warm hug. “It was almost like things have been like this forever.”
“They are the sweetest people, aren’t they?”
“Yes, it makes me feel stupid to have isolated myself from them for so long.”
“You were stupid, and if I hadn’t kicked you in the butt, you probably still wouldn’t have seen them!”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied walking towards her. I put my arms around her and gave her a hug, turning my head so I could lay it on her shoulder. “Thank you for that. It was a kick I really needed.” After lingering for just a moment more, I stood up and grabbed Rebecca by her shoulders to turn her towards the kitchen. Giving her a little pat on the ass, I said, “Now we have to clean up though. Scoot, or we’ll be up all night.” As she started towards the kitchen, I headed towards the living room to pick up the remains of a lovely evening.
Once I had gotten everything into the kitchen and we sere sorting through it, Rebecca asked, “You and Marty were gone together for a while after dinner. What was that about?”
“That was about him quizzing me to see if being all girlie, as he put it, was what I really wanted to do, and then after I had convinced him that it was, him trying to talk me into letting him feel me up.”
“What? He came on to you?”
“Not hardly. I think he was just being his usual lewd self and goading me to see if there was any guy still left inside this girl. I almost let him do it. I told him the day he beat me at racquetball I’d consider it. But that’ll never happen. He’s too uncoordinated.”
“You little slut,” Rebecca squealed. “Those are mine and no one else is allowed to play with them.”
“Oh really? If you want to own them, you better pay close attention to them, or they might start to wander,” I teased, sliding over to her and pressing my chest against her back and rubbing my breasts against her. As she turned to look at me to see if I was being serious, I waggled my eyebrows at her.
“Well, if you ever start to wonder if I can take good enough care of them, just remember the first time we had sex after they had healed.”
I unconsciously licked my lips. It was a delicious memory. Rebecca was the kind of lover every girl should have, especially teenage girls for the first time they let a guy feel ‘em up.
“You were in the kitchen putting away groceries and starting to get things ready for dinner. Remember?”
I nodded. The memory was still crystal clear, and utterly delightful. “I was at the counter when I heard you enter the kitchen. I turned and when I saw the predatory look in your eye, I suddenly felt very shy. But you just kept walking toward me until you had forced me to lean back and put my hands on the counter behind me to brace myself. You knew it would thrust my chest out, which was just what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
She smiled, cocked an eyebrow and looked directly into my eyes, studying me for a moment. As I looked back, I noticed the creases at the corners of her eyes. They really had deepened since this whole thing began, what was it, three years ago, more? I tried to figure it out, but Sara interrupted, saying, “I knew just what I wanted to do. You looked so shy and demure, so very, very sexy; I almost forced you down on the counter to take you right there. But I really wanted it to be gentle and slow and delicious for you. So I stepped back slightly and put my hands on either side of your waist; it felt so soft as I gently caressed you through our blouse. Georgette wasn’t it.
I nodded, savoring the memories she was bringing back. “Um, you slid them up my waist, to my breasts. When you finally touched them, your palm cupped the outer half and your thumbs lifted and explored the bottoms just above the underwire of my bra. I was on fire. Then you rotated her hands so your thumbs were directly over my nipples. I could feel them tighten; it was exquisite.”
“Yes, I could feel it. Then I unbuttoned your blouse. It didn’t take long, you had already undone the top three, you tease.”
I blushed. Of course I had unbuttoned them. I had spent ten minutes in front of the mirror trying to figure out how many to leave undone. I had really wanted to leave four or five open, but I chickened out. Three seemed both sexy and demure.
“Your breathing was quick, almost out of control, like it always is when you get anxious. I whispered, ‘shhh,’ and you slowed down. As your chest rose and fell more deliberately. I was mesmerized by the way your breasts lifted and fell with each breath. I had never been so captivated by a pair of breasts before. And you had on the loveliest bra. After all those years of seeing nothing but the full-coverage bras you had to wear with your breast forms, that flimsy little scalloped thing was a revelation, just scrumptious. The sight took my breath away.”
“You didn’t waste much time taking it off though.”
“No! I could barely contain myself. I wanted to get to those lovely breasts.”
“You said, ‘Oh my,’ like you had never seen any before.”
“Sara, I had never looked at anyone’s breasts as sexual objects before. It was as new for me as it was for you.”
“You said you loved them, that they were perfect for me.”
“They were. They are! I felt like such a fool for having made them such a big issue. I was totally wrong.”
That broke the spell. It was time to deal with reality again. “No, no, you weren’t. You’re a warm, caring, lovely woman, who through no fault of her own got thrown into a confusing mess by her fucked-up husband.”
She looked up at me somewhat dubiously so I gave an anchor woman nod. Even though I hated the inanity of it, I felt it was just the thing Rebecca needed. I guess it was; she gave me a small smile in return.
“Really Rebecca, how could you have been more unlucky than to fall for a guy who was really a girl, only he didn’t know, or at least wasn’t ready to admit it. And then, after he figures it out, does he have the courtesy to just leave? No. He seduces you into a life of lesbian perversion.” I grinned to show I was kidding, and then went on, “You’ve had to go through a lot of stuff most women don’t even dream of, and your willingness to love me just melts my heart and makes me want to do everything for you — and I will.”
“Will you, now?” she said cocking her head while a devilish little smile spread across her face. “We’ll just have to see about that.
Turning completely around so we were facing each other she replied, “Oh, you. You think you’re such a big shot. I wonder just how you would respond if some guy came on to you seriously. From what I’ve seen so far, you’d probably throw yourself at him just to have him suck on your little titties.”
“No way!” I said with exaggerated outrage. “A guy is the last thing I want. And even if for some crazy reason, I considered it for a moment, the other last thing I want is for some guy to find out how I’m really equipped.” I rubbed my pelvis into hers to emphasize my point. “I’m sure I don’t want to find out what would happen then.” I backed away to start working again. “You and Diane were seriously huddled by the bar for awhile. What was that about?”
“Oh, the usual,” Rebecca replied airily, flipping her fingers at me. “Is he really a girl, are you a dyke, what’s it feel like to be a lesbian — the kinds of things girlfriends always talk about.”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have to deal with all that.”
She turned to face me again, a soapy bowl in one rubber-gloved hand and a sponge in the other. She was oblivious to the small puddle of soapy water that was forming on the floor under the bowl as she spoke. “You know, in a strange way it’s fun. It makes me special. To everyone else, I’m living this very adventurous life, doing something a little dangerous, like traveling to strange lands, and they can only sit home and feel totally ordinary. Even if they would never want something like this to happen to them, they’re a little envious because their lives are so ordinary. Beth nearly said as much.”
“Wow,” I replied in mock amazement. “This has to be the most amazing case of pulling a silver lining out of a dark cloud I ever heard of. As you may recall, the last couple of years haven’t been that much fun.”
She stood there looking at me for a few moments, and then in a wistful voice she said, “Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t wish them on anyone. But you know what? It’s really challenged me as a person. It’s made me examine what’s really important, and what doesn’t matter so much. It’s made me consider who I am, and how much of my self image is tied up in what others think of me. I mean, at first people saw me as a victim because you ‘did this to me,’ then I was a saint for putting up with it, and now everyone who sees but doesn’t know us thinks were lesbians. I wasn’t sure I could deal with that at first.”
I could see tears start to form in the corners of her eyes and she turned back to the sink so I wouldn’t see how upset she was. Again, I moved over to her, being careful not to slip on the wet floor. I grabbed her around the waist from behind, knowing I had to say something. Before I could figure out what that might be, she spun around to face me again. We were almost nose-to-nose.
“No, it’s okay,” she exclaimed. “Now I see that almost nothing has changed with our close friends and business acquaintances, and I don’t much care what others think. Most people couldn’t care less what we are, and when I see someone who seems to be disapproving I get angry. How dare they judge me without even knowing me! Lord knows, neither one of us has ever had anything but good relations with gay people - we work with them everyday for God’s sakes - but until now I never appreciated the burden they have to carry because some people have these irrational biases. Now that I’ve been thrust into a position of being seen as a lesbian woman, I’m far less accepting of people who are disapproving. What chutzpah!”
I couldn’t help it. I giggled.
“What are you laughing at?” she asked, fire rising in her eyes.
“No. Don’t get angry. It’s just that for me, being a lesbian is a real step up from being a trannie. It’s something I aspire to!”
“To be an outcast, and not a nice heterosexual gal with a nice boyfriend to take care or you?” she challenged.
“Do you think that’s what my parents want for me?” I asked. To find a guy rather than stay with you and maybe have children one day?”
“I’m very proud of you for the way you’ve brought your parents back into our lives. That was a huge step forward for you.”
“I don’t know how big it was, but it’s certainly been strange. My mom treats me like a daughter and we speak almost every day. I sure don’t know where that came from.”
Well, you are her daughter now aren’t you? And isn’t that how moms and daughters interact?”
“You don’t speak to your mother that often.”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. She rarely spoke to her mom, who had become an angry, bitter woman after her husband had died. Rebecca described her as toxic, and kept as much distance as possible, which wasn’t hard because her mom refused to call her.
I tried another example. “And I speak to her far more frequently than either Courtney or Leah, probably both together. Courtney I can understand, she’s always working. But Leah? They speak a couple of times a week at most. I don’t get it.”
Rebecca studied me a moment and then said, “Did it ever occur to you, my dear, that you just may be a sweeter person than either of your sisters? One’s a trial lawyer and the other’s a surgeon. Does that perhaps tell you anything about their personalities?”
I’d never thought about it like that before, but I guess of the three of us, I was the one ‘blessed’ with the most empathy and the skills to relate to other people. Was I the sweetest, even when I was a guy, I wondered. Then I had a clever idea. The reason I speak to her so much is to protect you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you know my mom will never leave us alone till we have kids. As long as she can harass me about it, she’ll be less of a pain to you.”
She looked at me dubiously.
I went on, “By the way, are you sure you want to let her get another shot at you this Sunday too?” We now saw my parents on most weekends.
“Oh spare me. You are such a fraud,” Rebecca teased. “And besides, it’s stupid to make excuses for doing something that’s good and right. I don’t think anyone knows better than me how important a good relationship with your mother can be.” A corner of her lip twitched, and she frowned for a moment. Then she crinkled her nose at me and a smile took over her face. “Yeah,” she said, “I think I do want to give her another shot at me Sunday. It’s worth it. You know my family life is nonexistent, and your parents and sisters are so nice to me. I need that. I really don’t want to give it up. At least not until I have to.”
I looked at her closely. I wanted to shout, ‘You’ll never have to give it up if you stay with me,’ but then I laughed. “I don’t know what you’re worried about; if we split up they’ll surely keep you and get rid of me.” It was supposed to be funny, but I guess it hit too close to home for both of us. We both fell silent.
But I knew what she meant. Things between us still weren’t settled. That good man might still show up, or she might decide she didn’t want to live like this or could never have children with me, even though I was both willing and able. We’d discussed it many times, but I didn’t want to go there again right now. I figured that someday I would have to have the operation and go the rest of the way to womanhood- I certainly didn’t want to end up in a nursing home as a woman with a cock - but I had lots of living to do, and children to create before that time came, so I tired something else to lighten the mood again. “You remember when Larry came over to fix the furnace?”
She giggled. It had been quite a scene. She had stayed upstairs while I opened the door. “You need to face these people,” she had said, and I agreed. How could I live in my own town without everyone there knowing who and what I was? We had been there for some years now and everyone knew Michael and that he was married to the lovely Rebecca. By the time Larry made it over, many of the merchants in town had met the new me, but Larry hadn’t. How often do you need a furnace repair man? He became so flustered when he figured out who he was talking to that I became embarrassed for him. I let him flee down the basement, because he needed time to collect himself, and I guess basements are places furnace repairmen feel comfortable. He so rushed to get down there that he hit his head on the way down, almost falling over. I gasped, and yelled out, “Larry!” For a moment, until he turned and gave me an embarrassed grin, I thought I would end up kneeling over him holding an ice bag to his bleeding head. But you know what? By the time he came up, he behaved as if Sara had always lived in this house with Rebecca. He was so sweet and so cordial that I almost kissed him on the cheek. I didn’t, of course, it probably would have given him a heart attack. Rebecca and I laughed and laughed about it after he left, but I never forgot how sweet he had been, and how accepting.
“Yes dear, you’ve come a long way since our little talk. Every day you look, no, make that behave, more and more like the ma. . .” She stopped and gave me a rueful look, and then went on, “person I married. The one I fell in love with, the one I still love. It’s just that I’m not sure what to do with Sara. With Michael, there seemed to be only plusses; with Sara there are plusses and minuses. It’s not just that I haven’t yet solved the equation; it’s that I still haven’t sorted out all the factors that go into it. I still don’t know what’s really important and what’s not, and how to weigh things against each other.”
I could feel tears start to form in my eyes. It was just so hard, our life. It wasn’t bad, it was just so uncertain. One day up, the next down. One minute up, the next down. Both of us learning and adjusting, or trying to, or refusing to. How much reality could anyone deal with in one dose?
So, as Rebecca and I stood there looking at each other, both of us tired, neither of us looking all that great, I took the path of least resistance. I leaned in and kissed her. First gently, just a touch on her lips, then a moment later, a little more eagerly, moving my lips over hers in a way we had done forever, and finally I really kissed her. Before we got to the point of no return, I pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I love you,” I whispered, and then before she could reply, I kissed her again.
“Oh, Sara,” she finally sighed, pulling her lips from mine. I couldn’t read the look in her eyes, though, and I shivered slightly my unconscious fear manifesting itself physically.
Rebecca picked up on my little shiver instantly, pulling me into a big, really comforting hug. Standing there so close to her, enveloped entirely by her presence, her touch, her hair, even her odor, I decided it was smarter to live in the present than worry about the future. If the past couple of years had taught me anything, it was that I really didn’t have control over much: barely over myself, less over the people I loved and virtually no conttrol whatsoever over the rest of the world. No matter what I did, unexpected things always happened. The best I could do was to work to be my authentic self, be patient with Rebecca and hope. I wondered for a fleeting moment whether I had the courage, but before any defeatist thoughts could form, Rebecca leaned in and started to nuzzle the side of my neck, pushing my hair aside so her lips could reach my skin. I sighed and let myself melt into the feeling. . . .
A Maid's Story
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
In 2001, I read a very brief version of this story, essentially the first chapter, that Karen had written. I wondered what would happen after that. Eventually Karen Anne and I decided to co-write this story to find out. While there is a terrific narrative, mostly generated by Karen, this version is also character driven. Jacqui, the maid, and the other key character each have their own voice and we get know what they are thinking and feeling as they interact with each other, change and perhaps grow.
Like other stories of mine, this is a story about becoming, about how we deal with situations that may be beyond our control while still trying to maintain our core values and fundamental humanity. And while this story has high heels and corsets, Karen just can't live without a little kink, it is not one that is about sex. It is about Jacqui and how she makes her way in a not always friendly world.
_______________________________________________________________
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part I — Change Was Overdue
"John, what the hell is wrong with you lately? You're like this almost every night. Talk to me! I'm sure we can work it out."
I had hardly touched my supper and was now sucking down my third big glass of scotch, staring blankly at whatever was on the TV. "Work! The fucking job. I'm...."
"You're what? What about work?" My wife, Carla, moved to sit next to me, wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulder and pulling me close.
I don't remember the details of what I said over the next hour or so. I don't even remember going to bed that night, but then I rarely remembered going to bed anymore, I was usually too drunk.
When I awoke, Carla was in our walk in closet. After she had dragged a large suitcase across the carpet, she heaved it on our bed.
"What are you doing?" I asked, worried.
"Good, you're awake. You can save me the trouble of forcing the lid open. Where's the key?" I got out of bed and reached for the handle. Carla slapped my hand away.
"Let's not have a fight,” she said teasingly. “I'd really like the key. I'm undoing something that I realize only now I never should have done in the first place. Now give me the key please."
She said it like it was an order, but the tone of her voice wasn't at all harsh. There was something going on. I got up to retrieve the key. The suitcase was mine. It is just one of three that contained my very personal things. Well, perhaps I should say Jacqui's things.
*****
Ten years ago, right after we graduated from MIT, Carla and I had started our own computer consulting company. We knew that together we could 'make it' and make it big. We weren't married then; we weren't even living together or dating. Carla and I were partners and friends - and that was all.
After a very rough startup, we turned a modest profit in our second year. We paid ourselves just enough to survive. Every other penny we made was reinvested right back into the company. By the end of the fourth year, the long hours, sometimes over thirty-six straight, began to really pay off, big time.
We had twenty-nine employees then. Today there are two hundred fifty-eight in three branch locations. In our sixth year, the company netted its first million and we declared our first dividend to the shareholders, Carla and me.
That was when we began to relax and breathe a bit easier, but just a bit. That was also when we began to date and started to fall in love. A year and a half ago, we both said 'I do'. Getting married wasn’t as easy as I must have made it sound. I was a workaholic and Carla was not an easy person to become intimate with. In fact, people who don’t know her describe her as cold. I don’t know about cold, but she was difficult to get to know and has a very hard time showing her heart. That was the main reason we were simply "friends" for so long.
I don’t know the whole story, but I know from my own experience that her dad was not very warm. He was seldom home; like me, he had devoted his life to his business. Her mom was almost the same except she didn’t work. She devoted herself instead to the country club, flower club, junior league, and the like. To her, both her husband and her daughters were simply hindrances, to be gotten out of the way as quickly as possible so she could get on with her life. Then she died when Carla was nineteen. Carla’s dad stayed a distant image in her life, but a very demanding one. Her mother had been there all the time, but she was self-centered and dismissive, paying Carla only the attention needed to get her out of the way. Her dad wasn't there at all, but he demanded that Carla be perfect in whatever she did.
No matter what Carla did, including graduating Summa Cum Laude from MIT, it just wasn’t good enough. Bringing me home to get his permission to marry her was a disaster. According to him, I was nowhere near good enough for her. He mocked both of us because at only five foot six inches tall, I was shorter than she was and this really hurt Carla. I could see her close up and put on her armor. In a flash, she became distant and reserved. It became obvious to me right then that much of what drove Carla was her need to prove herself to her dad, but that he just wasn’t going to give her the warmth and approval she craved.
Needless to say, by the time she got to college, Carla was already emotionally damaged. Because it was never part of her home life, she had never learned to share warmth and affection. Unfortunately, things only got worse. Apparently in response to her mother’s death, Carla sought affection from a string of unworthy lovers, stumbling from one failed love affair to another. Each time, she threw herself wholeheartedly at her lover, only to be rejected for being too clingy and overly needy. By the time I met her she had given up on people and would let no one close to her.
Even after I had broken through her defenses and she started to warm up to me, I could see her turn it off in a second if she sensed danger. Then she would turn cold and treat me like a stranger, but I persisted and she eventually came to trust me; we fell in love and married. I told Carla about Jacqui when we'd first met, and she accepted that I had smallish B-cup breasts, which had developed when I started taking hormones after graduating from high school. Although Carla knew about Jacqui and seemed to accept her existence from the outset, she didn't meet her until we had started dating. In fact, I'm pretty sure she began to feel safe with me just because I had let her in on my secret. I had made myself terribly vulnerable to her and had given her something she could hold over me if she wanted to. In fact, this had been a calculated move on my part. First, I couldn’t have a long-term relationship and hide Jacqui, and second, I was pretty sure letting Carla know about the real me would be a gesture of trust to which she could relate.
At five foot, six inches and a perfect size nine, I pass without question. Even my voice sounds female because I’d worked on it for many years. As John, I wear my shoulder length hair in a ponytail and no one questions that their boss has long hair. Jacqui was invited to meet John's girlfriend and then she spent some time with his fiancé. After we were married, Jacqui visited Carla on just four occasions. Her last visit was an elegant candle lit dinner, which Jacqui had prepared and served, hoping that it signaled the beginning of a real presence for Jacqui in our lives.
I was in heaven that night and dined like a lady in a very nice, black cocktail dress that showed my real décolletage. Sipping brandy by candlelight when the meal was over, I felt closer to Carla than I ever had. Then, very calmly, Carla told me that she did not wish to meet with Jacqui again, at any time in the future.
She said she would have absolutely no objection to Jacqui visiting our home, but that she would simply absent herself from the premises for as long as Jacqui was there; I was crushed, but never let her know that. At the time, the choice between Carla and Jacqui was an easy one. Jacqui was in the house only twice afterwards. Her last visit was over the past Labor Day weekend.
Carla had taken the long weekend to visit her younger sister, Melissa, in Philadelphia. I wasted no time becoming Jacqui that Friday night, preparing for a big weekend and planning to hit all of the malls.
I set my long brown hair after a hot bath and spent the rest of the evening applying a set of long nails. I shaped and buffed them, and then polished them a bright Chinese red before going to bed.
The phone awakened me from a most pleasant 'Jacqui Dream'.
"Mr. Ingram, this is your answering service. Sorry to awaken you, Sir."
"Why are you calling me? I should be the last one on your call list."
"You are, Sir. I have been trying to reach the others since two thirty." My clock read four o'clock. "Sir, Mark Seven Industries called to report that their system crashed and requested immediate assistance." I swore over the phone.
"Hold on. Let me turn on the light and get something to write on."
Have you ever worn glue-on nails? Do you know how long it takes to remove all traces of them?
I did not arrive at our first big customer until well past eight o'clock. They had been down since eleven. After their in-house people couldn't get their system up, they sent out a Mayday to us. On just a few hours sleep, I worked straight through until Sunday afternoon, first undoing the mess that their people had created trying to solve the problem, then solving it myself.
It was between six and my arrival after eight that most of the havoc had been done by their own 'so-called' expert. Had I arrived before six, I could have had them up in less than a half hour, any of our people could have.
Had Carla been there, she could probably have done it in half that time. Had Jacqui not been 'visiting', I would have been there three hours sooner.
We nearly lost our largest customer and it took a lot of wining, dining and sincere promises that it would never happen again to convince them not to cancel their contract and sue us for 'breach of contract'. I could not permit another incident like that to ever happen again.
Tuesday, ten heads rolled before nine o'clock. Now, I had to fill the big hole they helped to dig, find competent replacements and bring them up to speed. That doesn't happen over night.
*****
"What are you going to do, Carla?" I had given her the key ring.
"I answered that question. Go take a bath and get rid of all your body hair. Now!"
When I emerged from the bathroom, not just the one, but all three of Jacqui's cases were open and her clothing was piled and tossed everywhere.
"I put your undies on the dresser. After you put them on, do your face and hair and polish your nails, Jacqui. Coffee is on and I'll have breakfast ready soon."
I didn't know what was going on, but fuck it, if Carla wanted me to be Jacqui, I was all for it. For a few hours at least, I was going to relax.
A half hour later, Carla called me for breakfast. Wearing just the bra, panty brief, pantyhose and a short, full slip under my robe, I sat at the table in the kitchen. Carla greeted me warmly, as she filled my cup. An envelope lay on the plate and I fingered it.
"Go ahead, open it. Sorry I couldn't come up with proper stationary in a hurry."
Dearest Jacqui,
I regret that it has been so long, far too long, since we last talked.
You are cordially invited for, what I hope to be, a most pleasant visit.
Your best friend,
Carla
As I read it through a second time, Carla answered the phone.
"Oh, Hi, Davy." I started to get up. It could only be Dave Crawford, my VP of Operations and good friend. Carla vigorously waved me away.
"No, John didn't page you, I did."
Why would Carla page Dave so early on a Saturday?
Carla went on, "No, there is no emergency, but we do have a problem. Listen, we need to keep this top secret, just the two of us, please?
"Shut up for a sec' and just listen will you? I'll tell you. John had a breakdown last night.
"Yes, as in nervous breakdown. Now just be quiet. I made arrangements to get him into a clinic. He's sedated and resting quietly this morning.
"You need to keep everything running smoothly for me until I settle things here and can take over. I'll probably be in before the end of the week, but it may be next week.
"Davy, I know I can count on you. Please don't let me down?
"Thanks, I know.
"If you need me, you'll have to page me because as soon as I hang up, I'm pulling the plugs on all the phones.
"Thanks Davy, bye." Carla hung up the wall phone and disconnected the jack from the wall. Then she turned to face me. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
"Why the big cow eyes?" Carla asked, "You heard perfectly well what I just did. Once you get a little distance from the problem, you may come to understand why I did it.
"If I didn't get you away from work, inside of a month, I'd be having that same conversation and I wouldn't be lying then. I've seen this coming for a while, everyone has. I just didn't put it all together until recently, Jacqui. Now that I understand, I had to do something before everything we've worked so hard for, our marriage, our company and our love, went down the tubes.
"But," I protested, "there are things I have to take care of at work. Things Dave doesn't have a clue about."
"You? You never told me you had a job, Jacqui. I thought you lived off your investments. Well, anyway. It’s done. In ten friggin' years, except for our honeymoon, you've never taken a serious vacation. The shareholders have met and, in John's absence, they just voted the CEO a long, past due, vacation."
I sat there stupidly, staring at her.
"Go ahead, eat your breakfast,” she prodded. Then we're going out."
While I buttoned the back of the yellow blouse Carla had ironed for me, I admired her. At five foot nine inches, Carla was a striking woman. She had long curly chestnut hair, an olive complexion and stunning green eyes that seemed to change with her moods. With full breasts, a flat tummy and curvy hips, she was a knockout, especially when she was wearing high heels. She favored really high ones, three or four inches usually, which allowed her to tower over most people and, in a crowd, she drew attention like a lighthouse on a dark night.
After she met Jacqui and saw what corsets did for her figure, Carla had started to wear them on occasion as well. Corsets are a much loved fetish of mine and even though Carla only reduced her waist by a couple of inches, at most, (I would have preferred three or four inches, although I usually didn't wear mine any tighter) her drawn in waist emphasized her bust and hips even more. Men’s tongues would be hanging out wherever she went. In the black power suit, she was wearing that day; she would leave most men weak-kneed and panting.
Carla had taken complete control of how I looked and had turned me into a feminine dream. My blouse was soft, silky, and nearly transparent, clearly showing the bra and camisole I wore underneath it. Carla had selected a loose, matching, calf-length chiffon-covered pink skirt with pale roses printed on the outer layer. I wore white stockings and heels and my make-up was all pastels. No hard or bright colors at all. She even teased and lightly curled my hair, turning me into the softest most demure little thing you could imagine. It was just the opposite of her bold, sexy, power look.
I forgotten what she'd said and figured I would just be hanging around the house, but it sure looked like she was going somewhere.
"You look like you are going out? You gonna tell me where?"
"Sure, you're coming." Carla pulled a folded piece of newspaper out of her purse and passed it to me.
"We're going to look at a house I think I might buy." Carla had her own bank accounts and investments she had established and built those before we were married. I also had my own accounts. We used a joint checking account to live with since then, but because her mom had left a substantial estate, the pre-nuptial agreement permitted her to keep what she already had as her own. I never asked how much she was worth, though she knew to the penny how much I had.
If Carla wanted to buy a house, Carla could buy a house and I couldn't stop her.
"You're joking, right? You can't be serious?" A quarter page ad from the real estate page of a Sunday paper showed a mansion.
Elegant, fully restored, two-story Victorian, set on five secluded acres. Six bedrooms, eight baths, four fireplaces, living room, formal dining room, ultra-modern, spacious kitchen, library, den, entertainment rooms, separate servant's quarters, full basement, detached five car garage. Must be seen. Will not last long at this price. A steal at five hundred thousand. Complete furnishings available. Call for appointment, etc.
"You must be kidding, a half million dollars, Carla? We can't afford that?"
"What is your wager please, Jacqui?" I shut up. Except for the 'Jacqui', Carla used that exact expression whenever anyone challenged her about something and she knew she was absolutely right.
The Realtor was over two hours away, on the other side of the city. During the drive in Carla's Turbo Supra (I had the ‘family car’ a big Mercedes sedan - plus a bemmer for fun), we talked about Jacqui like never before on a whole variety of Jacqui subjects.
"What hobbies do you enjoy?"
"I used to sew, knit and embroider. Embroidery was, I think, my favorite way to relax and unwind. Took my mind off of everything for a few hours."
"While looking through your things this morning I found two interesting items, a super denim mini with an embroidered leopard on the front and a Suzi Wong dress with embroidery all over it. I especially like the dragon on the back. Did you embroider them?"
"Yes. A lot on my clothes have embroidery on them. My cheetah skirt was my first major project. The cheongsam took more than five hundred hours to do."
"I see. Here we are." Carla parked and stopped me before I got out.
"I am buying this house. You are just my friend, whom I invited to tag along today. Be a good actress and play your assigned role properly. You'll be rewarded later if you behave." Carla exited before I could respond.
"Hi, Charlie. How are you today?"
"Fine. Good morning, Ms. Martin." I was taken aback hearing Carla's maiden name.
"Charlie, this is my friend, Jacqui. She came with me to see the house."
"Hi, Jacqui." Charlie was a big man, old enough to be my father. He extended his hand to shake. I remembered to do it limply.
"Pleased to meet you, Sir."
"Charlie, Charlie," he corrected
"I talked to the title company yesterday, Ms. Martin. Everything is cleared. Have your attorney give me a call. We can close this week, if that's convenient?"
"I'm sure it will be; Stuart's expecting your call. He'll be happy to get this over with just to get me off his back. What's it been, seven months?" she asked.
"Something like that. Estates are always a problem." From his drawer he handed her a set of keys.
"Why don't you just keep them this time? It will be yours soon anyway. You know the way and don't need me to tag along. Will I see you at closing?" Charlie asked.
"Looking forward to it. Just remember, not a word to my husband."
"I just wish that I could have completed this as quickly as you wanted. It would have been a wonderful Christmas present to him," he apologized. I was shocked.
"You heard far more than I was ever going to tell John. So just keep your thoughts to yourself, Jacqui," she said after she had started the car.
"May I know what's with the 'Ms. Martin' bit, Carla? We had an agreement."
"I suppose we did. I'm not getting into it now," her matter-of-fact tone convinced me to sit quietly.
The house was a half hour back, in the general direction of home, only North of the office. Carla stopped along an empty road, wooded on both sides.
"The house is on the left. You always said you wanted privacy. You can't even see it from the road."
The driveway emerged from the trees to unveil a magnificent turreted house, not quite as large as I'd imagined, but very impressive. Parking in front, we mounted three steps to reach the entrance.
"I'm buying all the furnishings too," Carla stated, as she pushed open the front door.
We went to the second floor first and under Carla’s direction, toured each floor, ending in the modern kitchen. I couldn’t help, but notice that she didn't show me all the rooms.
"Well, what do you think?"
"I'm impressed. It's gorgeous. I even love most of the furnishings. The previous owners did a magnificent job. The place wouldn't be the same without them.
"Carla, we'll need to hire someone to handle the grounds, they're so beautiful, it would be a shame not to keep them that way. And we'll probably need to hire a maid just to keep the house looking good too."
"I agree," Carla said, "Let's find a seat and talk." She took my hand and led me to the library where we got comfortable in two big, leather wing back chairs. I marveled at the books and antique knickknacks that filled the shelves. It would take a whole morning just to dust them. I settled in, pulling my hem down as far as it would go and smoothing the top to make sure I was neat. I then crossed my ankles and pulled my feet off to the side. When I looked up, shaking my head to throw the hair off my face, Carla was looking at me strangely.
"You really are very feminine, aren't you, Jacqui?" She tilted her head to the side as if to see me better. I just blushed. I hadn't realized she was watching me so carefully. Then she smiled and said, "Okay, down to business. I'll need a good outside contractor to handle the yard work, for sure. As to the maid, that's what I want to talk with you about.
"I want you to hear me through ... everything ... before you interrupt, Jacqui; try not to at least, please?"
"I promise to keep quiet."
"I doubt you'll be able to, but please do? What I'm going to say will be heavy. OK?" I nodded agreement as an anxious lump rose up in my throat.
"Since I stopped working, I've become as bored as you've become stressed. I was serious about what I said after I talked to Davy. You would have killed yourself if you had kept up that pace. John does not deal with stress well. All it does is stress him more.
"Jacqui, not only are you completely stressed out trying to do everything yourself, but ..." Carla paused to look at me, "you have an alcohol problem."
I was immediately ready to argue that point. Like most alcoholics, I didn't see it that way. Maybe three, liter and a half bottles of Scotch a week plus a case of beer on weekends is a drinking problem. I didn't think I got drunk and I never felt hung over.
Ha! I just passed out every night and didn't feel that well on many days. I could see by Carla's determined look that she was ready for me to deny it again. Instead, I nodded agreement. I wanted to see where this was going to go.
"You know it and I know it; no bullshit about it. For a time, we are going to try a much different way of dealing with the company and our lives, especially your life. You won't want to hear this," Carla warned, "but I'm stepping back in while John recovers at the clinic. It is a sound cover story and I've already laid a solid foundation for it," Carla paused, studying my face, then she went on, "we both know, I handle stress well, that I feed off of it, and the more I'm constrained, the more I'm pushed, the better I perform.
"John, on the other hand, likes calm and peace. He can rise and meet any challenge, then beat it down. Best I know, he never lost a battle once he entered the fray, but he is most productive and happiest when things are calm. John prefers structure, discipline and order; peace and quiet all the time."
Without acknowledging it, I had to agree.
"Ever since that Mark Seven incident, my husband has lost faith in nearly everything having to do with the business and in me too, I'm afraid. Ten key employees let him down and his ship nearly sank. It ruined everything he thought he had going for him at work and for reasons I don't understand, he never turned to me for help." Tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. I started to get up to comfort her, but she waved me back down.
"When he told me about what had happened, all of the details, I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him to screw the whole fucking thing. I wanted to say, Jacqui was OK. Shit! I'm so stupid. She really is an attractive little thing. She should spend more time with me."
That got my attention. I still didn't know where Carla was going, but I started to get excited by some of the prospects as Carla paused to wipe away the tears that were threatening to run her mascara down onto her cheeks. I opened my purse and handed her a packet of tissues from inside. She managed a little laugh, between a few sniffles that seemed to be turning into giggles.
"You little wench, Jacqui." She held up the tissues as if they signified something really important. "Shit on me. Why was I so fucking stupid?" I started to open my mouth even though I had no idea what I was going to say. It didn't matter. Carla cut me off before I got a word out.
"Just keep quiet. Please?" she repeated; her tone now much more a plea than a command. It took several minutes for her to regain her full control and I watched her while I fiddled thoughtlessly with the hem of my skirt and marveled at her beauty, something I'd forgotten about over the past several months.
"Anyroad," she went on. Where she had gotten that expression from, I'd no idea, but she used it constantly. "I watched things start to come apart for you and I couldn't understand why. Then it became obvious, you had started to do everything yourself again, just like you did when we began. Only now, we weren't there together. You had excluded me from the business. Things just got worse and worse."
"Your key people let you down, no question. But you never again trusted anyone to do things properly on their own. You felt nothing would be done right unless you did it yourself. You couldn't do it all though and it was destroying you and would eventually kill the business, because the kind of people we need to succeed would never work long for an obsessive micro-manager.
"Last night I just said, enough! I love you and I'm not letting go," Carla stood, walked about the room then sat back down to continue. She was very agitated. I was biting my tongue at this point, trying to stay quiet. "I'm not going to watch all that I worked so fuckin' hard to achieve crumble because one person thought he could handle it alone, because he, you, can no longer trust people.
"I am going back in and I am going to begin to manage our company."
"Like I wasn't managing?" I challenged, finally losing my self-control.
"I asked you to be quiet." She pursed her lips and stared at me. I settled down. "No, Jacqui, most certainly, you were not. John was not managing.
"Management is defined as 'getting things done through other people'. John was not getting things done through other people; he was trying to do everything himself and demoralizing the staff and killing the business in the course of this. Mostly, he was killing himself." She paused for effect.
"Still with me on this, Jacqui?"
"Yes." I couldn't argue. Being Jacqui and sober somehow gave me some perspective on John. I could see that Carla was right.
"Good. This house was to be my Christmas present to John; you heard that. Well, that didn't work out. I've a much different proposal now." Carla paused to look at me.
"You mentioned that to keep order here, we'll need to hire a maid. That's why I'm going to ask Melissa to come up from Philadelphia.
"When Mom died, Melissa was just fourteen; I was just starting college and was nineteen. My little sister, at a mere fourteen years old, took control. I don't know how she did all of what she was able to accomplish, but that little girl did it - all on her own.
"Melissa took over doing most everything in the house that Mom had always handled. She cooked, shopped, cleaned, did the laundry, handled the bills; you name it, my sister did it.
"As a gag gift for her sweet sixteen party, I bought her a French Maid's uniform.
"Well, my sister seemed to fail to see the humor in it, I guessed it had sailed right over her head. She ran into her room and locked the door. We waited a half hour before my guilt made me go and knock.
She opened the door with a deep curtsey and an ear-to-ear grin, wearing the cheap costume. Cutting a longer story short, Melissa started wearing a uniform at home from then on, until she entered college."
"Melissa is going to play maid here then?" I asked.
"No. When she puts on one of her uniforms, I think she has more than thirty now, Melissa is a maid. There is no playing involved.
"But there is one key role she will play. In addition to her other duties I'm going to ask her to train the new maid, Jacqui."
"Sounds like she'd be a perfect teacher."
"I hope so. My sister is not the bubble brain she puts on and most think she is.
Carla stopped talking and seemed to be having an internal discussion, as if she was psyching herself up to do something difficult. Then she turned her attention back to me.
"Jacqui, honestly, playing Mrs. Rich Bitch, executive wife never thrilled me. I was sorry I ever let John talk me into it. I was bored to tears. While John 'recovers' from his breakdown, I do not want Jacqui to have to deal with that level of boredom. Besides for her it could be dangerous."
"I'm not following, Carla."
"Look, Jacqui, John screwed everything up. Are you willing to trust that I might know what the key to happiness for both of us is? I'd like you to, please?"
I sat there for a few seconds trying to understand what was going on. Okay, I had screwed things, up and, okay, maybe I did need a rest and Carla could run the business for a while. What did that have to do with this house, or with Melissa?
Carla was looking at me the whole time, pleading with me with her eyes. I rubbed the leather of my chair and gazed for a moment at a small female bust on the shelf opposite my seat. She didn't tell me anything. I was tired; I gave in. "I'll give it a try." I didn't sound convincing and Carla's face protested for a moment, but then her look of dismay vanished. She just blurted out what was on her mind.
"I'd like to offer you a job here - as my maid."
"What?" That set me back, but not for long! "Your maid? You must be kidding." I stopped for half a beat, looking for some information in her face, but none was there. Then I thought I understood. I smiled knowingly. "Oh, I get it, you're like everyone else and think that every girl like me has a maid fantasy. Well, guess what? I don't. Melissa might want to be a maid, but not me, I would have thought you'd understand that."
"I know. You would have told me. I'm not offering some fantasy fulfillment trip. You might find it fun; after all - fun is where you find it. I'm offering you much more. I'm offering you the opportunity to live and work as a woman."
I looked at her face. Carla was serious. She wasn't making fun of me, so I couldn't get mad. I didn't know what to do, so I fell back on my training. I tried to get more information without agreeing to anything
"Carla, I understand that I need time off from work and that I need to stop drinking, but what does that have to do with you turning me into your maid. Why don't I just go to a spa for a month? What's in this for me? If I say yes - then what?" I was very skeptical. My voice dripped with doubt.
"When you say yes," she emphasized the 'when', "it means that you are relieved of all stress; no more calls at off hours, no travel, none of the bullshit personnel problems, all of that, gone. It also means that you will be in a controlled environment that will keep you from drinking."
Well, the drinking part made sense, but I still didn't understand the rest. I pressed her again. "Carla, I still don't know what you want me to say 'yes' to. I feel like you're avoiding my question." She stood and extended her hand.
"Come upstairs and I'll explain."
At the end of the hall, on the second floor, Carla opened one of the doors that had remained closed during the earlier circuit. We were in the turret that I had seen from outside. At the center, an iron, spiral staircase led up and down.
"That goes down to the kitchen. Go up, Jacqui. I climbed the stairs to find a full bathroom in one half with two theatrical style, lighted vanities near the stairs facing in opposite directions. The other half was empty racks on either side of two, long, large dressers.
"As you can see this is for the maids to bathe, get properly uniformed and fix their faces and hair." She motioned me up. "Bedroom's on top."
The top floor of the turret, four stories above the ground, was mostly a ring of French doors that led out to a four-foot, cantilevered balcony surrounding the top of the turret. The view of the grounds was spectacular. Near where the stairs emerged, there was a set of narrow, but cozy looking bunk beds. Beyond the sleeping area, a full kitchenette and a furnished living room, with a large screen TV, full rack of stereo gear, a desk, two comfortable armchairs, a love seat and three tables.
"What are you thinking, Jacqui?" Carla asked.
"All this is very nice. The tower is one of the nicest features of the entire house and the view, wow! But Carla, I'm just having ... well more than a bit of trouble."
"Trouble with what, dear?"
"Well first, I still don't know what you want me to agree to and second, I'm having more than a bit of trouble accepting that you want me to share these quarters, so... intimately with another girl. Especially with your sister."
"Perfectly understandable, dear. I'm ready to go home. Why don't we talk in the car?"
Despite some of the bizarre details, by the time we parked in the garage at home, I had agreed to accept Carla's offer for three months, on a trial basis. During that time, I was to be one of the maids in Carla's house and Melissa, Carla's sister, was to be offered the other position. Carla had explained, since I had no experience, I would be paid minimum wage, with room and uniforms supplied. We were on our own as far as food was concerned and were expected to prepare our own meals in our quarters.
One day a week, we'd be off duty along with one afternoon each, subject to Carla's schedule. Melissa would have first choice of the day and the afternoon. We were expected to both be on duty Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.
We were to be on duty from seven AM until ten PM, except when Carla asked us to stay up later or when she was entertaining. That wasn't quite as bad as it sounded at first, because we would get a four-hour, staggered break in the middle of the day. If she wanted one or both maids during off-hours, we were going to be required to attend to her desires. At Carla's discretion, we'd be given off, 'once we had settled into a routine and everything was in order'.
I would be paid for only forty hours per week at five fifteen an hour, minimum wage. All of the extra hours, above that, were in exchange for the rooms and uniforms; what arrangements for compensation that Carla would make with Melissa, I'd never know, although it would turn out to be far more than I could ever have guessed.
Nearing home, Carla had surprised me yet again, something I'd thought impossible, given everything else that had already happened today.
"In addition to proper uniforms, both of the maids will be required to be wearing full chastity belts. Melissa has her own. She's used it to protect herself on previous jobs. It will simply require that I hold her keys. I had one made for Jacqui before that horrible Mark Seven weekend, which sent her into hiding." My jaw dropped causing her to laugh.
"You want to know what my problem was with Jacqui then? I thought that when you dressed, you did very un-girlish things in your panties, Jacqui. I had decided to offer you a deal. Wear it when you played and I'd have let you play whenever you wanted. I just could not accept the idea that you would give Jacqui gratification in place of me."
I could only blush. Of course, I had masturbated when dressed as Jacqui. I no longer did it as repeatedly and compulsively as I had when I was younger, but I still took care of myself when the need arose. Before I could say anything, Carla plunged ahead.
"Hear me out on this. I do want you to agree to my plan." Carla began, "Most guys let their dicks do too much of their thinking. I do not want a guy thinking in place of Jacqui. If you think you might want to be a woman..." I started to object, but she waved me off, beginning again with a sharply arched eyebrow, "and anyone who's taken hormones and grown breasts like you have must be thinking that, you have to start thinking like a woman."
"Not having access to your penis will help you do that, because it won't all be about jerking off." She arched that brow at me again, giving me a quizzical look and daring me to tell her she was wrong. I couldn't.
"Plus, a belt is needed, to keep you from wanting, or worse, engaging in sex with my little sister. I think you can understand that bit of logic, even if you don't buy the first part, and it would be more than unfair if she wore one and the other maid didn't. Agreed?" I nodded agreement. Her logic was impeccable.
"Good. This is not some perverted punishment. I want you to dry out and start to think logically again - like in the early years. You have not seen things very clearly lately and sex with me certainly hasn't been on your mind because of the way your have been overworking and drinking."
"Will you cool it!" I protested. "OK, I drink too much! There, happy? I said it!" I blurted. "Just cool it, Carla, you made your point!"
"Yes, but it has to stop. That's why I want so much control over your time. You have to dry out and prove you won't drink heavily anymore. You're a half step away from becoming a full blown alcoholic and I won't lose you to that." She glared at me, shaking her hair away from her face to make sure I could see her eyes.
"Back to the chastity, there are a couple of reasons why it's important. First, I simply can't have you sharing quarters so closely with my sister without protecting her and having her be the only one to wear a belt is unfair," Carla restated. "But there's another thing. You have to agree to all this voluntarily, so you're going to ask me to put a belt on you as a symbol of your commitment to this plan. If you should start to waver, you will have a constant physical reminder that you made a commitment to me. And …if you ask me to remove the belt before the three months are up, I will, but I'll throw you out and that will be the end of our relationship. I'm adamant about this, Jacqui."
My chest felt tight and I was having trouble catching my breath. "Carla, let me think it through, please?" I squeaked, "you've just dropped several large bombs on me, and they've hit me pretty hard." It didn't take her a heartbeat to respond. She didn't seem particularly concerned about my obvious anxiety.
"Well think fast, because I want to get my sister here as soon as possible."
I think I really knew what I would do right then, but I went over it in my mind anyway, trying to analyze it objectively. I could live full time as Jacqui and wouldn't have to worry about that interfering with the rest of my life - it would be my life. Of course Carla was right. If I didn't take a long break soon, I would have a breakdown, plus I just had to stop drinking, but never would if I kept working.
Would it be better to do it as 'Maid Jacqui' or should I just take myself off to some rehab program? After all, I didn't want to be a maid. In fact, it seemed rather demeaning. At that point, the image of myself in a black satin uniform with lacy white ruffles all around invaded my mind. It made me tingle. I pictured myself in high, black heels curtsying to Carla and that made me tingle even more.
But, a chastity belt? How could I live with that, without any sexual release for three months? Then I thought back over the past six months. I had made love to Carla only a few times in that whole period and our coupling, that's all you could call it, was really rather perfunctory. In truth, my behavior had in effect put her in a chastity belt. I had ignored her terribly, yet she was trying to save me from myself. Guilt about my own selfishness started to wash over my thoughts. The thought of wearing a chastity belt made me quail, but the guilt I was feeling was just as strong. I needed to expiate it. Maybe wearing the chastity belt would be a kind of penance and I guess it would only be right - fair to Carla.
I had made up my mind before we got out of the car and told Carla to call her sister. As soon as we walked into the house, she plugged in the kitchen phone and dialed.
"Hi Sis, listen. I need you here in a big way. Pack for a long stay and I do mean a long one and get that cute little fanny here today."
"Family emergency; remember what we talked about? Yes, that's right. He's bought it all. The Chairman granted you an extended leave of absence. The office will be notified Monday.
"No, I'm fine Melissa. But I need you like I have never needed you before." So get your butt up here."
"See ya'."
Melissa, five years Carla's junior, worked in our Philly office as the receptionist, though she does hold a degree in art. She's a cute, lovable kid with an effervescent personality you could not help but to like. Though she is obviously very bright, receptionist was about all she was qualified for in our firm. If she were not Carla's little sister, she would not have been hired for that.
"What am I supposed to do if she finds out the truth about Jacqui?"
"No, 'if' about it, Jacqui, Melissa will be told the truth." We sat and had a light lunch and chatted about the next three months. Then she took me into our office and pulled a sheaf of papers from the desk. "I need you to sign these," she said.
"What are they?" This was making me very nervous.
"You're going to sign over to me your power of attorney and we're going to put your financial holdings into a trust. Jeffrey has approved the wording and you are well protected financially. Call him if you'd like." Jeffrey was my attorney. He was an old friend of mine and Carla had never really liked him. If he said everything was okay, I could believe it.
Three hours later, I had just finished reading everything and was trying to figure out what to do when I heard a car pull into the driveway. Then I heard Carla, "Oh look, Melissa's here."
I peeked out the window and saw a cinnamon Xterra SUV in our drive. With a big sigh, I quickly signed on the dotted lines and ran into the downstairs powder room to check my makeup and hair. When I came out, Carla was outside talking animatedly with Melissa.
John had only met Melissa three times, once before, once at and once shortly after our wedding. I'd not seen her in over a year. Now, I barely recognized her. She must have lost nearly eighty pounds, if not more. She seemed tiny. Her black hair was longer and glistened in the sunlight and her face, always pretty, was free of the earlier blemishes that had always seemed to plague her.
After breaking their hug, Carla introduced us, "Melissa, let me introduce my friend, Jacqui. Jacqui, this is my little sister, Melissa. She is a lot littler now."
"Hi, Jacqui." Melissa just gave me a small, casual wave as she moved to unload her baggage. I, or was it John, felt that I should say something and help her.
"Pleased to meet you, Melissa. I'll help with those."
"Thanks. You don't have to help, Jacqui."
"I think I do." It just came out. I'm not sure what was going on in my mind, but somehow it seemed right that I should be helping her. Ever since Carla had unveiled her plans, they had been becoming more and more attractive to me and I was starting to gear up my mind in that direction.
Melissa had already assumed that she'd use our guest room and that's where I headed, preceding her. I froze at the top of the stairs. The door to our bedroom was open and all of the clutter of Jacqui's wardrobe was still in full view from when Carla had searched that morning for what I was wearing. In retrospect, my reaction was stupid, Carla had already made it perfectly clear that Melissa would learn who I was, but for some reason, having my secret revealed this way made my heart freeze up.
"Come on girl, move your butt! These are heavy." Melissa had almost bumped into me and could see the bedroom as well as I could. I just threw a final glance at our bed and went to the guest room to set the bags down.
"Look. I've already figured it OK, Jacqui? I may behave like an airhead, but I do have brains between my ears. John, Jack, Jacqui. The clothes are all over your room. Keys are still in the lock of one case. 'John's in a clinic'. You don't even need to be a computer geek to put that little puzzle together."
"It's cool. If I had met you in the ladies room someplace, I would never have guessed." I blushed furiously and wished there was an open window I could jump from. Melissa picked up on my feelings right away and moved to put me at ease.
"C'mere," she said, moving to the bed, "sit next to me." I sat, smoothing my skirt first. Once on the bed, I just couldn't look her in the eyes and stayed quietly with my eyes cast down and my hands folded in my lap. After a few moments, Melissa took my hands and said, "Look at me, Jacqui. Would you please tell me what's going on? I'd rather hear it from you than my sister."
I let go a big sigh and looked up; her face showed only concern and not the derision, which I had feared. "I'll tell you. I'd rather you hear my side first."
I had just finished most of the story when Carla came upstairs. Through the open door, I saw her freeze for a moment at the sight of our bedroom, just as I had, but then she broke out into a strange smile. It was a little scary, but I didn't have time to think about it because Melissa saw her too. She went just to the door.
"Carla? Your two maids are having a chat; we'll be on duty shortly, if that meets with your pleasure ma'am?" Carla came to the room and pushed her sister back in, but didn't actually enter herself.
"Sit. Tell me, please, the extent of your understanding?" she asked.
Melissa had put together much more than I had told her. I was really impressed, because there couldn't have been any other way for her know everything she had pieced together. Most definitely, despite how she had come across in the past, Melissa was no ditz.
"Jacqui was just starting to tell me about the maids' quarters at the new house, ma'am, and had mentioned that you desired that your servants don't dip at the feed trough. Chastity belts are okay with me. I've used ‘em before to protect myself." She looked at me and grinned.
"Should we put them on now?" Carla just nodded and went off to get mine. I started to become very queasy. I didn't realize things would progress so rapidly.
Melissa had started to undress as soon as Carla left and was almost naked when Carla reentered the room. There was no pretense of hiding anything or asking me to turn around.
"Your turn, Jacqui. I'm not hiding anything."
I couldn't move. "But, but …" I stammered; I wasn't sure I had agreed to what was happening; my reservations started to overwhelm me.
Melissa interrupted me, "It's too late for second thoughts now, my dear. C'mon, snap to it." She reached over, pulled me to my feet and began to unbutton my blouse as Carla looked on with a slight smile.
"Okay, I'll do it"," I said with more than a little resignation in my voice. When I slipped my white bra down, Melissa let out a delightful squeal.
"They're real! Well, twiddle my twat, this just got very, very interesting."
Melissa went out of the room, full, buck naked and returned with another of her bags. By the time she had retrieved her own chastity belt from it, I had finished undressing. I sat on the bed feeling humiliated to be stripped naked in front of this relative stranger. I was panting quietly, trying to retain control over my galloping anxiety.
Melissa stood in front of Carla and curtseyed. Even naked it looked very graceful. "Sis, I'd like a favor, please? I'd like to fit the new girl and would like her to fit me, please?" She offered Carla the stainless steel contraption and stepped back. My head jerked up and I looked at Carla with pleading eyes. We hadn't discussed this.
"That's a very interesting offer, Melissa, but I already told Jacqui that I wouldn't put her belt on her unless she asked me to. Perhaps if she asks you nicely, I may allow you to do it." The tone of her voice and the look in her eyes left no doubt about what she expected from me, but I was still too scared to move. Carla put up with that for only a few moments.
"Jacqui!" she snapped sharply to get my attention, "You know what we agreed to, if you can't hold up your end of the deal, you know what the consequences will be." By the time she finished, her voice was strangely empty of emotion. That scared the hell out of me. I raised my hand and nodded my head, silently asking for a moment as I tried to compose myself. I was afraid I was going to cry. Tears had already formed in my eyes.
I got up and stood in front of Melissa. I felt more than naked; it was as if my very soul was on display and, for the first time, I was deeply embarrassed to have both breasts and a penis and testicles. Now tears were streaming down my cheeks. "P… Please Melissa, would you put my chastity… chastity b ... b ... belt on me?" I could barely get the words out!
"Jacqui, my dear," Melissa replied, gently, but with authority, "I would be pleased to fit your belt, but you must learn to ask the way a proper maid asks. Do you know how to curtsey?"
I tried to curtsey for her and discovered depths of humiliation I never knew existed. I felt ridiculous standing there naked and when I dipped my knees, my penis swung up and then flopped down in the most ridiculous manner. I couldn't even begin to imagine just how foolish I must have looked. My mind was so conflicted, I couldn't think of anything at all. I was lost now, I would do whatever they told me to do.
Whatever Melissa and Carla might have been thinking, the only thing I heard was, "That's really not quite right dear." It was Carla!
"Melissa would you please show her and work with her until she gets it right. Then she may have her belt."
Melissa said, "Watch me hon’, it's really very simple once you understand it." I thought her curtsey was really very elegant and smiled shyly. It took less than five minutes, I guess, before I could perform up to Carla's standards, but it seemed like two hours. The only good thing was that by the time I finally got it right, I no longer felt embarrassed by what was going on. That was because neither woman took any advantage of the situation. They treated me like someone who needed training in a particular skill and they trained me, discussing some of the finer points of my performance as if I wasn't there. Their tone was lightly amused, but never demeaning.
When I finally had asked properly, Melissa got my belt on, as if she had been doing it all her life. She knew exactly what she was doing. She coated my surprisingly flaccid member with K-Y jelly, which she just happened to have in her bag, and slipped it into the tube. The rubber lined belt fitted over the pin on this and about the top of my hips. Its front shield covered my groin and narrowed to pass between my legs. There was an enlarged area with a hole directly over my anus that she had to spread my cheeks wide to press it close.
With the contoured hip band and back strap fastened, Melissa worked the pin up in the slot for the tube and inspected everything with her eyes and fingers, before she fit the mechanism to hold that in place.
"How's it feel, Jacqui?"
"Tight. But, I don't feel pinched or anything."
"Because I'm a real girl, mine has to be even tighter or neither of these are worth the price of sand in the Outback." Melissa closed the two locks. The loud click of mine seemed ominous.
"My turn." She handed me her own belt. She had to pull her lips through the slot herself because I, quite frankly, did not know what I was doing. Other than it's secondary shield to secure access to her nether lips, our belts looked remarkably similar.
"Sis, they make a false secondary shield for a belt like Jacqui's. If you get one of those, we'll be an even better match," Melissa offered.
"Thanks. I'll check into it," Carla said.
"Look," she went on, "it's going on four. Let's all get dressed and straighten up here a bit. I'll treat both of you to dinner out. I really do not want to start with the maid thing today."
"Twist my arm." Melissa shot back. "What's she gonna wear?"
"That's up to Jacqui. It's her choice. She has a green Suzi Wong dress I'd love to see on her," she threw me a big smile, "but I'm not insisting."
"Jacqui, you have a cheongsam? Great! Wear it. I have one too. Hey, what a neat idea! Let's do our makeup chionsoir too. Bet we could look like sisters if we try really hard."
That sounded like fun! When I'd first met Melissa, I had thought that I looked more like her than Carla did. Carla has green eyes and dark auburn hair. My eye and hair colors were a closer match to Melissa's. I'd seen this even more clearly in the wedding pictures with the two of us side by side. The only real difference had been her weight, which was now a mute point.
We got to know each other much better in the two hours it took us to dress and do our hair and makeup. Melissa's dress was much different from mine. It was plain red satin with gold piping and frogs, mine is a dark green on green brocade with silver in place of her gold. Then there was all of my embroidery on mine to further set it apart.
We both wore sheer black pantyhose and black, four-inch pumps, mine patent and hers calf. Melissa did a great job of matching our makeup and had trimmed my hair a little to create bangs, so even my hair looked more like hers, although hers was a foot longer.
Carla had cleaned up Jacqui's wardrobe, so when we entered and curtseyed, much to her delight, the room was neat. She had chosen a dark gray, silk power suit that looked elegant in any setting.
"OK, maids. I've changed my mind. I want you to go into character. Starting now, for both of you. I am 'Ms. Martin'. I am to be addressed as 'mum' by you, nothing more, nothing less. When you are talking about me, alone together, or not, you are to refer to me as 'Ms. Martin'. You are not permitted to use my first name under any circumstances.
"I've made reservations. Melissa, I'd like you to drive John's car, and Jacqui, I'd like you ride in front and attend to the doors."
"Yes, mum." Melissa curtseyed and I imitated her to acknowledge our orders. Carla, Ms. Martin, smiled at my efforts.
"Jacqui, I'd like you to continue to follow Melissa's lead and her instructions, please?"
"Yes, mum."
In the car on the way to the restaurant, I was given more orders. "Except for me and Melissa, every female over puberty is 'ma'am' and every male is 'Sir'. You curtsey to everyone except Melissa when you address them or they address you.
When we got to the restaurant, it was already crowded. Ms. Martin took my hand and said, "I want you to go to the hostess station and introduce yourself as Jacqui, one of Ms. Martin's maids and see if our table is ready. Go."
Following Carla's instructions embarrassed me. I felt foolish curtsying to the teen hostess in front of all the other people waiting for tables, and describing myself as her maid brought a hot flush to my face. Everyone nearby was staring at me as I returned to Carla and curtseyed to tell her we could be seated.
When we got to the table, I helped Ms. Martin to sit and was about to sit myself when Melissa stopped me. Following her lead, I stood, burning with embarrassment because I knew we were making spectacles of ourselves for the staff and other diners.
"You may be seated, girls," she said after a couple of moments. Neither of us was given a menu as Carla had stated that neither of her 'maids' could read English, though we'd learned to speak it.
"Mum, would you like me to spice it up, tossing a few Chinese sounding words about and speaking to Jacqui in that way?" Melissa whispered.
Carla, in response, "No, not tonight. Just speak normally. Let's all three of us get used to our positions before we complicate things too much more."
"Good evening, ladies. My name is Tim. It will be my pleasure to serve you this evening," the young waiter announced.
"Good evening, Tim. It's my pleasure to accept your service. I'm Ms. Martin. These are my maids, Jacqui and Melissa." Carla ordered a bottle of wine and had started to scan the menu, when Melissa broke in.
"Ms. Martin, mum, if it's not to much to request, may I be known as 'First Girl' please?"
"No, it is not too much, Melissa. I'll take your request under consideration, but do be quiet while I decide what to order." Carla was really falling into her chosen role, even with her own sister.
"That will do fine. Thank you, mum."
Carla tasted and approved the wine she had ordered after performing the usual ritual. "I should have asked before," she said to Tim. "My first girl," she indicated Melissa, who smiled, "prefers plum wine. Bring her a small glass, please. Jacqui doesn’t drink at all. Bring her a Shirley Temple." Had Tim been a real professional, he would have taken the orders without even batting an eye, but he wasn’t - he looked at me in wonder. My mouth was still open at hearing what Ms. Martin had ordered for me and I flushed bright red when I saw the look on his face. A Shirley Temple! He thinks I want it! I started to stare at Carla angrily, but the look in her eyes stopped me dead. I just hung my head, feeling shamed. Tim left to get out drinks.
"A few rules while we wait. Unless your duties require it, neither of you are to meet my eyes. My anger caused me to glare at her again, but she was ready and simply stared me down. She had set a trap and I had fallen right into it. My face still burned with shame, but I was looking into my lap.
"… And you cannot curtsey too often. Jacqui still needs to work on hers. See to it, First Girl."
"Certainly, mum. Thank you, mum."
Though Carla had taken a few sips of her Liebfraumilch, I followed Melissa and did not touch my glass when it was set before me.
"Thank you, Tim."
"My pleasure, Ms. Martin."
"I'll order now." Declining appetizers and salad, Carla ordered a rack of lamb for herself then sweet and sour chicken for us.
"Why not clear their tableware, Tim. They are both used to just chopsticks. Don't forget to bring them."
When he had left, she turned her attention to me. "Jacqui, my dear, you may have your darling little drink now." Melissa giggled while my face burned yet again. I had no intention of touching that glass. I felt stupid enough with it in front of me. I wasn’t going to compound that by actually sipping on it. Carla watched for a moment and then went on.
"Girls, let me continue with the rules. When I ask you to do something, I am being polite. Don’t misunderstand me, those requests are orders." She paused for a moment, "Do you understand me, Jacqui?"
I did, but I wasn't happy about it. Just because I'm TG, I’d never had the submissive fantasy, especially the maid one. I was feeling anything but submissive right then. I defiantly looked up into her eyes. "I signed up to be your maid, Ms. Martin," I coated the 'Ms. Martin' with as much sarcastic disdain as I could, "not to be humiliated by you in public places."
She looked at me evenly and spoke without emotion. "If you are to be my maid, you will learn to obey me. I thought a little shock therapy was a good way to start. If you can’t obey me, our deal is off. You may leave any time you wish.
"Now, my dear," she was now talking to me as if I was a demented four year old, "would you like to sip your Shirley Temple?" She had me and she knew it. I wasn’t going to force her to throw me out over something as trivial as this. I swallowed my pride, picked up the drink and took a sip through the tiny plastic straw.
"Thank you mum, it’s very tasty." Without any response, she turned to Melissa. She didn’t speak to me for the rest of the meal.
"Melissa, honest answer - I'm not forcing you. Are you willing to get your hair cut short? A beautiful long mane like yours may be fine for playing a French Maid at a party, but not for the real thing."
"May I know how short, before my answer is required, mum?"
"You may. I think smooth, blunt cuts or bubble cuts with much thicker bangs would be appropriate for both of you. I want the bottom third of your cute little ears to show." I saw Melissa exhale as if as if the wind had been knocked out of her, but after only a second’s hesitation, she answered with aplomb.
"Yes, mum. I have considered cutting it, just not quite that short. I'll attend to it as soon as my chores permit, mum."
"That will be in the morning, Melissa. Take the other maid with you and assure hers is the same. I also want her ears pierced, just like yours. Have one more hole put in your left, to signify your higher status. Her earrings are to be silver and you will retain your gold. Once the piercing has healed, I will give you a one-carat diamond to put in the extra hole to signify your status." We both gasped and looked up, only to be confronted with Carla’s disapproving stare. As I was looking down however, I saw her wink at Melissa and twist a lock of hair around a finger. The diamond was to be a payback for cutting her hair!
"I really like this look-alike image that both of you achieved for tonight, Melissa, do whatever necessary to make it more so, tomorrow."
"Yes, mum."
Carla told her sister about the house, including a detailed description of the turret or 'maids' quarters. Then she told us what she was going to require of us.
"In addition to everything else, Melissa, the house needs a top to bottom cleaning and spit polish. I will require that it be brought up to museum showplace standards and then kept that way at all times. I'm going to further require that my two maids, at all times, present a perfect image of grooming, attire and deportment.
"Just because you are First Girl, Melissa, does not mean that the other maid gets all the dirty jobs. I will expect that there will be a very equal distribution of the chores and work. Equal, in my dictionary, means you both are to work at similar chores, for similar amounts of time. That includes cleaning the bathrooms, washing the windows, whatever.
"I already told Jacqui that duty hours are seven in the morning until ten in the evening. I expect that both of you will take breaks during the day, but I want at least eight and a half hours of solid work from each of you. That is correct, eight and a half hours a day, six days a week. Both of you are to be on duty from Friday through Sunday evenings. You get one day a week off. At all other times, you are to be on call with less than a one-hour response time, if I require.
"There will be no days off, for either of you, until the house is presentable."
"You are laying all of this on pretty heavy, all at once, mum. Those are rather excessive hours."
"We will privately discuss your compensation, Melissa. I doubt you'll bitch after you hear my offer.
"Jacqui receives minimum wage for forty hours. Hours worked in addition to those go to cover room and uniforms. Both of you are on your own as far as your food.
"I am prohibiting alcohol, in any form, in the maids' quarters. Jacqui is not allowed to drink at all and if you see her drinking you are to tell me at once." I didn’t look up, but I could sense both of them looking at me. "Tobacco is banned from the entire estate. I don't think I need discuss my feelings on illegal substances."
I left dinner a very unhappy girl. I did not like what I'd heard and had not agreed to any of it.
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part II - Jacqui Becomes a Maid
Our uniforms were quite plain, with white pointed collars and cuffs on the short sleeves. The moderately full, above the knee skirts were pouffed out some by the gathered cotton petticoats we wore.
"Are you two really maids?"
"Yes, we are really maids," I found the courage to reply, even though I was still trying to understand what that meant.
"Melissa," I screeched. "He tried..."
_______________________________________________________________ By Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part II - Jacqui Becomes a Maid "Time to get up, sleepy head." Melissa shook my arm. "Just leave me alone." I tried to shake her hand off. "No can do, Jacqui, we've orders. I'm going to obey mine, and it's my job to assure you obey yours as well. So up an' at 'em, girl." She pulled me upright on the roll-away cot I'd set up for the night in the computer room. I pulled at my chastity belt, trying to keep it from chafing. "Listen, first day in a chastity belt is the worst. First week, first month, it really only gets a little better, but you adjust. It’s entirely in your attitude. I'm wearing one and so are you. That’s all there is to it." I tugged at it again, trying to pull a little bit of slack in the steel, which, of course, wasn't happening. "Go shower and shampoo twice. Don't do any more than towel dry it then come to my room when you're done." I did exactly as I was instructed. My chastity belt was most definitely going to take a lot of getting used to, starting with using the toilet. Peeing wasn't any big deal, but... Carla was talking with her sister and looking through the things Melissa had hung in the closet. "If I'd known, I could have brought a few more uniforms, Sis. I do have a few that match." "Mum, Melissa, not 'Sis'. I'm going to insist on this and I do expect that you'll remember your status here. You and Jacqui are employees, my maids, and not my relatives." "Yes, mum." "Good morning, mum." I curtseyed. For some reason, I seemed to hold no resentment about the way things had gone the previous evening. "Oh, and good morning to you also, Jacqui. We were just discussing what the two of you will be wearing this morning. I'd have preferred matching uniforms, but that doesn't appear possible today." "Mum, I did bring two that are identically cut and trimmed. One is black and the other one, gray." "Let me see." Melissa brought out the two hangers. "Yes, those will do. You wear the black one. "What do you usually wear with them, other than the aprons." "Bra, panties, pantyhose, black with that and white with the gray, one or two plain petticoats, more with the black. The gray one is a day uniform for doing chores, so I wear white shoes with only a two-inch, chunky heel. That black one is a bit more formal, for afternoons when there might be casual guests and I'll be serving refreshments or serving a lunch. I wear plain black pumps with a four-inch heel. Oh, and a head piece too, mum." "Two petticoats each, stockings not pantyhose and no other panties, ever, except on my instruction. You both are wearing all the panties you need or will be permitted." Carla turned to me. "You will always wear stockings, Jacqui. You have white stockings and a garter belt. Wear those with those cute, white lace up shoes you have." "Both uniforms and the aprons need pressing. Do assure I do not see wrinkles when you come down for inspection. "Melissa, the plainest studs you brought, for your ears; no other jewelry for today. No, you may both wear a plain, thin watch. I'm going to be strict about timeliness. "Get started." We both curtseyed and waited until Carla had left the room before doing as we'd told. It took longer to iron our uniforms, petticoats and pinafores - they were more than just aprons, than it did to put everything on and apply the light makeup, that Carla had decreed appropriate for days. Our uniforms were quite plain, with white pointed collars and cuffs on the short sleeves. The moderately full, above the knee skirts were pouffed out some by the gathered cotton petticoats we wore. Melissa had only pantyhose. I loaned her a garter belt and gave her a plain, pair of sheer black stockings to wear. Seeing the shoes I brought to the room, she produced a similar pair in black. Ms.Carla approved of both of us. "Melissa, as first girl, I'm placing you in charge and holding you responsible. "Here is my charge card and some cash, should you need it. Get Jacqui's ears done and don’t forget that new hole in your left lobe then get your hair done. "I think I'd like to see both of you with a lot less eyebrows." Carla used me to demonstrate what she desired. "They are to start inside the eye and end at the outer corner. Have them waxed and only leave a thin line, as high as possible." "That's not much at all, mum." "Is that a complaint or the beginning of back talk, Melissa? Say another word about it and I'll tell you to have yours removed completely." "Yes, mum." It felt really strange walking into the mall. Jacqui had been in public many times before and in much shorter skirts, higher heels, more makeup and a lot more jewelry - in short, outfits that drew a lot of attention to me. I must say though, that walking next to Melissa in a full maid's uniform seemed to instantly draw every pair of eyes to us like magnets and I felt very vulnerable and exposed. I told Melissa how I felt. "I used to feel the exact same way, especially when I was fat," she giggled. "There was almost twice as much of me then. The worst was when I had to go to a supermarket and do all the shopping in my full French regalia." "What do you mean by, 'had to go'?" "I worked my way through college hiring myself out as a maid. I'd do cleaning, laundry; you name it. I'd serve lunches and formal dinners and I'd do parties. I bought a chastity belt after one of those. I felt like I was going to be raped by every guy there, every one of them. "Anyway, during one formal diner, a guest, he was older than my grandfather, asked me if I'd spend a three day weekend at his place being his maid and doing everything. He promised no sex and no kinky stuff. Just that I'd have to be uniformed the entire time, I'd be photographed and videotaped constantly. The pay was a grand a day and an additional thousand if I didn't call it quits before the end. "Wouldn't you, in my position, do anything, including going to a supermarket in net hose and six-inch heels?" "Yes, I guess I would," I giggled. "Carla…" Melissa cut me off. "That's Ms. Martin to you, Jacqui. You better get used to it quick." I sighed. "I'm afraid that's going to be difficult, Melissa, I can't help, but think of her as Carla." "Well, you can think whatever you want, but neither Ms. Martin nor I will permit you to call her by her first name. If I can figure out how to do it, so can you. Now what were you saying?" "Huh? Oh. I was saying that Ms. Martin," I put the emphasis on the Ms., "said that as her maid, I'm only going to get minimum wage, but it is steady employment." I had to laugh. "That's a girl, laugh about it." Having three silver studs shot through each ear was not the big deal I had always thought it was going to be. In fact, I loved it. Something about having it done made me feel incredibly feminine. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I began to wish for some nicer earrings, and, as I stood there, I had a little fantasy. I was the girlfriend of some very rich man and he was presenting me with beautiful earrings. I was so thrilled I stretched up to kiss him for his generosity, bending one knee behind me as I did. Yum. Everything about this trip was different. Even though John had had my hair trimmed in beauty salons for years, walking in as Jacqui, a maid, was much different. When Melissa explained just what we wanted done, rather, what Ms. Martin wanted done to us, we were placed in adjacent stations to be worked on by the same beautician. It was comforting and reassuring to have Melissa there next to me, and making sure everything that was done to me, was done to her exactly the same way. Melissa told Tracy, our operator, each step of all the procedures was to be performed on me first, starting with the smelly hair coloring, blue black. While that gook did its thing on our heads, Tracy removed most of our eyebrows with wax; having all those hairs yanked out hurt! "Just let me get the strays, Jacqui, then I'll put a nice soothing cream there." She daubed the tears that were in the corners of my eyes with tissues. I was both thrilled and freaked out having my hair cut into a very feminine bubble cut by Tracy. Though Melissa had given me bangs the day before, Tracy combed all the hair in a line, ear to ear across the top, forward, and cut it into a crescent, making my bangs even fuller. Once our hair was finally done, it was in an almost spherical shape that curved in at the bottom. The ends of our hair formed one continuous curve that crested in the middle of our foreheads, swept down around our eyes and over the middle of our ears. In back, she stacked it and cut it above the top of our necks, shaving off everything below that. Melissa asked if Tracy thought that she could give us a 'China Doll' make-up and to attempt to make us look as closely alike as she possibly could. "Just not too bold, Tracy. Our employer wants it on the subtle side." "Are you two really maids?" "Yes, we are really maids," I found the courage to reply, even though I was still trying to understand what that meant. I just had to hear myself say it aloud, hoping perhaps that I would begin to believe what now appeared to be an inescapable truth. Once we were done and Tracy had spent an inordinate amount of time replacing the white fan headpieces just so, Melissa led the way to our next set of tasks. Each of us was to buy a dozen pairs of heavy, opaque white stockings and seamed black sheers. We were to find boxy, white PVC purses, like the handbags that little girls carry around at Easter, and matching white shoes. These were to be smooth calf, with rounded toes and about three-inch heels. They were to have a wide strap across the vamp, if we could find them, or ankle straps if we couldn't. We cleaned out the entire stock of both styles of stockings in one hosiery store, ending up with only eleven pairs of the black and seventeen of the white. We went to another and, finally, a third before we could meet our goal. Our new purses were easy to find in the children's department of a discount store and cost only two dollars each. I just knew I would feel like an idiot carrying such a bag if the occasion ever arose. I mean, what kind of grownup would carry a bag like that? We visited every shoe store and shoe department in the entire mall before selecting the shoes that came closest to matching the ones we were told to buy. The shoes we bought had one-inch platforms and five-inch heels that flared at their tips. There were two straps with large silver colored buckles instead of the one specified. "These shoes are really ugly, Melissa. I'd never have bought them." "I agree. They are ugly. I think Ms. Martin intends them to be." "Why? I would think that she would want us to be as pretty as possible?" "For a party or guests, sure. A woman I worked for a few times explained her thinking this way: 'I know you are an intelligent girl, Melissa, however, it is my desire that you appear and act like a stupid immigrant. There are many maids who are incapable of being anything more than a maid and that is how I wish you to appear,' she told me." "All she let me do for her was a very heavy cleaning of her hot attic. I was a total mess after two weekends of that." "She kept the damn uniform and didn’t clean it. By the last day, I smelled like a horse and she had me go to the store that way. Talk about a weirdo." "Why'd you do it?" "Wouldn’t you, for forty dollars an hour? Besides, it was good exercise and I started to drop some serious weight. It was after that that I got very serious about not being a fat cow any longer." "You ever do any kinky stuff as a maid?" "Just once. Crazy as it might seem, I really enjoy being a straight, plain vanilla maid, doing all the chores, cooking and serving meals, and taking care of guests. Beats the shit out of the work I did for my recent employer." "Why?" Melissa stopped to stare at me a moment before she answered. "It's a bit strange talking like this since it was your company." She tilted her head and studied me for a few seconds then giggled lightly to herself. "But you’re a maid named Jacqui now, aren’t you? You’re not Mr. Ingram, the boss." I paled and could feel my mouth draw back involuntarily in a gesture of dismay. "Talking to you about my experiences at Carla’s company," she really emphasized the Carla, "shouldn’t bother me at all." And she giggled again. "It was a do nothing, go nowhere job. I knew that when I took it. What I hated was the stress." "Stress, as a receptionist! What stress?" I couldn't believe she thought a receptionist's job was stressful. "Oh! There wasn’t any real stress in the work and the guys were great, no problem with any of them. It was the women and the competition they created. No matter what I wore, how I did my hair, make-up, nails, whatever. Always, no matter what, one or more would make some catty, snotty comment. 'New shoes Melissa, were they on sale at Payless?' There is none of that crap as a maid.” "Anyone who criticizes my uniform, my shoes, my make-up, anything, is criticizing my employer. Real maids, like you and me," my stomach did a little flip when she said that, "do not get to make choices about how they appear or dress - they are told, and their employer supplies the uniforms. If someone takes exception to my appearance, they can tell the person I work for about it, not me. If they do tell me, I don't care, I didn't choose it." "You said you like the work. How can you enjoy ironing or scrubbing the floor and cleaning toilets?" "How is it that people who have more money than they know what to do with enjoy going to a gym and working out on a stupid machine and paying for the privilege of exercising? In my book, that is totally stupid and dumb, working up a sweat and accomplishing nothing while paying for it!" "Those rich jerks, and some not so rich, all look down their noses at someone who is just a maid or a receptionist, Jacqui. I earned a four-year college degree. I paid for every cent of it. I bought my food, my clothes and my hot, new SUV, and I paid cash. I've never established credit and don't use plastic. I did it by working, not because my Daddy handed it to me. I worked as a maid earning hundreds a day not five bucks an hour at the library or Micky D's." "They can look at me and sneer, if that excites them. Damn few can say they did, on their own, what I've done. Far fewer than that, can say they love doing what they do and feel proud at the end of the day. They drag themselves home, totally exhausted and stressed to the breaking point. They pour a glass of whiskey and hope that it kicks in before their worrisome thoughts about the next day overwhelm them." I had obviously hit a hot button and Melissa was on a roll; spilling out her entire view of life in an apparent response to the many slights she had experienced in the past. "Melissa the maid, finishes her day tired sometimes. I'm satisfied that the rooms are properly cleaned and the other chores are done. I don't have worry one. My clothes for the morning are already picked out along with everything else. I have something to eat and relax before getting a solid night of sleep without needing any depressants to make my mind turn off all the perceived problems others think they should bear." "Melissa...?" "I'm not done yet." I butted in anyway, "What about challenge, intellectual stimulation, and all of the other things the stressed out will tell you they need to make them satisfied?" "You want challenge as a maid? I challenge you to do all your assigned chores in the time allowed, keep your hair and make-up neat, your entire uniform spotless and not chip your nails. You're allowed to soil your apron or pinafore, just don't go using it as a towel.” "No way in hell can I honestly brag that I can do it every day or even most days, I can't, but that's the challenge I have every time I go on duty. Most days I lose, but I sure as shit tried, and just because I get one spot on my uniform, does not mean that I’m willing to get two. "Now, what was it you wanted to ask me, Jacqui?" "You answered it. You've obviously have thought this maid thing through and are passionate about it.” “Omigod! Look at the time! We need to get home and get ready for dinner! *** “Set the dining room table for one Jacqui. The servants usually eat in the kitchen, though in our case it'll be the maids' quarters." We served throughout dinner, but Carla essentially ignored both of us until we were cleaning up. I didn’t see her come into the kitchen, but when I saw Melissa curtsey, I turned and did the same. Carla's green eyes examined both of us for a moment before she spoke. "Melissa, take Jacqui back to your apartment to help you move out and make arrangements to terminate your lease. I believe that you can serve my needs better if you are free from that encumbrance. Bring back the rest of your uniforms and whatever else you want. "See that you return in time to serve dinner tomorrow evening. You may both dress as you wish, unless you want to go in uniform. Consider it your day off this week." "Finish here then you are dismissed for the evening." "Yes, mum." "What does all that mean, exactly?" I asked when I turned back to the few dishes left in the sink. "Pretty much that I've been fired from my other job, I guess. Looks to me like I will have what I always really wanted, a full time, real maid's position." "Doesn't it bother you that your sister talks to you like that?" "Nope. Bothers me about as much as you should be bothered that John was once her husband." "That was a low blow." "Just the truth. Listen, I gave you my personal recipe for a happy life, earlier. I think you had better get it settled in your little maid’s brain between those cute little pierced ears of yours, girl. Either of us can walk out whenever we choose to, but you know what the consequences are for you if you do. "Carla is my sister, Ms. Martin is my employer. Best get that straight as it pertains to you too." I went to lay on my cot that night with my head full of concerns. The change from being John, the CEO, to being Jacqui, the maid, had happened so quickly that I didn’t quite know what was going on. Could I actually follow Melissa’s happy maid philosophy? I had lived as John for more than thirty years and for the last eight I had run a company. I didn’t understand how concentrating on dusting the knick knacks without dirtying my uniform was going to fill my thoughts, which typically contained five or six things at a time. Carla was treating me like an employee and I didn’t like it. Melissa was bossing me around and I didn’t like that either, although she did seem sincere about doing a good job and was obviously into teaching me now to be a proper maid. What if Melissa was right? As I thought about it, while idly scratching around my chastity belt, I began to convince myself that the only way I could survive and, perhaps enjoy the next three months, was to adopt Melissa’s point of view. She had warned me to stop thinking like I was John, indeed to stop thinking that I was John and just become Jacqui, the maid. I was thrilled that Jacqui was going to get to live as herself twenty-four/seven for the first time in her life, but apprehensive that she had to be a maid to do it. What had I allowed myself to be talked into? I finally fell asleep fretting over the damn chastity belt that I could only remove by cutting it off. ‘Oh hell, I'm not going to worry.’ "Up. Time to get pretty, Jacqui." Again, Melissa had wakened me. "What should I wear?" "It's our day off and that means we may wear anything we want. I've seen your wardrobe. You have a lot of neat things. You’re not going to be getting many other chances to wear them any time soon. Of course, if you’d prefer to wear a uniform, you’ll have to be my maid today. I'm certainly not going to wear one of the suits I bought when I was given that previous job. Fuck them! What crap! I'll wear jeans and a top cause I'm moving stuff and don't want to dirty anything good.” "And remember, I expect you to duplicate the look that Tracy created with make-up. Get your butt moving." I did all the necessary tasks in the bathroom and shower then alternated the hair dryer between my hair and steel panties until both were dry. I was really coming to hate being locked in that thing! Before I did my makeup, I went to knock on Melissa's door. I was fairly sure of what I was doing. "What's up?" She asked after scanning me, naked, but for my steel panties. "I'd like you to loan me a uniform, please? I acknowledge my status. I'm a maid. Please select my uniform for today, Melissa?" She glared for a brief moment before softening her look to an amused smile. "I'm glad I brought it. We're lucky we're just about the same size. I'll get a uniform for you." Melissa closed the door, leaving me in the hall. When she opened it again, only a hanger with a black uniform came out. Once I took the hanger, the door closed, but opened quickly again. This time Melissa stood there with a pair of front laced, knee boots in her hand. "I’m afraid the boots will be too tight. You’ll have to wear them anyway!" Melissa said before closing the door again. "I'll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes." What I had in my hand was a tailored, black leather uniform that I couldn't guess the intent of until I put it on. It was a chauffeuse uniform. I almost laughed aloud. Melissa was amazing. I had the knee boots laced up and was stepping into the skirt when Melissa entered my room wearing a light, floral print that was mostly lilac and white sandals, not her jeans. "Be sure the seams on your net stockings are straight at all times, Jacqui. You must check often and straighten them, even if in public. Understood?" "Yes, mum," I curtsied in reply. Melissa handed me a visored cap and a pair of gauntlet-like, black leather gloves then told me to put them on. Car. . ., uh, Ms.Martin was just delighted with my appearance when we presented ourselves to her with curtseys before leaving. "Very nice, Jacqui. I think your duties have just expanded," she said, barely suppressing a laugh. "Oh, Melissa this is just priceless." Then she turned to me. "Jacqui, you may now consider yourself to be my chauffeuse in addition to being one of my maids." "Yes, mum," I curtseyed again. The evening before, Melissa had again worked with me on my curtseys. Judging by her smile, Ms. Martin was happy with the improvement. I did not need to be told to tend the door for the First Girl nor to be quiet as we drove in John’s big Mercedes. Except to provide directions, Melissa remained silent throughout the two-hour drive. Because Jacqui did not have a driver's license, I drove very carefully. I did not need to meet a cop on a professional basis dressed like I was. The boots that I was wearing were not only tight, but they had five-inch heels as well. They forced me to pay close attention to my movements. I'd never driven while wearing such high heels before. "Come with me, Jacqui," Melissa ordered once I'd parked in the lot near her apartment. I tended her door and watched her wave to two people with a smile. "Hi, Mary, Hi Bill," "Hi, Melissa," a man's voice called from behind. I had no desire to meet her friends, but it looked like I didn't have any choice, except to follow as Melissa strode towards them. In a couple of seconds, we were face to face. "Who's your friend, Melissa?" the girl elbowed her companion in the ribs when he asked that. I'd seen him checking me out. "My sister's chauffeuse. "Curtsey, Jacqui." I thought that in my position it was best to remain silent and obey, so I did, flushing slightly at the embarrassment of being told what to do and acting so submissively. Melissa proceeded to tell them that she was transferring to the headquarters and that she was staying at Ms. Martin's who had just bought a big house, until she found a place of her own. It was a good story. "Listen, there's some stuff in my 'frige'. Why not come over and take it while Jacqui and I pack my clothes?" "Can't, I've an appointment with my doctor." Mary was obviously very pregnant. Bill politely offered to go with her, but she turned him down. "I'll be fine. I'll see you when I get back about noon." Bill was still checking me out and was obviously pleased that Mary had let him off the hook, so he could spend some time with me. Of course, he ended coming with us and walked next to me, very closely. I’d never sensed a man in heat before, but that was what I clearly felt coming from Bill just then. This guy wanted to get in my panties and I was thankful for the first time since Melissa had locked them on that they were stainless steel. "You from around here ... Jacqui, right?" he asked. "No, North Jersey," I did not want to engage in conversation - not even small talk. "I live in Somerville." Just great, that was only fifteen miles from Ms. Martin's new house. "I'm just visiting my sister while her husband's away on business," he explained. I'd assumed they were husband and wife. "I'm just out of college and I start my new job in two weeks. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Melissa," he added. She, like I, questioned what he'd just said. "Working with me?" "Yeah. You said you were transferring to Johncarla headquarters didn't you? I'm interviewing there next Monday, but their Human Resources said that with my education it's pretty assured that they'll hire me in their engineering department, at least until I'm trained for something better. I hear it's a great company." "It is, but I think I misstated things. Actually, I've only been asked to consider a transfer. That's part of why I'll be there with my sister." Melissa unlocked the door to admit us and we trooped in. "Help yourself to whatever is in the refrigerator, Bill. There are bags under the sink." She turned to me. "My bedroom is this way, Jacqui. Come with me." I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd been fearful that I'd be ordered to help him. She closed the door as soon as we entered. "What's with you?" she demanded, "You're shaking and look like you've seen a ghost?" "It's just ... just that no guy ever broadcast his desire for to me like he was." Melissa nodded. "Yeah, pretty strong. It's not going to stop, so you had better come to accept that for every guy who can still get it up, you, as a maid, are fair game. If you don't believe me now, wait til you serve your first party in a really sexy uniform. You are going to have to learn to deal with it sooner or later, but you’ll be much better off if it's sooner." "I'll take the later, if you don't mind." "Jacqui, you are such a twit. You just don’t get it, do you? I think sooner would definitely be better, so I’m not giving you a choice. Get out there, help Bill pack the food and then carry the stuff to Mary's apartment. Now!" Melissa stopped to stare at me, before she added, "That is an order. Move!" I did not want to do it! I wanted no part of being so close to Bill, especially because he’d already shown too much interest in me. I was starting to get anxious about how Bill might behave and felt humiliated that I was merely a sex object to him. Very reluctantly, I turned to go, but Melissa wasn’t done with me yet. "Don't forget to curtsey like I've taught you, and to address him as 'sir'. Now get going." I blushed, curtseyed to her and reluctantly went to do as ordered. "Melissa sent me to help you, sir." I straightened from my curtsey and kept my eyes lowered. Bill wasted no time making room next to him before the open refrigerator. He tried to keep his hip pressed against mine for the a few minutes it took to finish emptying it. Thankfully, there just wasn't that much to do. "I'll carry this, sir." I lifted one partly full bag in front of me to serve as a shield in case he got ideas. That made me feel like I'd be a little safer, at least until I'd put everything away in Mary’s apartment, which he told me was on the other side of the complex. Sure enough, that's just when he chose to make his move. I'd closed the refrigerator after putting everything away and turned to tell Bill that I was going back to help Melissa. As I turned, I could see he was stepping towards me. I knew what was happening, but before I could move to block him, he wrapped his powerful arms around me, pulled me tightly to his chest and enveloped my lips with his mouth. I struggled to break free, but he only hugged harder. His tongue probed for an entrance into my mouth. At first, I kept my teeth and lips tightly shut then deciding I had to say something to make him stop, I opened my mouth to speak. His tongue immediately entered the opening I had created for it. This was the first time a man had penetrated me. "I just love girls in leather, like you," he breathed in my face once he broke the kiss. Still holding me securely with one arm, his free hand began to explore my body. "You're really hot, babe." "Just let go of me you pig," I spluttered out once I could say something. Then, desperate to avoid his intentions, I drove my right heel into his foot. He screamed in pain and I ran from the apartment, not that anyone can actually run in five-inch heels. I guess it was just a quick mince and I'm sure it looked just ridiculous. Melissa was unsympathetic when I returned with tears streaming down my cheeks and told her what had happened "You've already made your point and ruined your makeup, so stop the tears. No one is going to rape us locked up as we are. Get your act together and fix your face. We still have work to do." "Melissa," I screeched. "He tried..." I was still feeling sorry for myself and resentful at Melissa’s attitude. I just stood there. "Do as you were told, now, Jacqui! Don’t be such a damn baby! You think you’re the only girl who ever had a guy force a kiss on her. Grow the Hell up!" We drove in silence until we neared the house then Melissa spoke up, "All girls have to put up with men, Jacqui. You best accept that as fact. You're a damn good looking chick and men are going want you." "But I don't want them!" I countered. "Then figure out how you are going to handle them. What you want or don't want isn't going to change how they feel." I shut up. Melissa was obviously not going to offer me any consolation. She went straight to Carla while I unloaded her things and started to put them away. "Jacqui, Melissa explained what happened." I turned from the closet to face my wife. Ms. Martin was calm and I thought I could see a bit of a cruel smile on her lips, as if she was enjoying my distress. "Stay quiet and listen to me." "You agreed to this," she began, "wanted it even. I've given you just what you thought you wanted and more. Half of the population are men. They are a fact of life that you are not going to change. I do not expect you to like them, but I do expect you to deal with them and to do so without ever embarrassing me. End of discussion." As she turned and left Melissa's room, I started to cry. Just what had I gotten myself into? I was locked into a damn chastity belt, looked down on by the world and dismissed by everyone except the men who wanted to fuck me. Now I was supposed to deal with it. I wanted out! But there was no way out. Instead, I spent a grueling week, as Melissa and I cleaned up the house quickly each morning and then packed for the move in the afternoons. "I've hired a mover to do the rest." Ca . . . Ms. Martin informed us over breakfast on Saturday. "The furniture will go with this house when I sell it." "Both of you pack up enough uniforms to last you a few days along with your makeup and other personal things. Melissa, I expect you to attend to things here in this house then close up and drive to my new home once the movers finish. "Jacqui, after you've packed your things, change to the leather uniform. I want to leave by nine." I curtseyed and murmured acknowledgment. It was a tremendous relief that I would not be in the house alone with the moving men. She had me drive to the Realtors office. When I had helped her out of the car, she gave me new instructions. "Normally, a chauffeur, or chauffeuse in your case, stays with the car, polishing it or whatever." She opened her purse and extended two twenties. "You are not an exception." "Take the car to a car wash then find a place to buy what you'll need to polish it. Be back by noon, Jacqui." I was left speechless while Ms. Martin, no, Carla, walked to the Realtor's office, opened the door and walked in. I did what I was told. Even though it was my Mercedes, it was the first time I had lifted a finger to actually clean it. Being Carla's chauffeuse was not going to be fun. *** "You have the top bunk," Melissa announced when she came down from the top floor of the maids' quarters after she arrived late in the afternoon. "Thanks for making the bottom one for me." "But I got here first," I protested. "And I'm First Girl. It's my choice and that is the way it is!" she started to change out of the gray uniform she'd worn. I was already in a black taffeta French maid's uniform and was fixing my makeup. I just stared at her, but she ignored me. I shook my head and peered back into the mirror. "Is that what we're suppose to wear tonight?" "Yes. Ms. Martin told me to tell you." "What's here for her dinner?" Melissa asked. "Nothing yet; we didn't know what time you'd arrive. Ms. Martin said she'd inform us about her own meal. I put the other food we brought from your apartment upstairs in the cabinets. "Good, at least we won’t starve for a few days." "I really like the turret. Makes me feel like a princess living in a castle," Melissa said, as she sat before the other vanity. "How about you?" For the next fifteen minutes, Melissa chatted with me like we had been best friends forever. She eventually suggested a routine we might establish to accomplish our chores. It made me feel better than I had since the incident in Mary's apartment. For the first time since this whole adventure had begun, I felt like I had a friend. We arrived downstairs to discover that Carla had ordered in Chinese food. She even ordered enough for us. Still, we had to serve her as she ate and then reheat what was left and eat it ourselves in the kitchen. At least it was warm. The movers arrived the following morning and this time I was not spared the job of overseeing them. Just to make me as nervous as possible, Melissa had me dress in one of her black afternoon uniforms with a mid-thigh length hem. It was much shorter skirt than the others we had worn. After we served breakfast and I cleaned up, Ms. Martin informed me of my fate that day. "I'm taking Melissa with me to shop, Jacqui. We won’t be back until this afternoon. I'll leave a hundred dollars to tip the movers when they finish." I wanted to protest being left alone in the house with a bunch of guys, but knew it would be of no use and probably only give Carla another chance to put me down, so I kept my peace. "As things are brought in, get started putting them away." "Ms. Martin, mum," I curtseyed, "may I wear panties please, to cover my chastity belt? This skirt is so short," I bobbed again with the hem of my skirt in my fingers, "and the house will be full of men." She looked at me sharply, as if trying to figure out what trick I was pulling, but then waved at me dismissively. "Oh go ahead, if that will make you feel better." Then a huge grin lit up her face. "But wear that white frilly pair with all those ruffles you had in your suitcase." That wasn't what I had in mind! I had gotten what I asked for, although not in the way I had I hoped. I knew there would be no point in arguing. I did as she’d said, comforting myself that at least my chastity belt would be hidden. I was extremely embarrassed having so much of my legs displayed in my short uniform. The men couldn’t keep their eyes off me and I'm sure that their whispered conversations and laughter were about me. I kept myself as busy as I could, putting things away in one room while the movers worked in the others, just so I wasn’t constantly being ogled. Still, I couldn't help but feel exposed as I repeatedly bent and stretched. Try as I might, I simply couldn't keep my uniform skirt down low enough to cover my panties, much less the tops of my stockings. This alternately embarrassed me and then allowed me to feel relieved depending on whether I imaged the men actually being able to see my chastity belt, or just the panties. Still, these were young men and they kept finding reasons to interrupt me to ask me where something or another was to go. In fact, it seemed to me that they tried to barge in on me when I was bent over so they could look up under my uniform. At one point, I even considered joining their game by assuming poses that would allow them to see up my skirt or catching their eyes flirtatiously when they were checking me out. While I could imagine myself looking back over my shoulder with a sly grin on my face while my pantied butt stuck out from my bent-over-with-straight-legged pinup girl position, I never actually did anything. I was just too shy and overcome by my embarrassment to become a pinup girl for these guys. I wondered if Jacqui would ever feel comfortable flirting with a guy. Other than that silly game of peek-a-boo, the five guys behaved and nothing untoward happened. In fact, I was so pleased with their behavior that I curtseyed nicely to them when they left and made sure to warmly shake each man’s hand as I thanked him for his effort. I tried to imagine myself up on my tip-toes kissing each one on the cheek, but I could never really get the image into focus in my mind. Strangely, this made me feel like I was somehow missing out on something, though I couldn't figure out what. Ms. Martin (there, I thought, I had managed to think of my boss by her preferred name on the first try) and Melissa came back about four, just after the movers had left. "Jacqui," she called as she came in the door. I hurried to the hallway and curtseyed. "Help Melissa unload the car and put things away while she prepares my dinner." My wife didn't bother to inquire how my day had gone. Apparently, she didn't care or wasn't going to listen to complaints if I had any. I realized that there was really no reason any employer would be interested in anything except whether I'd done my job properly. I sighed to myself and went to find Melissa. Ms. Martin, I repeated to myself in my head. She is Ms. Martin. "You owe me a hundred bucks," Melissa said as we prepared for bed. "For what?" "Your share of the food I bought for us. Remember? We are expected to provide our own. Ms. Martin made that quite clear when we were in the supermarket." "Two hundred dollars buys an awful lot of food," I countered. "Well, I had to buy everything we need to stock our little kitchen. Besides, I'm not charging you for anything we took from my apartment. I’ll give you the receipt if it will make you happy." "No, please, Melissa, that's not necessary." Apparently, the First Girl was not in a pleasant mood, judging by her tone. "You alright? You don't seem very happy," I asked. "It's just that we're both grounded until the entire house is up to Ms. Martin's standards. She spent most of the afternoon lecturing me about it, as if I were some ignorant maid." I giggled. Melissa turned on me with fire in her eyes. I tried to mollify her. "It's not that bad, really. Together, we’ll manage it." "There's more." Melissa hesitated a moment. "You are responsible for all the maintenance: cars, grounds, repairs, whatever is required. You hire contractors and you supervise them." "Wearing a French maid's uniform, I suppose," I said sarcastically. "Don't be a smart ass with me!" Melissa snapped; so much for my efforts to calm her down. "You can if you want, otherwise it is the proper maid uniform, or the chauffeuse uniform for anything to do with the vehicles." I climbed up in my bed that night, feeling sorry for myself and wanting out of this entire situation. Without alcohol, I was having a hard time getting to and staying asleep and was nervous and jittery all the time. What had I let myself in for? I especially wanted out of the damned steel belt that effectively denied me any pleasure. I should have gone to the damn spa. Melissa was fair in the distribution of work and frequently we worked on the same chores together, like doing dishes, cleaning rooms, or doing the laundry and ironing. We'd been told that our days were to start at six thirty, not seven, when we had to be on call in case Ms. Martin needed us. We were to be in the kitchen preparing breakfast and planning our day by seven in any case. To be properly groomed and uniformed by six thirty meant that we had to get got out of bed by five thirty every day. "Girl's we have an appointment with a dressmaker I've found," Ms. Martin stated one morning after we'd mostly settled into the new house and made good headway towards getting it into shape. "After you clean up here, change into afternoon uniforms and be ready to leave by nine. I want new livery for my staff." The dressmaker's was operated by two sisters near the Realtor's office. It was a modern boutique with off street parking. "I want both of you to keep quiet and just do as you are told while we are inside. And I especially want no protests." "What's to protest about getting new uniforms, mum?" Melissa casually asked. "I don't think either of you are going the like the corsets you'll have to start wearing," Ms. Martin smiled. I stared at Melissa to see her reaction. I certainly didn't like what I'd just heard. "Hold on, mum. I agreed to be your maid, not some fetish freak." "That will do, Melissa!" Ms. Martin barked, "You can read your contract when we get home. In the meantime, inside, both of you! End of Part II
© August 2002
By Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part III - New Uniforms and Corsets
© August 2002
Normally, no more than a four inch reduction is recommended for new figure training.
It had been one of the most humiliating days of my entire life.
I didn't need to look to know what I would see. There would be a cute, submissive maid and a strong, dominant mistress.
Jacqui
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part III - New Uniforms and Corsets
Other than a rather imposing display of corsets, there was nothing obviously different from the high quality merchandise that I'd seen in other, up-scale clothing shops.
"Good morning, Miss," a tall woman greeted Ms. Martin. "I am Jayne, how may I help you."
"Ah, Jayne, we spoke on the phone. I’m Carla Martin."
"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Martin. You are right on time and we are ready for you." She turned to examine Melissa and me. I could tell by the look on her face that she did not seem to approve of us.
"You two run in there and get undressed," she ordered. "Leave on your stockings and shoes - nothing else." Neither one of us moved for a moment; Melissa didn't like this any more than I did. We looked instead to Ms. Martin, who simply reminded us of her recent order by cocking her eyebrow at us.
Another woman, who introduced herself as Suzanne, came in as we undressed.
"I see that your mistress knows how to keep her maids out of trouble," Suzanne giggled upon seeing our underwear. I felt myself blush red. I don't think I lost that blush the whole time Jayne and Suzanne spent taking a very extensive set of measurements.
"Normally no more than a four inch reduction is recommended for new figure training. This one's a little more than twenty-seven inches" she pointed to me, "and your other maid's is twenty-four and a half inches.
"Fit my First Girl," she nodded at Melissa, "to twenty-two inches and Jacqui to twenty-four. Jacqui, you will be at twenty-three inches in two weeks. The two of you will just have to diet so I can get your figures to where they belong." Ms. Martin said this is as if she was talking about having dogs groomed, rather than people reshaped. I was very unhappy and could feel resentment growing within me.
Two identical looking white corsets were brought in. Suzanne handed one to me and set the other aside. She turned to Melissa.
"Grab the bar over your head and don't let go.
"I'll talk you through putting on your sister's corset," she said to me. "Loosen the laces first." I was shown how to create slack in the stiff, heavy foundation then how to fit it around Melissa, work it under her chastity belt and hook the busk in front. "Now take out all the slack from top to bottom, girl."
I turned and glared at her. "Who do you think you’re calling gir…"
Before I could finish, however, Ms. Martin shouted me down. "Jacqui, how dare you behave like that. You are a maid, or did you forget? Apologize to Suzanne and beg her forgiveness. For being so rude, I’m having your corset fitted to twenty-three inches right now. Anything else out of you and it goes to twenty-two, understand?"
I glared at Carla for a moment. Her stare was unwavering and I wilted quickly. I apologized to Suzanne, including a full curtsey, which made me blush because I was nearly naked. We started in again. Suzanne seemed annoyed by the whole incident and looked at Carla like she had done something totally crazy.
"From the top to the waist and then from the bottom to there, create a uniform gap." As I didn't actually have to tighten the corset very much to accomplish this, it was fairly easy.
"Your turn," Suzanne offered the second corset to Melissa and motioned for me to hold the bar.
Alternating, about a half of an inch at a time, we tightened each other's laces until our corsets were finally tied off once we'd achieved uniform, top to bottom gapsbetween the edges and we each were measured to the waists that Ms. Martin had specified. Melissa looked uncomfortable, but her waist had only been reduced two and a half inches. Mine was down four. I felt miserable from the pain in my chest.
"There will be no complaints tolerated from either of you," Ms. Martin stated. "Until you learn to do it by yourselves, help each other put on your corsets each morning." We just curtseyed.
As we stood there looking at ourselves in the mirrors, a strange thing happened to me. I was bombarded in quick succession with a series of thoughts that surprised the hell out of me. First, I couldn’t get over how sexy we looked. Melissa already had hips, so the small reduction in her waist gave her a terrific figure. She looked like a curvy woman. but I had hardly any hips at all, so drawing in my waist by four inches actually gave me a woman’s figure for the first time in my life.
But that wasn’t all, as my eyes flashed back and forth between my own reflection and Melissa's, I realized that I was jealous that Melissa had a smaller waist than I did, even though her corset was not as tightly laced as mine.
The thing that was most amazing to me was that I was thinking these things despite the real discomfort I felt. I had never been compressed like this and the pain in my ribs was much worse than the discomfort in my abdomen. Plus, I was stuck taking small breaths and was feeling a little light headed. I guess it all showed on my face.
"Jacqui, you don't look too happy right now." Ms. Martin noted. "From all those corset pictures I found on the computer, I thought you would be ecstatic to finally be wearing one." Then she giggled.
I was mortified! How did she find those pictures? Why was she telling everyone about them? I could feel my face flush and, as I looked down, I could see the blush run down onto my chest as well. I looked up at her with pleading eyes, although I don’t even know what I was pleading for - maybe it was to be shot. I was dying. The corset hurt, I was having difficulty breathing and I had just been humiliated in front of strangers.
Ms. Martin went on as if I had done nothing more than smile benignly. "I'm sure you’ll just love being tightly laced from now on. I do so enjoy being able to give the people I love something they’ve always dreamed of."
"Do you know what," she turned to Jayne, "Jacqui wants to get down to twenty inches, just like girls used to do in the fifties." Both Melissa and I freaked, staring at her bug eyed. Jayne had everything she could do to keep from laughing aloud. She barely contained her giggles behind her hand. Carla went on. "I know Melissa will be jealous, but she has such nice hips, I’m not sure she’ll look that nice even if her waist isn't that small." Here, her tone changed from playful to ominous, "But if she really wants it, I may let her lace herself that tightly as well."
That was obviously a threat. I had been punished already for talking when I should have kept my mouth shut, which, I was beginning to realize, was all the time. Carla was letting Melissa know that it could happen to her as well.
Right, I was not enjoying this at all!
Once we had been fitted with our corsets, new measurements were taken and our mistress left with Jayne to workout the particulars of her order.
"You are free to look around while we quickly alter a new uniform for each of you. Feel free to try on anything you like," Suzanne said as she scooped up the uniforms we'd worn to the shop. She pulled aside the curtains that had provided some degree of privacy while we were being fitted.
She approached me, our uniforms bundled to her bosom. "If you ever want a job, talk to me. You'd make great mannequin, Jacqui. Your height and slim hips are a real advantage." I was stunned and could only curtsey to acknowledge the offer and Suzanne's warm smile.
It was embarrassing to be left standing there so exposed; our breasts weren't even covered. Instead, they were lifted to prominent display by the small cups of our corsets. I could just imagine what we would look like in a low cut uniform. Our breasts would be bursting to get out.
Driving back to the house was the worst experience yet. Sitting behind the wheel in a comfortable car seat is anything but comfortable in the stiff corset!
As I was holding the car door so Ms. Martin could get out, she turned to me and said, "Jacqui, the lawn is starting to look a bit ragged. When have you scheduled the lawn people in?
"Er... I haven't, mum. I'll attend to it right away, mum," I stammered defensively. With everything that had been going on the past few days, I'd entirely forgotten that I'd been given this responsibility. I figured I'd continue to use the same service the former owners of the estate had used.
"Do call around and obtain several quotes, then consult with the First Girl before selecting one.
"Melissa, you've not forgotten too, have you?" she asked.
"Forgotten what, mum?"
"That you've the responsibility for running the household and the budget?"
"No, mum, I hadn’t, but I didn’t want to push you on it while we were settling in. I’m ready to meet with you at any time to work out a budget. Thank you for bringing it up, mum," Melissa answered.
Wow, I thought, Melissa had handled that so diplomatically. I could see that I had a lot to learn from her techniques.
Before doing anything else, I went to the desk in the downstairs kitchen and set up appointments with three contractors, including the existing one, to come in over the next two days to give quotes on a ground's maintenance contract. I found it most comfortable to simply perch the edge of my butt on a stool as I talked on the phone. As long as I sat upright, my corset didn’t dig too deeply into my sides or abdomen. Once I had the appointments set up, I went up and changed my shoes to ones with low, fat heels.
"Where are you going?" Melissa stopped me by the outside door in the kitchen. She scowled, glaring at my shoes.
"I'm going to look over the property to determine the extent of the work we’ll need to keep it looking just right," I explained. "My high heels are not very practical for walking on the lawn," I thought it best to figured I’d explain before being challenged on my decision.
"Very well," she turned back to selecting things from the cabinets.
The tour of the grounds took up most of the afternoon. It was a pleasant day and I felt good being out in the fresh air and feeling my skirt and petticoats brushing against my stockinged thighs. I even swished my petticoats around a little with my hands to enhance the feeling. I felt rather giddy for a few moments to be dressed as I was in such a beautiful place. Yes, I wanted out of my chastity belt and the corset was too tight, but I tried not to think about those things. It was by now quite clear that my wanting and Ms. Martin's permitting were not the same.
There, I had said it again, 'Ms. Martin'. I wasn't sure whether thinking of her that way was a good thing or not, but since it was part of the roles we had agreed to play, I decided that I wasn't going to dwell on it, but I just couldn't get it out of my mind. I thought it peculiar to be calling my wife Ms. anything. It was so ... so, so distancing. Yes, that's what bothered me about it. It set us apart from each other. I guess under the circumstances, with both of us learning to play new roles, it made sense, but still, it left me with a bad taste in my mouth.
That train of thought was interrupted when I slipped slightly and the corset reasserted its hold on my attention by digging into my side. Having worn the corset for several hours, I concluded that it was not the torture device the fiction I'd read hyped it up to be. It had hurt when I was driving, but actually hadn't really hurt me since. In fact, if I thought about it properly, I could see that its constriction was nice - much the same feeling that I'd had when wearing a good panty girdle. I had to admit too, that I just adored the improvement to my figure, which now looked absolutely stunning in my new fitted uniform. I began to wonder what I would look like with bigger breasts forcing their way out of the lacy white bodice.
Because I had a little time before I had to return to the house, I sat for a while and reflected upon the situation I was in. Since becoming Jacqui less than two weeks ago, I'd been so busy that I had very little opportunity to think it all about anything. The best thing was that I hadn’t had a drink since I had become Jacqui the maid and it had not been nearly as difficult as I feared it would be. Sure, I craved a drink, especially in the evenings. I had trouble sleeping still, but it was all of a sudden possible to imagine a life without alcohol. I could like that.
In addition, I liked dressing as Jacqui, or more correctly, I liked being Jacqui. As I sat there, my back held straight by the corset, I put my hands on my hips and traced the now curving form of my torso up to my breasts, which I cupped gently for a few moments before running my palms up over the nipples and onto the curving slope that led to my shoulders. They were small, but they were real, and now I was wearing clothes that enhanced them, instead of hiding them, as I had done all these years. That was really nice.
I had never had any fantasies about Jacqui ending up as a maid. I just wanted to be a normal woman with a job and a career that employed my education and background. When I'd been in the office, I used to play 'what if'. What if I was Jacqui, sitting here and working? What would I be wearing that day? I chuckled as I remembered some of the outfits I'd imagined - usually a turtle neck with a tight mini skirt that went with the suit jacket I'd have hung on the back of my office door. High heels were a staple of my chosen outfits and there'd be knee boots on colder days.
'Well,' I thought, as I looked at my thighs, 'you've gotten your wish about your mini skirt with this uniform, Jacqui.' I stood, smoothed my dress and apron then walked back to the house.
"Ms. Martin wants to see you in the living room," Melissa informed me when I came inside.
"You wanted to see me, mum," I curtseyed.
"Yes, I saw you outside. What were you doing?"
"Looking over the property to decide the extent of the work that the contractors should bid on," I replied, curtsying again. "One is coming in the morning and two will be here the following day."
"Very well." She grinned at me and said, "You look pretty silly out there in full uniform. What else, not pants, have you got that might be more appropriate for that portion of your job?"
"I've a denim jumper that might go with a pull over top and boots, mum." I held my hand to indicate where its hem ended when I answered. "Tights would be appropriate."
"Stockings," she countered. "Go put it on and let me see, Jacqui." I curtseyed to leave. Ms. Martin called me back."
"Wear a petticoat and one of your aprons with it," she added.
After dinner, we were both called into the living room. We stood in front of Ms. Martin, curtsied and directed to have a seat. Ms. Martin lounged back on one of the overstuffed sofas. We perched carefully on the fronts of two armchairs. There was no way we could sit back like that with our corsets.
"Jacqui, Melissa, I’m very pleased with the way things are going. The house is coming along nicely and you two seem to be handling your jobs efficiently. I do hope you are getting along."
"Oh, yes, mum," we chorused back. It was obvious from our voices that we were telling the truth. We were in fact, becoming good friends, even though I found Melissa to be somewhat overbearing at times.
"Your new uniforms will be ready in less than ten days and to allow you to show them off, I’m going to have a housewarming party, two weeks from this Saturday. About thirty people, I think. Girls, before then, I do expect that the entire house will be cleaned, including the windows and all of the guest rooms."
"Melissa, you and I will meet to prepare a menu and list of all that might be needed. And Melissa, just a reminder, I expect the chores to be equally divided, including the outsides of the windows."
"Yes, mum."
Just before being dismissed for the evening, Carla threw in one more surprise.
"I expect that both of you will wear your corsets, laced one inch less tightly than now, if you wish, to bed every night. You may change into a fresh one each morning. If you think that I'll not check on this, you are mistaken - I will. Now off to bed," she said, dismissing us before we could say anything."
Melissa and I quickly settled into a routine that began as soon as our mistress left for the office in morning.
"I want you to start with Ms. Martin's suite, clean it and change the linens, Jacqui, then move onto the guest rooms. Finish each one completely before moving on to the next. I expect half of them completed by noon. I'll start down here. This afternoon, I'll do upstairs and you will finish here, OK?"
"Fine. I'm expecting, Vincent Delveccio from Garden Green here about ten though," I told her.
"Mr. Delveccio, Jacqui", she corrected. "It's not appropriate for you to use first names" I'll call you when he comes. You can change now so you're not delayed." I curtseyed to acknowledge and then went up to the maids' quarters to change. As I walked up the stairs, it occurred to me that curtsying now seemed natural. I didn't even have to think about it. It sure didn't take me long to learn that particular lesson.
Mr. Delveccio turned out to be a well-built guy about my age. He definitely liked what he saw when I curtseyed to him outside the kitchen where Melissa had him wait.
"Good morning, Mr. Delveccio, I'm Jacqui. Thanks for coming on such short notice."
"Vinnie, no need to be so formal. It's my pleasure."
I was embarrassed by the way he blatantly checked me out. He first savored my legs then allowed his eyes to linger on my tight red t-shirt, pushed out by my breasts. Ms. Martin had not approved of the loose, white pull over I'd selected. To make things worse, I had to wear the T along with a pair of clunky platform boots of the same color. Even though I was relatively covered up, I felt terribly vulnerable because I was more appropriately dressed to go clubbing than to show a contractor the scope of work on the grounds.
Mr. Delveccio’s company had held the previous contact so I had him explain what he'd done under it before I showed him what else I thought was needed. We'd been walking around the back lawn, chatting amiably when he suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him.
"You are one hot babe, doll-face. Just looking at you makes me want you." He put his hand behind my head and pulled me to him to kiss me. Nothing I could have done would have stopped him. I couldn’t pull away without really using all my strength and then I wouldn’t get very far anyway. Still gripping my head, he began to fondle my right breast. "You are so hot," he breathed out as he leaned in to my face to kiss me.
I kept my mouth tightly shut and wanted to break away, but was more afraid of being hurt than I was of him doing he pleased. Strangely, I didn’t feel repulsed by his kisses and fondling, instead I felt fearful and helpless. I didn’t like being out of control like this.
"Stop fighting me," he growled, cupping my ass and squeezing it hard in his hand. That hurt! I just stopped. I was powerless to do anything else anyway. "You must be very lonely being stuck in a big house like this all the time. You’re just dying to have me fuck you and you know it, doll."
Like Hell I did! Not him or any other guy, but not knowing what he might do, I kept silent and simply glared at him.
Since I had stopped struggling, his actions became gentler and he fondled of my breast and caressed my ass with some finesse. He was trying to do it right.
"Mr. Delveccio, I can't." I managed.
"What do you mean, 'you can't', Jacqui?" His smile evinced disbelief and he had a knowing leer on his face when he leaned down to kiss my neck. I surprised myself by tilting my head back a little to give him better access, but while he was trying to get me hot, I was thinking that just maybe I could talk my way out of this.
"It's a condition of my employment."
"Huh?"
"I'm forbidden to have sex when I'm on duty. Ms. Martin is very strict about this. Please, just let me go?" With his hands on my waist, he pushed me to arms length so he could examine me. At least I'd stopped him for a moment.
"I really can't. I'll be fired," I pleaded, looking back towards the house with forced panic in my eyes. "Please?"
Vinnie pulled me close again. "Just stand still, I promise, I won’t hurt you." When he released his hold, I debated about running for the house, but believed he'd easily catch me and it might only anger him. "I won’t hurt you," he repeated.
For several minutes, he gently caressed my breasts and nipples. He kissed me and when I still kept my mouth closed, he stopped for a moment and said, "Open your mouth; kiss me back."
What could I do? I was trapped and we both knew it. I had talked him out of trying to fuck me, but the payment for that, apparently, was to neck with him, I did.
For nearly five minutes, he kissed me and played with my ass and my breasts, focusing on my nipples. He was a strong man and held me with great confidence. He knew how to kiss and caressed my hair in a most tender way as he did. Those few minutes were a kind of passage for me. Other than, Bill, I had never kissed a man before and had never wanted to. I had never been held by a man before, either, and I certainly had never been held by a man as if I was a sexual object. I was strictly heterosexual.
I continued to be surprised that I didn’t find kissing this man and being fondled by him totally repulsive. In fact, I began to realize that if I hadn't been so terrified and then so angry when I finally got over the terror, I might have enjoyed it. By that time he very tenderly gave me a last kiss then walked me toward the house, I was very confused. I was angry now, but no longer scared. I was also a little aroused. This scared me even more. Trying to sort my thoughts out, I just stood still by the back door for a long time after I had seen his truck drive away. Oh, well, I thought, that’ll never happen again.
Still very upset when I reentered the house, I resumed the chores I'd been assigned, hoping that keeping busy would calm me down. I didn’t tell Melissa what had happened because I already knew what she would say, 'Deal with it girl'.
The other two contractors came the next day and, though they obviously admired me, they never did anything but behave as gentlemen. I decided to ignore the issue of the grounds until I'd reviewed all three bids, if I did get three, which I doubted.
It turned out that Friday evening was payday. Melissa handed me a bank envelope after she had attended our mistress. "Here's your pay, Jacqui." She stood by, waiting for something. I then remembered that I owed her money and opened the envelope. It contained only one hundred, forty-four dollars and seventeen cents. I'd taken home more than that at my first job in high school.
Sighing, I handed over the one hundred dollars I owed.
"Thank you. Is there anything you want me to buy for you when I do the shopping tomorrow?" she asked. "I'll be going with Ms. Martin in the morning."
"I'll give you a list in the morning, if that's OK?" I told her.
Saturday I was left alone to do chores while Melissa accompanied Ms. Martin for the day. Initially I felt cheated, having to stay home and work, but got over it once I got started. I spent almost three hours in the giant library dusting. What with all the knick-knacks, shelves, and pictures, one could spend a career keeping this room clean.
That night, when we had cleaned up after dinner, Ms. Martin directed me to turn my back to her. I felt her fingers run up the rows of eyelets on the back of my corset through my dress.
"Melissa, turn." She repeated her inspection, for the first time inspecting us to see that we were properly laced.
"Punishment time," she said flatly. "Jacqui?"
It wasn't fair! I hadn’t done anything wrong! I'd obeyed!
"Remove the First Girl's uniform." My sigh of relief was audible.
"You surprise me, Melissa. I never expected it would be you who'd be punished for this." Ms. Martin looked at me with a snicker.
"Adjust her corset so it is properly laced, Jacqui." She sat to watch. "Once it is then take out another inch, top to bottom."
"Ms. Martin... mum, you can't. It’ll kill me!" Melissa tearfully protested.
"Her corset is to remain on and that tight until Monday morning, Jacqui. Understood?"
"Yes, mum," I replied, appalled by the severity of Melissa's punishment. I never knew that Carla had such a mean streak in her. I began to tighten the laces as I'd been ordered, although I wasn’t happy about it.
"If there’s ever a second offense, your corset will be tightened just as Jacqui's doing now and you'll wear it like that for an entire week." I believed she was serious.
I didn't need to see the misery on Melissa’s face to guess how it felt to be so tightly laced. The amount of effort needed to complete my task was a very good indicator. It took me nearly half an hour to finish. Melissa was silently crying and gasping for breath.
"Get dressed and return to your chores," Carla left without another word, or even a glance at her sister. I glared at her back, impotently.
Melissa had a terrible night. Her discomfort was so great that she couldn't sleep. After listening to her sob for about twenty minutes, I climbed down and got into bed with her.
"It’ll be OK. I'll hold you so you can sleep. Changing position until we found the one that was the least uncomfortable, I held on to her sobbing body, caressing and comforting her. Very gradually, the sobs subsided and her breathing slowed. It helped her gain some rest, but in the morning, her corset hurt her ribs that much more. She could barely stand on her own as I tended her needs and got her properly dressed. There was no way that she could stand the torture for another twenty-four hours. I told her to stay upstairs while I prepared breakfast.
"May we talk, mum?" I asked while serving breakfast. She looked at me skeptically. I intended to beg her to let Melissa loosen her corset.
"Where is the First Girl this morning, Jacqui?" Carla's (I somehow couldn't think of her as Ms. Martin. I was mad at Carla and using her formal name seemed so neutral) tone was cold. "Why isn't she on duty?"
"She is in considerable pain. Her overly tight corset is killing her, mum."
"I seriously doubt that," she snorted. "I wear corsets too you know. Melissa should have considered the consequences of her actions before being disobedient. Run up and tell her to get on duty now!"
"But, mum..." She cut me off.
"Do not earn a punishment for yourself, Jacqui. Do as you were told."
"No Carla, I won’t." She looked up at me, her emerald eyes blazing. I didn’t back down and met her fire with my own. I was just as angry and believed I held the moral high ground. "There is no reason to cause so much pain for such a trivial offense."
"Jacqui, I’ll…"
She tried to shout over me, but I wouldn’t let her. "No! You’re wrong. Melissa is in great pain. I’m going upstairs to loosen her corset. It’s not like you to inflict pain on people you love, and if you think I’m going to let you do it to your sister, you’re wrong. I was stupid enough to put up with it when you did it to me that first day at the store, but no more. I’ll be your maid, but not your slave or your prisoner. I didn’t sign up for a term on Devil’s Island."
Her palms were on the table and her shoulders hunched over them as if she was about the jump up, but she didn’t move. Instead, she stared at me like an angry laser beam, not saying anything. I stared back, my hands balled up into fists and thrust hard against my hips. My legs were spread and I was breathing rapidly, deep breaths were impossible since our corsets had first been put on us at the store. Then, very slowly, I could see the fire inside her subside. She let out a long breath and said, "Go loosen Melissa’s corset then the two of you meet me in the library."
"Melissa?" I called as I went up the stairs,
"Are you crazy?" she said when I reached the first landing.
She was sitting at her vanity where she'd been finishing her makeup. Though obviously in pain, Melissa stood up straight to face me.
"I’m going to loosen your corset then we have to go speak with Ms. Martin. I think I might have upset her."
She looked at me as if I was totally crazy. "Might have upset her?"
I giggled, releasing a flood of pent up anxiety. I was so relieved I had answered her back teasingly as I spun her around to get at her laces, "Yeah, maybe, I’m not sure." Then we both giggled.
After I had gotten her corset back to its original size, I offered my hand to go down the steps with her, but she grabbed me instead into a fierce hug. "Oh thank you Jacqui, thank you so much."
"I don’t know how I would have survived and I never would’ve had the courage to ask Ms. Martin to loosen it. I love you for taking care of me." She gave me a big kiss on the lips and another hug then we walked downstairs to confront our tormentor.
As soon as we got into the library, we both curtseyed then Melissa stepped forward. "Good morning, mum. I'm sorry I disobeyed you."
Carla had a sort of sorrowful look on her face, but her demeanor turned cold as she replied to Melissa. "I trust your punishment made sure you are sorry. There's no need to tell me. Both of you, delete 'sorry' from your vocabularies. I never wish to hear either of you say it again.
Then she really softened and slumped back into the sofa. "Actually, I guess I’m the one who should be sorry. I over reacted and misjudged the consequences of my actions. I apologize, Melissa, I never intended to cause you real pain."
"Thank you mum." Melissa curtseyed.
"Please let me know if I step over the line again. I don’t want to drive you away." She looked up at Melissa, her face pleading for Melissa to accept what she had said.
Now it was time for Melissa to be hard-hearted. Seeing that she now had the upper hand emotionally, she stayed cold and distant and the ‘Yes, mum’ and the curtsey she next executed were as much an insult to her sister, as they were was a sign of submission to her employer. Carla sagged a little more and gave up. Once again Melissa had shown me how even a maid can take command of an interaction with her boss.
"Please prepare my breakfast, Melissa.
"Jacqui, wait here, Melissa was being dismissed so we could talk privately.
"Yes, mum."
"Jacqui, come sit with me." I moved over to the sofa and, unsure of myself, curtseyed before sitting down. Carla smiled at me indulgently. "I don’t think that was necessary."
I put my hands behind my legs and pulled my petticoats and skirt forward so I could perch on the edge of the sofa. Then, after sitting, I purposefully straightened everything out, folded my hands in my lap before looking up. Following Melissa’s lead, I was making my boss wait for me for a change. She wasn’t off the hook yet. Carla’s eyes were sparkling when I finally looked into them.
"You are just adorable. How are you Jacqui?"
That caught me completely off guard and my resolve to be tough fled instantly. I wasn’t sure where this was going, but figured the truth wouldn’t hurt, so I said, "In general, just fine, on occasion, like when men hit on me, confused. Last night I was furious and now I’m worried."
"Oh, please don’t worry," she rushed out, while reaching over to put her hand on mine. It was the first time she had touched me with any affection since making me her maid. "You did the right thing. I was foolish and risked driving Melissa and you away. I’m afraid I haven’t figured out this mistress thing yet."
The vulnerability in her words and face melted my heart. All of a sudden, I started to sob. "Carla, I’m lonely. I miss you."
"I know, honey, I miss you too. It’s just that I don’t know how to have you be both my maid and my…my…" she blinked her eyes a couple of times and then said, "What are you, Jacqui?" I didn’t know. The realization hit me like a hammer. I was Jacqui! I wasn’t really John anymore. So how could I still be Carla’s husband? My sobbing increased.
"I don’t know what I am, but I miss you." Now I was blubbering and had to use my apron as a tissue. Carla reached over and hugged me, and we sat there together for quite some time, wrapped in each other’s arms
Finally, we sat up and Carla said to me. "Jacqui, I need to think, but I know one thing for sure. You will remain my maid for now. Now please take me in for breakfast."
I got up and curtseyed. "Yes mum, thank you, mum." I reached out my hand and Ms. Martin took it. Carefully, I helped her to her feet and stood there looking at each other fondly for a few moments.
"Jacqui, please go tell the First Girl that I’m ready to eat now. I’ll be there in few moments." I bobbed my acknowledgement and turned to go into the kitchen. On a whim, I wiggled my butt at Ms. Martin as I left. When I heard her giggle, I knew I had done the right thing and without turning around, bobbed another quick acknowledgement at the door. It felt just wonderful to be able to be affectionate with Carla again.
Near mid-day, Ms. Martin ordered us to our quarters.
"Just to show you that I'm not the complete bitch you both must think I am," she started, weakly smiling at us to admit her shame, "I’m taking you both out to dinner tonight. We will do it just like we did on that first night. You may wear whatever you wish. Jacqui we’ll drive in John’s car. I’ve already made reservations at Tony’s and I’m ordering you both to loosen your corsets by one inch so you can enjoy the food.
"Jacqui," she said imperiously, but with a smile on her face, "re-lace her corset to my requirements," nodding at Melissa and giggling at the same time. I wasted no time carrying out her order. Then Melissa returned the favor to me. Except for when we bathed, this was the first time my waist had been allowed to expand to more than twenty-three inches since our corsets had first been fitted.
"You may both relax up here, doing as you wish until dinner. Melissa, I’d like to spend some time with you a little later, if that’s okay?"
"Yes, mum, thank you, mum." she said, her voice filled with happiness at the prospect.
Ms. Martin tried to be tough one more time before she left. "Let me see no repeat of this incident. I will not be so lenient with you in the future." Melissa, let a giggle escape her lips almost immediately and a breath later we were all laughing.
Melissa, though still uncomfortable after being so tightly laced for so many hours, was doing quite a bit better by the time I tied off.
"Thanks, Jacqui, I owe you."
"For what?"
"You helped more than you might realize, holding me last night and then coming to my rescue with Ms. Martin earlier and, well, just for being here." She gave me a hug then started to play with my nipple though my cotton bodice. That was very pleasant.
"It's said that only a girl can really turn another girl on," Melissa giggled. I pushed her hands down.
"We shouldn't." I wasn’t really trying to stop her; I was just trying to see if she was serious. When she let go of me and turned away, I thought it was over and reluctantly, I went up to our living area. A few minutes later, Melissa joined me there. Her lips were bright red and glistened in the light.
"Come here, sweetie," she said, holding something behind her back." I put down my embroidery and walked over to her like a shy little schoolgirl.
"Remember what I told you the other night? I hate kissing dry lips" She held up a tube of lipstick.
"Oh, yes," I said a little breathlessly and then I puckered my lips so she could coat them with the creamy color. Once she put the tube on the table, I allowed her to lead me to the couch. Even though I was a little bigger than Melissa, she pushed me onto my back and got on her hands and knees above me. She gave me the biggest, warmest smile and leaned down to kiss me, gently teasing my lips with hers and with her tongue.
After a few minutes of this, she sighed, "I’m so happy that you’re my best friend." We looked into each other's eyes and I couldn’t wait any longer. I reached up and pulled her to me so we could impale each other with our tongues, which we did without any hesitation whatsoever.
There’s a lot to be said for having your nipples worshiped intensively for a half hour or so, even in the strange context of not being able to use your genitals for relief, or anything else for that matter. Instead of being in a frenzy of ever increasing arousal that would lead to orgasm, we spent our time in a leisurely exploration and adoration of each other's bodies just for the pleasure of it.
This was a very different kind of experience for me, purely sensual and exquisitely of the moment, with no goal but to enjoy what I was feeling. Knowing I wasn’t going to climax put me in a frame of mind I had never experienced before and allowed me to enjoy Melissa thoroughly and to feel fulfilled, rather than frustrated, when we finished. Even as I yearned for more, I knew that I didn’t need it and, right then, having Melissa suck on my nipples and then kiss my neck was nirvana for me. I began to understand that, despite all the reasons that I hated my chastity belt, there were still lots of sensual pleasures available to me, and Melissa was one of them.
When we were done, we showered together and then laced ourselves back into clean corsets. As Melissa got ready to go spend some time with her sister, she said, "I feel so bad leaving you here alone."
"Oh no, don’t be silly," I replied, I’m going to do my embroidery." I haven’t done any in so long. As she left, I fetched my basket and one my blouses and then went out on the balcony.
That blouse already had a colorful butterfly on each cuff. I stretched the collar to start one there. For the first time since Carla, excuse me, Ms. Martin, had changed me to Jacqui, I was able to forget completely about the hard steel between my thighs for a few hours. I hated this thing, would have taken it off in a flash, but now I could see that I could live with it and not feel totally deprived. More importantly, I thought, it had taught me a lesson about sensuality I never would have learned otherwise. Carla had been right. I needed the chastity belt to learn to think like Jacqui instead of John. I still thought the whole thing was stupid, but now, with the insight of recent experience available to me, it had become tolerable, and perhaps even necessary.
Our days continued to be filled with chores. There were routine things like preparing meals, making up Ms. Martin's rooms, doing the hand laundry and thoroughly cleaning the house. Ms. Martin was getting her wish; we were getting it to museum standards. Melissa was a good teacher and a model of efficiency. I'd never known that here was a 'proper' way to wash dishes until she'd shown me in our quarters.
"First thoroughly rinse everything and put them in separate piles on the counter: glassware, dishes, flatware and utensils, pots and pans then wash everything in that order, Jacqui. That way the glasses are washed in the cleanest water and the really dirty stuff in the dirtiest," she explained.
I couldn’t resist teasing her, she was even more obsessive than me, and I was an engineer. "Melissa, what you say makes sense to me and is logically better than just picking up whatever is nearest," I couldn’t help but giggle, "but didn’t you ever hear of running water?" Everything can be cleaned and rinsed in fresh water."
She looked at me as if I was in idiot. "I don’t believe in wasting water and it is our duty to save our mistress's money. Don’t you know that?"
"Oh pooh, girl," I said back to her. "Our mistress has more money than any maid will ever see, and as far as I’m concerned if she wants clean dishes, we can afford the water."
She looked at me through hooded eyes. "This is my kitchen and you’ll do it my way, understand?"
Uh oh! She was taking this seriously; time for a strategic retreat. I curtseyed and said, "Yes mum. I’ll do whatever you say mum."
She nodded her head at me and turned away. I whispered at her back, "As long as you’re looking, mum." She heard me and started to giggle.
"Oh, you. Just get back to work before I have to spank you." We both laughed as I got back to the dishes.
I had all the bids on the grounds' maintenance by Monday afternoon. Despite his advances toward me when we'd met, I recommended Mr. Delveccio's landscaping company to do the work.
"He seemed the most knowledgeable and he's been doing this estate for ten years. His bid was also the lowest," I explained. Expecting the First Girl's concurrence, I had already arranged for them to come the following morning.
As we did our makeup the following morning, Melissa gave me a shock. "The inside of the house looks to be in reasonably good shape now. You'll start to wash the outside of the windows this morning, Jacqui." I spun around to gape at her. "That way you'll not need to be called away from anything else you start and can keep an eye on the men to assure they do the yard properly.
"More like they can keep their eyes on me, you really mean," I grumbled.
"That too," she giggled. "Start with the upstairs on the side facing the driveway."
I'd learned to take Melissa's orders seriously. She had convinced me that I did not want to find out, first hand, what punishment she might come up with if I disobeyed her.
I'd just climbed up the extension ladder and hung my buckets and tools on painter's hooks when two trucks pulled in. Mr. Delveccio tooted his horn. Being on the rungs of a ladder wearing a pair of sneakers, which Ms. Martin had bought for us just for this kind of job, I knew to descend slowly, thereby providing all the guys with a butt and leg show. At least I was wearing panties so they couldn’t see my chastity belt.
"Good morning, Jacqui," he beamed. As required, I curtseyed.
"Good morning to you too, sir."
He took my hands, pulled me close to him and quietly apologized for taking advantage of me the other day. "But I was just wondering," he went on, "did you get so red because you liked what I was doing to you?" He gave me the cutest, shy smile.
"No! I whispered back to him, trying to keep our conversation private. I tried to sound harsh, but somehow it came wrong; instead, it sounded like I was flirting. I blushed a deep red again. He laughed briefly, kissed me on the cheek and then called over his foreman, a man twice my age, to introduce us. While this was going on I saw the other five ogling me as they unloaded their mowers and other equipment from the trailers.
"Where will you be if I need you, Jacqui?" Manuel, the foreman, asked.
"Up there, washing windows most of the day, sir," I pointed to the nearby ladder.
Though very embarrassed by the exposed situation I was put in, climbing up and down the ladder, moving it to the next window then washing it, there was nothing I could do to prevent them from looking at my legs and up my skirt. I'm sure that I was the subject of their jokes and laughter while they worked.
Several times, different men came over as soon as I'd climbed to the top to ask me questions. I couldn't let them stand under me looking up my skirt and had to climb down to tell them that the toilet in the garage was available for their use, or where the nearest outside faucet was.
I felt so embarrassed by the show I had been forced to put on for them that I wasn't paying attention to my footing and one of my feet caught as I moved the ladder. I stumbled and the aluminum ladder crashed loudly to the ground. One of the guys abandoned his mower and ran over to help me then lifted the heavy ladder as if it was a toothpick.
"Thank you very much," I said as I brushed my uniform.
"No habla ingles, senorita," he grinned, looking at my chest while I consumed most of my Spanish vocabulary trying to thank him, blushing all the while.
"Gracias, Senorita." Why was he thanking me? "Maybe you are not the little cock tease we thought." He could speak English!
That son of a bitch! He calls me a cock tease and then stands there, leering at my tits and they aren’t even that big! My blush must have looked like a bright sunburn as it yet again spread across my face and down to my chest; exposed by the open neck of my bodice. My heart was racing from my acute embarrassment, first over the situation and then my response to it.
Emilio's leering smile was frozen on his face and he didn't turn away, I had to do something, either slap him, or turn away, but I knew if I slapped him he would lose his job. Still, I had to defend my honor somehow. I put a big smile on my face, forced a curtsey and said through my smile, "Emilio, if you ever talk to me like that again I’ll yell rape and let the police deal with you. Don’t even make believe you don’t understand me."
I turned and started to ascend the ladder while he watched. After I had gotten up a few rungs I turned to him and smiled again, "but if you want to help me move the ladder each time I need to, that would be so nice, por favor?" Up until a few moments before, I'd known that Emilio was probably dreaming of my luscious white thighs opening to receive him. Now he was almost certainly thinking about his deportation. At that moment, a shout from the foreman called him back to his job. After that, each worker, one after another, found a reason to be nearby when it was time to move the ladder. Curiously, I didn’t see Emilio the rest of the day.
Despite my small victory, I knew that as they sat in the truck that afternoon on the way back to their shop, they would be regaling each other with tales of what they would do if they could only get me alone. It was only Melissa, checking my work from the inside, when she wasn't laughing hysterically at the scene outside, who was able to ensure that the windows I worked on actually got cleaned.
It had been one of the most humiliating days of my entire life.
"Your boys finish?" Melissa asked when I came in to change.
"No, they'll be back the day after tomorrow to do the flower beds around the house," I told her.
"You probably scheduled it that way so you can have all the fun yourself. You're a real tease, Jacqui."
"Have what fun? Being stared at and laughed at by them? Tell me how much fun you have when you wash the outside of the windows." I shot back, angry at her teasing.
"I will, but it's my turn tomorrow. Like I just said, you scheduled them to skip a day just so you can put yourself on display again," Melissa was giggling very hard and had to sit to catch her breath. Even though I knew she was only teasing, I didn't like it. I stuck my tongue out at her and went up to freshen up and change.
I spent another day on the ladder with the garden crew doing their best to look up my uniform dress. I just decided that this is how things would be and that I would deal with them. In fact, I did my best to use the day to practice some feminine whiles on the men.
"How'd it go today?" Melissa asked when I came into the house.
"Better," I smiled. "You already know what a bitch moving the ladder is. Emilio, one of the guys, and his buddies started doing it for me after I stumbled once on Tuesday."
"I saw that, you are such a little flirt, Jacqui!" she laughed. "Tell me the truth, you see this handsome hunk and prance over wiggling your skinny ass. 'Oh handsome garden man, sir, I'm but a weak little maid and that ladder is just sooo mucho grande. Would you move it to the next window for a poor helpless little maid like me?'"
"Emilio is about five foot two, two hundred pounds and Mexican. He doesn't even speak much English!" I protested.
"Por favor, senor. Yo una petita maida, helpa me?"
I tried to swat her, but she danced out of range, laughing aloud. She was just teasing me and it was actually kinda fun to be able to relate like that.
"Well, think what you want," I replied as snootily as I could. "But you had to move the ladder each time you did a different window yesterday. I never moved it once today. A couple of peeks at my white skinny ass was all took to get those guys to do it for me." I stuck out my tongue at her.
Truth was, I was somewhat startled at the way they fell all over themselves to help me. Whatever they thought about being able to see up my skirt sure didn't hurt when it came time for me to ask them for favors. Are men really that addled, I wondered.
"Melissa, would you come up stairs please and loosen my corset so I can shower," I asked when I came out of my reverie.
"Sorry dearie," she replied. "I'm afraid you'll have to get one of your guys to help you. I'm invulnerable to your charms."
"Melissa," I said in exasperation, I want to take shower, but she didn't answer. Realizing that there are ways to manipulate women as well as men, I started to pout and sulk. After a few minutes of having me around the kitchen with a big pout on my face, Melissa couldn’t take it any more. She came over to see what was going on.
"What’s your problem?" She was taking an aggressive approach.
I looked up at her slowly, trying to create some tension. "Oh, I was just thinking about how bad our bedroom will smell tonight because you wouldn’t let me shower."
"Who won’t let you shower," she shot back.
"Well, you said you wouldn’t help me take off my corset," I had planned to pout some more, but Melissa started laughing again.
"All you had to do was ask properly, but you haven’t yet, have you?"
"What?" I jumped up, I was furious.
"Oh good, you’re up. Turn around, I’ll loosen your laces" While she worked on my laces she started to explain to me. "Listen Jacqui, you’re a dear, but you’re becoming far too submissive. You protected me, but you won’t stand up for yourself. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. Just because you’re a maid, you don’t have to let people take advantage of you. It’s just that sometimes you have to think out of the box to find ways to take care of yourself. Think about that." She kissed me on the back of the neck, patted my fanny and said, "Now go get clean. I want to play later."
I was awakened that night to find Melissa climbing into my bed with me.
"Told you, I want to play," she giggled and had her hand inside my nightshirt and began caressing my breasts before I could react. She was wearing only her corset and her breasts hung enticingly above my face.
"Put this on." I felt a tube meet my hand. "It's lipstick. You know I hate kissing a girl with dry lips."
"Oh, yes, I replied, after the other day, I was more than eager to play with Melissa. I coated my lips with a generous coating of the lipstick then kissed her waiting lips. Even though we had done this before, we were still a little bashful about exploring each other. Still, it did not take us long to become heavily engaged. We’d both been without sex for too long and we raised each other quickly, with our lips, tongues and fingers. Though I tried, I could no more get under the front shield of Melissa's chastity belt than she or I could my own. Our breasts and the rest of our bodies had to suffice and, after what I’d learned the last time, I knew they would.
"On your back, girl," Melissa rolled me over without resistance and parted my thighs with hers while attacking my nipple with her soft mouth. I worked on hers with my hands.
"Corset check, girls," Carla's voice called out as the bright overhead lights blinded us. Oh shit! Neither Melissa nor I could move; we were frozen in place. Carla was staring at us with a look that I thought might kill us.
"What the hell is going on here?" she demanded, her voice hard and cold. "Both of you, get down here! Now!"
Once we had scrambled down from the bed, she started to skewer us both. "Jacqui, I never expected you to cheat on your marriage vows," she said, staring hard at me. I could only look down, shame-faced.
"And you Melissa," she turned on her sister, who unlike me stared right back into Carla's eyes, "you could blow the whole thing. Don't you dare…"
Then, she suddenly stopped talking and looked us over carefully. She softened, a smile starting to form on her face and said to us, "Face each other."
Now that I could see Melissa, it was obvious what had stopped Carla. My red lip prints were all over her body and I didn't need to check to know that hers covered mine.
"Oh God," Carla gasped, and she started to giggle, pointing at us as we looked at each other trying to figure out what was going on. "You two look a sight," she giggled, shaking her head. "Both of you, quickly, face the bed."
She shook out a cloth tape and measured over Melissa's corset; both under her bust and about her waist.
"Very good." She turned and measured me.
"What have we? Your waist is smaller by half an inch! Twenty-two and a half inches, Jacqui? I'm surprised. Have a bit of a corset fetish, do we? Huh?" I blushed, again, looking down and feeling glad she couldn't see my face.
"Okay, both of you turn around." As we did, we saw her stuff the measuring tape into the pocket of her robe and put both her hands on her hips looking at us like a mother who was trying to figure out how to punish to mischievous children. Finally, she just rolled her eyes and kissed each of us on the cheek.
"First Girl, come with me." I was left standing there, trying to figure out what to do with myself as Carla took Melissa downstairs.
As I stood there starting to feel guilty for making out with Melissa even though I was married to her sister, I could hear a heated conversation taking place downstairs in the kitchen. I only caught bits of what they said, when they really raised their voices, and what I heard didn't make any sense to me. I heard Carla say, "don't you dare ruin it…" and "We planned too long."
Melissa didn't say much, but at one point I did hear her shout, "Well, you're not the one shut up in a house and locked in a chastity belt," and "you'll just have to trust me, won't you?" Things got quiet after that.
A few minutes later Melissa came back into the room smiling at me like the cat that had eaten the canary. She didn't seem the least bit upset. "You're place or mine, Jacqui?" she giggled.
"Melissa," I whined, "I can't, not after what she said to me. My God, I was cheating on my wife!"
"Oh pooh," replied Melissa, "she was upset at first, but once I pointed out the reality of the situation, she said not to worry. She insisted I drag you back to bed with me and said she'd talk to you about it in the morning."
"Are you sure?" I asked, "Carla was very upset." I said, as Melissa directed me to the top bunk with a wave of her hand.
"She’s Ms. Martin, Jacqui, and that’s why she wasn’t upset." Carla, John's wife, might have been upset to find John with her sister, but Ms. Martin, Jacqui's employer, had no reason at all to care what her maids get up to. Especially, since we're both in chastity belts."
That set me back for a second. I could see immediately what Melissa meant, but the implications really troubled me. Before I could make much progress figuring out just what those implications might be, Melissa interrupted my train of thought with a question.
"Where'd you put the lipstick?" she asked, as she climbed on top of me again. I handed it to her from the small tray in the headboard. "Pucker up," she went on as soon as she had the top off. I looked at her, still inhibited by doubt, but she just cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "First Girl is giving you an order and your boss wants you to obey her," she said in a mock serious tone.
I gave in to the moment, puckering my lips and letting Melissa apply the lipstick. It had been a long time since anyone had touched me the way Melissa had. I needed that, so I reached up and gently grabbed her face, pulling her down into a languorous kiss. As we kissed, I began to see that Jacqui the maid had no wife named Carla. There was only Ms. Martin, Jacqui's employer and Ms. Martin apparently didn't mind if the maids shared some affection on occasion.
"Oh yes, kiss me Melissa, I urged, and she did.
The next morning, Ms. Martin had me close the door to the kitchen and sit at the table while she ate breakfast. "Jacqui," she began, "I'm pleased with your progress. You seem to be developing both as a woman and as a maid. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, mum," I replied without looking up. "Jacqui the maid is really quite well-adjusted, I think."
"Good," she replied quickly, not giving me a chance to say anything more. "I just want you to know that it's fine with me if you and Melissa … unh, … comfort each other," she smiled slightly, apparently pleased with the way she had said it, "when you feel the need. And you should also feel free to go out on dates with men, if any should ask."
I looked up and my eyes widened at that, but she just looked at me calmly. "I certainly intend to do the same."
I was stunned. She was going to go out on dates? …And suggesting that I should also? What the hell was going on?
Before I could say anything, she started up again. "I think if this is going to work, we will need to separate from each other emotionally. I am your employer, that's all. You are Jacqui, my second maid. We had no relationship before you came to work at my new house. Is that understood?"
I looked at her aghast. What was she talking about? Wasn't I John, her husband? "But Carla, I'm your hus…"
"I have no husband. You are Jacqui, my maid. Do you understand?" I didn't! I guess she could see that in my face.
She stood up and came over to my seat. "Stand up, Jacqui."
I did, giving her a reflexive curtsey, without even understanding why. That embarrassed me so much that I couldn't look at her and kept my head down and my hands folded in front of my neatly pressed apron.
"Come with me," she reached for my hand and led me over to the large mirror in the entrance hall. "Look," she ordered, "what do you see?"
I didn't need to look to know what I would see. There would be a cute, submissive maid and a strong, dominant mistress. When I did look, I was almost startled with the clear truth of that prediction. There in the mirror was the image of a cute, but fearful maid. Standing just behind her was a stunning, powerful woman. While I seemed totally cowed and insecure, with my shoulders hunched forward and my hands folded carefully in front of me, Carla… no Ms. Martin, was the very picture of strength and self-confidence. Even the way we wore our hair and did our makeup enhanced the difference between us.
"You wanted to be Jacqui," she said. "Now you are. I wanted to run my business, now I am. There is no John here. We have a contract, remember? Now get back to work and shed yourself of the useless illusion that you are anything but a hired maid."
She turned and strode off without even waiting for me to reply. Even her walk seemed powerful to me. I looked back at the mirror for a second. I looked so small and unsure of myself. The way she had laid things out scared me. It sounded as if she was planning to cast me off, to move me out of her life. I knew that Ms. Martin could be very business-like and I had agreed to do this. Truth be told, I was feeling healthier and better about myself than I had in a long while. Maybe the plan Carla had proposed to John was working. I sighed and took one more look at the mirror to be sure my uniform was straight and neat then I went back to work, just as my mistress had ordered. I didn't know what else to do.
"First Girl, the shop called and said your uniforms are ready," Ms. Martin told us a Saturday before the party. "I want you and Jacqui to go there this morning to try them all on."
"Yes, mum," the First Girl acknowledged. "Will there be anything else we should do while we're out?"
"Yes, after picking up your new uniforms, I want you to stop at a new shoe store in the city, which just opened the other week. I'll give you their address and what I'd like for each of you. Stop by there before returning," Ms. Martin told her. "Wear your evening uniforms" She turned to me.
"Jacqui, how much floss do you need to embroider your names on a uniform or apron?"
"That would depend on how big and what style you'd want, mum."
"Yes, of course." Ms. Martin described what she had in mind and told me to estimate the cost, because, as she went on, "I want all of your uniforms, aprons and pinafores to have your names on them, ‘Maid Jacqui' and 'First Girl Melissa'." She then gave Melissa enough cash to buy the needed supplies.
When we arrived at the shop, Suzanne had two of the assistants to assist us. Our new uniforms all had form fitting bodices and loose skirts that ended between four and six inches above our knees; giving both of us plenty of opportunity to show our legs. Our evening uniforms were an exception, with their shorter, very tight skirts.
Like Melissa's uniforms, that we'd been sharing, the new day uniforms were a light gray, cotton-polyester blend. They had short, pouffed sleeves trimmed with white ruffled cuffs, and closed, pointed white collars. They were practical, having enough fullness and ease in the shoulders to perform all of our chores without restricting our movements. The uniform skirts were filled with several petticoats and the very feminine, white ruffled pinafores covered nearly all of the skirt and bodice. For afternoons, we were to wear similarly cut dresses in black that had smooth three-quarter sleeves with white cuffs on them and the bib front aprons were plain with a square cut. Both these uniforms were functional and feminine at the same time. I knew I would enjoy wearing them.
The evening uniforms, however, were quite different. Of black taffeta, these were long sleeved cheongsams trimmed with white lace where the normal piping would be. White satin aprons, also lace trimmed, had rounded skirts and bib fronts which ended below our breasts rather than covering them, as those for the other two uniforms did.
We were given five, day dresses and seven of the pinafores, because they were more likely to get soiled. In addition, we were supplied with two of the black uniforms and three aprons for them. Mistakenly, we thought that was all, but another rack was wheeled in bearing still more.
"These are for when your mistress entertains special guests, girls," Suzanne beamed. We thought she was smiling because of the size of the order that Ms. Martin had commissioned, but when we saw what was on the rack, we realized her amusement was at our expense. In fact, we were shocked by the brevity of all these dresses. The longest skirt might have been finger-tip length and the shortest wouldn't cover the bottom curves of our rear cheeks. From the yellow and pink gingham day dresses, to the black taffeta, French maid styled uniforms for evening, they all had very full petticoats of appropriate length. On top, we'd be exposing progressively more of our breasts as the day advanced.
And as if that wasn’t enough, I got three uniforms Melissa didn’t. The first was a brown canvas outfit, obviously intended for me to wear outside. It was matched with lace-up over-the-ankle boots. These brown sueded leather boots had highly arched, 'wedgie' styled soles, which should not sink into soft ground or the lawn like my heels did.
The second was my new chauffeuse uniform. After some conversation with Ms. Martin, she decided that it should be relatively conservative, because I might need it when I drove her around for business. It consisted of a man tailored white cotton shirt with a little black lace tie, a fairly tight, straight skirt that ended more than two inches above my knees and had an ample slit in the back to allow me to move freely and the most gorgeous black leather jacket that reached down to the bottom of my butt. The cut of the skirt and jacket complemented each other perfectly and I presented a very impressive, slim figure in this uniform. I also got a professional looking, visored cap and several sets of driving gloves of different lengths. All of a sudden, I was looking forward to being Ms. Martin's driver, but it was the last uniform that really blew my mind.
When I first put it on, I was sure Suzanne had failed to give me the top because its tight, French maid style bodice left my breasts fully exposed. I could not imagine when I would be required to don this piece of fetish wear, but I shuddered to think that I'd be required to wear it to serve Ms. Martin's guests.
Then something strange happened. As I was looking at myself in the mirror, I became very dispirited about the size of my breasts. They just did not do justice to this uniform. In that moment, as I turned to look at my profile in the mirror, with all the girls, including Melissa, giggling, I wished that I had bigger breasts. My breasts just looked so insufficient. Thankfully, Melissa interrupted my depressing reverie, telling me it was time for us to go. I gratefully took the horrid uniform off and changed into something much more demure.
The shoe store yielded a bonanza of shoes, equal to the vast number of uniforms we had just acquired. We got white lace up oxfords with three and a half inch heels for day, plain black pumps for afternoons with slightly higher heels and a pair of black patent pumps with five-inch heels to wear in the evening. Ms. Martin thought that still higher ones, with ankle straps, would look good and there was one more pairs of shoes for me that were impossibly higher still. To go with my new chauffeuse uniform, she ordered zip-up knee boots in the softest black kid leather I had ever felt. Unfortunately, the heels on these boots though not terribly thin, were over five inches high as well. Even at five foot six inches, I would still be one hell of an imposing girl wearing these with my new uniform.
We spent the rest of the day finishing up the house to get it ready for the party. While Melissa washed the few remaining windows from the outside, I did all of the routine chores and washed the inside of the windows we'd not yet done. Working alone in the house, I began to think about my new job.
Whatever anyone else might say about doing housework, I was starting to get into my chores. Not that the work itself was fun, but I was kept busy all day and there were always different chores to keep it from being totally monotonous. The repetitive nature of the work gave it a kind of meditative quality that I found quite calming and even dusting properly required a certain concentration that kept me from dwelling on unhappy thoughts. In fact, I found that concentrating when the tasks were not mentally demanding to be one of the hardest things to do. I frequently let myself daydream while Ms. Martin was eating and, sometimes, it would take her two tries to get my attention. She did not like this in the least, and threatened to tighten my corset if I could not learn to serve her better.
"I swear Jacqui," she went on one time after shouting at me when I had allowed my mind to wander, "it never occurred to me that being a maid would be too demanding for you, but you can’t even pay attention to my needs for five minutes while I eat. Thank God, Melissa is overseeing the rest of your work or who knows how that would turn out."
I thought about that the next day as I carefully dusted an intricately carved antique alarm clock. Really, how do you pay attention when you don't have anything to do, but stand in the background? It was hard! But once I started to focus my mind on my immediate task only, I found that there was very little else I could really think about. I certainly had no room in my mind for worries, which was just what I needed since my previous life had been consumed by them, but a maid just didn't have much to worry about. After some time, I also stopped thinking about the business. It just wasn’t part of my life any more. I had to admit, Melissa had been right about stress; I really wasn't feeling any.
I was also getting a lot of exercise. Physically, I was feeling much better than I had in quite a long time, and losing weight at the same time. This had to be a result of not drinking over a thousand calories a day in alcohol and the change in eating habits mandated by Melissa overseeing my diet. She had learned a great deal about diet when she was losing her own weight and fed us nothing but organic foods, mostly fruits and vegetables, with virtually no meat at all. This was a cry from the huge portions of protein and fatty foods I was used to, but after a couple of weeks, I had gotten used to it, thinking I would be able to go back to eating whatever I wanted once my three month tour of duty was over.
I didn’t think I could ever generate the enthusiasm for being a maid that Melissa evinced, but I had begun to take real pride in how great the house looked and could easily see the next couple of months passing by in a comfortable way. By then, I would be in great shape, both mentally and physically, and ready to get back to the real world. For now, however, being a carefree maid would be just fine.
I didn’t know why I didn’t find the whole situation humiliating, but I didn’t, at least when we were home alone. Going out, or meeting new people who came to the house was still difficult, although I became more relaxed in my role with each new experience.
But most of all, I just loved being Jacqui, especially when I was in my evening uniform with its short skirt, fluffy petticoats and high heels. I adored the sight of my breasts peeking out of my uniform top, thrilled to the sound of my heels on the hardwood floors and nearly swooned at the sight of myself in a mirror. Yes, this experience would be downright therapeutic.
And, as I drew my mind back from my thoughts to the task at hand, I realized that I was having a hard time getting all of the dust out of the inside portions of the carving on that clock. I really did need to concentrate.
By the time Saturday, the day of the party, had rolled around, the First Girl and I had virtually finished preparing. We had to do this because we had been scheduled for another full session at the beauty salon, which would occupy much of our morning. We had our hair trimmed and colored to hide our roots. Our brows were waxed again, makeup done with false lashes and we were given a set of inch-long, bright red, false fingernails. These were good silk wraps and Ms. Martin informed us that we would wear at least that length from now on, since the major work of cleaning the house had been finished.
"I expect my guests to start arriving around seven this evening, Melissa. That gives you almost six hours to bathe, put on your new evening uniforms and set the food out." Recently, even though I'd be standing there and listening too, Ms. Martin would tell the First Girl what was expected of me and not say anything to me directly. I knew this was appropriate, but I couldn’t help but feel resentful anyway. I mean, how could she just ignore the person she’d been closest to for the last ten years of her life? I wasn’t sure I liked the way our new relationship was developing. In fact, it worried me that she could shut me out so completely, but since I couldn’t do anything about it, I kept my peace. Besides, I reassured myself, Carla was doing all this because she loved me. I didn't quite understand the whole thing, but I had to admit that her approach had done good things for me so far. I would just have to trust her for the next couple of months.
"As you are better with the food and keeping things moving, I'd like you to handle the kitchen tonight. Jacqui is to greet the guests at the door and serve their drinks and other needs. I do want things to be just right and I'm holding you responsible to assure that they are, Melissa."
"Yes, mum."
"Now run up and get started."
Together, we took a bath, being extra careful not to mess up our hair or makeup. Washed, dried and powdered, we both discovered the difficulties that the unfamiliar fingernails were going to cause as we hooked the busks of each other's corsets. My clumsy fingers brought back memories of the horrible experience I'd had the last time my nails had been long. I really didn’t want to go there, so I quickly shoved those from my mind, concentrating fully on the tasks at hand. Until we became accustomed to them, our nails would assure that the simplest tasks required new ways of holding or doing anything.
"See if you can get me to twenty-two inches, please?" I asked Melissa. I'd been lacing just short of that for a week and felt I could manage with it still tighter until morning. Serving cocktails and canapés was a lot less strenuous than washing the second story windows. Besides, even if I didn't have larger breasts, I could still have a killer figure by having a small waist. I was starting to really enjoy how it looked.
"You're crazy, you know that?" she kidded. "How you stand it is beyond me." Melissa tied the laces after measuring my waist a quarter of an inch less then I asked for. The truth was, with all the weight I had been losing it wasn't as big a deal for me as it was for Melissa.
After dressing each other, Melissa finally removed the studs that had first been placed in my ears and replaced them with a graduated set of cubic zirconium ones. I then changed the earrings Melissa usually wore for her, which confirmed just how much dexterity the nails had caused me to lose.
Then, just when I thought we were all set, Melissa undid the frogs on the front of my right leg so that I exposed my thigh to just above the top of the black stocking when I walked.
"Perfect," Melissa pronounced. "Let's get started."
"Melissa!" I protested, as I posed in front of the mirror, absolutely taken by the way I looked. Had I not been wearing my chastity belt, I would have been tenting my dress.
"What?" she asked innocently, with a Cheshire cat grin. I looked at her with questioning eyes, but when she didn't respond, I just shook my head. Looking back into the mirror as I turned back and forth to throw open the short skirt of the cheongsam, I wondered if this was her idea or Ms. Martin's and if it was her idea, had Ms. Martin been told been I was to wear my uniform that way.
End of Part III
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part IV - The Parties
"Well, aren’t we special?" she replied, sarcastically. "Poor little Jacqui was kissed by a boy and she’s not happy about it. Perhaps she should become a nun."
"Jacqui, I’ve noticed a change in you over the past few days. Want to tell me about it?"
"I shall take Jacqui to the ball then," he said.
_______________________________________________________________
Jacqui
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part IV - The Parties
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as we set out the silver chafing dishes, silverware, napkins, etc. on the linen covered tables in the dining room. Finally, at about six thirty, we started to arrange the platters of food Melissa had assembled.
We were so wrapped up in our work that the door chimes startled me. For a moment I could not move. Then with a deep breath, I went to the hallway, checked to see if my seams were straight, smoothed my dress and apron and opened the door with a deep curtsey.
"Good evening," I greeted. "Welcome to Ms. Martin’s home." I was shaking as I rose.
"Hi. I'm Chuck Watkins and this is my wife, Shirley. We' here for a party," Chuck informed me cheerfully, as he carefully scanned my body, his eyes eventually coming to rest on my breasts. Over all my objections, Melissa had insisted I wear a set of enhancers for the evening, so my chest swelled enticingly out of my bodice. Melissa really had made sure I looked as sexy as I could.
"I'm Jacqui. Welcome and please do come in?" I introduced myself even though my name was embroidered on my breast, just as Ms. Martin had requested.
"This way please?" They followed me down the hall to the great room at the back of the house, which faced the patio and pool.
"You are the first to arrive. May I offer you a refreshment?" I was so nervous even the way I spoke had become formal and stilted!
"I think you already have?" he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. "Sure I’ll take a scotch and Shirley’ll have a gin and tonic, plenty of lime." He boomed that out. I had barely served their drinks to them before I was called again by the chimes.
Oh my god! I opened the door to greet Dave Crawford, my best friend, and his wife Judy. I couldn't believe that Ms. Martin had invited them! I curtseyed and greeted them, carefully keeping my head down. Then, I led them to the Great room. Carla was chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Watkins when I brought Dave and Judy into the room.
"Davy, Judy, hi!" Carla was simply stunning in a new strapless, slinky white sheath. She had obviously corseted herself (I had wondered why she called Melissa to her bedroom) and her tiny waist really set off her lush hips and ample breasts. Her dark curly hair was up, with carefully arranged 'stray' curls tumbling down here and there in a most flattering manner. There was one that dropped over her right eye and she constantly had to push it away, flashing her pale white nails and silver bracelets, many of which I had bought for her. She had long ago learned how to do her eyes to bring out the green and they were simply flashing with color that night, set off by the emerald comb she used to help hold up her hair. God, she was just gorgeous. I would have swooned at her feet had I not been so busy, but all I could do was I stop dead and stare at her for a few moments. She behaved as if I didn’t exist. She hugged the Crawford's, totally ignoring me. "I'm so glad that you could come."
"Carla, you look great, as always. Here, we brought you a present to celebrate your new house. He handed Ms. Martin a big bottle of champagne with a ribbon on its neck. She accepted the present, handing it in turn, in my direction. I was still so in awe of the way she looked that, I wasn't paying attention.
"Jacqui!" she snapped. I started, while she glared, so I moved to take the bottle.
As I left to put the present in the kitchen, I heard Carla say, "She’s a nice girl, but she's just learning." It was quite disconcerting to be treated this way in the presence of people I knew so well.
For nearly an hour, maybe more, I was very busy greeting the guests and serving them drinks. The room filled quickly. Other than asking for food or drink, none of the guests, including twenty-two from my company, and half again as many customers said a word to me. They talked to each other about topics I was very familiar with, including myself. Carla received many inquiries about John in the first minutes after new guests arrived, but after that, he ceased to be a subject of their interest. It was quite strange to be talked about in the third person and it was horrible when I heard people talk about how bad a manager I had been and how that must have been due to all the stress I had been under.
One of our customers said to Carla, "I don’t know why you ever let him talk you into becoming just a corporate wife, everyone could see he couldn’t manage such a large business by himself. I loved him, but really, he’s a technician, not a manager. You're the natural manager." Everyone nodded in agreement. I had all I could do not to cry.
With this on my mind, I hurried yet again to answer the door. Really, two maids are simply not enough for a party this size, I thought. Without really looking, I opened the door and said, "Good evening," as I curtseyed automatically to yet another guest. When I actually looked up to see who was there, my heart stopped. Standing before me was Toni Bauer, my personal assistant for the past four years!
"Hi." She was eyeing me critically from head to toe. "Toni Bauer, I'm expected."
"Yes mum, I’m sure you are." Oh God! That didn’t come out right, it sounded sarcastic. I stood aside fearfully to let her in then preceded her to the party.
From then on, things changed. Though I felt aware of all the others looking at me while I served, it was Toni's eyes, and they were really very pretty, that seemed to be constantly staring at me. I became extremely aware of her scrutiny.
"Hey baby..." Jim Wilson, head of the field department technicians, with way more than enough under his belt, cornered me behind the bar. "How's abouth a kissth for ah horney guy." His arms wrapped around me from behind - cupping and squeezing my breasts. Oh shit! I started to panic!
He kissed me on my left ear and started nibbling it.
"No, please? Just let me go." I managed to push his hands down. It did me no good. He easily spun me around to face him.
"Oh baby, your place or mine?" Alcohol breath flooded my nostrils causing me to gasp. His tongue invaded my open mouth.
His hands squeezed my ass, hurting me as I was crushed to his crotch. I could feel his raging hard-on against my steel shield. I felt so helpless! When he had reached around me, he had trapped my arms to my sides, they were of no use.
"Hey, Jim. Let the little girl up for air, at least," some guy laughed. Others were laughing too as I was being mauled and kissed. He continued for hours, well a few minutes anyway, before finally releasing me with a much harder pinch than any of the others he had given me. I squealed involuntarily and when he let me go, my hand flew to my beleaguered ass. Everyone cheered.
"Way to go!" Bill Parks said. There was laughter all about and a few of the men actually applauded. I was awash in feelings of helplessness, humiliation, and anger. I had everything I could do to keep from crying as I ran from the room. My retreat was accompanied by more applause. Hearing the commotion as I opened the kitchen door, Melissa turned. She said something, but I didn't hear what it was as my heels clattered up the steel steps to our quarters. By the time I reached our bathroom, tears were streaming down my cheeks.
It took me awhile to finally regain my composure. Why was it men thought that any girl they laid their eyes on was fair game? It wasn't right!
After I had gotten control of myself, I redid my makeup, straightened my uniform and went back to the kitchen. I needed a drink and had a beer from the refrigerator in my hand before realizing that wasn't any solution at all. A big glass of water would have to do. I drank it slowly, using the cold and the wetness to cleanse my mind. I was breathing slowly and really just about to go back to work when a hand grabbed the back of my chastity belt through my uniform.
"What's this?" said the person whose hand gripped the lock on the rear of my chastity belt. It was Toni.
"I asked you a question, Jacqui." She turned me around by my shoulders and left her hands there once we were face to face.
"It's a chastity belt," I whispered. She was staring at me intently. I had nothing to say and probably couldn't have said it even if I had. I just kept my head down, afraid even to breathe.
My assistant stared quizzically at me for several moments before a small smile formed on her face. She just gave a slight nod, and went to rejoin the party.
"If you are quite ready, there are thirty-three people waiting for you girl," Melissa offered me the tray in her hand. I started to say something, but she cut me off. "No. We'll talk tomorrow. Right now you're on duty." I just dipped and went back to work, wondering which guy might attack me next.
None did that night.
Toni made it a point to linger until last, after the party had broken up. She and Ms. Martin were talking quietly while Melissa and I cleaned the room. They looked over in my direction once or twice, so I was certain that she knew my secret.
Upstairs, Melissa repeated that she did not want to talk. I just undressed and climbed up into my bed without even saying good night. I then cried myself to sleep, making no attempt to hide my sobs. Fuck her!
As we got dressed the next morning, Melissa finally spoke to me. "You get over it yet?" she asked as she tightened my laces in the morning.
"Go to hell!" I grumbled.
"Well, aren’t we special?" she replied, sarcastically. "Poor little Jacqui was kissed by a boy and she’s not happy about it. Perhaps she should become a nun."
"You don't sound very sympathetic," I tried to be as sarcastic as I could in return.
"I'm not, Jacqui. Guys are going to find you attractive and that's the way it is. Stay out of bad places and don't be so uptight."
"Like the great room is some seedy part of town?" I countered.
"Look at me," she snapped.
"From what I hear, all he wanted was a kiss. You should have just given it to him." I stared at her in disbelief. Melissa had no idea what I was feeling.
"Melissa, he forced himself on me. He hurt me. He embarrassed me."
"Oh give me a break, Jacqui, I saw you with Delveccio. You had no problem letting him kiss you and fondle your boobs to boot. Then you walked back to the house with him holding his hand."
"Melissa! He almost raped me, I felt lucky to escape with just the fondling he gave me."
"Exactly right Jacqui. And if you had let that man kiss you last night, you would have been done with him as well. Instead you fought him and he kept after you." She sighed.
"Jacqui, you are pretty. With your small waist, your breasts and hips look scrumptious." I blushed at her compliments, although I was smiling to myself about it. "Men will see a provocatively dressed, attractive maid who acts submissively towards everyone. You look and act available and you’re in no position to object. Men will hit on you. Learn to deal with it. With the right attitude it can even be fun you know?"
I was so frustrated. Why didn’t she get it? "Melissa, I’m a guy! I don’t want to kiss other guys."
She took my shoulders in her hands and stood just to the side of me. I could see her eyes in the mirror, taking us both in. Then, after she completed her brief examination, she started to laugh, pointing at us in the mirror as she did. After looking at the mirror for a few moments I had to laugh to. There were no guys there. There were two rather attractive women, only partially dressed. Both had on corsets, with quite narrow waists, and neither had yet put on a bra. Their boobs jiggled slightly as they laughed. They looked a lot alike and their hair and makeup were identical. They both wore chastity belts, stockings and heels. She was right. There were no guys here. Of course men would find me attractive. Of course, they would hit on me. The question now was, how would this rather new woman, Jacqui, the absolutely powerless maid, deal with the men who thought they could take advantage of her. How do women do that, I wondered. Then I realized it could be much worse. They could find me repulsive.
A few moments after Melissa had posed us in front of the mirror, our laughter was interrupted by our mistress.
"Jacqui, I want to go out about ten, be in your new chauffeuse uniform."
"Yes, mum." I called down the stairs.
After doing up her rooms, I changed into the new uniform and went to get Ms. Martin's car from the garage. The only way I’d now get to drive my old Mercedes now was as Ms. Martin’s driver. But my BMW was not where it had been after we'd moved! I loved that Z3. It was too small to use for work, so I drove it only for fun. It was my favorite indulgence. I was furious. She had no right to sell my car!
As I helped Carla into the car, I figured the ride would be a good opportunity to discuss some things with her, so after we were on the road, I asked her permission to do so. "Ms. Martin, there are some things I’d like to discuss with you during the ride, would that be alright mum?"
Without even moving her head so I could see her, she simply said. "I'd like quiet from you today. Is that understood?"
"Yes mum," I acknowledged, trying to put as much disappointment into my voice as I could. I had a lot to say, but what choice did I have but to obey her, even though I was very unhappy with the distance she had created between us.
I was instructed to drive about fifty miles and parked in the driveway of a modest home in a residential neighborhood. Ms. Martin just walked away and mounted the front steps. She was admitted just a few moments later.
'Just what the hell does she expect me to do?' I asked myself. I stood in shock for several minutes before I remembered the things in the trunk.
After cleaning all of the windows, there was still no sign of Ms. Martin, so I started to wax the car. It was hot in the sun and hotter still in that black leather uniform, even after I took the jacket off and rolled up my shirtsleeves. Who wears boots in the summer? I needed to begin keeping a jug of drinking water in the trunk.
We had been there almost six hours before the front door opened. I was tired, bored and very hot and I really needed to pee! I had been growing increasingly resentful and then angry as the cloudless day wore on.
Carla walked out onto the front stoop and turned to face the man whom I was about to discover was her lover. "I had a wonderful time," I heard her say. "We must do it again soon." She reached up to him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply for several minutes while he fondled her body intimately. She rubbed herself against him in response to his hands. My mouth just fell open. I stood riveted to the driveway, watching them, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.
"Bye," she finally said.
"Home, Jacqui," were her only words to me. It was clear from her radiant glow that she did indeed have a wonderful time. Why was she doing this to me? I tried to contain my anger.
"Ms. Martin, I’ve not been able to go to the bathroom for six hours. I need to go before we get on the road."
"You should have thought of that before we left," she snapped at me, "We’re going straight home, right now." She looked me in the eye and then said, "I didn’t give you permission to take your uniform jacket off."
That was it. I lost it. "You didn’t tell me what your plans were, nor did you give me permission to leave this scorching hot driveway while you were inside fucking some other man for six straight hours. Then you walk out of the house so I can see you clearly and you kiss him like he’s your dearest lover." My voice was trembling with a combination of grief and anger.
"You obviously wanted me to see that." I started to cry. "What are you punishing me for? I can think of some reasons why a woman might want to humiliate her cross dressing husband," my voice rose and I was now shouting at her, tears streaming down my face, "but no one treats an employee the way you’ve treated me today. You want to go home? Fine. Get in the damn car. We’re leaving."
I spun on my heel and left her standing next to the closed back door of the Mercedes as I walked around the car to the driver’s side, my heels clicking loudly on the cement. I got into the drivers seat, slamming the door behind me. When I didn’t hear her get into the car after a few seconds, I started the engine. Ten seconds later she was still standing by the car so I started to back out. After pulling to the end of the driveway, leaving her ten feet away, I opened my door, stepped part way out of the car and shouted at her. "Either you get in the car now, or I leave, quit and divorce you. You have ten seconds to decide."
She glared at me for two or three seconds and then stalked to the car. She got into the back seat and buckled her seat belt. We drove for about five minutes until I found a gas station. I got out, took the keys with me and went to pee. The bathroom was disgusting and I was in tears as I sat on the grimy seat trying to hold my uniform skirt off the urine soaked floor and did what I had to do in that stinking little room.
After we had been on the highway for about five minutes, I finally broke the silence. "Would you like to explain yourself?"
"Explain myself?" she shot back. "Tell me why I shouldn’t just fire you the second we get home."
"Because, you selfish bitch," I started to shout now, tears again running from my eyes, "you’re the one who fucked up here and trying to attack me won’t get you off the hook. I’ve done everything I can to fulfill our agreement. No employer would treat a maid the way you’ve treated me. What you did today was downright cruel. You’ve now made it perfectly clear you don’t give a shit about my feelings. At this point you have to convince me to stay."
"You have three month contract. You’re bound to stay."
"Carla, I don’t know what’s going on here, but my lawyer wrote the contract and the monetary agreement. He can get me out of both. If that happens, this whole thing goes public and we both look like fools. At this point, you’re the one with everything to lose. Don’t you dare threaten me!"
She was silent for a few seconds and then let out a big sigh. A few moments later, I could hear her beginning to sob. What the hell was going on here? Now we were both crying. "I fucked up," she finally spluttered. "I just wanted to get laid and Warren is an attentive man with a large cock. I somehow convinced myself that my driver was simply at my beck and call and that I didn’t have to think about it any more deeply than that. Now I’ve ruined everything." She started crying again.
Now I was confused. I was still furious at the way she had treated me, but could see that maybe she didn’t intend to leave me to suffer in the driveway all day long. Melissa was right. I really was too submissive. It was as if I had completely lost my ability to do what was best for me, or even to get myself out of painful or potentially harmful situations. I didn’t know what I would be able to do about that, but I wasn’t about to let go of my anger. How dare she cuckold me right in front of my face. I left her to her tears and wallowed in my own self-pity until we got home. I didn’t know how this was going to turn out.
"I'll not need you again this evening," was all that she said once we were home, dismissing me. I went upstairs and drank a lot of water. Then I took my corset off to bathe. The bath was wonderfully relaxing, but I cried my eyes out in the tub. I cursed my chastity belt, before crying some more. I didn’t bother to put my corset on before went to bed. I didn’t really care about anything at that point.
Melissa's SUV hadn’t been in the garage when I'd parked and I didn’t see her before I went to bed at ten. I awoke when she got in bed around midnight.
"Where've you been?" I asked groggily.
"Out. I didn't mean to wake you, Jacqui. Go back to sleep. Good night." I mumbled my reply.
The following morning, Melissa asked me what day I wanted off that week.
"We're no longer grounded," she added.
"Good, but where's my car? It's not in the garage."
"Your car? Ms. Martin sold Mr. Ingram's little BMW if that's the car you are referring to. Listen, Jacqui. You better do a reality check. You're a maid taking home a hundred and four-four bucks a week, not some corporate executive driving a seventy thousand dollar luxury import."
Melissa was right. I was just minimum-wage hired help. Right now, it seemed that everything was coming to a head. My wife was fucking around, she had sold all my belongings, including my favorite car, and talked me into what was in effect indentured servitude. I was forced to wear corsets and was trapped in a chastity belt. People either ignored me completely, or treated me like a sex object. I was scared to death I would be recognized and humiliated and yet my wife (ha! that’s a laugh) insisted on inviting all my friends and colleagues to parties where I had to serve them. To say that I resented the entire arrangement would be the understatement of the year. I was angry and it showed.
As I got out of bed, Melissa noticed that I wasn’t wearing my corset. "What are you doing?" she asked pointing at my midsection."
"Whatever I want," I muttered back.
"Jacqui what is going on here?
"Oh Melissa, everything’s all wrong." I broke down and cried and she held me while I told her everything. After hearing me out, she sat with me for a while before pulling me to my feet.
"Come on," she said, "we have work to do. I’ll help you dress. It’ll take your mind off things. We’ll work this out, don’t worry. I’ve no intention of losing my best girlfriend." She kissed me tenderly on the lips, hugged me for several moments and got me dressed.
She tightened my corset to only twenty-three inches that morning, the loosest I‘d worn it since I first put it on. You know what? It felt too loose. I asked her to take out another inch. My waist had really shrunk and something deep within me had learned to like the tight grasp of the corset.
"Melissa, what's with the other maid?" Ms. Martin asked over breakfast, as if nothing had happened the previous day. Melissa looked over at me before answering.
"She's miffed because the BMW was sold and I think she's feeling a bit sorry for herself, mum."
"Jacqui, stand over there and look at me," Ms. Martin pointed to the side of the table opposite to where she was sitting. I curtseyed once I was in place.
"Did Melissa tell you that you're no longer grounded?"
"Yes, mum," I admitted.
"And you think that I should permit you to drive a car of your own." No answer was needed - I did. "If you think you can afford one, I've no problem with that."
"Oh fuck this," I blurted out. "How can you sit there and play this little game after what happened yesterday?"
"Jacqui!" Melissa shouted at me. "You are not permitted to talk like that and you know it."
"Oh screw off Melissa. You have no idea what this is about," I shouted angrily.
Melissa started to protest, but Carla cut her off. "No, she’s right Melissa. We’ve got a problem and I don’t know how to deal with it." She sighed and looked down at her plate.
"Maybe I can help Mum," Melissa offered. "I don’t know about your personal relationship," she stared pointedly at Carla, "but I do know a lot about how the relationship between a mistress and her staff should work." She looked expectantly first at Carla and then at me. We both nodded our acceptance.
"The first rule is that they have to treat each other as human beings." She stared again at Carla, who looked back at her with guilt in her eyes. "And a proper mistress apologizes to her staff when she makes a mistake."
It was quiet for quite a few moments and I was about to bolt from the room because I was afraid Carla wouldn’t apologize and I was afraid of what I would do if she didn’t. I heard Carla get up. She walked over to me and took my hands my in hers. Then she dipped a very small curtsey.
"Miss Ingram," she began, surprising me. I’d never thought of myself that way. "Jacqui?" she continued, her voice asking me for permission to use that name. I nodded yes. "I am sincerely sorry that I left you in that driveway yesterday and for the imperious and thoughtless way I ordered you about when I finally came back to the car. I promise that nothing like that will happen in the future and that you shall have uniforms, supplies and instructions that are appropriate to the conditions. You must have suffered terribly in that heat."
"Yes mum, I did," I said dropping my own small curtsey. "I accept your apology because I’ve never known you to hurt someone intentionally." I paused, remembering how she had over tightened Melissa’s corset and then refused to relent. I knew it wouldn’t be helpful, but I had to say what was on my mind, "But, Carla, why can’t you adhere to that rule when Melissa and I are involved?"
She looked at me and then at Melissa with a stricken expression on her face. "I don’t know what happens," she said, her voice expressing how appalled she apparently was at her own behavior, "I just don’t know how to maintain discipline without using extreme measures. Maybe we should just forget this mistress and maid thing."
"Not so fast," said Melissa. "I like this arrangement and I think I can teach you both how to handle it. One thing we need to do is set clear expectations and work each new situation through, rather than assuming we each know what the right thing is. I know of some good information on the Web, and some other stuff I could write up into a manual for us to use."
"Oh, that’s perfect, Carla said, I’m sure you’ve seen the computer boxes in the den. I was going to give them to you to occupy your free time here. I was going to wait, but since you’ve proposed a way to use them, you can have them right now."
"In the den, in boxes on the floor, is a computer system, including the peripherals that were in my old house. Melissa, you and Jacqui may set it up in your quarters. Call the cable company and arrange for a broad-band connection. I will pay for the monthly service." Hearing that, I brightened somewhat.
"Thank you, mum," I smiled my appreciation.
"Now, in case you think that there is some catch, let me dissuade those fears. There is none. You and First Girl can surf without restriction, chat, do emails or whatever else you'd like. I'll not censor your activities nor snoop. I think you are smart enough to put in whatever security you wish anyway. I'll even go a step further, should either of you wish a program that's not on it, request it and I'll get it for you." Ms. Martin was acting generously and we both thanked her, though I was still very unhappy with her.
"There is that something I wish in return." I knew there had to be a catch, what she had just given freely was too good to be true. "I do not wish you to spend all of your free time in front of the monitor, Jacqui. I'd like you to do other things too."
"Yes, mum. What do you wish?" I did not have to wait long to learn it wasn't that bad, in fact it might be fun.
"I'd like you, personally, to take over the flower bed surrounding the fountain in front of the house and turn it into something beautiful. Make it yours and express yourself through it.
"I also would like some really fresh tomatoes for the summer. You know how delicious they can be. Plant and attend to them behind the garage."
"Thank you, mum. I do appreciate everything you’ve offered." My thanks were sincere and I hoped it came across in my tone of voice as I curtseyed. Still, I couldn’t let her off the hook just because she threw a few gifts at us. "But you and I still have unfinished business…"
"Yes, you do," cut in Melissa, who stared at me to shut me up. I opened my mouth once more, but her look intensified, so I just closed it and stood there. She went on, "I don’t pretend to be a marriage counselor, but if you two would like me to mediate, I can try. In any case, mum," she curtseyed to Carla, "you two need to spend some time together, real soon." She emphasized the ‘real’ and both Carla and I knew what she meant.
"I will take care of things any time you would like to meet with Jacqui privately, for no matter how long. Your relationship is at real risk and when I first arrived you told me you were doing all this," she lifted her hands and gestured around at the house, "to save that relationship. I hate to be pushy, but I suggest today."
She curtseyed again, but it was a remarkably gesture. It was the first time I had ever seen anyone give an order through a curtsey. But what she said next, really blew me away, "And Carla," she hesitated to make sure she had Carla’s full attention, "if you ever decide to end your relationship with Jacqui, just let me know. I’d be more than pleased to take over responsibility for the key to her chastity belt. I’m sure I’d use it more than you do." She curtseyed yet again, this time slowly and gracefully, like a ballerina presenting herself at the royal court. It was the first sarcastic curtsey I had ever seen and Carla knew just what it meant. Melissa had just inserted herself as a rival with her sister for my affections! Both Carla and I were bug—eyed at her nerve. Melissa was just amazing.
At four that afternoon, I made my way to Carla’s room. She had asked me to wear anything but my uniform and I had spent quite a while and a good deal of anxiety trying to figure out what might be appropriate. I wanted to look attractive, although for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Really, why should the cuckolded, cross-dressed husband/maid want to look attractive for his wife? Oh, hell, I'd want to look attractive no matter what I was doing. That was me, not the situation.
OK, attractive, but not sexy. The situation actually called for me to wear armor. My last battle with Carla had hurt me deeply and the wounds still hurt, but I don't have armor, besides, if I did, it would look sci-fi sexy, like Barbarella or some cover illustration designed to sell books. Short mini skirts with tight tops were sexy, but sexy was not the appearance I wanted to project.
Feminine? Did I want to look feminine, or should I perhaps try for a more man-tailored look. As I stood in front of the mirror trying to answer that question, Melissa called up to say that Ms. Martin was waiting. Oh, well, I thought, I am what I am.
Demure? Relaxed? No. I wanted to be in control. I lifted a black broomstick skirt with gigantic, pink roses printed all over it from the rack. It looked hideous and I questioned why I'd ever bought it. Before resuming my quest for just the right outfit, I tossed it in the trash. Then I had another idea.
Walking before my cheval mirror, I held the jacket under my chin and the calf-length skirt to my waist. Yes! The suit was fifty years out of fashion, but I love the look of that era. Before removing my uniform, I searched for the hat and spectator pumps that went with it, along with the matching envelope purse.
First I put on a long slip, which I tucked between my knees to keep it down as I pulled up the pegged skirt. Once I had it in place, I relaxed them to fasten the button and close the zipper in back over the black silk blouse that accompanied the ensemble. Though I'd altered this when adjusting my wardrobe to fit my new waist, I'd not worn it for quite a while and had forgotten how restrictive the long skirt was.
Walking to the stool before my vanity reminded me quickly enough though, but I didn't care. I felt that this skirt was also a protective garment. No attacker would be able to causally flip up this armor and gain targets that very were vulnerable to the barbed arrows they might launch.
I slipped my feet into the shoes then stood to don the jacket. It was tailored and heavily constructed. When buttoned, it hugged my corseted torso in a firm embrace; I imagined it was my cuirass, padded to cushion any blow that might land.
The little hat, once pinned to my hair, created and reinforced the lady-like like image the designer had intended. I never claimed to be a lady. I'm a girl, but lowering the black diamond net veil made me feel like I was closing my helmet's visor. Now, I was less vulnerable. I was protected. I hoped that my preparations were enough to allow me to survive the battle, even if I did not force my opponent to capitulate.
The door was open, but I knocked anyway. Carla had a beautiful sitting room that adjoined her bedroom and looked out over the secluded back yard of the estate. She sat in a comfortable wing chair in front of the big bay windows, whose white chintz curtains had been pulled fully back. The yard beyond was a lush and beautifully manicured green. I usually tried to clean this room shortly after Ms. Martin left for work because the early morning sun cast exquisite light into the trees and gardens in the yard. It truly was a lovely sight, and very calming for me.
"Please, come in Jacqui."
"Thank you mum," I replied. Unsure of the situation, I also curtseyed, as much as the skirt would allow. I immediately rebuked myself for the submission gesture. This conversation did not call for me to be submissive and I had already undermined myself.
"Jacqui, Jacqui," she said soothingly, reaching out to take my hand, please call me Carla, while we are here talking, we are old, intimate friends, we know all about each other and we have important matters to discuss. Let’s not play. May I have a kiss please?
She lifted my veil and pulled me into a warm embrace, so I turned my face up towards hers to receive her kiss on my lips. That was not what she had in mind however, she kissed my cheek instead. Her lips were soft and her skin warm as she kept her cheek next to mine and hugged gently me for a few moments. Then she broke and gestured for me to sit as she settled back into her chair.
There was a serving table between us and she had a variety of beverages already set out. "Please," she said, "what can I offer you?"
"A 7-Up ® will be fine, thank you." I had perched myself on the front of the chair so I could stay comfortable in my corset. I pulled my legs back and to my left, my ankles entwined. I watched her as she poured my drink. Her waved hair was loose and cascaded down around her face and shoulders. Even with almost no makeup, she was beautiful and I realized, yet again, what had drawn her to me in the first place.
She was a gorgeous woman and I was a small, wimpy guy - cute, perhaps, but wimpy for sure. I guess that my incessant courting must have had something to do with her response to me, but she must have seen something else as well, because, despite all my drawbacks, including my height and the fact that I had breasts, she had still decided to marry me.
But looking at her right then, I could see by the set of her jaw and the tightness around her glossy pink lips that she had her armor on too. She was obviously not planning to share any emotions today.
Finally, when we were both settled and all the niceties attended to, she said, "What can I do for you, Jacqui?"
That really startled me. She knew damn well, why we were here. She should be apologizing to me for what she did yesterday! I guess my surprise showed, because she softened quickly and started the conversation herself.
"I’m sorry," she said, "You said you wished to talk. I’m as nervous as I can be," she fanned both her hands in front of her for a moment, "and I’m not sure what to do, but I shouldn’t have thrown it on you. Let me try again?"
So she took a deep breath, settled herself in her seat and said, "Jacqui, let me begin by apologizing for stranding you in that awful driveway yesterday. It was just totally thoughtless of me and I promise that it will never happen again." She looked at me with pleading eyes, clearly begging my forgiveness. I gave her the slightest nod. Then she went on. "Should you, for what ever reason, find yourself in a similar situation, I want, no, I demand, I even order, that you take the appropriate actions to assure for your own safety and comfort. Do I make myself clear?"
What I saw, clearly, was that Ms. Martin was demonstrating her total control over one of her maids. "Yes, Carla, you do. But I hope you will understand that I try very hard to fulfill your orders." Then I hesitated. "Since becoming a maid I had discovered something about myself that I had never before been aware of..," I stopped to decide whether I should share it with Carla. Oh shit! I’ve allowed myself to be turned into a maid and I drive my wife to her assignations. What do I have to lose? I plunged ahead.
"Carla, this whole situation has tapped into a powerful submissive streak in me that I never knew existed, so please be careful not to put me in the position of guessing what you want done. It’s just not fair." I sounded like a whiny ten-year old girl and I hated myself for sounding that way. Even worse, I had given her another weapon to use against me. I had no trouble trusting Carla, my wife, with this insight, but I really didn’t know this Ms. Martin person sitting across from me right now. If she had hidden motives I might have just helped her destroy me, but maybe this would be a test of what she intended. Her answer would be very revealing.
Although Carla did not react to my revelation, I could see her pupils dilate for a few moments and then constrict again as an eyebrow raised in question. She was working overtime to process my message. I kept looking at her, waiting for her to say something.
"I understand, Jacqui, and I have asked Melissa to find everything she can about employment agreements and work rules for situations like ours. I hate what I did to you and never want it to happen again. If I hear you correctly, you are telling me it’s my responsibility to make sure that it doesn’t?"
That isn’t exactly what I meant and I didn’t agree with her right away. Before I could say anything, she went on. "But really Jacqui, this conversation is not about being left in a driveway, is it?" I shook my head no, indicating she was right. "No," she went on, "it’s about whose driveway, why I was there, and why I had you bring me there."
"Yes Carla, that’s exactly what it’s about. Why did you do that to me? Do you hate me?"
She hesitated for a second, frightening me that she was about to say yes, or at least think about it, but then she jumped up from her chair and reached over to hug me, pulling me to my feet. "Oh no, Jacqui, I don’t hate you at all. Please don’t think that!"
I pulled away from her; I was getting agitated now. I ran my hands down the front of my skirt to smooth it before nearly shouting at her, "Why shouldn't I think that? You humiliated me and rubbed my face in it. Surely you don’t expect me to believe that was an accident?" My voice cracked with a sob, as I finished.
She dropped her hands to her sides and her whole body sagged; she looked down at her feet. I could hear her sobbing. When she finally looked up, there were tears running from her eyes. "I do not know Jacqui, I honestly don’t know." She had that pleading look again.
"I went to Warren’s house to be with Warren. It had nothing to do with you..."
"Oh, that makes me feel so much better," I interrupted. The sarcasm was inescapable.
"Just let me finish!" Now she was on the attack. It was so typical of her to attack anyone who was putting her on the defensive, especially if she was on the defensive because she was wrong.
"Well just go ahead." I sat down abruptly. "This oughta be good."
She opened her mouth and raised her hand to strike back, but thought better of it and stopped. Then she turned to her seat, carefully smoothed her dress under her and sat down, taking an age to look at me again.
"Okay, let me see if I can get this right. I really don’t understand it myself." She looked me right in the eye and went on. "I wasn’t sure, but I had a hunch you were not just a cross-dresser, but a transsexual as well. I was stupid to exclude Jacqui from my life, but I was afraid that I would lose John to her. It was John I had decided to marry, even though I knew Jacqui existed."
She stopped to look at me, but even though I was seething inside, I sat impassively where I was. She was right of course, although I had never admitted it to myself, there was a very good chance that I might have decided to become ‘Jacqui - full time’ at some point. Still, I wasn’t going to admit that right now! It was irrelevant! I was the aggrieved party!
Getting no response from me, she just sighed and went on. "John had reached a crisis point, he was about to crash and burn. I knew that even if I didn’t lose him to Jacqui, I might have lost him to work; so, I intervened and thought I had come up with a clever plan to kill two birds with one stone. It would put you in a situation where John could heal and Jacqui could flourish. I figured that if my fears were true, John might never reappear."
I looked up at her, startled at this little revelation. Before I could say anything, however, she went on.
"But better to find out sooner than later and better to allow Jacqui to be born into a safe environment with a healthy psyche than to force her to emerge from a drunken, shattered John. If my fears were foolish, John would be back in a few months, perhaps with a new and healthier outlook on life and we would see where Jacqui might fit in. You do see, don’t you? Jacqui, my plan was a win-win for both John and Jacqui. I really did go into this with the best of intentions."
I had to admit that what she said made sense, but why did she sound so defensive about it? I don’t know whether she understood all that from the outset, but, if not, she had just done a brilliant bit of post hoc rationalization. I had to give her the benefit of the doubt. Above all else, I knew Carla was an extremely intelligent woman.
"Okay, Carla, what you are saying makes sense. In fact, it’s very insightful and clever. But I don’t see how that leads you to sleep around while I’m locked in this damn chastity belt!" I had gotten angry again - I'd remembered the chastity belt. Even though I could live with it, I hated the limitations it imposed. And, right then, talking with my cheating wife, it seemed the ultimate affront.
"I wanted the chastity belt for two reasons. First, I really did want to protect my sister and you to a lesser degree. You were so fragile a month ago, I feared she might devour you sexually." She tilted her head in a flirty way and grinned at me. I had to giggle.
"But more importantly," she went on. "I wanted to drive John from Jacqui’s existence. Men too often think with their cocks and I've already told you how I feel about John masturbating while Jacqui. Is there a need to expand on that?" I stayed silent, looking at my black and white purse to avoid her eyes.
"That said, I have to admit, you never really seemed like the kind of man who let his cock take over his brain. You were always patient and considerate."
I nodded my thanks, adding a shy little smile.
She went on, "Be that as it may, I somehow just knew that if Jacqui were to emerge, John had to be repressed. I couldn’t do it psychologically, but I could do it physically; so I did. And I was right, wasn’t I?"
I had to admit that she was. I shrugged my shoulders and nodded my head in meek acceptance of the wisdom in her decision. I mouthed a soft, "Yes." My anger was dissipating again.
"But I didn’t anticipate my own response to everything that was going to happen. You know what? I like having servants and being catered to. I didn’t think I would, in fact, I thought it would make me uncomfortable, but it hasn’t. It’s great! The trouble is, I don’t know how to handle them. I really hope Melissa can help us fix this so all know what our roles are."
"But there’s more. I got lonely. I wasn’t enjoying all those dinners and evenings alone. I wanted company, but I was afraid that if I let you fill that role, that the role of Jacqui the maid would never fully develop. I didn’t want to short-circuit your healing process. Even though I don’t really know what’s going on, I wanted to stick with the plan, which was to have you as my maid, not my companion."
"So I got curious. It’s not like sex had ever been a big part of my life. You know it hasn’t. But I do like it." Her lips smiled. "And ... I began to wonder what it might be like with a real man." Her hand flew to her mouth and she lowered her eyes as she realized what she had said. I blushed furiously, and my heart fell into my stomach at her rebuke. She went on.
"No. Really. I’ve been making love to a guy who wants to be a girl and even has cute little tits and not too much of a cock." I looked away, feeling even more ashamed. All this was true. "You weren’t dominant at all, but soft, sensual, giving and patient. I loved those things, really! But I started to wonder about someone who was all man, a real macho kind of guy."
"And guys like that had been throwing themselves at me ever since I stopped working. So Warren was to be the one. I figured that I shouldn’t ever try to hide it from you because if you found out, you would be devastated. It seemed so obvious then, I might as well do it right in front of you. I can see now how wrong that was. I can’t believe I was so stupid. It made sense from an engineering perspective, but not from a psychological one. I had no empathy for you at all. I’m so sorry."
She really did look upset and it certainly wasn’t her style to use emotional displays to make her points, but I still didn’t trust her. Once again, my anger was starting to build and I listened with increasing cynicism. I could see the whole thing quite clearly. She got fed up with her girlish husband and decided to trade him in for a stud. Well, fuck her! She can have him.
"And so how am I supposed to feel now?" I asked, with as much sarcasm as I could muster. My resentment welled.
"Carla, I'm Ms. Martin's second maid. As such, the First Girl assigns my chores, and cleaning Ms. Martin's suite regularly is just one of many." I rose and bobbed to her, "Just being a curious maid, mum but what are those stains on her sheets and those things in the waste basket after she has male guests over? I might be able to do me chores better the knowin' mum?" I said it to have as much impact as possible.
"I don’t know," she said after a long pause. Then she looked up at me and said, "Please don’t hate me. I love you. I don’t want to lose you, even if you do become Jacqui."
There was something about the look on her face that didn't sit just right, but what could I do? I frankly didn’t believe her, but I still had to take her in my arms and comfort her, so I did. I hated to see her upset. We stood there like that for a few minutes and it was actually very nice. I liked holding my Carla again, feeling her breasts press into mine, thinking that I was helping her feel better.
"Jacqui," she said, pulling herself up and wiping her nose with the back of her wrist and then laughing at herself when she realized what she had done, "we need to find a different way. I want to spend more time with you, personal time, when we can just be together."
I started to dream about sex with her, but she quashed that right away. "I’m not going to let you out of your chastity belt. Don't get silly ideas. I still think it’s important for Jacqui to discover herself without John around. But there are other things we can do, certainly, we can share affection, can’t we?
"Oh, I’d so like that, Carla," I just blurted it out, my hurt feelings almost forgotten in the promise of her affection. I wasn’t sure what kind of long-term effect this would have on us, but for now, that offer made me feel much better. I was filled with hope that I would be spending more time with Carla. In the warm embrace of that hope, and despite the way she had treated me, I wiped away all my doubts and allowed my love for Carla to take charge of my feelings. I liked the way I felt when I allowed my love for her to the surface. I was still plagued by doubts, but at least I was feeling hopeful.
*****
Once Ms. Martin had left for the office, usually by seven thirty, one of us would clean the dishes and kitchen then start doing the rest of the downstairs. The other would begin by cleaning Ms. Martin's suite, the upstairs hallway and stairs. She'd then clean our quarters to the same high standards and start the laundry. Without any guests, the upstairs maid took less than two hours to complete the chores there. She then joined the downstairs maid in finishing that floor, often by noon. Melissa and I alternated daily between upstairs and downstairs maid. With both of us sharing the ironing, we could knock that out in half an hour, leaving us free for the afternoon. At four o'clock, we'd have our meal, clean up, help each other change into the proper uniform then go down and prepare Ms. Martin's dinner, leaving us about another hour before she arrived home.
Though Melissa was teaching me how to cook, there was no doubt that she did it better, so I was assigned to tend to Ms. Martin from when she'd come home until we served her meal together. Usually I did the dishes and cleaned up in the kitchen while Ms. Martin would take Melissa away to 'talk to her for a moment'.
Upon completion of my chores and unless told otherwise, I was to go upstairs for the remainder of the night. I again had free time, but wasn't to change out of my uniform or go to bed before either Melissa said that I could or nine thirty, whichever came first.
That Monday, we carried the computer to the top of our turret and Melissa helped me re-assemble it. She seemed fascinated and asked a lot of questions. She knew how to use one, of course, but that had always been a machine, which someone else had set up before hand.
"Fuck her!" I swore. Melissa covered my hand on the mouse and lifted her index finger to point it at me.
"Don't you ever loose your temper again!" she stated firmly. "Never, ever, do I want to hear you swear." Her hand stayed where it was, but she rested her wagging finger.
"Now, count to ten then tell me what's wrong, Jacqui." I opened Windows Explorer and scanned the contents before answering her question.
"This is the machine from the other house, but the hard drive has been replaced."
"How do you mean, ‘replaced’?" she asked.
"That one was only twenty gigabytes, this one is sixty."
"So? Ms. Martin upgraded it for us. Was that a reason to swear?"
"All of my stuff, every one of the files I'd created, down loaded, whatever, they're gone. Other than the applications, the hard drive is entirely clean. Not one single file of mine is here."
"Stop for a sec'." Her hand had remained on mine. "Think on what you just said," she spoke very calmly. "Re-think what Ms. Martin said about the computer." I did, but did not see the connection at first.
"Think about it Jacqui." Melissa turned off the monitor.
I did think about it and more. I started from the beginning and rethought the events. Then it hit me; I was Jacqui the maid, not John Ingram, CEO of my own company. I had just sort of come into existence. I really had no past.
My upset over my files was baseless. They weren't my files, they were John's and I was not John. I was being silly, if you looked at it from that perspective, which was obviously what Melissa wanted me to do. She rarely passed up an opportunity to remind me that I was Jacqui and not John. What's that about? I started to wonder, but Melissa interrupted me to ask if I had gotten it yet.
"Well, I guess," I grudgingly replied. With that, Melissa switched the screen back on, and I proceeded to set up our personalized versions of how we wanted the computer to be for each of us. Melissa liked reds and blues and I preferred a color scheme of greens and yellow. I didn't spend any time wondering if some shrink would place a meaning to that.
"Be sure to set your own password, Melissa, before you shutdown." I stood and moved to the stairs.
"I'll go change so you have some privacy."
"You're being silly," she giggled, as I started down to our dressing level.
I think it was that afternoon that I started being a bit happier about things. There was no overnight change, but that was the beginning.
Because my contractors were going to arrive shortly, I asked Melissa if I could put on my outside uniform and work on the flowerbed once we completed our chores. Surprisingly, being near them wasn't bothering me.
After securing her permission, I added a big cartwheel hat of fine black straw that had been in my old wardrobe to keep my face from becoming sunburned. I didn't care if it went with the bib-front jumper or not. Melissa said it did, but I wasn't so sure. In any case, it was a practical solution.
When Manuel and the guys arrived, I went over as they were getting out of the trucks.
"Buenos dios, amigos," I smiled, curtseyed, and waved.
"Buenos dios, senorita Jacqui." Their big smiles warmed me.
"Senor Santiago, come with me, por favor?" I asked the foreman then turned to walk to my flowerbed.
"This is all wrong and I don't like it." He immediately started to apologize profusely and I realized I had spoken to him just like Ms. Martin spoke to me. I blushed with embarrassment that I would behave that way.
"No, No, lo siento, Senor Santiago," I hurried to correct my mistake. "I didn't explain properly. It is nothing you've done. Your men have tended it very well, Senor."
"Then what is wrong, senorita?" he stared - his lack of understanding was obvious in his expression.
"This was designed by the former owner. My mistress has told me to fix it up in a way that I will like. So we have to remove everything and start over. Place the healthy plants in other beds and we will start fresh."
"Emillio," he called him over then with his wrinkled hands waving all over the yard and speaking rapid Spanish. I hoped he was directing him with what was to be done.
"What would you like planted here, Senorita?" I really didn't know much about flower gardens, except what I had read on the web recently, but I had been forming an idea.
"Can you take me to a nursery and help me pick out some plantings to start over with, por favor?" I asked. Of course, he agreed to my request. The contract with Mr. Delveccio had a provision for new and replacement plants to be supplied at cost plus five percent so I had no need to worry about money while he drove to a huge nursery where they had an account.
With Manuel pulling a wagon by my side, I surveyed the vast offerings. As I walked along the paths looking at what was a available, I began to form a picture of what I wanted to do.
"Azaleas. I want azaleas, Senor."
"They are past their season, Senorita and not bloom until the spring."
I did know that much and said it would be fine. He led me in back where they were not taking up display space. Reading the descriptions on their white tags, I picked out twenty bushes of varying sizes. Those would be a good start. The wagon we had would never do, so the nurseryman just set them aside to be loaded on the truck later.
At the checkout, I remembered the tomatoes.
"It's far too late this year, Miss, the end of June is not the time to plant them," the clerk explained. "Those are all that are left." He pointed to a cart behind the register. "I was just going to take them to the compost. If you want to try, they're yours, no charge."
"Thank you, I will." Manuel took care of the bill and we loaded the truck together. I had also charged some books, kneepads and gloves.
By the time we arrived back at the house, my flowerbed had been stripped and roto-tilled by the men who were then cutting the lawns. Manuel started to help, but I sent him to do his other work, after thanking him and explaining that this was my hobby and I wanted to do everything myself. Before doing as I asked, he talked me through how to properly plant one of the bushes and outlined how I should care for them.
After two hours, I realized that I would never be able to get all those azaleas in the ground that day, so I swallowed my pride and asked Senor Santiago for help. He and two men finished the job in so little time that I wondered why I had insisted on trying to do it myself. At least it was done according to my plan.
I was physically worn out by the time I went inside after getting all my plants in the ground, but I was mentally very high. Gardening while tightly laced in a corset and locked in a steel chastity belt was not a comfortable or easy exercise, but I was thrilled that I had redesigned the garden.
"Where did you go earlier?" Melissa demanded when she found me. I told her.
"You had no permission to leave. I will have to report you to Ms. Martin."
"So report me, Warden. I was not informed that I am a prisoner here and I that I needed your permission to do my job," I shot right back. I was exercising my newfound right to not be totally submissive.
Melissa curtseyed to me. "You're right. You are not a prisoner, Jacqui. I was wrong to even think that you required my permission. Please, just tell me in the future?" she finished in a softened voice. Then she smiled at me. "If you want a bath, I'll help you with your corset." I accepted her offer.
"Melissa informed me that you left the property today. Is that correct, Jacqui?" Ms. Martin did not seem angry when she asked.
"That is correct, mum. I know that I was negligent by not telling her of my plans. In the future I will do so."
"Very well, Jacqui. Tell me about your day while I eat, please?" I did and tried not to omit any details, especially of my chores. Let her hear just how boring it can be to be a maid, I thought to myself.
"As you did not know, I'll not deprive you of another day off this week. In the future, I'll consider attending to one of your hobbies for most of the day, as doing it on your free time. When on duty, I will expect you to confine your activities to the chores that Melissa assigns to you," she informed. "Now, what day this week would you like off?"
"I'm fine, mum. I'll do my chores the rest of the week." I was serious. I didn't mind. Ms. Martin chuckled.
"Don't argue with me. Thursday will be your day off, Jacqui."
"Yes, mum."
I learned on Thursday that our days off didn't start until after Ms. Martin had left for work and I had thoroughly cleaned the kitchen. "You may dress as you wish, but your corset stays as it is, and you must be ready for bed no later then ten tonight," Melissa told me. "If you intend to leave the property, please tell me so I don't worry."
"May I borrow your car, please?" I asked her.
"No. Please don't ask me again."
Being turned down so bluntly, and without explanation, literally stunned me. I had thought Melissa was my friend, but she had just behaved as if she didn't know me. I didn't get it, both Melissa and Ms. Martin were becoming very unpredictable, apparently warm and friendly one moment and cold and heartless the next. It was all very confusing.
It felt strange to wear something other than a uniform. I almost felt naked without an apron or one style or another of a headpiece. The old Jacqui had a pair of tight designer jeans and a few pairs of shorts. I didn't. Carla had ordered them removed. That left me with a choice between a dress or a skirt and top. Trying on several choices, I was frustrated that almost everything I selected no longer fit because of my smaller waist. Finally, I settled on a stretchy cotton and lycra skirt and white, short sleeved top that looked OK, but not great. I needed new clothes other than my uniforms.
I went outside after lacing up my gardening boots and putting on my cartwheel hat. As I'd been busy with the azaleas on Tuesday, I had neglected the pitiful bunch of scraggly tomato plants I'd been given. My friend, Emillio, had tilled a garden patch, much larger than I needed, on the south side of the garage. When I went there, I found a bag of fertilizer with a note scrawled on it. 'For Senorita's tomatoes.' At least I interpreted it as that - it was hard to read. Beside the bag was a bundle of steel rods about a half inch in diameter. I thought it was sweet and made a mental note to give him fresh tomatoes.
With my kneepads and gloves on, I spent the whole morning planting the tomatoes, staking them and then heavily watering the plants. I set up the sprinkler for my azaleas, fertilized them liberally too and turned it on for the afternoon.
I was able to surf around gardening sites that afternoon because Melissa had handled the cable guy while I was out on Tuesday. I learned a lot and concluded my tomatoes didn't stand a chance. I did not bother with my former haunts, but found an interesting site hosted by a TV maid. She had section titled 'Tip of The Month'. It read, in part, as if Melissa had written it. I did find it educational and saved all of the previous monthly postings for future reading and reference.
I'd supper ready for us when Melissa came up to change into her evening uniform. We talked idly, as we ate together. Then, as we cleaned up, Melissa changed the tone completely.
"Jacqui, I’ve noticed a change in you over the past few days. Want to tell me about it?"
"Change? I'm still me. Nothing’s different," I replied, avoiding a serious answer for the moment to see where she might be going with this. I didn't trust her after the way she had behaved that morning.
"Well, there's a glow that wasn't there before the party."
"Must be all the work outside. You know what they say about horses, men, and ladies."
"What?"
"Horses sweat, men perspire and ladies glow." We both giggled, but Melissa wasn’t giving up.
"Seriously, what changed? You really are different; your attitude seems completely changed, like you aren’t fighting everything anymore."
"I decided to accept what I am and not worry about it for now. There's really nothing to be gained by doing otherwise. The truth is that living as Jacqui full time is a dream come true for me. And this is a pretty stress free environment," I hesitated as I thought about the truth of that statement and then added with some bitterness, "except when Ms. Martin decides to have me watch as she gets laid."
I could see that Melissa was going to say something, so I kept talking to head her off. "So I’ve decided to enjoy what I’ve got and forget about the rest. When my three months are up, we’ll see what we’ll see.
Melissa opened her mouth to respond, but obviously changed her mind before she did. Then she nodded to herself and said, "Well I’ve got something that should take your mind off your worries. Ms. Martin called during the day to tell me to start planning a Fourth of July picnic here, a pool party."
"How many?" I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.
"About sixty," she told me.
"What?" I responded, slightly aghast.
Melissa just ignored me. "It’ll be a barbeque. You're to find someone to service the pool and get it in shape."
"Give me a break!" I protested. "The Fourth is only six days from now, Melissa."
"I know. But you’ll do it anyway." I was disgusted. This was just like Carla, I mean Ms. Martin, to throw a big job at us at the last second. I guess Melissa could see that because she gave me a hug.
"Be ready for me in my bed tonight, Jacqui." She winked at me lasciviously and I could only grin in response despite her earlier behavior. She was suddenly warm again. At least I had something to look forward to. I was pretty sure I had lost Carla, but at least Melissa was there for me. Well, part of the time anyway. The two seemed equally as unpredictable.
By agreeing to pay a large premium, which is to say a bribe, I arranged for a contractor to service the large, in-ground pool the following afternoon. It went without incident and the water sparkled by the time they'd pulled out with their truck mounted pump and filter system.
"How much was the pool service, Melissa?" Ms. Martin inquired after inspecting it and being satisfied.
"I don't know; Jacqui handled it." Ms. Martin looked at me for her answer.
"Seven hundred fifty dollars, plus tax, mum," I said as matter of factly as I could while dropping a slight curtsey.
"What? That's obscene!" She obviously wasn't pleased, but I was determined that I wasn't going to let her blame me for a problem she had created.
"Had we ordered the service two weeks ago, it would have cost a third of that, mum. I respectfully suggest you plan further ahead next year." I curtseyed, trying to do it sarcastically, tilting my body slightly to the side, like I had seen Melissa do. When I looked up, Ms. Martin was glaring at me, fully understanding my intended impertinence, but she knew that I was right, so she just let it drop. Beyond the dirty look, she offered no further comment on the subject. My hope was gone. I felt like we were now adversaries. She was not to be trusted.
"With the First Girl's approval, they will service it once a week for the rest of the season, mum," I concluded, "and at a much more reasonable price.
"I've added removing the insects, leaves and other debris to my daily chores, mum." Ms. Martin snorted out a laugh, but smiled. Time to move on.
Friday, Melissa asked for my help in planning the party, because she had never done a large barbecue before.
"I'd suggest buffet so everyone can serve themselves," I told her. "We’ll have to get someone to bring a large grill and cook for everyone, we don’t want Ms. Martin’s guests getting all sweaty over a fire now do we? We both giggled at that. We can buy everything else we need: macaroni and green salads, rolls, buns, deli cold cuts, spreads, chips, pickles, the works. We'll need Coke ®, regular and diet, 7-Up ®, club soda." I did a quick calculation. "Three cases each. And, let's see, half will drink beer... I'd suggest a half keg."
"How much is that?" Melissa asked.
"Fifteen and a half gallons, a little less than seven cases. For thirty people, that averages less than a six pack each."
"Suppose they want something else to drink?"
"Well, we can set up a bar, with alcohol and mixers and with coffee and tea for nearly everyone," I told her.
Wearing our regular day uniforms, we did much of the shopping the next day. It was the first time I was out shopping at the supermarket with her and the first time I had been out wearing any of my new uniforms. I was acutely aware of everyone who looked at us. Melissa quickly picked up on my uneasiness.
"What’s the matter Jacqui?" she asked, her voice showing that she found my embarrassment amusing.
"Everyone is staring at us," I replied, whispering even though no one was nearby.
She just giggled and whispered back, "Of course they are, we're the two prettiest women in the place."
I just rolled my eyes at her as if to say, ‘thanks a lot’, but we carried on with our shopping and even though we were going to have a lot delivered the day of the party, we still pushed two very full baskets into the checkout line.
"Is this everything?" I smiled, Melissa, Supermaid, was actually asking me.
"I sure hope so," I said, "I don’t know how we're going to get all of this into your car as it is."
The day of the party dawned drearily, with clouds covering the sky and obliterating the sunrise. I knew because Melissa and I were both up very early to get everything set up. We had done a ton of work before Ms. Martin ever came down for breakfast.
"Do what chores you can this morning and assure the guest rooms are clean, Melissa." I caught the First Girl signal me with her eyes to go upstairs once Ms. Martin had finished her breakfast even though it was her turn. She'd be more efficient getting the food prepared, so I nodded my agreement in return.
"I think your formal afternoon uniforms will look nice on both of you." Ms. Martin glanced at me for a reaction and I just curtseyed with a small smile. Melissa verbally acknowledged our order.
After completing our chores, we had an hour to relax and went to our quarters to change our uniforms.
The guests started arriving about one. We had put up signs directing them to come around to the patio so there was no need for me to greet them at the door as I had at the previous party. One of the first to arrive was Toni Bauer.
"Jacqui, I'd like a few words with you." She pointed to the sliding door of the house. I curtseyed then followed her inside.
"First, let me tell you that Carla confirmed my suspicions when I confronted her after the last party." Oh shit! My heart sank. Ms. Bauer raised my chin with the tip of her finger. She smiled at me.
"I called you in here because I wanted you to know that you make a damn sight better looking girl than a guy. Don't get me wrong, you were a helluva a person to work for, but as far as looks go..." Toni just let that sentence trail off. She was looking down at the exposed tops of my breasts. Melissa had insisted that I put enhancers in the corset cups to push them up more. I really did have some cleavage. I had adored it when I first examined myself in the mirror, but now I was embarrassed to look so well endowed in front of my former secretary. Turning her palm up, she ran the back of the tip of one of her well manicured nails from the outside of my left breast to the outside of my right. Then she turned her hand over and gently cupped my right breast from below.
"I always suspected you had those. If you stood silhouetted before the window in your office, I'd have sworn I could see ‘em, but never knew how to confirm my suspicions without actually feeling you up." She hefted my breast again and then placed her hands on my small waist.
"Corset, huh?" I nodded.
"Jacqui, if things here, with you and Carla, don't work out ... you know. Well ... you look me up, OK? Gonna warn you now, I'll never let you act like a man with me, but we’ll see what we can do about this!" I felt her hand go to my steel covered crotch and her nails played on the flesh around its edges. Crouching, Ms. Bauer lifted my petticoats for a close-up view.
"Turn around so I can see the back." I obeyed her, blushing fiercely. There was nothing else to do.
"That's enough. Fix your uniform."
"Your little secret is safe with me. Just remember my offer." Without another word she pulled me into her body and stared into my eyes. I knew what she was thinking and tilted my head to the side to give her better access to my lips. She took my invitation moving her lips to mine, for a very sexy kiss. She lingered, playing first with my top lip and then my bottom, making her intentions unmistakable. Then she went back out on the patio. Bewildered by what had just happened, especially the easy way I gave into her and the comfort I had felt when she held me, I straightened my uniform and followed her.
Melissa had tried to tap the beer keg without success. She'd stared at me and laughed in my face when I told her that tapping a keg was a 'guy thing' and that I'd take care of it.
"Go ahead, Miss Smart Ass. If you think you're so strong, show me," she stepped aside and motioned me towards it.
"Just watch and learn," I smiled at my plan, but managed not to giggle.
"Hey guys?" I called to a group of six men from my company. As they turned, I curtseyed and said, "I'm Jacqui and that's Melissa. We're Ms. Martin's maids and will be helping out this afternoon." I stood with my hands folded in front of me and my feet turned slightly inward while I twisted around from side to side like a little girl. Then I lowered my head and looked back up at them through my lashes. "But right now we need your help. Who knows how to get that thingie into the beer keg?" They practically fell over each other trying to be the first to get there. Melissa burst out laughing and came close.
"Twiddle my twat, you little flirt. That was great!" She hugged me. "I'll remember that stunt." A big cheer went up from where we'd put the beer and we both giggled.
"Who'd have cheered if we'd tapped it earlier," I smiled. "I may be the new maid here, but I'm not completely ignorant."
Unlike at the house warming, the way the pool party had been set up, we did not have much to do. Melissa and I kept busy filling the ice buckets, wiping spills and generally keeping things neat. We'd been told to stand on opposite sides of the patio and look pretty. It was a bit boring, but otherwise I had no problems until I saw Kurt Mark walking over with two plastic glasses of beer in his hands. Mr. Mark was the CEO and board chairman of Mark Seven. I'd last seen him Labor Day, the day of the incident that had sent the old Jacqui into hiding.
I saw his bright blue eyes flick to my chest and linger there for a moment. "Miss Jacqui?" It sounded like a question.
"Yes, sir, I'm Jacqui." Maybe he'd been reading my embroidered name and hadn’t been staring at my breasts.
"Miss Jacqui, you look thirsty and I brought you drink. He extended the cup. "I am Kurt Mark."
I answered with a curtsey, trying to keep my eyes down so he wouldn’t get a good look at me.
"Please, Mr. Mark, thank you for being so considerate, but I must say, 'no thank you'. I do not drink alcohol."
"Ah, you mean you are not permitted." He looked about.
"Carla, a moment, please?" She glared her disapproval at me as she approached.
"Yes, Kurt?" The fire in her eyes was evident when they landed on me. I had obviously displeased her. When she turned back to Mr. Mark, she was all smiles and warmth.
"Carla, I would like to get to know your maid better, but she will not have a beer with me."
"Jacqui," Ms. Martin spoke firmly. "You are here to entertain my guests." She motioned to the beer in his hand with her eyes and head.
"Mum," I dropped a quick curtsey, "I've explained that I do not drink alcohol." Since completely drying out, I'd just lost the desire for it. "I would be happy to share a 7-Up ® with Mr. Mark, mum." Her look was questioning, but had softened.
"Yes, Kurt, I had forgotten. Little Jacqui doesn’t drink. Would it be alright if she sips a soda while you enjoy your beer?"
"Certainly, that would be most satisfactory." Mr. Mark walked away to get me a soda and Carla turned to me.
"You know how important he is to business. Don't do anything to fuck that up, Jacqui!" Her whispered warning had an angry bite and she left to rejoin her other guests without another word. I just sighed. What was I going to do now? I didn’t know anything about entertaining men.
"Enjoy her all you'd like, Kurt." Ms. Martin called over as he passed, "she’s at your service." How could she? I'd just been given to a man! He now had an open invitation to have his way with me!
"Here you are, Fraeulein." I took the glass in a suddenly trembling hand.
"Shall we drink a toast to our happiness?"
I wanted out! How could this be happening? "To happiness," I mumbled, as I raised my cup to touch his, still not daring to look him in the eye.
"You are very pretty, Jacqui," he smiled down at me.
Even though I was wearing five-inch heels, my eyes were only at the level of his chin. I figured he must be well over six feet. I knew he was about fifty and must have been over two hundred pounds, even though he was very trim. He had a full head of a near-white hair and his cleanly shaven face displayed only tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. As men go, I guessed he was quite handsome.
"Are you Chinese, Jacqui?" How could I answer and not lie? I was never a big liar, but telling little white lies had never been a problem for me.
"I look Chinese, Oriental at least, but I honestly don't know, sir. My mother gave me up for adoption when I was born." That was the truth.
"Ah," he spoke with only the slightest German accent, but his speech was more cultured and refined than most Americans and I guessed that he hadn’t been raised here. "I see.
"If you cannot to guess, I am from Germany, but happily a citizen of the United States of America for many decades."
Feeling I should at least try to converse, I thought to try stay on neutral topics. "I've never been outside the United States. I've heard that Germany is very beautiful, sir."
"My dear," he put his hand over mine, I will call you Jacqui as you asked, even though Pretty Jacqui would be much more appropriate." I blushed as he threw me a devastatingly warm smile. "It is an order that you must call me Kurt," he chuckled, "Kurt mit eine K"
"Javohl, mein Herr ist Kurt mit eine K." I giggled. Having studied it for two years in high school, my German was slightly better than my Spanish. He laughed too and said something I didn't understand. I caught 'kleins Fraeulein' and 'ist nicht eine Dummkopf', but not the full meaning. I had to get us back to English.
"Mein Herr Kurt mit eine K, sie sprechen Englisch nicht Deutsch Sprachen mit Jacqui die Magd, bitte!" We both started to laugh.
That broke the ice for me and we made small talk and some not so small. He told me about his company, but there wasn’t much I didn’t already know. I did learn that he had been married to Erica for twenty-six years, after meeting her at the university in Heidelberg. They had married quite young, but she had died three years ago after a brief illness. It obviously still pained him to talk about her. It seemed to me that they had been very much in love and shared their lives together. For a moment, I felt sorry for myself as I realized that I would probably never get that opportunity with Carla.
He also loved good food and wine, the theater and good music. I mentioned that I liked Strauss and loved to waltz, although once I said it, I realized that I had never waltzed as a woman. God, I hoped he didn't ask me to go dancing!
"I shall take Jacqui to the ball then," he said, instantly dashing my hopes. I had lit him up and was suddenly very worried that I'd gone too far and too fast. "Jacqui will be the prettiest lady there and all of the others will be very jealous." He hit me with that smile again and again I blushed. This guy was putting the moves on me and they were working!
"Please say you will come with me," he said as I finally looked back up.
Was he serious? Fortunately, my next words caused him to change the subject.
"We just met. I can’t accept an invitation to a ball with a stranger, Kurt."
"Ah, but of course. First, we must get to know each other. I will take you out for an elegant dinner first. How about Friday night? I’ll pick you up at seven o'clock and we’ll dine together."
What a relief, I had a good excuse to say no. "I’m sorry Kurt," I said it demurely, but with some real remorse, I am on duty every Friday, Saturday and Sunday."
"Don’t worry," he said, with a smile brightening his face, "This is not a problem. I will simply speak to your employer."
Then he leaned close to me and whispered, "Don’t worry, I’m one of her biggest accounts. She’ll do whatever I ask."
My God, I thought, he thinks I want to go out with him and only Carla's preventing it. "Kurt, du bist eine stubborn Kraut!" I said firmly. Then I watched as he tensed, his entire expression changing from playfulness, to intense scrutiny, to dawning awareness.
"Ist unglaublich!" Kurt whispered after sucking in his breath. He was shaking his head in denial as he stared carefully into my eyes.
"John? It is you, John," he still whispered. My heart stopped. I felt a sickening grip in my lungs. I couldn’t move or speak for several moments. Then I tried to cover myself.
"Who’s John?" I finally managed a small smile. "Why did you call me John, Kurt?" I giggled. "I'm Jacqui, Ms. Martin's maid."
"Of course." His knowing smile said everything. "We spoke of our date on Friday. I will pick you up at seven o'clock then." His smile continued to broaden.
"I have already told you that I cannot because I’m on duty, Kurt."
"And I have already told you that I would have words with your employer over the matter." He grabbed my wrist and I was startled at the strength of his grip, it was like a vise.
"Come with me, my little Jacqui. Let us find Carla and I will show you that I will have my way in this." I had no choice. I had to scamper quickly on my toes to avoid falling, as he strode across the flagstones. I could see heads turn and hear laughter as I minced helplessly along behind him in my ridiculously high heels. I could feel my humiliation begin to rise, but I had to concentrate so hard just to keep up with Kurt, that it didn’t hit me until we stopped, facing Carla.
"Carla," he waited for her to turn and face us, "please come inside? I will speak with you regarding this maid." I thought she had glared at me earlier, but that was a smile compared to the look on her face now.
"Yes." She forced a smile onto her face and led the way to the library.
"Please sit down, Kurt?" Though he'd released his grip, he left me standing. I was very anxious. No good could come from this.
"Sit!" Ms. Martin snarled. I curtseyed and obeyed the order, perching on the edge of a wing chair, with my legs tucked carefully to the side and my ankles crossed. She turned to him. "I hope you didn’t have a problem with my maid, Kurt?" her voice softened somewhat as she realized she was addressing Kurt and not me. "Was she rude?"
"No. Jacqui is a most polite girl." He smiled at me indulgently. "In fact, I am so enchanted with her, I would like to take her out to dinner this Friday evening," he stated.
Her reply was reflexive, "Jacqui cannot accompany you on a dinner date. It’s simply impossible." I was so relieved I got weak and my hands trembled.
"Yes, she has informed me that you require her here on duty."
Carla smiled. "That is correct, Kurt. She is on duty every Friday, Saturday and Sunday too."
"She has told me this also. I am pleased that it was the truth."
"Still, Jacqui will be ready when I arrive on Friday evening at seven o'clock." Kurt was a stubborn German. He remained firm and confident.
" Kurt? I said No! No to this Friday and, I must add, no to Jacqui dating you at all. It's just not appropriate for my maid to date my clients."
"Kurt is a very good listener. He also observes very well." I was becoming unglued, something told me that I would be forced into a horrid situation I wanted desperately to avoid.
"I trust that the director of my favorite consulting firm also is a good listener." I was becoming more and more worried.
"First, I will tell you what this good listener has heard. Several moments ago, I heard exact words that I have heard only once before," he paused and smiled at me. "Your maid said to me, 'Kurt, du bist eine stubborn Kraut!' Only one person has ever said anything like this to me, especially in German. Even when we are joking, a German would never say 'Kraut' to another German.
"As I have said, I’ve only heard those same words once before. Their voices are somewhat similar, once you think to listen for it, but I like Jacqui's more than John's." When Ms. Martin's jaw dropped, Kurt’s conclusion was confirmed for the second time. She recovered quicker than I had though.
"John? Who is John?"
"Carla, do not force your best customer to look for another company to do my work." The silence was deafening. Only the quiet ticking of the antique grandfather clock broke it. Finally, Carla managed to speak.
"Are you gay?" she asked.
"No. I have no desires for a man."
"Then why, if you know that Jacqui is..."
"A very pretty girl? This is what I know. I asked your pretty girl maid for a date. Then we shall see." He stood and extended his hand to help me up.
"Come along, Jacqui. Let us have something to eat." I pleaded to Carla with my eyes. But hers held no hope and the color had drained from her face; she said nothing and wouldn’t even meet my gaze. After a moment, I looked up at Kurt, who really had a very endearing look on his face, neither triumphant nor gloating, but instead rather admiring. I smiled shyly and accepted his hand. I got up as gracefully as I could, though my legs still felt weak.
He no longer had to use his physical strength to force me to tag along beside him. His psychological grip was now far stronger than any his muscles could possibly exert. He got me another soda, a beer for himself and led me to the grill.
"What would you like to eat, my little maid?" Even though he was blackmailing Ms. Martin and me, he was still the perfect gentleman. Melissa made her way to my side while he retrieved a couple of hamburgers for us.
"You going to do any work this afternoon or just goof off, Jacqui?"
"I'm doing exactly what I've been ordered to do." I glared at her and she scowled at me. "Talk with Ms. Martin, she'll explain it to you, I'm sure. But just be careful, I’m not happy about this and neither is she."
"Are you OK?" Now, Melissa sounded concerned.
"Oh, I'm fine," I lied, but my voice gave me away. I could see in Melissa’s eyes that she knew I wasn’t telling the truth, but before she could quiz me, an unwelcome voice intruded rudely.
"Hey babe," Oh no! I wanted to scream! It was Jim Wilson. "How ’bout another kiss for your good buddy Jim?"
I didn't think about it, the words just came out. Later, as I lay in bed revisiting the scene over and over again, I still couldn’t come up with a reason for why I said what I did. At least I couldn’t come up with a reason I was ready to accept.
"Kurt, help me, please?" I turned back to Jim's lecherous grin.
"I asked you for a kiss." He grabbed my wrist and started to pull me towards him, but then I felt my petticoats pressed into the back of my thighs. A moment later, a warm presence was pressed up against my back.
"Jacqui is with me," Kurt stated quietly.
"All I want’s a kiss," Jim repeated, now somewhat petulantly.
Then, I did something else, I couldn’t understand. I moved to Kurt's side, took his arm and wrapped it around my waist. He pulled me in tightly.
"I'll tell you what I want," I said, rather aggressively, "I want you to leave me alone! I'm not some toy for you to feel up and kiss so that your friends can laugh at me again, sir!"
Wilson sulked back into the crowd.
"Thanks for being here, Kurt." I looked up into his face and patted his hand where it hugged my belly. I stood there with him, feeling both safe and badly confused. Melissa caught my eye and raised a single eyebrow in comment before she strutted away into the crowd. I watched her, feeling rather small. Although she was a maid, she still had incredible presence. She made Jim Wilson seem like some kind of insect.
I talked with Kurt throughout the rest of the afternoon. Though I had serious reservations about what I had to do on Friday, I decided not to think about it.
As the party was breaking up, Kurt brought it up. "I shall be very much looking forward to seeing you on Friday, Jacqui. I promise you a very elegant dinner at one of the finest restaurants I know."
"How should I dress?" I asked.
"A cocktail dress or a long gown. I will wear my tuxedo." I gulped and my eyes widened.
"What’s wrong? Ah, I know. You are going to tell me that you are just a maid," he chuckled, "and have nothing appropriate to wear. I understand." All I saw was that he was looking at my face and smiling. I was surprised when his fingers went down between my breasts then backed out before I could react. The next thing I sensed was something stiff between my breasts, even though both his hands were now visible as he reached around me and drew me to him.
Two men had kissed me before Kurt. Both had tried to push their tongues between my lips and into my mouth. Unlike those two, there was no darting tongue thrusting at my lips, Kurt's lips were gentle and warm and, surprisingly, I savored them instead of recoiling. Still, I was glad when he withdrew and said good night.
Once he'd left, I went back to work, cleaning up the mess with Melissa. She waited until the other guests had left or gone inside before talking to me.
"OK, I'm listening. What's going on, Jacqui?"
"The man I was with all afternoon is Kurt Mark, our… uhh, uhh. Mr. Marks’ company is our biggest customer He asked me out to dinner before he read me."
"What do you mean, 'read' you?"
"Figured out who I was before I became a maid." I admitted sadly.
"So he’s gay, or bi," Melissa concluded, happens to the cutest guys," she shrugged, "and he is cute.
"Now that he knows, I guess he wants you that much more, huh?"
"But why did you hang with him the rest of the afternoon? You made it pretty clear to me that you wanted no part of men, Jacqui." It was understandable that Melissa got it wrong.
"He forced me, Melissa, he’s blackmailing Carla and me. We have to do what he wants to keep his business." I’m sure my body language and words didn’t match. I was confused. I didn’t want to like what was happening, but in some strange way, I did. Melissa just let out a long whistle and looked at me strangely.
After a few very long seconds she said, "Let’s clean up and go to bed."
We didn't see Ms. Martin before retiring to our quarters that night. When I slipped out of my uniform, something fell from between my breasts. I knew it was there, but in the rush to clean up I'd forgotten about it. Melissa picked it up. She unfolded ten, one hundred dollar bills.
"What's this for?" she asked, handing the damp money to me and smiling as if she had just discovered my biggest secret. I blushed.
"I think that my date wants me to buy a pretty dress," I admitted shyly. It made sense. Grinning broadly, Melissa shook her head.
"You can borrow my car tomorrow, if you want. It is your day off."
"I thought you weren’t going to loan me your car until I got a license in Jacqui’s name," I said, trying to sound like I had been wronged, somehow.
Just don’t get stopped by the cops," she said," cause you’ll have a hard time convincing them you’re John Ingram." Then she laughed. I could only smile.
By Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part V - Dating Kurt — Finding Jacqui
© August 2002
"Jacqui, I really do like you."
I jumped up, startling her. "Like, not love? Is that what our relationship has become? And so quickly too?"
. . .this was a wonderful opportunity that so many T’s long for - a formal date with a charming man.
"You and I both know that if I have surgery, it will mark the end of John."
_______________________________________________________________
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part V - Dating Kurt — Finding Jacqui
I fell asleep thinking about what had happened and just what Kurt wanted with me and how I was going to react if he demanded sex. I didn’t think that I would be able to handle it very well at all. But then, if he had been married for twenty-six years and loved his wife, could he also be gay or bi? Maybe he didn’t want sex with me at all. What would I do? I don’t know whether I fell asleep because I was so confused or despite of it. How could my supposedly stress-free life as a maid have become so hard?
"Jacqui, what are Mr. Mark's plans for you tomorrow night, please?" Ms. Martin asked me at breakfast.
"I'm to be very pretty and dressed in a fancy dress and be ready to be picked up at seven, mum. He told me he would be wearing a tuxedo and that we'd be going to dinner at a fancy restaurant." I curtseyed. It was now a well in-grained reflex.
"And after that?" Ms. Martin sounded skeptical. I don't think that she knew any more than I did. I told her that I had no idea if Mr. Mark had anything else planned.
She just shook her head.
After breakfast, I went upstairs to get ready to leave. "Melissa, you’re so nice to let me use your car today. How about I do the upstairs before I leave to thank you. I really was feeling grateful and excited too, to be going off shopping on my own.
"Thanks. I accept," She gave me a hug. We've overnight guests, so don't vacuum, you don’t want to wake them.
I went up to Ms. Martin's room and started to make her bed. We usually changed her sheets for fresh ones on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Even though it was Thursday, I changed them again because of the stains in the middle. I tried not to think about what had caused them. But then, when I emptied the wastebasket in the bathroom, three used condoms fell into my trash bag.
I tried to hold back my tears, but I couldn’t. How could Carla ... Ms. Martin … the bitch, do this to me? She had sex ... no, Jacqui, use the right word; she'd fucked another man. Then I really started to cry. What a laugh. Look at yourself - I turned to the mirror, all dressed up as a girl, but not just any sort of girl, no, not just any girl at all, but her maid. My hair and make up made me look Asian, just as she wanted. No, she hadn’t fucked 'another' man. She'd fucked a real man.
I'd let her lock me in a steel chastity belt. Shit, that was wrong too. I'd begged her to lock me into it. I wasn't a man anymore. Was ‘anymore’ even the right word? Was I ever a man?
It bothered me; it bothered me a lot! It was worse, so it seemed to me then, than having been blackmailed into dating a man. I sat on the bathtub crying into a dirty towel for ten minutes. I really had lost Carla. She was sleeping around despite her claim to love me. Were my days as a man… her husband, over? I had to flee the bathroom to abort that train of thought.
Barely containing my tears, I finished her suite and then went to clean ours. At least I didn't find any spent rubbers in the trash by Melissa's vanity. I then went to get dressed to leave.
Even this was frustrating, though in a different way. Most of my skirts and dresses would no longer fit because my waist was now so much thinner than it had been - another reminder that I was no longer a man. I did have a white turtleneck dress that was just like some of my long sleeved tops, but ending a few inches above my knees instead of on my hips. I put that on, clipping a wide elastic belt about my waist to help it look right. White pumps completed the simple, yet sexy look. Did I want to look sexy? It didn't matter any longer, I did, and short of putting on a fright mask, I wasn't about to change that easily. Maybe it was time to appreciate myself for what I was, or, at last, what I appeared to be. It was strange, if I had looked like this a year ago, I would have thought I had died and gone to heaven; now I was regretting it. Why was that? Oh shit, this was all so confusing!
My original plan was to go to a few large malls. Backing out of the garage, I formed a better idea.
"Good morning," I curtseyed to Suzanne.
"Hi, Jacqui. What brings you here?"
"I need a dress. I've got a date and nothing to wear." She started to laugh and I didn't understand why.
When she stopped, she asked, "What girl ever does? I own a boutique and my husband claims I always say that to him. You know what? It’s always true!" She started to laugh again.
"Do you have you anything in mind?"
I was comfortable with Suzanne, she'd already seen my chastity belt and had made my uniforms; I didn’t need to hide anything from her. As she knew that much about me already, I was more at ease in her pricey boutique than in a strange shop at a mall.
"Not really, my date said we were going to the most elegant restaurant he knew of and that the men wore tuxedos and the women wore either long gowns or a cocktail dresses. I think I'd prefer a cocktail dress, but don't know what sort. I've never owned one before."
It was my turn to laugh when she asked me what I'd worn on other dates with my ‘boyfriend'.
"We just met yesterday, Suzanne, and the only thing Kurt has seen me in was the afternoon uniform with the low décolletage that you made for me." She gave me a huge grin.
"Ah, the maid made an impression on one of the guests. I see." She led me to toward the racks of dresses along the wall. "Your boyfriend must have a good job to be able to spend a few hundred dollars over dinner with you. I'm sure it will be better than Burger-King ®."
We chatted over the next hour while I was shown what seemed to be every dress in the shop. Nothing really excited me though.
As we paused for a few moments, Suzanne thought for a moment and finally said, "Come in the back." She led me to a rack marked, 'Completed Commissions' and pushed around the plastic covered dresses for a few moments.
"Here it is." She lifted the hanger to her chin pressing the white dress to herself to display it. My breath caught in my throat. This could be it!
"May I see it, please?" Suzanne lifted up the plastic to reveal a strapless, white leather sheath. Hesitantly, I reached and touched it. The leather was as soft as warm butter.
"Oh my, it’s just luscious. May I try it on?"
"Certainly. It should fit you. That’s why I showed it to you." She made an obvious effort to hide the paper that had been taped on the front of the plastic protector. I decided not to concern myself with it. I wanted to try on that dress; even if couldn't afford it.
It looked … no, it screamed sex. I didn't care. I didn’t even care when Suzanne had to tighten my corset a bit more in order to zip the dress. It was gorgeous. I had never understood how women wore strapless gowns, but this one had a few corset bones to keep it up there and its hem touched the floor.
"You'll need higher heels, Jacqui," Suzanne said.
Walking to face the mirror was a new experience for me. The satin lined skirt followed the contours of my body, swelling over my hips, and then it fell perfectly straight, to the floor. It wasn't really a hobble dress, which would have narrowed below my cheeks, but it still restricted the movement of my legs, even though it did have a slit in the back. Still, even with that, I doubted I could cross my knees when I sat.
"How much?" I asked while admiring myself in the mirrors. I had never liked the look of long, straight gowns, but this dress changed my mind.
"Nine hundred dollars," Suzanne said reluctantly, knowing I wouldn’t be able to afford it. Holding up the skirt with one hand, I walked away and went to a showcase that displayed gloves and found a shoulder length pair in white satin that completed the look I was imagining. They were one hundred fifty dollars.
"Nine hundred fifty," I offered, "including these gloves." She looked at the ones I’d selected.
"One thousand twenty-five and they’re a steal for that price."
"Please help me out of the dress?" I asked.
"One thousand dollars, but not a penny lower."
"Really Suzanne, I can’t reach the zipper."
"But I'm losing money, Jacqui."
"Nine hundred seventy-five dollars or I'll shop elsewhere and suggest the same to my employer."
Suzanne started to giggle. "You win, you little cunt."
I giggled too and gave her my biggest smile. Aside from being delighted that I had gotten such a terrific dress and the gloves without spending any of my own money, she’d called me a 'cunt', what a nice compliment. It thrilled me to the bone.
In the short time that I'd been employed as a maid and having no expenses, except for food and makeup, I had saved several hundred dollars from my meager wages. I blew a little over two hundred of that at the shoe shore and a jewelry outlet before arriving back at the house at four.
After putting away my packages, I got into my uniform and went downstairs to find Melissa.
"If I may, I'd like to assume all of your duties for tonight, Melissa, and give you my evening off, okay?" She smiled and kissed my cheek, but before she could answer me I added, "I filled the tank too." Loaning me her vehicle had been a big gesture and I wanted to return the kindness.
"That's really sweet, Jacqui. I'll accept. Thank you." Before going upstairs, the First Girl briefed me on Ms. Martin's meal and the other small details of the evening.
Ms. Martin asked right away, why I was serving instead of Melissa, but accepted my explanation with little more than a nod.
"How did your shopping trip go, Jacqui?" She seemed genuinely interested, but I wasn’t feeling particularly friendly towards her. I couldn’t understand how she could treat me so nicely one moment, but then sleep with some guy right in front of my eyes the next. It hurt me terribly and I was growing increasingly resentful. I decided to express my displeasure with her by keeping our conversation as formal as possible.
"It went very well, mum." My voice was flat, "I put together an appropriate outfit. Suzanne was most helpful."
"You certainly seem happier about going out with Kurt than you did yesterday," she said warmly. Carla’s obvious show of affection melted my defenses easily. I just couldn’t cut myself off from her. What the hell, I rationalized, it couldn’t hurt if I talked.
"I've accepted it as something I have to do. I don’t like the circumstances that forced me to accept. I hate being blackmailed and having our company held up for ransom. I especially hate what I'm going to have to give him, but I don’t see any alternatives. Do you, mum?" As I spoke, my anger returned. Despite the evidence, I did blame Carla … no, make that Ms. Martin, for what had happened. My voice became cold and accusing.
Her expression shifted from concerned friendliness to indifferent distance. It was amazing how she could turn off her emotions so quickly.
"I've no solutions for you, Jacqui. Truly, I wish I did." She said it, but I didn’t believe her, at least I didn’t want to believe her, I wanted to be mad at her.
"How are you going to deal with satisfying his needs? His wife died more than three years ago, he's probably real horny."
I wished she hadn't asked me that. Her voice almost sounded like she was worried about me, but her words felt like a knife twisting in my ribs. I looked at her carefully. It was as if she had tried to act nice, but her underlying malice had gotten the better of her. Yes, I was sure she wanted to see me squirm. Even though I didn’t want to think about what might happen, I sure as hell wasn't going to give Carla the pleasure of knowing how I felt. I kept my face in a neutral mask as I thought about the situation.
There wasn’t any reason to think that Kurt might be gay, but how can you ever tell? So maybe he had no interest in sex with me. The problem with that theory is that he had kissed me and seemed to enjoy it. Hell, so had I, but I wasn’t anywhere near ready to even consider that thought just then.
"I can't say. I just don’t know, mum. I'll deal with it when I have to. Do you know if he’s gay?" My voice quavered slightly as I finished speaking, revealing my anxiety even as I tried to conceal it. Damn! Carla’s expression changed again. Now she truly looked concerned.
"Come here." I walked to her side of the dining room table as she pushed her chair back. "Sit on my lap." She patted the tops of her thighs.
I sat stiffly, feeling very uneasy. Carla hugged me anyway.
"Jacqui, I really do like you." I jumped up, startling her.
"Like, not love? Is that what our relationship has become? And so quickly too," I went on archly. "Well, I guess that’s not surprising considering how many men you’re fucking." I spit the word out, like an epitaph. "Don’t lie to me Carla, I’m not a total fool."
"Finish your chores then go up stairs. Good night, Jacqui." She said it sadly, but I wasn’t impressed. I just turned around and started to leave the room. Despite my anger, my training stopped me at the door. I turned and curtseyed to my former wife. Bending my knees deeply and being as gracefully as I could was the only way I could think of to keep from feeling completely humiliated. In the moment it took to straighten my knees, I had a flash of insight.
Why should a well-executed curtsey help to keep me from feeling humiliated? Because it was John who was feeling shamed, not Jacqui. Jacqui was her own girl. Even if she was only a maid, she was a human being. By the time I looked up to say, ‘Good night, mum’, I had a small smile on my face. Although I didn’t say it aloud, I couldn’t help but think, ‘you bitch,’ after mum.
I didn't ask permission, but once I was ready for bed. I just got under the covers with Melissa. She silently accepted me into her arms, drew me close and fell back to sleep. I lay there for quite awhile, my mind in turmoil, before I finally fell asleep hugging her tightly in my arms.
"I need to be laced in tighter than normal," I told Melissa in the morning, "so my new dress fits." She did as I asked without questioning me further.
When we got downstairs, I was told to put out two place settings. Apparently, someone had come over after I went to bed.
I stared in disbelief. "What?" Before Melissa could reply, we were interrupted by voices.
"Are you sure you'll not stay for breakfast, Michael?" We could see Ms. Martin and a man I had never seen before standing in the hallway, facing each other and holding hands. I did not want to see this, so I quickly finished setting the table and hurried into the kitchen.
Carla was alone when I carried in the coffee and juice.
"Good morning, Jacqui." She had a radiant, well-fucked glow and her green eyes sparkled in the morning light.
"Good morning, mum," I replied stoically, while filling her cup and setting the juice glass.
"Remove the other place setting, Jacqui."
"Yes, mum." That was it. Nothing more was said.
"Jacqui," Melissa said after she had come back from a brief meeting with Carla, "neither Ms. Martin nor I will be in this evening when you get back, so don't worry."
After I finished the unpleasant task of changing Ms. Martin’s damp, smelly sheets yet again and emptying more condoms from the trash, the day went quickly. I watered my plants then went up the spiral staircase to the maids’ quarters, which were flooded with sunlight. Setting up an email account for myself and further tweaking the settings on our computer took an hour, and re-polishing my long nails with pearlescent white occupied another. I had nothing else to do, so I stripped, donned a nightshirt and climbed into bed for a nap.
A shower would have been nice and a bath would have been great, but Melissa wasn’t home and I'd never be able to do my laces tightly enough by myself. A shampoo and a thorough wash had to substitute.
There was no way I could change my hair, so I simply blew it out and brushed it smooth and shiny. As I sat there checking it, I realized for the first time since it had been cut, that "Ms. Martin" had dictated that I wear it in a bubble cut and that was that. I didn't have a choice in the matter. I'd been locked into my hairdo just as effectively as I had been locked into my chastity belt, which made me a sexless person.
I had to stop thinking about things like these, so instead I concentrated on applying my makeup. Melissa had set high standards for me from the beginning, but tonight, I had to do it to meet a higher standard - my own. I realized that if I was to have any hope of surviving the upcoming ordeal, Jacqui had to be in control. Sure, Carla, Melissa and now Kurt, controlled me to an important degree, but I could control some things and little Jacqui, the maid, was going to do this right. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on inside my head, but tonight, Jacqui the maid, was going to practice her feminine wiles on Kurt. I giggled, Kurt mit eine K, Mark. It was time for Jacqui to become her own girl.
After smoothing on a matte-finish, alabaster foundation, I carefully glued subtle false lashes in place on both top and bottom. I stroked on mascara and lined my eyes with a softened pencil, carefully creating a very sexy, smudged look. Then I extended the line from the outer corners to create the slant-eyed appearance that gave my vaguely Asian face a more obviously Asian look. I carefully smudged black eye shadow on my upper eyelids then blended it invisibly to dark and then pale gray under my brows to enhance the chionsoir effect I wanted.
Staring at my face, I decided that my eyebrows were wrong. I plucked some more and then applied black pencil from where they started above the inner corner of my eye to where they ended above the pupil. 'Perfect', I thought.
I dusted just a hint of blush high on my cheekbones and finally I opened the new lipstick I'd bought. I took my time brushing on the red patent color, the only real color I would wear that evening. My lips started to appear like glazed porcelain on my otherwise matte face. I would have to remember to fix them repeatedly if I wanted to maintain this fabulous look.
Carla had given me a bottle of Opium after she decided I should look Asian, so I applied the heady fragrance in all the right places. It wasn’t until I dabbed some into my cleavage that I learned, much to my delight, that the scent of new leather would mix with it to create a dramatically intoxicating effect. I hoped Kurt would like it as much as I did.
Keeping one gloved hand on the railing while the other held my small clutch and lifted my skirt, I slowly and carefully descended the steel spiral staircase to the kitchen. I could walk just fine wearing the six-inch strappy sandals, but going down the stairs in them and a long, tight dress was still treacherous at best.
Sitting on the front edge of a kitchen chair, I practiced with my gloves. I'd no intention of leaving them on to dine. After unbuttoning the wrist, I was able to slide the arm-length sheath down, work my hand out then fold that part inside the sheath and smooth the sleeve back into place. I did the same on my left arm. Replacing the gloves consumed most of the rest of the remaining time. I hoped I could do them gracefully and not look like a jerk in the restaurant. It would be fun to watch Kurt's face as I did it.
Then, with nothing to do to keep my mind occupied, I quickly started to worry. What had I just done? I went to extravagant lengths to make myself as sexy as possible for a date with a guy, that’s what. On one level I understood that I just loved to get dressed up and that hadn’t changed. Plus, this was a wonderful opportunity that so many T’s long for - a formal date with a charming man. I had certainly taken full advantage of my opportunity so far. I looked and felt fantastic.
But how was I going to relate to Kurt? Was I going to be a cross-dressed guy who loved his clothes, but was scared of touching another guy? That’s certainly what I have been. Or was I going to be a woman? That was what I was supposed to be finding out, wasn’t it? I was living as Jacqui to see if I was Jacqui. Jacqui was a woman who… who… who knew how to control and manipulate a man with her feminine charms? Not yet, but maybe. Yes, it seemed to me right then that I only had that one choice.
That was okay, because I understood it was a choice that carried many opportunities. I could have a lot of fun allowing Kurt to escort me to all kinds of wonderful places. He would be my way out of the house and he would fight my battles with my bitchy employer, Ms. Carla Martin. I could tell Kurt what and where I wanted to go and he would take me there, whether the bitch thought I should go or not. Not only that, but if I played this right, I could flaunt my new 'boyfriend' at her, just the way she had flaunted her new lovers at me.
Yes, this could work. The key was that I had to get control of Kurt and I knew the only way to do that was to be the cute, flirty little maid he was looking for. I had to do to him just what women had always done to men to control them.
Then, before I could get any further in this train of thought, soft tapping on a glass pane in the door, startled me. It was Kurt, promptly on time. Carla had made it clear to him that he was dating her maid and that her servants used only the servants' entrance to her house. I was willing to bet this was the first time Kurt had ever had to use a servant’s entrance for any reason.
I minced over to the door, it was impossible to do much else in that dress and those shoes, took a deep breath, well, as deep as I could in my tight corset, and opened the door, letting go of it so I could pose in the door frame for Kurt. I dropped a brief, shallow curtsey, since that was all I could manage, then stood in a classic model’s pose, turned slightly to the side to emphasize my curves, with one hand on my hip and the other turned out. I looked up into Kurt’s eyes with the most dreamy look I could muster.
"Mein Gott," Kurt repeated softly several times after the loud gasp he let out as I'd straightened from my curtsey. Smiling, I pirouetted for him. I was showing off and felt great doing it. Jacqui was in control … at least of herself… so far.
"You look absolutely beautiful, Jacqui."
"Danke schoen." I dipped a little again. "Guten Abend, Kurt." I glided close and gave him a small kiss on the lips. He did not move. I was committed now, but was I really that much in control?
"I have brought you a flower, but its beauty is over shadowed by the Flower of the Orient," he said as he offered me a corsage box.
"Oh," I exclaimed, "it’s just perfect. It's beautiful." I lifted the white orchid from its nest of green tissues. "But how did you know to pick white tonight?" He just shrugged and smiled. "Put it on me, please?" I extended my left arm so he could place it on my wrist. I half expected him to lift my hand and touch it to his lips, but he simply put the corsage on me. It truly was lovely.
I had thought he'd drive his big Mercedes, but I was wrong. His car was big, but he'd neither driven it nor was it a Mercedes. His chauffeur bowed at our approach and tended the door of the huge, antique Rolls Royce.
I lifted my slender dress to my knees. It may not have been a proper, lady-like maneuver, but it was the only way that I could think of to get in. I could see Kurt watching my stockinged ankles and severely arched feet, which I allowed to linger for a moment in his view before pulling them in the car. He waited until I was settled on the cream leather seat before getting in next to me from the other side.
We started down the driveway in silence. It was quiet, because not only had we'd not spoken, but I couldn't even hear the exhaust from the engine and could barely feel the movement.
"This is a very fine motor car," I faked in a British accent.
"I like it, but my Audi tt is much more fun. I see that I made the right decision not to bring it this evening."
"An' 'ow's that, guv?" I was being blonde and not thinking that getting into a low sports car wearing what I was would be nearly impossible. He started to laugh.
"You are nothing but surprises, Jacqui. 'an 'ow's that, guv'?" He imitated and laughed harder. He slid away from me then turned towards me, not saying anything. What made him do that?
"Why did you move away? Is there something wrong with me?" I asked, worried.
"No, no, you are one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen," Kurt replied quickly, "This is the only way that I can see all of you and admire your beauty."
How could I possibly respond to a compliment like that? "Well, when you've seen enough of me, come back over here," I pouted, trying to look very disappointed while I was thinking I that I had come up with a brilliant reply.
"And why would you want me close to you? You wanted nothing to do with me when I first politely asked you to accompany me to dinner, pretty Jacqui?"
He had me there. No, I hadn't! Since he brought it up, however, I saw an opening that might let me use his blackmail to some advantage. "I was very upset and humiliated that you guessed who I was Kurt. And I resent being forced to do anything." That was the truth.
Kurt surprised me by looking remorseful and asking for forgiveness. "I am sorry, Jacqui, I truly am. No one can undo the past, but I am sorry that I hurt you." He gave me a little, embarrassed smile and said, "I would really like to make it up to you. At first, I was fascinated by you because I thought you were a lovely and exotic young woman. When I learned that you were John, I became even more fascinated, although I'm not sure why. I wanted to take you out — away from your mistress' house - to perhaps find out. I hope you believe me when I say it is Jacqui I am interested in. No one else. I see no one else here." He slid close and kissed my cheek.
It was obvious to me that throwing the blackmail in his face wasn't going to accomplish anything. He seemed sincere and honest, traits I had already known about him from when we worked together. I would have to play this relationship differently.
"Did I properly thank you for the corsage?" I kissed him quickly on the lips, "Thank you," then sat back. His grin was totally disarming; he looked like a high school kid who had just been kissed by his favorite girl. In truth neither one of us knew what was going to happen, and I think we were both secretly happy to just sit silently for the rest of the ride, which was only a few more minutes.
Valets tended the doors as soon as his chauffeur had stopped the Rolls at the entrance to the restaurant. I worked hard to make my emergence from the car a memorable event and was rewarded by their reactions. 'Eyes as big as dinner platters' would not have been an exaggeration. I really tingled with pride when the very attractive and affluent people in the lobby fell silent as Kurt escorted me inside on his arm. Then I had a strange thought. All my life I had been an ordinary American male. Now, all of a sudden, I was an exotic Asian woman. I was not really a part of their culture anymore. How interesting! But then I saw another couple, an older man with a very young, very lovely woman, who I was sure had been hired for the occasion. I wondered how many people looked and me thought I was a call girl too.
I don’t know if it was Kurt or the restaurant, but the Maitre d' was a true gentleman, who didn’t have his palm extended as he sat us in the very dark, far corner.
"Please sit there so only I can admire you, Jacqui." Kurt motioned me to the chair that would place my back to the room. "I do not think I wish to share your beauty with the others tonight." His compliment was a bit embarrassing and I flushed slightly, looking down and then back up through my lashes. I had no problem with his request because I really didn't want to see the stares of the other diners and would be better able to relax and concentrate on Kurt without that distraction.
"Will you share champagne or another wine with me this evening?" he asked while scanning through the thick wine list the sommelier had presented.
"No, thank you, Kurt. I had a drinking problem, before I accepted my current position. I really feel much better now that I have dried out. I 'm not going down that path again."
He briefly raised an eyebrow in question, but only said, "Thank you, Jacqui, I feel honored you shared that with me. I will not ask you again to share any alcohol with me." He gave me a small smile.
He conferred briefly with our waiter and I used the time to perform the exercise of uncovering my hands. I could see them both watching me and smiled inside as I tried to be as graceful as possible.
"You would fit well in La Grande Epoch, Jacqui," he chuckled, watching what I was doing.
"My waist isn't small enough ... yet," I countered with a small giggle, "and I forgot my fan tonight," I said, waving my hand in front of my face. He laughed at my reply, which pleased me. I started to relax.
"I see now why you like the music of Strauss. Which of his are your favorites?
"There is one Viennese polka that I really like - Tritsch-Tratsch, or something like that, but I'm not sure of the exact name. It's lively and fun sounding. Whenever I listen to it, I can't help but to picture myself twirling rapidly all around a grand ballroom in an elegant gown with my skirts and petticoats swirling about me. It's my dream to actually do that some day." I'd closed my eyes and let the picture form while the melody came back to me. Nodding my head slightly to the rhythm, I hummed part of it, smiling.
When I opened my eyes and saw Kurt’s curious look, I blushed furiously. I couldn’t believe I had just shared that particular fantasy with him. Almost immediately, John started to feel humiliated and I started to panic. I hadn’t banished him from the evening as effectively as I had thought. My feelings must have shown on my face because Kurt guessed immediately, what was going on in my head.
"Jacqui, give me your hands," he commanded softly. He gently enveloped my hands in his, holding them like you might hold a baby bird, too tight for me to pull away easily, but lightly enough so as not to scare or hurt me. "Now look at me Jacqui. I am here tonight with Jacqui. No one else. You look ravishing. Please relax?"
I could feel the sense of panic start to subside, so I took a couple of slow breaths to help out. I could feel my eyelids flutter a little bit, but I could also feel myself calming down. I closed my eyes again, feeling the nurturing strength in Kurt’s grip.
When I looked up again, Kurt said, "Tell me about your gown."
I took another one of my deep breaths, which to anyone not in a corset would only have been considered shallow, and let my imagination go. "It has a green velvet bodice, heavy, with a taffeta skirt and lots of taffeta petticoats." I went on to describe it in detail.
"Why taffeta?" he asked.
"Because of the frou-frou."
"Frou-frou?"
"The sound. Other fabrics can make it too, but compared to taffeta all the others are weak imitations," I said.
"I'm still do not understand what you mean?"
"It's the rustling," I shrugged, not knowing just how to explain what I was talking about. "At the party, did you hear the soft sounds my petticoats made as I walked?" Kurt nodded. "That sound is frou-frou." His instant smile reflected his understanding.
"Yes, a most delightful sound, especially with the click from your heels as an accompaniment."
"By George, I think you've got it." I giggled.
I ordered a steamed lobster and Kurt the rack of lamb.
"Excellent!" he proclaimed upon tasting his selection. "Do you also like lamb?"
"Yes. The lobster is good too." We started to exchange forkfuls of food when I offered a piece of claw meat for him to taste. I think we each ate more of the others choice then our own when he returned the gesture and I followed it again. By then, John was completely gone and he stayed away for the rest of the night. Jacqui thoroughly enjoyed being treated as a lady by an elegant and cosmopolitan man.
We left the restaurant, arm in arm, giggling at silly jokes.
When we reached the car Kurt said, "Shall I take you dancing? I think I'd like that."
"Another time, perhaps, I must be home before midnight, Kurt."
"You'll be home when I take you there," he countered softly.
"Really, I must get some rest because I have to be on duty at seven o'clock."
"Jacqui, Carla and I have an agreement concerning you." All of a sudden, the reality of my situation came flooding back and my anger started to rise. I flinched. I did not like being forced by a blackmailer any more than I wanted to be manipulated by my 'mistress.'
"Would you rather whip me like your slave until I submit or would you prefer to have me date you willingly? I rather doubt you would like me as Jacqui the slave girl, Kurt." When he stiffened, I felt that I might have gone too far. Until then, our date had been a pleasant one.
We got into the car silently. A chill had definitely descended and was threatening to ruin our evening and the future. I knew I couldn’t let Kurt go home angry, but at the same time, I knew I had to do something to perhaps gain some control over our relationship while putting it on a more solid footing. I knew what I had to do, what any woman in my position would do, but I couldn’t believe that I was about to do it. It was to be a bold move on my part. As soon as he settled into his seat, I turned in mine and leaned over, putting my arms around his neck and moving my face next to his.
I whispered in his ear, "A slave girl might take an opportunity like this to strangle her master, but a girlfriend would want little more than to kiss him." I pressed my lips to his, brushing back and forth over them lightly before coming to rest gently.
Kurt hesitated for a moment, perhaps to see what was going to happen. But then he responded both with his lips and by pulling me closer with his arm. I blocked out everything but the sensations coming from my mouth and body. His lips were dry, but soft, so I tentatively stuck my tongue out and licked them lightly. Then he started to rub with a little more pressure and we kissed with closed lips for a minute while he rubbed my back with one hand and my leg, through the butter-soft leather of my dress, with the other. Then, without even thinking about it, I parted my lips and allowed him in.
He sought out my tongue carefully and tenderly and we spent some tentative moments getting used to each other’s taste and feel. I let out an involuntary sigh, which must have excited and encouraged him, because he became more active and aggressive. His tongue simply took over my mouth and his kiss became my entire consciousness. I had never been kissed like this before. His whole attitude was commanding, but he wasn’t at all threatening. Clearly, he was in charge, but I knew intuitively that he would not go anywhere I didn’t lead him, or at least allow him to go.
When we broke, Kurt held my waist with both his hands so I was a little away from his face.
"Liebling, I think that I would like you as a willing girlfriend and not a slave who I must beat into submission." I moved to rest my cheek on his shoulder then lay still, awaiting his next move.
He surprised me by sitting me up gently again so we could see each other’s faces. "Jacqui, I had no intimate contact with anyone but my wife from the time she and I met until she died." I thought he was saying this as if he regretted it, but when I saw the look of longing on his face, I understood that wasn’t what he meant at all. He had no regrets, he was just telling me about his past. He went on, "I’ve never been with a…"
I just knew he was going to say, ‘man’ and I began to stiffen, but instead he said, "a woman like you."
I was so delighted that he had called me a woman that I quickly relaxed again and laid my head back on his shoulder then reached my gloved hands around his broad chest. It didn’t even occur to me to wonder what ‘a woman like you’ might have meant.
As I did that, Kurt reached up and started to caress my hair and then my neck with the backs of his fingers. It was so different from anything I had experienced before. His touch was assuring, comforting, and enveloping. Women had caressed my head in the past, but they did it differently, never with such confidence, never to comfort, but rather to excite me, tease me in a mildly erotic way. Women had done it to encourage me to be more sexual with them. Kurt was simply letting me know that he valued me and wanted me to feel relaxed.
I sighed contentedly, closed my eyes and reached out to my body with my mind. I could feel one dangly earring hang between my ear and Kurt’s shoulder and the other simply lying against my cheek and neck, I could taste lipstick on my lips and the slight tug of the glue from my false eyelashes. The satin lining of the dress embraced my little breasts, pressing them into my chest and the corset compressed the rest of my torso like a giant, powerful hand. The skirt of my dress was so tight that it almost made me feel like my two legs were one, and for a moment I imagined I was a mermaid. Then I felt the erotic arch my six-inch heels forced upon my feet and I was a sexy woman again. I could smell my perfume, the leather of my dress and Kurt’s own distinct fragrance mixing in my nostrils. There seemed to be little doubt. There was a woman resting her cheek on her man's shoulder.
Even as I tried to burrow in closer to Kurt and enjoy the moment, my mind was restless. Snuggling with a man was strange and forbidden territory. As precious as this moment was, I couldn’t still my mind to savor it. Instead, I began to unravel it by wondering about its implications. What, I wondered to myself, is a woman? At that moment, I was as much of a woman as I had ever been, I looked like one, I acted like one and I was feeling pleased and even a little sexy with a man.
How could I be a woman? I had always thought I wanted to be one and now it looked pretty much like I’d succeeded, but there was just one problem. You see, I wasn’t a woman; I was a man. This was a game; I was masquerading, playing a role.
Or was I? I had always understood that simply looking like a woman wouldn’t make me one. It’s simply not enough. To be a woman, you also had to act like a woman. The only trouble was, I couldn’t imagine just what it meant to act like a woman, except in some stereotypical ways. So there must be something more.
All evening long, Kurt had me feeling delightfully attractive and feminine. He was a strong, confidant man and it was easy to feel like a fragile, desirable woman next to him. Maybe that was it. Being a woman meant you could do things that men couldn’t. A woman didn’t have to be anything in particular, but if she wanted, she could be flirtatious and charming and willing to let the guy take charge; she could be seductive, indirect and reactive, getting what she wanted by convincing the man he wanted to give those things to her. Right now, I thought, a real woman would enjoy the attentions of her man, especially if he was as elegant and handsome as mine.
That thought echoed in my head, 'mine,' 'my man'. And, all of a sudden, I knew exactly what I had to do. It was something that would have appalled and repulsed me only a few weeks ago. Even so, I didn’t feel driven to it by lust or overwhelming need, but the logic of the situation seemed inescapable. So I shifted in my seat so I could lie across Kurt’s lap.
"Kiss me, again" I said, "please?" The sound came up from my throat in a hoarse whisper that sounded full of need. I had no idea my voice could sound like that. Perhaps my body knew something I didn’t. It didn’t matter because Kurt was just perfect. He cradled me in his arms and turned so my back was across his legs. Then, with his hands behind my back, he lifted my upper body so my mouth was raised up to meet his as he looked down at me.
At the last moment, he looked into my eyes and whispered, "Are you sure?"
I hesitated just a second to look into his eyes. Perhaps he was feeling hesitant, or even repulsed. All I found there was gentle concern, and I imagined, a touch of lust. That washed away my inhibitions in a heartbeat and I responded, "Oh yes," the sound again coming from deep within my throat.
This time, I met him with open lips and sought his tongue immediately with my own, drawing both back into my mouth. I simply loved the feeling of being on my back with my lover above me, his tongue in my mouth. We kissed like that for quite some time and I began to squirm in his lap as surprising waves of erotic desire broke into my awareness.
At that moment, I had no name or identity. There was just me, the core of my being kissing another person and being kissed back with great warmth, affection and increasing need. If I could have thought and kissed at the same time, I would have realized that there was no magic switch, which I had to throw to become a woman. I would always be me and I would be a woman by being who I was. I would become Jacqui simply by being Jacqui. She wasn’t so different from John anyway, and at that moment she was a happy young woman.
I was so intent on our kiss that I gasped slightly when Kurt's hand found my breast and began to fondle it through the soft leather that sheathed it like a second skin. The satin lining felt exquisite as it glided breathlessly over my hardened nipple and the sensation caused an involuntary shiver to ripple through my body. Having heard my gasp and then felt the shiver, Kurt misunderstood and started to remove his hand. I quickly brought my hand up to recover his and I pressed it back down onto my breast, keeping my hand on top of it and arching my back to intensify the luscious feelings he was creating in me. When he had picked up the pace again himself, I let my nails softly scratch the back of his hand as I slid it away to drape it again over his shoulder.
I did not want it to stop - I wanted more, and we petted like two high school kids until we reached Carla's house, stopping only after the big Rolls had pulled up into the driveway. We spent a few minutes saying endearing things to each other, and then Kurt reminded me I needed to go to bed. By then, I didn’t want to leave him. I kissed and nibbled at his lips knowing that he would take responsibility and do the right thing. So before too long he was opening the kitchen door for me and giving me a final good night kiss before seeing me safely inside. I was truly a little breathless after I shut the door and leaned back against it, one leg bent back, the sole of my foot resting just above the kick plate. God, is this how a teenage girls feel after their first kiss? It was simply stunning.
The house was strange in its silence. As Melissa had promised, there were no lights in the tower, nor in Ms. Martin's apartment. I went right upstairs to get ready for bed because I had to be up tomorrow morning in any case.
I purposefully concentrated on what I was doing, as I undressed and cleaned my face. I wasn’t yet prepared to think about the evening. It wasn’t until I got into bed that I allowed myself to wonder about what had I done. Surprisingly, the first answer that popped into my mind was, 'I had a good time.' In fact, I had a great time! I was still tingling from Kurt’s attentions and I raised my hand to my breast to try to recreate some of those stomach-turning delights.
Then, as I recalled the feeling of Kurt’s hand on my breast, I became acutely aware that I had, for the first time in my life, willingly engaged in sexual play with a man. My body literally stiffened at the thought and my breath caught in my throat. I quickly drew my hand away from my breast, embarrassed at what I had done and was doing. I could feel my face warm as I flushed in the darkness of my bedroom.
I had never felt any attraction for men, but I couldn’t deny that Kurt had really gotten me turned on once I allowed myself to relax into the moment. I had always assumed I would find being kissed or fondled by a man repulsive, and I had done my best to assure I would never be put in that situation. I was badly confused now, but as I thought back, I had to admit that I hadn’t really been repulsed even when Delveccio, the landscaper, had kissed and fondled me when he was giving me an estimate for the yard work. Maybe…
I wasn’t ready to go there yet. Still, as I lay in bed thinking these thoughts, I knew that I wanted to spend more time with Kurt and would certainly kiss him if he initiated it. In my heart, I knew where that might lead, but I chose not to imagine what it would look or feel like. After all, I rationalized, both Kurt and I were in the same boat, heading into new territory neither one of us had ever navigated before. He might not even want to continue, I thought, after all, he’s not gay and I’m really a man. Then, I was startled to realize that I would be terribly disappointed if that’s how he felt. Oh hell, there would be plenty of time to figure this out.
I turned my thoughts to my chastity belt, tracing my nails around the edges of my horrid personal prison as I'd done so many times since I'd allowed it to be put on. I wondered, yet again, why I was wearing it. What a fool I'd made of myself, actually begging for it. Kurt had found it, of course, while we petted. He lifted his head away from my face, looking at me with questioning eyes. I just shrugged back in response and he let it drop. Would I be asking Kurt to help me get it off one of these days soon? I didn’t want to think about that either. I eventually fell asleep with my hand over my steel encased crotch.
I arose Saturday at the regular time, put on my uniform and groomed myself as required. I was enjoying my false eyelashes and had left them on last night. They were still in place in the morning and I was delighted with my eyes. Too bad no one would see them, I sighed. Melissa’s bed was still empty. Before I started Ms. Martin's coffee and breakfast, I checked to see if she was home. She wasn’t. I took the little time required to do all of the chores then retired to our quarters, intending to stay there for the rest of the day.
Ms. Martin returned about three o'clock and found me at the computer.
"Hello, Jacqui," she smiled when I'd stood and curtseyed. After I returned her greeting she said, "May I sit and talk for a moment? How are you doing? How did things go last night?" her tone was inviting and, after everything that had happened the previous night, I really wanted to talk, but I was still wary of her.
"The evening went very well. Kurt is a real gentleman. Thank you for inquiring, mum."
"Oh, sit down and relax, please? I really don’t want to play games. In fact, I came up here to tell you that I'm quite pleased with your performance and the way things are going. You have adapted well, far exceeding my expectations."
"Well, that makes me feel ever so much better, mum. I have never wanted anything but to please you. You must be very happy that I’m adapting to your sleeping around."
She started to get angry, rising out of her seat for a moment, but she quickly settled back down and instead simply looked at me with more than a bit of frustration. I hadn’t meant to be so caustic; it had just slipped out. You know what? I didn’t care. A little honesty couldn’t possibly hurt our relationship now.
Carla composed herself and went on as if I hadn’t said anything at all. "Tell me how you'd like to change your position, Jacqui?"
That, caught me by surprise, I hadn’t thought she was going to allow anything to change.
"Well, I'd really like to get out of my chastity belt sometimes, mum. It’s uncomfortable and humiliating." Her response was just a small smile. I took it as condescending and started to get angry. Was she humiliating me on purpose?
"Anything else?" I gave her a sour look, she was just blowing me off, but what the hell, by now I’d thought of a couple of things; might as well start with the least likely.
"Yes, mum. It's very embarrassing to have others recognize me as John." Her brow furrowed. "As long as I'm in this role, I'd like it very much if I could change my appearance enough so that didn't happen anymore. I know it will only be until late August, but I really don’t want anyone else to know who I really am."
"Late August?" She gave me a questioning look. "Ah, yes - the three month trial you agreed to. Think a moment, do you really want to change back to what you used to be?"
Did I? I wasn't so sure. My old job at our company had evolved into something that was not fun. It was flat hard work and stressful as hell. The sad fact was that I hadn’t been doing it very well either. Now that I had been a maid for six weeks, without any of that pressure, I was starting to enjoy my life. Did I really want the personnel problems I had to deal with almost daily? Did I want to kiss some customer's ass, just to keep his business? There were a hundred ‘did I’s’ to consider, but, before I could get to any more of them, Carla made my internal debate moot.
"There's a problem with terminating this," she gestured at my uniform, "that I’m afraid we hadn’t considered, Jacqui."
I looked at her. "What?"
"Your boyfriend. I spoke with him on my cell phone while driving home."
"You what…? How dare you?" God Damnit! I felt violated! She'd no right to call Kurt to check on my performance!
"Be quiet and listen!" she barked, before settling herself again.
"I called to try to talk him out of the threats he made to force you to date him. I don't like blackmail and I'm sure you feel the same way. I know that you aren't gay and have no interest in men. Whatever else you may think of me, there's no way that I'm forcing you to date him or any other man, Jacqui. My call was to try and explain and get Kurt to back off and leave you alone." I wrinkled my lip, waiting to hear what the outcome of her call had been.
"Apparently, you made a very big impression on him," she smiled. "You were the perfect date last night. He wants to see you a lot more. Instead of withdrawing his promise of exposing you in public and taking his company's business elsewhere, Kurt has upped the ante." My stomach churned.
"I'm to make you available whenever he wants to be with you."
"Don't I have any say in this - dating him or not?" I had forgotten about the good time I had last night and how luscious it was to be in Kurt’s arms. All of a sudden, I was John again and reacting the same way I always had when someone tried to force me to do something. I resisted instinctively, but now I was feeling desperate. I felt trapped and I was getting anxious, just like I always had in similar situations. It was a response that had helped keep me out of trouble when I was a CEO, but now…
"You know the answer to that."
"I did tell him that by the end of August you were no longer going to be in this position." She paused to stare at me, expressing concern with her eyes. "Jacqui, the choice, still is yours. You may feel as if you don’t have any options, but you do."
"Like what?" I cried, my voice rising in desperation.
"You could remain here in your current role or you could disappear."
"Why can't we just tell him to fuck off and let him just do as he threatens? I'll stand up and take it and there are other customers we can find.
"Mind your tongue, girl!"
"Oh give me a break, Carla, I’m not your fucking ‘girl’. I’m sick of your condescending crap. You have me locked up," I gestured at my groin, but when I looked down and saw the lacey white apron that covered it, I grimaced then looked back at her with distaste, "and you fuck anything you can drag into bed. You have no right to talk to me like that unless I agree to it."
She took a deep breath and calmed herself. That was something else I couldn’t do - take a deep breath. "There’s another factor in this, Toni. As you might expect, she's my assistant now. If you return to work as John, she'll probably inform everyone there and all of our customers. Toni likes you as Jacqui."
This was an entirely new twist. "Just fire her!" Now I was frantic and almost in tears.
"You know what would happen then." Carla came over, grabbed me and hugged me tightly. That loosed my tears.
"We'll work something out," she said as she comforted me.
Despite my tears, I laughed. "Yeah sure. Like it really matters to your life, what happens to me."
"Jacqui, I do care!" she protested, pushing me away with both hands so she could see my face. "Listen to me, this is very important. Sit down." She led me back to my seat and set me on it, very deliberately. I pulled my legs back under me and crossed my ankles without even thinking about it. Then she turned around and walked to the middle of the room with her head down, like a lawyer getting ready to make her closing argument to the jury. For just a second, the afternoon light lit up her curly hair into a glossy dark halo. Then she turned to me, stared into my eyes for a moment and began.
"Jacqui. I did not enter into this experiment to torment you and you know that. In fact, you’ve agreed to everything and, despite all your complaining, you have not asked to have your chastity belt removed."
Wait, I thought to myself, you told me that if I asked to have it removed, that would be the end of everything. I started to stand up to protest. Before I could get a word out, she stopped me.
"Just sit down and listen to me." Her expression was hard, so I sat. "I told you why you are locked up," she spat out, "It’s to see if you really are Jacqui." She had softened and by the time she said the word ‘Jacqui’, it came out like a warm caress. She went on in that tone. "If you are a transsexual, as I now believe, then living like a woman should mean a lot more to you than simply indulging in a selfish sexual fetish. That’s why you are wearing a chastity belt. It was to give you time to explore your femininity without interference from your dick." She nodded down between my legs.
She was right, I couldn’t really object, and she looked so intense now, that I would have been scared to even if I wanted to. "And just because I’m trying to discover if I can like sex with someone other than John, doesn’t mean I don’t care for you, Jacqui. You have been my whole life for nearly ten years now. I care for you deeply and you were on the verge of destroying yourself, my business and our relationship. I had to do something." She gave me the most pleading look. I had to believe her.
"This whole thing isn’t easy for me either you know? I’ve had to watch my husband blossom as a woman. I don’t know whether to be happy or sad that it’s happening. And … on top of everything else, I’m running the company by myself now. Things are very stressful for me - I can handle that, but I’m confused about what’s going on here and don’t always make the right decisions. I need some relief too."
She plopped down onto her chair and we sat there, across from each other, silent. I didn’t know what to say. She was right about the most important things. I now thought of myself as Jacqui and when I thought of John, he was only in the past. Carla was losing her husband. If that was true, did I have any right to object to her getting sex where she could?
"How about a little treat for you?" she offered.
"Why don't you get yourself together and be dressed all pretty for me by six. We'll go out for dinner, just the two of us, and anything else you'd like to do tonight."
Despite the sorry mood I was in, I had managed to stop crying. My tears would do me no good and neither would declining her offer to go out. I could stay in the maids’ quarters and sulk, or I could divert my attention with something better. I'd had a good time the evening before, even though I hadn’t expected to, and I’d make the best of this one too. I started to get ready to go out.
During one of my breaks, I'd re-sewn my cheongsam to again form fit my torso by hand. That’s what I had on when I went down to the kitchen. Carla arrived just a few moments later and looked me over. "That's my girl. Lookin' good Jacqui," she smiled at me warmly.
"Ready?"
She drove and I sat next to her in front.
When I declined a drink before dinner, she questioned me about it.
"Jacqui, it's OK, you've my permission," she offered.
"No thank you, mum. I do not drink now and doubt I will in the future. I feel better without it. I really don't want any alcohol." She smiled.
"You really have changed, Jacqui. That’s wonderful. At least we achieved one of our goals." I just nodded, but did realized I was very happy about that and started to feel some gratitude to Carla. I really hadn’t realized what bad shape I had been in until I could look back at it.
She went on, "Earlier, you said the one thing that bothered you the most was being recognized." That wasn't quite what I said, but she obviously wasn't going to discuss my steel panties. "What would you think of changing your face a little?
"Such as, mum?"
"Make you look a little more Chinese around your eyes and perhaps give you a smaller chin. It wouldn't be anything major, you understand, but it should help keep others from being suspicious about who you remind them of." It was an interesting suggestion, but also a frightening one.
"But what would I do when I'm John again? Those things are rather permanent." I said dryly, pointing out the obvious to her. The truth was, however, I had begun to believe that I would never see that day and wouldn't want to.
"I don't think I'd want any surgery for you that was too drastic. Without makeup, you could still pass as a man," she argued.
I started to roll my eyes at her bullshit, but then all of a sudden I realized what she had said, 'Pass as a man!' I almost shouted. "Carla, dear," I said, trying to contain my sarcasm just a little, "don’t try to sell me on something you want me to do by trying to pretend I want it too. I haven’t gotten stupid just because I’m now your maid and asked you to imprison me in the fucking chastity belt that is now digging into my thighs."
She looked a little shame-faced, so I took the opening, "Oh, had you forgotten about that little thing? How curious?" By now, there was no hiding my contempt and my words dripped with sarcasm. I went on before she could interrupt.
"You and I both know that if I have surgery, it will mark the end of John. Are you so eager to have that happen that you’d try to mislead me just to get me to agree, like you did with the chastity belt?" Despite our earlier conversation, I just couldn’t let go of my anger over the belt.
This time, she jumped in when I paused, "Oh, Jacqui, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to trick you, I was just trying to find a way to make all this easier for you. I know how fast things have changed and how terribly difficult all this must be for you." She looked at me with real compassion on her face and I began to soften. Did I really believe she was trying to trick me? I just didn’t know and shook my head in regret.
I didn’t have anything to say though, so she went on after making sure she wasn’t cutting me off. "But I must say yet again, Jacqui. I did not trick you into wearing that chastity belt and, however much you must hate it, you can’t blame me because you have it on.
I snapped right back at her, "That’s only half true, Carla, and you know it." I took a big, well as big as I could, breath to calm myself. I didn’t want to attack her. I went on more softly, my voice was tinged with regret.
"You set the situation up so I couldn’t refuse putting it on in the first place and then I was compelled to keep it on or leave. Whatever your reasons, however justifiable they might be, don’t you ever imagine, for even a moment, that I want to be in this thing. I'm sure I could have learned whether I am Jacqui without the belt. It would have been a different path, that's all." I had a very sour look on my face, but I was caved in onto myself, with my head down, my shoulders hunched and my hands folded carefully in my lap. I felt very small and frail.
She looked at me with her lips pursed, her head cocked and her dark curls cascading down one shoulder. Then she flicked her head to throw her hair behind her and with blinding insight said, "You’re Jacqui aren’t you? John’s just a memory… isn’t he? I know it’s a big step, but maybe now is the time to take it. Or… I’m not sure, maybe you did already; have you?"
I shook my head no, but without any conviction. She had looked into my heart and somehow seen it all. I felt I had no alternative, but to follow her. "I’m scared," I whispered. "I’m scared to be Jacqui, but I’m scared to be John again too. I don’t know who either one of them is." I still hadn't looked up.
Carla reached out to me with her hands, holding them in front of me until I took mine from my lap and laid them in hers. My pearly-pink nails glistened palely in the light of the lone candle that illuminated our table. Before we could say anything else, the waiter came with our drinks. Carla had a glass of wine - I had a Virgin Mary. I giggled when I saw it.
"What?" Jacqui said when he had left. "What's funny?"
I finally looked her in the face and giggled again. "I'm laughing," I said, "because I remembered the night you took Melissa and me to dinner and ordered me a Shirley Temple. I was so furious."
Carla laughed along with me, and then said, "That seems so long ago, doesn't it?" I nodded my agreement. "But," she went on, "it was John who felt humiliated and got furious and you're not really John anymore."
"It doesn't matter," I said. "Having you order a Shirley Temple would embarrass me too!" Carla's eyes widened for a moment and then a small smile found its way onto her face. As we looked at each other, we both realized that I had admitted that I was Jacqui, even though I hadn't said it in so many words.
We talked throughout dinner and, before dessert, I was sure, in my heart of hearts, even though I had not said it, that I would be Jacqui from then on. The only question left then, although it was a big one, was just who this Jacqui would be. What kind of a girl was I?
After dinner, Carla raised the topic of surgery again. "So aside from your face, are there any other changes you’d like to see? She stared straight at my chest. I blushed beet red.
"Yes," I squeaked out, my voice showing my embarrassment as clearly as my face, "One thing I'd like, if I ever had surgery, would be to have my breasts fill a C cup."
She giggled, "Yes, they would be a little nicer at that size. The First Girl even asked if that could be possible someday. Apparently she likes playing 'with her toys'."
"Hers are already at least that big," I said, missing her point completely.
"Not hers, silly, yours." I couldn't help but giggle too. "You'd look more alike then too.
"Why don't you think about it, Jacqui?" She dropped the subject.
Despite the troubled conversation that began our meal, we had a relaxing time out together. I was feeling better disposed towards Carla by the time we left the restaurant. I wasn’t upset at all when the topic of changing my appearance came up again.
"Next time you see your boyfriend, why don't you sound him out about how he'd feel if you looked more like a China Doll? If he agrees, see if you can talk him into paying for it."
"Paying for it?" I asked. "Why would he possibly agree do that?" I couldn't think of any reason why Kurt should or would.
"Maybe you can threaten him with some blackmail too; suppose all of his employees knew he was dating a chick with a dick? Worse still, suppose his customers did? Try it and see.
"By the way, he wants you next Saturday and will pick you up about nine in the morning. He's taking you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, so dress accordingly."
"Just like that?" My immediate response was to be resentful. I hated having no say in any of this, but as soon as I started to tell her that, I realized how stupid it would sound. Kurt wanted to take me out; I wanted him to. What the hell was I bitching about? I was upset because he had not asked me, but arranged it instead with my boss. Oh hell, I thought, that was John’s problem, not mine. Jacqui may not have that much say in how she led her life, but she did have a date she had been hoping for. That was good! It also sounded very brave, I thought. I hoped I was up to it.
As I was settling down again, Carla delivered her own coup de grace, "Jacqui, you discuss it with your boyfriend, not me. I don't like being an intermediary between the two of you. I am your employer, not your mother." She giggled, "If it helps some, I don't consider your dates as your day off. You are still entitled to those."
"Thank you, mum."
Melissa came back mid Sunday morning. She'd gone to visit friends and finish closing her apartment in Philadelphia. As I helped unload her things and bring them to our quarters, I couldn't help but notice that she wasn't wearing her chastity belt under her light pink shorts.
"You gain your freedom from your belt?" I was a bit snide. I resented that she was free from it.
"My agreement with Ms. Martin is that I must be locked up here, with you. On my free time, it is my option to be belted or not, but I have to give a day's notice if I want it off, Jacqui. If it helps you any, this was the first time I had it off since you closed the lock. And, you get to do that again right now."
At least, she'd explained it and that really helped me to accept it. Once I had locked her sex away, Melissa offered to help me out of my corset so I could take a nice hot bath.
Nothing exciting happened during the following week. We did our chores and had our free time. I tended my gardens, finished embroidering our names on all of our uniforms and sewed, taking in the waists on all my older clothes.
Among the things that the First Girl had brought back from Philadelphia was her sewing machine. I was told that I could use it whenever I wanted to and my first priority was to alter my regular wardrobe so I again could wear my clothes again.
End of Part V
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part VI - Falling in Love ~ Betrayal
But isn't surgery a drastic step? It would mean the end of John. . .
"You're a maid, Jacqui. You will find your social life among similarly placed people.
_______________________________________________________________
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part VI - Falling in Love ~ Betrayal
Saturday, Melissa helped me dress in a white, silky blouse and my light green summer suit. She stopped me from putting on my low-heeled white pumps though.
"Pick either your white platforms or the lace-up heels that you wear with your day uniforms, Jacqui."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because a girl looks sexier in high heels and because I told you to."
Here we go again, I thought. I knew that any time the First Girl told me to do something while we were working, there was no point in arguing. Both she and 'Ms. Martin' made it clear that I was expected to do what I'd been told. Why was she intruding into my private time as well? Did she want to prevent me from having a comfortable day without heels? I just didn't get her sometimes.
The problem was, Melissa had promised to punish me if I disobeyed. So far, I'd avoided any punishments, I didn’t want to learn if she really would punish me, or how she might carry that punishment out. I didn't fight with myself over it, selecting my lace-up heels as the least objectionable alternative.
I greeted Kurt with a curtsey and small kiss on his cheek when he got out of his car.
"Good morning, Kurt."
"Hello, Jacqui. You look nice this morning."
Kurt had his cute little Audi, which I knew was a hot machine, and, as low as it was to the ground, I was glad my skirt was almost knee length and not any longer. Getting in gracefully was difficult enough without that encumbrance.
Kurt asked about my week while we drove towards Manhattan. He asked more about me in general, repeating some of the questions I'd already answered: what were my likes and dislikes in food, my tastes in clothes, the things I watched on TV, my hobbies, etc. and seemed to take an interest in everything I told him.
"I know a really great sushi bar near here," he said after he'd parked and we walked, hand in hand, up Fifth Avenue. "We might have lunch there before going to the Met?"
"I've never eaten raw fish and seaweed before, but I'm willing to give it a try. So many people seem to think it's great," I said trying to sound as enthusiastic as I could. Then I had an idea. "You will order for me, won't you Kurt," I bubbled, looking up and tilting my head flirtatiously. I even added a hopeful smile.
He looked at me a little dubiously at first, trying to see if I was putting him on, but when I managed to hold my hopeful smile, even adding a few bats of my eyelashes, he laughed, patted my derriere and said, "Yes little one, of course I will. Kurt will take care of you, do not worry."
Of course, I followed all of Kurt's suggestions and the food was really scrumptious. Those tiny slivers of fish didn't have that much flavor, but he told me to pay attention to the various textures and subtle nuances of these little delicacies and I had a great time. Once we had finished and were sipping hot green tea, I broached the subject of cosmetic surgery.
"Thinking about it and looking at you, I do think surgery could make you look exquisite, Jacqui. And, if you want to keep your secret, surgery would definitely do the trick, but isn't surgery a drastic step? It would mean the end of John, wouldn't it? Are you sure you're ready for that? After the conversation with Carla, I was almost certain that John was not what I really wanted in my life.
We continued to discuss my options as we left the restaurant and walked along Fifth Avenue. Kurt had taken my hand when we'd left the restaurant and although I never thought of pulling away, it still took me a few minutes to begin to enjoy it. Before I could, I had to convince myself that no one would figure out I was really a guy. When I told Kurt of my fears, he just laughed gently.
"Jacqui, my dear, sweet, Fraeulein," he said, as if talking to a six-year old, "no one will figure out anything unless you decide to pull your skirt up and pee against a tree."
This made me giggle and Kurt laughed along with me. After that, I grabbed his arm and put it around my shoulder. I was feeling very affectionate towards Kurt and wanted to be close to him.
As we walked on, eventually sitting on one of the many benches along 5th Avenue, I recounted my conversation with Carla, and how I felt about it all. The longer we talked, the more convinced I became that John was in my past and that Jacqui was not just my present, but my future. Although I still wasn't a hundred per cent confident about my decision, I felt good about it and certainly wanted to explore my options.
Kurt was clearly excited by the idea that I wanted to be Jacqui and immediately offered to help. "I've a good friend who is one of the best plastic surgeons in the city. Should we find out if he'll see you to discuss it?" he asked. I said 'yes', but never expected that he'd take out his cell phone and do it right then.
We never went to the museum that afternoon. Instead we walked the seven blocks to his friend, Doctor Abraham Tobias' building then up two flights of stairs to his office. Doctor Tobias greeted us at the door.
"Come in, come in, my good friend." They hugged and kissed in the European fashion.
"Toby, this is the girl I told you about over the phone.
"Jacqui, you know I don't even know your last name? Jacqui, this is Abraham Tobias." The man was short, five foot three, if he stretched, and he appeared to be about seventy.
We went into a room that was more like a photography studio than any doctor's office I'd ever been in before. There, Dr. Tobias photographed my head from all conceivable angles and, once he finished with that, he asked me to remove my jacket and blouse so he could, ‘shoot’ my breasts.
Kurt hadn't yet seen them, although he had played with them, so I was only a little embarrassed to have him watch me undress. After all the pictures had been taken, Dr. Tobias took some blood and then asked me to meet him in his office once I was dressed. Several minutes later, I knocked gently on the open door and walked into his office, curtseying reflexively when they both looked up. That ended the quiet conversation they'd been having.
"The monitor on the left is the original you, Jacqui " Doctor Tobias began. "On the right one I'll manipulate the image so you can decide what you might like."
We played with the computer for an hour before I settled on what I thought was just enough of a change to my eyes, mouth and cheeks. A few more simple clicks and my breasts looked perfect to me.
"How much will all of this cost doctor?" I asked. He didn't answer me, instead he glanced over to Kurt.
"Do not concern yourself, my little maid. Let this be my gift of beauty to the world." Was he serious? I don't know what a Manhattan plastic surgeon charges for the procedures we had discussed, but guessed that they were well over twenty-five thousand dollars, if not twice that or more! There went my blackmail hold on Kurt.
"Tell me, Toby," he said with a big smile, "are gifts of art tax deductible?" I giggled as they had a good laugh.
"Being as it is Saturday, Kurt, I'll have to wait until Monday to see when a bed and the OR will be available. I'll call you," the doctor said.
"How long will I have to stay in the hospital?" I asked.
"Two or three days, Jacqui." Doctor Tobias explained, "I like to perform surgery early in the morning then you will need to recover from the anesthesia. I'd like you to stay that night, at least, to assure that there are no complications."
Kurt took me shopping along Fifth Avenue, but I was so focused on the possibility of plastic surgery, being both thrilled and terrified, that my heart wasn't in it and I didn't find anything I wanted. I even tried on a few slinky cocktail dresses at a fabulous boutique, but Kurt too agreed they really weren't me when I modeled them for him. He did however, insist that I buy a pair of shoes that better matched my suit, so I ended up with an elegant pair of green pumps with only a three-inch heel. After all the time I'd spent in my heels, the lower heels alone would have made the ridiculously expensive price worth it.
"I know!" he exclaimed, once we were back on the street. "We will drive down to Chinatown, Jacqui. Perhaps we'll find something interesting in the shops there." We did. Despite being distracted, I fell in love with several cheongsams and three blouses, also in a Chinese style. Kurt insisted on buying all of them for me and convinced me to change into a jade green one that looked like it had been designed specifically for my shoes. All of the Chinese shopkeepers treated me like royalty, but it was in the restaurant he selected where all of the help acted as if I was the Empress of All China. With them behaving toward me in the manner they did, I really began to look forward to my new face.
I was actually rather disappointed when we arrived in my driveway; I would have preferred to spend more time with Kurt. The worst part was that his car was so small, I couldn't quite imagine how we would find a way to turn to kiss each other. But I did want to kiss him, first to say thank you, he had treated me today like I was the most important person he had ever met, but I wanted to see if I could do it, if I could enjoy it.
Throwing caution to the winds, I finally got up on my knees and leaned over the center console, essentially falling onto him, holding my arms around his neck while we kissed and fondled each other. This time I didn't hesitate at all to kiss him and I opened my mouth hungrily to let him in.
Even with that aggressive start on my part, John managed to break into my thoughts and it took me a little time to bury my fears and get rid of that annoying little fellow, who was obviously rather appalled by what he was involved in. As I concentrated on Kurt's lips, running my hands through his thick hair and twisting my tongue with his, John just disappeared. I didn't notice when it happened, but only realized he had left when we came up for air at one point.
Somehow, I had ended up in Kurt's lap, squashed between him and the steering wheel, my back against the driver-side door. As I lay there in Kurt's strong arms, catching my breath and just feeling dreamy, I all of a sudden realized that John was no where to be found. There was just me, Jacqui, kissing a man who I happened to adore, although for the life of me, I couldn't figure out where that feeling was coming from. I had never felt like that towards anyone before.
When he let me in the door, about thirty minutes after we had pulled into the driveway, and just before we became paralyzed by the awkward postures we had been forced to endure, I was more convinced than ever that I was Jacqui. So just before he shut the door, I said to him, "Bring a bigger car next time." Somehow, without even thinking about it, I winked! Kurt laughed, obviously tickled by my flirtatious behavior, while I stood there with my hand over my mouth, surprised as hell.
*****
"Jacqui, it's for you," Melissa called after answering the phone a few weeks after our date. She covered the mouthpiece before handing it to me. "It's your boyfriend."
Boyfriend indeed! Kurt and I had seen each other several more times over the last couple of weeks and I enjoyed each date more than the last. It wasn't just that I had gotten to get out of the house, or that I had my own man, which I know really annoyed Carla, but I had grown increasingly fond of Kurt. In fact, it was fair to say that I had a crush on him; a very serious case of infatuation, at least. I was surprised to see I could feel such emotions. I almost ran to get the phone from Melissa.
"Hello, Kurt. How are you this morning?" I said in my most flirty way.
"Ach, I have most unpleasant news of my uncle, Jacqui. So much is happening too fast. I must go to Germany; he is dying."
I was horrified; Kurt was going away? I couldn't say that. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about your uncle, Kurt. When are you going?" Will I get to see you before you leave?" I hoped that wasn't too forward, but I couldn't stop myself from saying it.
"Ach, I'm sorry, liebling, I must leave today."
I selfishly thought of our date on Friday, but I at least managed not to mention this to him.
"Toby called," he said, "Doctor Tobias. His surgery for tomorrow was canceled. Pack a small bag and Henry will take you to the hospital. Be ready at three o'clock."
"But..." Kurt interrupted me.
"I have already discussed the matter with Carla. You are to go to the hospital and even though there will only be a few minor modifications to your face, you will be a very pretty China Doll indeed when I return."
"When will that be, Kurt?"
"I do not know. I will telephone you. I'm in a terrible hurry. I must leave now or I will miss my departure. Good-bye, Jacqui. I will miss you terribly."
"I'll miss you too, Kurt."
"Bye, bye Fraeulein Jacqui. When I see you next, you will be gorgeous." Kurt hung up before I could say anything more.
"What's the matter?" Melissa asked when I replaced the phone. I explained it to her and started to go to our quarters.
"You don't seem very happy. I thought you wanted the face change so no one recognized you again?"
"I do," I confirmed. "Kurt promised to talk with Ca… umm, Ms. Martin and get the key so I didn't have to be embarrassed by the nurses seeing that I'm wearing this damn steel belt. He promised to be there too! I said resentfully. "And what am I going to do about my corset?" Melissa had no better solutions to these problems than I did.
After packing a bag for the few days I'd be in the hospital, I resumed my chores to help divert my attention and not think about what was going to happen.
I'd changed into a white cheongsam and seeing the Rolls pull up by the garage, I went to Melissa to tell her I was leaving.
"Everything will be just fine. I'm sure," she said, giving me a lingering kiss on the lips. Since I had started seeing Kurt, we hadn't been spending as much time in bed together as in the past. "I'm sure you will come out gorgeous. I'll probably be jealous." She gave me a very endearing smile.
"I wish I felt the same," I replied. "I wish Carla was here." I was scared and dispirited. I couldn't believe no one would be with me at the hospital. I started to get butterflies in my stomach, but I managed a wan smile. "I guess I'll see you in a couple of days. I'll call if that changes, Melissa." We hugged and kissed goodbye.
"Hello, Henry." I curtseyed as artfully as I could to his bow, tilting my head a little and smiling up at him flirtatiously. "Oh! You brought the Rolls, you are a sweetheart." I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. I had become rather fond of Henry over the last few weeks. He was a perfect gentleman and genuinely seemed to like me, perhaps because I had brought some joy back into Kurt's life. I didn't know what he knew about my sexuality.
"Good afternoon, Jacqui." He took my small bag with a slight blush then opened the back door for me with a flourish, flashing me a big smile in return for my kiss. I was seated in back of the large Rolls. It would have been much nicer to sit in front with Henry just to have someone to talk to during the ride, but that wasn't an option because this antique didn't even have another seat up front, just a space for baggage that wouldn't fit in the ‘boot’.
At least Henry came inside the hospital with me and carried my bag. He stayed with me until I was in the private room Kurt had reserved for my stay. Knowing I wouldn't have to deal with a roommate brightened my mood considerably.
"Will there be anything else I can do for you, Jacqui?" I wrinkled my lip before daring to ask. I needed help from someone and at least Henry wasn't a complete stranger.
"Would it be too much to ask you to loosen my corset it so I'll be able to take it off prior to my operation, please?"
"No, not at all." Henry had the aplomb of a classic English butler. "If you like, I'll take it off entirely."
"Oh, no thank you Henry, I prefer to wear it."
He gave me a quizzical look, so I said, "Really, I do. At first, I hated it, then I liked the way it made me look, and then I started to find its feel comforting. Now, I'm afraid I'd collapse like a jelly fish if I took it off entirely," I giggled.
He cocked an eyebrow at me, but his calm expression didn't change, not even when my breasts and chastity belt were exposed after he'd opened the frogs down the right side of my dress. I stood still, while he undid the knots then started to loosen the laces.
"Let them out about two inches, please? Try to keep an even gap from top to bottom," I asked. With the corset that loose, I'd be able to remove it easily the next morning.
"Thank you, Henry. I greatly appreciate your help."
"It was my pleasure to assist. Will there be anything else?"
"No, I can manage. Thank you." I curtseyed.
"I shall see you tomorrow then." He bowed.
"Tomorrow?" I didn't understand.
"Mr. Mark has requested that I assure that all is satisfactory and to see to any of your needs during your stay here."
That was a pleasant surprise. I gave him my biggest smile.
"This is my cell phone number. Please call at any time if there is anything you wish, Jacqui." I took the card from him. I'd never before encountered a driver who had a business card. "I will be nearby," he said as I examined it. Once I looked back at him, Henry bowed to me and left the room.
It was so thoughtful of Kurt to do that for me. Despite the way he had forced me to date him originally, he really was a dear man and had never once taken advantage of me or acted in any way that would lead me to think he wasn't a perfect gentleman. I giggled to myself as I realized he was every T-girl's dream date: handsome, well-mannered and commandingly male. He filled the role of a man so perfectly, it was impossible not to be a woman with him.
I flushed slightly when I realized that he didn't actually make me feel like a woman. He made me feel like a schoolgirl with her first ever crush. Being with Kurt was feminizing me faster than anything Carla had even dreamed of. If she had understood his power, she probably would have thrown me at him the first day I had become her maid.
Yes, with Kurt I was a girl. I didn't just look like one, I was one, responding to his male strength with female acquiescence. It was more than just that though. Kurt allowed me to have the power of a woman, the kind that doesn't depend on physical strength or overt demonstrations of macho confidence. Kurt responded to my affection and my silly flirting and my needs as if I were a valuable person and not just a possession or ornament. I just loved the way it made me feel. I loved the way he made me feel, and I loved him for making me feel that way.
I could only laugh at myself and shake my head ruefully as I recalled my previous fear of dating men. The very thought of it had repulsed me, and I had been just positive that it would be horrible. Now I knew I'd been totally wrong. Dating Kurt was fun, and I had really come to enjoy the intimacies we shared. Being kissed and caressed by Kurt excited me, and I just adored being held in his strong arms as I snuggled up against his broad chest. Did this make me gay? Had that been why I was so homophobic, because I knew that all along? Or, was I just behaving like a normal girl?
I was watching the news after supper when Doctor Tobias came in.
"How are you feeling, Jacqui?" he asked.
"Nervous, but otherwise I'm just fine."
"Please open your nightshirt for me and lie on your back," Doctor Tobias asked.
He frowned with disapproval when he saw my chastity belt. I don't think he liked the corset either.
"I won't be wearing my corset in the morning," I offered, to ease what I imagined was his concern.
"I would have insisted," he replied, smiling, while his soft hands examined my breasts in detail before wandering all over my face, exploring every millimeter with great care. Once he had finished his examination, he explained what I should expect when I awoke.
"Your breasts will be sore and probably feel hot. Your face will be very sore and probably itch terribly. Of course, there will be dressings covering the incisions and your head will be tightly bandaged for the first couple of days to minimize the swelling, Jacqui. I want you to avoid scratching or rubbing. If you can't do that, I'm afraid you'll have to be restrained to keep you from hurting yourself.
As I’ll be altering your eyes, the bandages are going to cover them too. You won't be able to see until it's safe to remove those bandages.
"We will change your dressings as needed, and then once more before you leave. I want them to stay on until I see you in my office a week from Monday. When they are removed," he smiled, "you'll think that I am not Doctor Tobias, but that my name is really Dr. Frankenstein.
"There will be much bruising and many hematomas and you are going to look awful. It will be several weeks before you see how really beautiful you are, Jacqui."
"Pretty bad, huh?" I joked and forced a smile.
"Yes," he honestly admitted.
"Now I want you to sleep. I'll have the nurse give you something." He closed my nightie and I started to button it.
"Use the toilet and be in bed when she comes.
"I'll see you tomorrow right before we start." He moved to the door, smiled at me and left.
Whatever the little pill was the nurse gave me, it was fast and effective. Early in the morning, I was awakened by another nurse.
"Please get undressed and put this on, honey." There was no warmth in her demeanor. She was all business. "I'll be back in five minutes and do not drink anything, not even a sip of water.
"Swallow this, it's an antibiotic," she offered me a small pill and a tiny amount of water. "Hop up here, hon," she said, slapping the top of the gurney that two sleepy looking men pushed into my room. As I climbed on, the sheet covering me slipped. There was no hiding my chastity belt.
They didn't attempt to conceal their amusement over my predicament. "Well, look at you," one laughed. "Your man lock that on you?"
"Keep her from fuckin' around," offered the other. "He sure knows how to keep her under control." The nurse shushed them instantly and I scrambled up on the stretcher, where she hurriedly covered me with a sheet. Still, I felt embarrassed all the way into the operating room.
No one had warned me how very cold I'd be and how terribly dry my mouth would feel as I gradually awoke. I also hadn't been told that there would be a tube down my throat and that I'd have one up each nostril as well. I sensed that I still had an IV in my arm.
I was very sore, I burned and I itched something awfully. It took all of my will power not to rub my breasts and face.
"Good, you're awake," the nurse said. "No, don't even try to speak. Everything went well. Your doctor is very pleased. Unable to see, I hadn't realized that anyone was nearby.
A while later, I don't really know how long, she said, "Want to go to your room?" Not even waiting for an answer, she wheeled me back and along with another nurse helped me into bed.
Thankfully, the injection the nurse gave me as soon as I was settled made me sleep and I awoke only the following morning, I guessed. At least I was no longer cold, but was still extremely thirsty and sore. Fighting not to scratch, I just lay still and tried to think of happy thoughts.
Doctor Tobias finally came in several hours later.
"Feeling OK, Jacqui?" He greeted me warmly, but what a stupid question! I shook my head 'no!'
"Well, perhaps I can make you more comfortable. We will change some of your bandages and have a look at how things are going." I nodded my understanding. There were burning sensations emanating throughout my breasts even though they remained covered by supporting bandages. I already knew the actual incisions were in my armpits and Dr. Tobias examined them gingerly.
"So far, so good, Jacqui." He then carefully undid a few of the bandages covering my head and face.
"I'm going to give you a mild muscle relaxant to reduce your gag reflex." A small syringe pricked my neck. "Give that a couple of minutes, Jacqui, then I'll remove the tubes.
"This is very important. You are not to even try to talk for at least the next ten days so that you can heal properly." What? Why not? He answered my unspoken questions. "We performed the Crico-Thyroid Approximation or CTA you requested.
CTA? What was he talking about? I knew it is one of the more common 'voice surgeries', but I sure as hell hadn't requested it.
"It will raise your voice to a higher register. Just how high varies widely among those who have had it done." I shocked with disbelief. I hadn't even discussed it with anyone. What else had been done while I was on the table? A knot formed in my stomach and a chill ran up my spine as I became fearful of what might have happened.
"Hold still and hold your breath for a moment."
I frantically motioned that I wanted something to write with. Once he'd placed a pen and small pad in my hands, I scribbled a question, even though I couldn't see what I was writing. 'Why did you change my voice?' I wrote. He read it.
"I know you and I didn't discuss it, Jacqui, but I have the signed forms right here in your chart."
I just shook my head; had no recollection of ever having signed any form.
"Don't worry," he said, "I'm sure you're confused because of all the medications. Besides, you're going to love the outcome." He patted my head and left. I spent the rest of the day dozing and trying not to scratch myself.
Dr. Tobias again checked on me the next morning and told me things were going really well. I just lay in bed, trying not to be too scared.
When I awoke from my nap the following afternoon, I was startled to hear Melissa's voice in my room.
"Ready to go?" she asked, as soon as she saw I was awake. "Dr. Frankenstein said you may leave."
It didn't really matter what I thought, because Melissa had already organized everything and had me out of that hospital before I knew what had hit me. Once we were in the car, she placed some pills in my mouth and pressed a cup to my lips. "Here, take these. They'll make the ride more comfortable."
I was scared to death when I woke up in another hospital room, my groin a mass of pain. This time I was restrained, but there was a button next to my hand and I pushed it immediately. Thankfully, the bandages, which had blindfolded me, had been removed and I could see again. A smiling nurse showed up a few moments later and said, "Oh hi, sugar, you're awake. Good, now I can untie you."
I had a million questions, but had to wait for her to finish all her ministrations before I could get a pad to write with. 'Where am I? What happened? Why does my groin hurt?' I wrote.
"They told me you'd be confused," she said, "But don't worry; you're in the Sisters of Tiresias clinic and you have just gotten the most beautiful new pussy." She just beamed at me like she was sharing a great joy.
"What?" I squeaked out, despite the pain in my throat.
"Don't talk, sugar," she ordered, becoming alarmed. "Once all the meds wear off, you'll remember everything, I'm sure, and just be thrilled." She fumbled by the bedside and handed me a button.
"Here," she said, "this is for pain. Just press it like this every time you start to hurt." She gave it two presses and, a few moments, later I started to feel much more relaxed. I was still confused, but it didn't seem so important somehow.
Still, my mind was in turmoil. This had to be a bad dream. I couldn't have had SRS! I had never wanted it. I never asked for it! Hell, I had never even discussed it with anyone. What was going on here? I had gone into the hospital to have a few minor cosmetic changes and now it seemed my entire life had been turned upside down, or, I thought in a brief moment of clarity, inside out. It was like someone else was in control, only I didn't know who. I didn't want to think about it anymore. I pressed the button a half dozen times. Before too long, I fell into a fitful sleep.
The next few days were just horrible. I was in a lot of pain. It seemed to be everywhere, but the worst was in my throat and groin. The nurses and doctors seemed hell bent on making it still worse by constantly examining me and probing my new vagina and changing whatever it had been stuffed in it. The feeling of having someone's fingers inside me was completely bizarre and totally unwelcome, even as the pain started to diminish. The worst part was when they put what they called a stent in my new vagina to keep it open. When they told me I would be doing this every day for a long time to come, I burst into tears.
"Don't worry, honey," the nurse said, gently wiping the tears from my cheeks. "It won't always hurt like this. The pain will be gone in a week or two, and then you'll probably really enjoy it. And once a man gets a nice hard penis in there, you'll really love the whole thing."
I must've looked at her as if I was about to me executed because she got a very concerned look on her face. She went to the phone and called the doctor.
"I don't know what's going on here, Dr. Byers. She acts like this is the worst thing that ever happened to her. I've never seen anyone respond so badly before. I'm sure it's making the pain worse and slowing her healing."
She listened for a while then said, "Okay, but I'm still worried. We haven't been able to get her out of bed yet." After another pause, she said, "Yes, I will.
"Honey, I don't know why you're so upset, unless it's just the pain, but we have to get you out of bed, maybe a shower will cheer you up."
With the help of another nurse, she dragged me out of bed and into the shower. Thank goodness, I was able to sit. Although the lack of anything hanging down between my legs was most unsettling, the warm water did feel wonderful and it was great to wash my hair, but my face and what now felt like gigantic breasts were still very sore. The entrance to the gaping hole between my legs was, red, swollen and angry looking. Despite how it looked and felt, they made me wash it out with some kind of antiseptic cleanser. Washing, I noticed that I'd no sutures in my flesh. I hadn't even noticed when they had been removed.
Each day brought new insults and humiliations. First, a nurse pulled the catheter from my bladder and I had to pee through the new hole near my vagina. It hurt like hell and felt completely strange because the urine no longer flowed through the length of penis, but exited instead well before it got there. I knew there would be some relearning to do if I was to keep from peeing in my panties. Not only that, but my bladder seemed to have shrunk and I had to go often. When I complained about how often I had to pee, the nurse told me to get rid of my IV, although that meant getting rid of my friend the button as well. The IV had to drip constantly to allow the morphine to run into my vein when I pressed the button. That's why I had to pee so often. I decided that I wasn't ready to give up my drug, so I shook my head no.
Next, they insisted I start moving my bowels and started me off with an enema. I discovered that even the smallest amount of squeezing caused lots of pain in my groin and I sat on the toilet groaning as my bowels evacuated.
"That will become a lot easier dear," the nurse said, "if you give up the morphine. It makes you constipated."
During my stay, hygiene was continually stressed, especially whenever I used the toilet. No longer would I be able to get by with a quick wipe, but I had to wash with antiseptic soap and be sure to pat myself completely dry.
I was constantly aware that I no longer had a penis or testicles. Had I forgotten I would have been quickly reminded because I had to wash my vagina and use the stent to dilate myself four times a day. Then I had to douche with an antiseptic to completely wash out all traces of the lubricant I'd used. Unless I wanted to learn about what happened in an emergency room by ending up there with a bad infection, there was simply no way I could avoid dealing with my new pussy. The threat of severe infection was beat into me at every opportunity, which left me confused and depressed.
I spent the rest of my time mostly crying and pressing the button. I was too stunned to understand what had happened and all I wanted was to not think about it. I dreamed of my penis and of having it cut off. I awoke from my bizarre dreams in a panic several times a night, reaching immediately for my button to put myself out again.
The hospital staff was confused by my strange behavior. Most of the girls who came in for surgery were absolutely delighted with the outcome, were quite cheerful and did everything they could to hasten their own recovery. Occasionally, some would react badly to surgery, but that would clear up after a few days at most, and they would always leave delighted to finally be ‘fully a woman'.
I was the first in their experience who didn't come out of it, instead remaining depressed and sullen. They didn't seem all that put out by this and simply treated me as if I was some kind of mentally defective child, who needed to be pushed along on a journey she had no control over anyway.
On the fourth or fifth day, I'm not really sure which, Carla showed up. I awoke to see her sitting in a chair by the end of the bed, looking at me with a strange expression on her face.
"What happened to me?" I squeaked out.
"Don't talk!" she ordered. "You could hurt your throat and never be able to talk again."
I looked at her with pleading eyes. Tears started to run from the corners, yet again. After a few moments, she got up and closed the door. She settled herself carefully back in her seat and pulled out a folder full of papers.
"There's no point beating around the bush, Jacqui. John's gone. Very soon, we'll be divorced and I'll own the company. Given the way you're behaving, I'll soon be able to have you declared mentally incompetent then you won't have any possibility of earning a living except as my maid. Welcome to your new life," she said with a satisfied sneer. "The sooner you accept it, the better off you'll be."
I was dumbstruck. Wasn't this my wife, Carla, sitting across from me? Didn't she love me? How could she do this? She wouldn't! She couldn't! As my mind whirled around in chaos, I started to get nauseous. I only barely managed not to throw up. I pressed the button, again and again. I started to feel more relaxed, but I was still very confused.
"I'd like to see your pussy," Carla said suddenly, bringing me back to the real world. "It cost me a lot of money you know."
She approached the bed and pulled my sheet back, but I was having none of it and started to struggle with her. She quickly called the nurse and they held me down then gave me a shot of something that put me out.
When I awoke, I was restrained. I panicked. I couldn't tell if the scene with Carla had been real or not and my thoughts were muddled and cloudy. I pushed the nurse's call button. The nurse who came into the room frowned at me. I looked up at her, pleading with my eyes to have my hands untied. She obviously understood, but shook her head no.
"I'm sorry, dearie, doctor's orders. Ms. Martin was very upset when you attacked her, especially after she's been so supportive of your needs over the past few years of your transition. All of you transsexuals are so damned self-centered. It's always me, me, me! Well, she gave you what you wanted, she even paid for it, and you turn on her? We'll have to treat you as the selfish bitch you obviously are until you learn some manners. You'll stay restrained until you learn to behave."
I thrashed around, trying to get free. I wanted to shout, but was afraid to use my voice. Every time I had, it had hurt and was so high and squeaky, that I was afraid to say anything else lest it stay that way. I didn't know what was happening to me and I was scared and panicky.
"I warned you," the nurse said and she produced a syringe and injected something into my IV. It calmed me down, very quickly, but it made me feel awful and I couldn't think straight. I had no choice, but to lie there, doped up and confused.
This went on for three or four more days. Every time I woke up, I started to freak out. Now, I couldn't stop myself from calling out, but my voice was ridiculous; I sounded like Minnie Mouse. I was scared, angry, and inconsolable. As a result, I was restrained all the time and almost constantly sedated. My care was forced on me. People worked on my face and inside my groin, cleaning things, dilating and douching me, jobs I should have been doing myself.
In the meantime, my face was healing and my breasts were becoming less and less sore. It turned out that I had been asleep for several days after I had been castrated, that's the only way I could think of it. During that time, Dr. Tobias had come by to remove most of the stitches during one of the periods I was out of it. I didn't know or care. I was literally hysterical, so distraught, I couldn't control myself, and so drugged up, I couldn't think straight.
Finally, they brought in a psychiatrist. He was very calming and reassuring. After spending a lot of time with me over the course of several days, he told me that if I could stay calm, he would stop the sedatives and get me untied. I agreed and the next day the leather restraints were removed and my mind was as clear as it had been since I first awoke after my plastic surgery.
I was finally allowed to speak; it had been over two weeks since Dr. Tobias had operated on me, and twelve days since I had been castrated. I was utterly appalled by my voice. I still sounded high and squeaky, like a ridiculous little girl who had inhaled helium. I just had to talk with the psychiatrist to find out what had happened.
I was very nearly inconsolable as I told him that I had never wanted to become a woman, never done a real life test and never agreed to voice surgery or the SRS. He shook his head sadly.
"You know Jacqui, people sometimes freak out in hospitals. They become psychotic after awakening from surgery. You obviously wanted all these things because it's all written down and everyone I've talked to tells me how desperate you were to get it done. Now it's my job to get you re-anchored in reality so you can get on with your life. Here look at this."
He handed me the folder Carla had with her when I had seen her all those many days ago. "Read through this Jacqui and try to remember. I'll see you tomorrow."
The folder held the story of my betrayal. It began with the true records of my adolescent years, when my parents had put me into therapy to stop my constant cross-dressing. Those records detailed my belief that I was really a girl in a boy's body and contained my admission that I had put myself on hormones to grow breasts. How had Carla gotten them? Even my parents never learned all this.
What followed was really chilling though. My files continued with a comprehensive record of many more years of therapy that had never existed. My new therapist's notes contained my eventual decision to change genders and the ups and downs (but mostly ups), of my real life test, during which I lived full time to prepare for my final transition. I was stunned to see affidavits apparently from Toni Bauer, my former secretary, attesting to three trips we made together, during which I had lived as a woman. During our last trip, three weeks skiing in Colorado, she reported that I had hooked up with a man and spent almost every night with him, coming back 'bleary-eyed, glowing, and cooing over his prowess in bed'. Toni also noted that I had become increasingly passive as time went on and eventually had turned over to her all responsibility for everything we did.
There were even records of many dozens of therapy sessions that Carla and I had attended together as we attempted to work out a new relationship while I went through my transition. These discussed in detail my submissive nature, why I believed I needed to be in a protected environment, perhaps as a housewife, and how crucial it was for me to avoid situations that would force me to make complex decisions or give orders to other people. I even claimed to have deep-seated sexual fantasies about being a secretary or maid. According to this set of notes, I begged Carla to take care of me.
We also explored my obsession with Asian women and why I craved looking like one. Part of my obsession, according to these notes, was to reclaim my lost heritage and part was to make visual my intensely submissive nature. According to these made-up records, Carla at first resisted all these changes, but, because of her deep love for me, she eventually agreed to keep me as her stay-at-home, wife, and eventually she acquiesced to having me live in her house as her Chinese maid. I was so grateful, I promised her my "everlasting devotion". This was obscene. Carla was out of her mind.
Worst of all, were the forms that signed my share of the business over to Carla and the three-year contract we'd signed for my services as a maid in her house. These had been prepared by my good, 'friend' and attorney, Jeff Parker. He did at least leave me with my current assets, although they had been placed in a trust that wouldn't be available to me until I was fifty.
All the appropriate signed permission forms for surgery were there as well, countersigned by all my therapists and doctors and witnessed by their nurses.
When I finished reading, I curled up into the fetal position and wept. I felt totally hopeless. I had been trapped into a life that wasn't mine, and I had no way to prove that I hadn't been involved in any of this, at least while I was still in the hospital and under Carla's control.
When the psychiatrist returned the next day, I had no fight left in me. Plus, I had realized that my only hope of regaining any of my life was to start behaving the way people expected me to. The very first thing I had to do was get out of the hospital. When he asked me how I was doing, I said, "Much better, thanks. Things seem so much clearer now."
"I'm glad," he said, with real warmth in his voice. "You're a simply beautiful young woman and I would hate to see you hospitalized in a psychiatric ward because you can't remember who you are and what you wanted. You've just gotten your fondest wish and should be full of joy. Or at least you should be full of joy once the pain goes away." He gave me a rather endearing grin.
We chatted for a while about my health needs and when he was satisfied, that I actually was stable, he patted me on the arm, removed the restraints, which were still hanging from my bed, threw them in the garbage, and said, "We won't need these anymore, I'm sure. I can also tell you for sure that the staff will be so relieved that your recovery is back on track. Everyone had been worried sick about you." With that, he left the room.
I cried again, this time because I was so grateful to everyone for taking such good care of me despite my horrible behavior. I vowed to do everything I could to heal quickly. I really wanted to repay their kindness and that was the best way I could think of to do that.
Not long after, a nurse came in and asked, "Are you ready to learn how to take care of yourself, Jacqui?" I simply nodded and paid close attention as she showed me what I had to do. One thing I was sure of, if I had to live as a woman, I was going to take proper care of my body. With the help of the nurse, I examined my new self for the first time and she showed me how to clean myself and dilate my new vagina.
After she left, I curled up in the bed and cried silently until I fell asleep. I didn't recognize myself. I no longer knew who I was.
When I awoke, I spent the rest of the day studying the documents the psychiatrist had given me, trying to understand how they had been created and how my signature had gotten on them. I was completely confused. The only thing that made sense was that Carla had forged everything, but it was beyond me how she had gotten so many people involved in her plot.
Dr. Tobias visited the next day and pronounced himself very pleased with his work. The swelling in my face was now mostly gone and even though I still had the remnants of two big black eyes, it was easy to see that I had a gorgeous, though thoroughly oriental face.
My lips were much fuller and the corners of my mouth had been brought closer together. My lips now hung in an absolutely disarming pout. It was easy enough to close my lips to make it disappear, but when I stopped willing them closed, they sprang apart again. On top of everything else, I would now look innocently sexy whether I wanted to or not.
My nose seemed flatter and turned up at its end so my nostrils were somewhat exposed. Below my now slanted, almond-shaped eyes, with the stereotypical epicanthic folds on their lids, my cheeks were higher. I certainly didn't see any trace of John in this face, nor much of a resemblance to the former Jacqui. Not only had my sex just been changed, but my race had changed as well!
As Dr. Tobias gently explored my breasts, I asked him when the swelling would go down.
"Go down?" he asked, surprised at my question. "Oh no, my dear, this isn't swelling, these beautiful breasts are all yours and will still get somewhat larger as your hormone therapy is accelerated. You will be a very ample D-cup before you are done. Quite spectacular, I would say. Do you see how they curve gently as they sweep down from your shoulders before bulging out slightly at the bottom, with just a touch of sag? My dear, these are exquisitely beautiful breasts and no one will ever be able to tell they aren't all you." He helped me to lie back then said, "See how they flatten naturally when you lie down? My dear, I am a genius at placing implants and you got some of my best work."
He was beaming as he said this, obviously very pleased with himself. As I considered what he said, I actually started to feel a little proud of myself, a welcome change from all the feelings shame that had overwhelmed me since I first awoke from surgery.
As I sat back up and hefted my breasts reconsidering them in the light of Dr. Tobias' description, I realized that he was right. These breasts didn't stand straight out from my chest, like the pasted-on half-oranges and grapefruits you see after so many implant surgeries. Even though they were much bigger than anything I had ever anticipated, or seen up close for that matter, they were indeed attractive. They were of Playmate quality, at least, I decided. Right then, I realized that real girls don't get to select their breast size and neither had I. I had carried the small breasts of an adolescent with me for nearly a decade. Now, I had the gorgeous tits of a full-grown adult woman.
"But, you'll have to be careful," he went on, interrupting the most pleasant thoughts I'd had since my surgery. "If you don't want them to get even bigger, you can't gain any weight. You'll deposit fat in your breasts very easily."
"And my voice?" I squeaked out. I was embarrassed by the sound I made, but so shocked by what I had just learned about my breasts, that I couldn't care how I sounded. "Will that get higher too?"
"Oh no, Jacqui, we'll have to see where it ends up. It's very hard to tell with this kind of surgery, but I'm sure that with time and some practice you can bring it down quite a bit. The vocal chords are always tightest right after surgery. I guess your current sound isn't ideal, but it does go well with your look."
"One thing though," he said, his eyes sparkling as he turned to me, "I don't think you'll be able to scare anybody. You just look too adorable and sound too cute." He chuckled again, lightly patting my cheek. I frowned, but I couldn't not like him. It seemed obvious to me that he hadn't been part of any plot to change me against my will.
That was it. I was to be an adorable, busty China Doll with a silly voice. A sob caught in my throat as I imagined that. If Carla had her way, I'd be her maid for good. How would I get out of this?
When I finally got home, four days later, Melissa helped me up to my room and ordered me to dress in my afternoon uniform. "Ms. Martin is waiting for you in the sitting room," she said, "so don't dawdle."
When I got to the door of the sitting room, I saw Carla standing by the window, gazing out into the garden. I knocked on the doorframe and entered the room as she turned to face me.
"Ah, Jacqui, there you are," she said, looking me over. "Come in and sit down." She pointed to a chair and as I crossed the room toward it, she continued, "I'd like to have a brief chat with you. Please feel free to call me Carla."
I sat, straightening my skirts and curling my feet to the side and under me. When I had folded my hands in my lap and finally looked back up at her, I could see her studying me closely.
"So Jacqui," she began, "I hope you are feeling better and are ready to care for yourself properly. Your surgery was very expensive and I would hate to think that you won't have a simply gorgeous and fully functional pussy when it finally heals."
I nodded my acquiescence.
"Do you have any questions?"
I had already decided that my best course of action was to reveal nothing about my thoughts and feelings and act, instead, as if I had been defeated and given up. "Thank you for your concern, ma'am," I started off, failing to keep the anger out of my voice despite my decision to stay cool. "I'm sure your concern is both sincere and heartfelt."
Despite my best intentions, I had lost control. That last statement was dripping with sarcasm and I went on the same way. "I'm sure there aren't very many men whose wives are so supportive of their cross-dressing tendencies that they will castrate them and steal everything they own!"
Despite the venom in my voice, she looked at me blandly. "You are weak and you are a fool," she replied without emotion. "I have nothing but contempt for someone who would allow himself to be turned into a maid. You're so pitiful it's beyond my comprehension."
Now her voice turned nasty. "I pushed you into increasingly humiliating circumstances, but, except for once, you never resisted. You sunk into the maid's role with stunning ease. As far as I can see, you were born to be a maid."
"But why?" I choked out, hit hard by her hatred and contempt. "You knew about me when we married."
"My mistake," she hissed. "At first I was repulsed by the whole idea, although I will admit that I thought you were a decent and caring person. I was lonely; I thought I'd give it a try."
She looked away for a moment, her face softening. But, as soon as she looked back at me, the softness fled and was replaced by a chilling harshness. She stared at me for a moment before going on.
"John disgusted me," she spit out. "Any man who wants to abandon his sex is insane ... perverted ... beneath contempt." Her tone skewered my soul. How could I have been so mistaken about her?
"Then, you almost lost the Mark Seven contract because of your stupid perversion and your performance at work went down the tubes. I'd heard that transvestites are self-centered, but you were the worst. I'd had it."
"But Carla," I pleaded, "I'd given up dressing..."
"But you were obsessed with it anyway, weren't you?" she shouted. "It was all you could think of!"
That wasn't true, but before I could respond, she went on. "So I figured I'd give you one last chance. I'd open the door to Jacqui. If John went through it, so be it. If he didn't...." She hesitated for just a heartbeat. "But I knew he would and he did. Congratulations dear. Welcome to your new life."
We sat in silence for a few moments. I was shocked to my core by her revelations. I was so shaken, I couldn't even ask how. Instead, I said, "But why are you holding me hostage here for three years?"
"Oh, you're not a hostage," she said brightly. "You're an immigrant. You needed a sponsor to stay in the country and I volunteered. I've saved you. After you get your Green Card, you can do whatever you want."
With that, she got up and crossed the room, taking a large envelope from the table near the door. She returned to where I was sitting and handed me a passport. It was from Hong Kong. I was Jacqui Lian Chang, a Chinese of mixed ancestry, born in Hong Kong. According to the biography included with my papers, I had been brought into the country by my distant cousin, John Ingram, who, before he disappeared, had persuaded his former business partner, Carla, to take me on as her maid. I was simply flabbergasted.
"Good," she said, seeing how startled I was. "Now that we have that all squared away, here's the way things will be. Stand up Jacqui, and face me." She had reseated herself on the couch. I stood, dumbly, folding my hands in front of me.
"I am Ms. Martin, your employer. You are Jacqui, my immigrant maid. John is gone forever and you were never him. You and I have only the most formal, employer-employee relationship. You are never to be familiar with me. You are never to disagree with me. If you displease me, I will have you deported. Do you understand?"
I looked at her without comprehension. This was just impossible. "Kurt will take care of me," I said.
Carla just laughed. "He's out of the country for an indefinite period," she said, "his uncle is taking a long time to die and there will be much to do to settle the estate once he finally kicks off. Besides, you little twit, do you really think a sophisticated man like Kurt would be caught dead with a joke like you?"
Oh God, no! He wouldn't, would he? I am a joke. With my corseted waist and giant tits, I looked like an Asian Barbie doll. With my voice, I sounded more vacuous than Betty Boop. I was trapped. I had everything I could do to hold back my tears.
"Now Jacqui, we are quite done. Go find the First Girl and get on with your chores. I'll give you two weeks of light duty and half days to finish your recovery then it's back to your full-time schedule. You can make up the time in the future. You may now curtsey and get on with it."
I stood there dumbfounded for a moment as Carla pretended to focus on something else. When I hadn't moved after five seconds or so, she said, "Did you hear me? Move it!"
"Yes, ma'am,' I said stupidly, dropping as full a curtsey as the pain in my groin would allow. I was somewhat startled at how different it felt to do that with nothing squashed up between my legs.
"That's 'mum', you stupid twit," she said angrily.
I repeated the curtsey, saying 'mum' this time. Then I turned and left the room.
"So, Jacqui." Melissa greeted me when I returned to the maid's quarters. "Welcome to the rest of your life. Now you'll really get to see what being a maid is like. Ms. Martin has made it clear to me that I am responsible for keeping the house in perfect condition and I have no intention of letting things slide. As second maid, most of the cleaning will now fall to you, so be prepared for it.
"Yes, Melissa," I replied, still not totally aware of where I was. "Whatever."
Smack! She slapped me right across the face. "You listen to me when I'm talking Missy, do you understand?" She was right in my face, her hands on her hips, her chest pressed into mine. I felt totally intimidated.
"Yes, Melissa, sorry Melissa," I hurried out, trying to back away from her while I held my hand to my stinging cheek.
"That's First Girl to you," she responded sharply, "or Mistress. I'll tell you when you may use my name."
I nodded and curtseyed. "Yes mistress." The look of triumph on her face was frightening. It was full of contempt.
"Good. Now, do you feel up to doing some of your chores or do you need to rest?" she asked.
"Can I please have a couple of hours?" I asked. "This is the longest I've been out of bed for almost three weeks."
"I like that," she said, "the way you asked so politely. Keep it up and we'll get along just fine." She chuckled to herself. "Take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow you may sleep late, but be prepared to work half a day. I have no intention of injuring you, but neither do I want you slacking off. Now, go to bed."
The next few weeks passed in a haze. It was as if I had not only gotten a new body, but a new brain as well. I was terribly depressed and just couldn't think clearly. I tired easily and couldn't keep up with Melissa's demands even though they really weren't excessive. She was all over me for every little thing and I was starting to get uncertain and insecure.
I retreated into embroidering, sewing and searching the web for information about flowers, shrubs, and other plants, although I had yet to venture outside myself. Oh yes, and I spent time finding every piece of information out there on voice control. I was determined to lower my voice.
I worked on my voice whenever I was alone, trying to find ways to lower it, and doing the exercises I had discovered on the web. Still, I was very hesitant to talk to anyone, because I was now convinced that my voice sounded exactly like those little girl voices that are dubbed over to give English dialogue to Chinese actresses in 'B' grade martial arts movies. ‘Oh, Wang! That is the terrible Wei Yang who has come to the village! We are all lost’.
Gradually though, I got my head back together. There was little going on at the house and it was easy to keep up with the cleaning. I hardly ever saw Carla, which was definitely good for me. Melissa was strict, but not nasty, and I worked hard so she had little reason to complain.
My main goal was to get through the day without having to think much about what had happened to me. I was trying to feel good about my breasts, even though they were always in the way and had created a new strain on my back. I was trying to get past the constant awareness of what had happened between my legs. I mean, it was so different now, with nothing there on the outside and strange new feelings on the inside. I guess I was making some progress because one afternoon, as I sat to pee, I realized that I had not thought about my lost penis and balls or new vagina since I had peed last. That was real progress.
Ignoring my body and my predicament was impossible at night. I was anxious and depressed and full of anger at Carla and Melissa. I was getting very little sleep, which made the rest of my life lousy. Despite the progress I was making, things sucked.
Even though I was starting to get used to it, my new vagina was a major focus of my life. I still had to clean it carefully and then dilate four times a day. I was startled one evening as I sat back in bed and pushed a new, slightly wider stent into place. I felt a slight shock, as if someone was rubbing the underside of my penis. Up until then, things had been pretty numb.
This encouraged me to explore some more and, sure enough, I could detect some sexual stirrings from rubbing inside my vagina. My new clitoris, little more than a slightly hard nub of tissue, absolutely tingled as I played with it.
This both thrilled and appalled me. I was no longer in a chastity belt and I had a working vagina. Did this mean I could have sex with a man? As I rubbed the stent around inside me, my mind started to wander. I could now imagine how it might feel to have someone inside me.
For one brief instant I visualized myself, flat on my back, my legs spread wide, while some faceless man loomed over me, his gigantic penis aimed at the virgin space between my legs. I stared at it from between the mountains of my gigantic breasts, fearing that it would be too big, but as quickly as that image had coalesced, it dissolved. While I could now understand better than ever before just what intercourse might feel like, for the life of me, I couldn't imagine myself actually doing it. It was too foreign an idea.
Then, about the time that my face had fully recovered and my breasts had stopped being so sore, I started to take an interest in life again. One day after Melissa and I had laced each other into our corsets, I was now so thin, that I was down to twenty inches with no discomfort at all. I sat in front of my vanity and rationally examined my face. Whether you liked Asian features or not, I had to admit to myself that I was a pretty damn good-looking babe. I started to apply my makeup.
"Welcome back, Jacqui," Melissa had been watching me in the mirrors.
"Thanks," I squeaked. God, I hated the way I sounded!
Because I was now working on a new canvas, I had to stop and clean off my makeup a couple of times before I achieved a look I was moderately satisfied with. Getting the new me perfected would require more practice.
"Good mornin', mum." I forced myself to smile as I poured Ms. Martin's coffee despite the way my voice sounded. I was determined to get used to it. I'm sure I hadn't smiled at her since leaving for the hospital.
"Thank you, Jacqui." Even though it was clear that she noticed it, my smile didn't change anything. As was her norm, Ms. Martin directed her conversation, what little there was, to Melissa during breakfast. As I cleared the table, she spoke to me.
"Are your breasts fully healed, Jacqui?"
"Yes, I think so, mum."
"Good, dispose of that horrid bra you've been wearing then."
"Mum?" I asked without thinking.
"Yes?"
"Just this one or are you ordering me to go braless again?" I asked even though I'd guessed her answer.
"I would prefer that the top of your corsets be all of the support your breasts need from now on."
"Yes mum, of course."
I didn't want my breasts flopping about and jiggling with every movement I made and I didn't want them on display like beef in a butcher's window, but I took the bra off when I had the chance. My uniform now exposed most of the tops of my breasts, which the corset lifted and presented as if they were gifts to all who chose to gaze upon them. As I looked into the mirror, I could see how my top was truly full, brimming with breast tissue. I also had incredible cleavage. The bulging flesh was very pale and remarkably soft. The skin seemed almost translucent, perhaps because it was still stretched. A mole that had never been visible before stood out clearly in my cleavage. I never could have imagined my chest looking so womanly.
Even though I was starting to learn to feel proud of the way I looked, my monumental breasts were still a source of embarrassment for me, as if I had chosen them through some mistake in judgment, and everyone would know and look down on me for it.
For the remainder of August, as I gradually got my strength back, I followed the established routine: morning chores, my hobbies during our breaks then afternoon and evening chores. I hadn't been off the property except for one visit to see Dr. Tobias. I really didn't want to learn how the rest of the world would react to how I looked and sounded.
Only half my tomato plants had survived, but, because they had been planted so late, they were producing an unusually heavy late crop. The flowerbed in front was flourishing as well, stuffed in a carefully arranged chaotic way, like a country garden. Manuel was happy to bring more each time his crew came to attend to the yard.
One morning as I was standing with Manuel discussing what to plant for fall color, Ms. Martin came over to tell me that she was very pleased with how it was shaping up, or so I thought. Instead her goal was to humiliate me, by addressing me front of the gardeners and including all of us together. It was clear that her intent was to show me just where I stood.
"Manuel, you and Jacqui have done a wonderful job with the garden. I'm glad to see the two of you get along so well together."
"Muchas gracias," replied Manuel, taking off his hat and folding it in his hand. He was, I thought, the perfect image of a submissive Mexican gardener, fearful of losing his job.
"Thank you, mum," I was forced to say when Manuel had finished, because that was obviously what she was waiting for.
As Manuel turned to leave, he was smiling like a big puppy. "You know, Jacqui," Carla said to me, "you should think of trying to make some friends among your class. You'll be a very lonely young lady otherwise."
"What?" I squealed like a stuck pig.
Carla turned on me instantly. "Don't you dare talk to me like that!"
I quickly swallowed my pride and lowered my head, saying, "Yes mum. Sorry mum," as I bobbed two quick curtsies.
She glared at me, but went on. "You're a maid, Jacqui. You will find your social life among similarly placed people. I would guess you're not interested in the gardeners, though they are certainly interested in you. If you're lucky, maybe a plumber or electrician will take an interest in you. No educated professional person would even think of it."
I stared at her dumbfounded, my eyes wide and my mouth open (like I could even close it).
Carla just laughed at me. "Well, perhaps I'm not entirely correct there, Jacqui. I'm sure many professional men will want to fuck you. If you're clever, perhaps you can get some bauble or another in return."
I continued to stare at her, so she went on, obviously relishing the pain she was causing me. "This is all real, you know? No more little cross-dressing games." Then she turned and left. All I could do was to think to myself, 'Fuck you bitch. Who needs your condescending crap'?
My life was now pretty empty and, to keep myself from getting too depressed, I vigorously threw myself into my chores each morning. By the beginning of September, I was doing most of the work and taking at least some pride in doing each task well.
Then one day, I was cleaning up in the dining room when the phone rang. I could just hear Melissa as she answered. "No, I'm sorry she can't come to the phone. No, Henry, she is not available now and never will be to you. Please don't call anymore?"
What was going on? Henry had called and Melissa told him I couldn't talk? That was too much. I almost stormed into the kitchen, but restrained myself at the last second. It was better, I decided, not to let her know what I knew. I would have to get in touch with Henry on my own.
This really lifted my heart. I thought that Kurt had abandoned me, but it now looked as if Melissa and Carla were simply not allowing me to speak with him. My break came a few days later. Carla was at work and Melissa had gone to the market. I quickly called Henry as soon as I was sure the house was empty.
"Hello? Henry? It's me Jacqui."
"Jacqui? He replied in his professionally clipped tone. "Do I know you?"
"Yes, Henry, you do," I squeaked out. "They operated on my throat and changed my voice. This is the Jacqui, you dropped off at the hospital, six weeks ago. Henry, they castrated me and made me into a woman." I started to sob.
"I'm trapped here. How did it happen? What did Kurt tell Dr. Tobias to do?" There was a long pause.
"Jacqui, I don't know anything about any of this. Let me look into it. By the way, Mr. Mark will be back in ten days. He really misses you. He wants to see you at the airport when he arrives."
"Oh God, Henry. Carla told me he had abandoned me and would never want to see me again. Oh, Henry, are you sure? Oh, thank God, Henry. Oh please, Henry, please say you're sure? I've been so scared and didn't know what to do."
"Are you alright, Jacqui? You're not in any danger are you?"
"No, Henry, I'm safe. It's all very complicated. I'm afraid to tell you over the phone."
"Jacqui, Mr. Mark left me with orders to look out for you. I can come get you out of there right now if you want?"
I almost shouted 'Yes! Come get me right now!" I took a deep breath and stopped myself. "Henry, find out what you can and please see if Kurt's lawyers can help me? He's my only hope now. I'll call you. I don't want Carla and Melissa to know what's going on. I'm sure they'll try to stop me."
"Okay, Jacqui. Try to hold on there. I'm only a cell phone call away if you need me. In the meantime, I'll see what I can learn. Jacqui, do plan to go to the airport when Mr. Mark arrives. You will meet his plane even if I have to kidnap you." Henry's confidence was such a contrast to the helplessness I'd been feeling, it almost made me cry.
"Oh thank you, Henry, you have no idea how much I needed to hear this. I'll call you."
When I hung up the phone, I sat down and cried. Everything I had been holding in just came out. I cried and cried and cried until I had nothing left. Then I went to fix my face and do my chores. Everything seemed different now. Finally, there was some hope. Kurt wouldn't let me down. He would be my white knight.
The trick for me, as far as I could figure it, would be to keep my secret from Carla and Melissa. Carla would be easy; she never paid attention to me anyway. Melissa, however, was another story. We still lived together and she had become very adept at reading my moods. In fact, once I had pretty much regained my strength and could carry my load of the chores again, our friendly relationship reasserted itself and many of our days together passed rather pleasantly, as long as I remembered my place.
I don't know what Melissa thought, but it was clear to me that our relationship was now one between two unequal people. She was the boss and I was the hired help. No matter how nice she might be, it was obvious that I didn't have to scratch the surface of her patience or her ‘friendship’ very deeply, at all, before I found someone ready and eager to keep me in my place.
You can imagine how startled I was when she appeared behind me two nights after my conversation with Henry. I was brushing my hair, which hadn't been cut since May, and was now a good two inches longer than my original bubble cut had left it.
"Can I do that for you, Jacqui?" she said. I couldn't help, but notice that she was dressed in one of her silky nightgowns. It was cut in tightly below the bust and showed her breasts to good advantage. I hadn't seen this nightie since we had ‘played around’ earlier in the summer.
Overcoming my suspicion of her motive, I handed her the brush, glad to be able to lower my arms. It still hurt a little to work with them over my head. She brushed my hair languorously for a couple of minutes then put the brush aside to start caressing my face and neck. I immediately stiffened up.
"Relax honey," she said softly. "I've missed you. I thought we could share a bed tonight like we used to."
I turned to face her, trying to find her motive in her face. It looked kind and welcoming, her lips were slightly parted and she had applied lipstick, a sure sign of what she had planned. Still, I was uneasy. I felt no warmth for her at all. She was Carla's partner in my castration and subjugation.
"Melissa," I said, my voice wavering softly with anxiety, "I don't think we should."
"But I do," she responded quickly, her voice now more commanding than anything else. "So we will." She went back to her soft, seductive tone. "I wanted to be the first to sample your new goodies … and I will be. Come with me. We're going to bed."
She reached out and took my hand, pulling me to my feet and leading me towards her bunk. When we got there, she handed me a deep-red lipstick and said, "You know what to do." I looked at her for a second, but her face was set. I applied the lipstick and climbed into the bed next to her.
"Please be gentle?" I begged. "Don't hurt me."
"Don't worry honey, you're in for a treat. I'm very good at this."
She was too. She kissed me carefully, using her lips and fingers to explore my new face. She paid special attention to my new fatter lips, licking and nibbling on them like they were over-ripe fruit. I just loved the feeling, as she drew my lower lip into her mouth and kissed it almost like it was my tongue, finally letting it go with little nibbles and pecks.
Then she worked her mouth down my neck to my upper chest and the tops of my breasts. As she did this, she drew her body down on mine so her head was even with my breasts. She lifted herself up for a moment and looked me in the eye. She lowered her mouth to one of my nipples at the same time that she grabbed that breast in both her hands. It was so big, it seemed that it took both her hands to hold it. She kneaded and suckled and I thought I would swoon at the feeling. It wasn't just the feeling of her hands and lips on my breast, I had felt that before. It was also that my nipple was so far from my body and there was so much breast between it and my chest. The nipple was floating on the soft cloud of my breast and, for whatever reason, this made me feel deliciously feminine.
As she played with my breasts, I got strange stirring between my legs. It felt like I was about to get a hard-on, but there was nothing there to get hard. It was both exquisite and frustrating, but much better than having my penis locked away.
"Let me touch yours," I whispered hoarsely. When I whispered, my voice wasn't nearly so bad.
"No," she said, "Just lie still for now. Your turn will come."
I don't know how long she spent on my breasts, but however long it was, I was still disappointed when she stopped. Her hesitation was only momentary. She left a hand to knead each breast as she worked her lips down my belly to the top of my pubic bone. The hair still hadn't fully grown out and it was scratchy.
"This will never do," she declared, sitting upright. Don't move. She jumped out of the bed, but returned in only a few moments with a wet washcloth, razor and shaving cream. It didn't take her long to shave me completely and rub a sweet smelling lotion into my skin.
That turned out to be foreplay, because the rubbing soon turned to caressing then to licking and kissing. Even though she was very gentle and quite sexy, I was getting more and more uptight as she worked her way towards that strange new space between my legs.
When Melissa finally put her finger into my vagina and touched the nub of my new clitoris, I almost jumped off the bed.
"Easy baby," she soothed, looking up at my face. "You're as skittish as a fourteen year old virgin."
"I am a virgin," I said back, my voice quivering with anxiety. "And I'm scared."
She giggled at me and said, "Just relax baby, let Melissa show you how." With that, she slithered even further down, so she was between my legs, and reached around me, grabbing one cheek of my ass in each hand. She cocked her head to the side, like a bird looking at the ground for a worm, smiled to herself and again lowered her head between my legs.
She rubbed her lips all over my ... what do I call it now? My mons? That's what it was, I guess, considering what now lay below it. From there, she licked my upper thighs and kissed them rubbing her lips up and down. She did everything, but actually touch my new lips, which now protruded puffily between my legs.
I gradually loosened up and relaxed down onto the bed. I found my hand on my breast. I had, of course, touched them before. I'd washed them, hefted them and generally tried to get their feel as I examined them in the mirror, but I hadn't caressed them sexually. I did that now, bringing my other hand up too, massaging the bulk of each of them. I rubbed them around on my chest and trailed my fingers around and around the nipples without actually touching them.
For a moment, the attention I was paying to my breasts distracted me from Melissa's efforts between my legs, but, all of a sudden, she licked the labia on one side of my vagina from the bottom to the top in one long, moist motion. It sent a shockwave through my body. For an instant, I thought someone had licked my scrotum! In the very next instant, my mind said that couldn't be. Then she licked the other side, also sliding her tongue up from the bottom to the very top. Once she reached the top, she licked down the other side. Having wet the entrance way, she then stuck her tongue firmly between the two lips and licked all the way up their inside edges.
My mind was rocked by the feeling of slick, wet licking on a part of my anatomy that had never existed. It just couldn't understand what was going on and I grabbed both my breasts and held on as I tried to interpret this new reality. I couldn't even get my hands around those gigantic orbs, so my fingers dug in and I pushed them into my chest.
Melissa wasn't giving me any time to think. She moved her tongue deeply into my tunnel while she gently pulled the lips apart with her soft fingers so she could bury her tongue in as far in as possible. The feeling of her tongue inside me was wonderful. It was almost as if someone had engulfed my penis, but that wasn't it at all, because, instead of coming from the outside of a rod, as it always had in the past, this feeling emanated from inside a cavern that had never existed before.
After thrusting her tongue in and out and swirling it around as she explored this new space to her own satisfaction, she withdrew it and used only the very tip to gently stroke what could only be my new clitoris. The feelings were almost too much for me and I began squirming and wriggling on the bed. While the feeling of her tongue in my vagina was one of warmth and fulfillment, the feelings as she flicked my clitoris was almost ticklish and made me feel desperate to have her squeeze my erection hard and stroke it and slide it into...
This made no sense at all. I didn't have an erection and there was nothing to squeeze... anymore. I couldn't stand it. I wanted her to continue and I wanted her to stop. I was exquisitely sensitive there, but I keep waiting to get hard, something that would never happen again.
"Melissa, please stop?" I squeaked out. "I can't stand it."
"You want me to stop?" she asked, sounding slightly stunned. "No one has ever asked me to stop before."
"Melissa, I'm not really a woman. It feels all wrong, somehow. The feelings don't make sense. I want to get hard, but there's nothing left to get hard. I have to figure this out."
"Humph," she said, sounding rather skeptical. "Well, if I can't do you, you can do me. Roll over. You be on top." Melissa slithered onto her back, looking very sexy. Her lips were red and swollen, her nipples pushed hard against the clingy material of her nightie and she smelled of sex. I would have preferred to have stopped, so I could make sense of all these new feelings, but it was clear what she wanted and I knew that she would get angry if I refused.
"Would you like a warm-up?" I asked as I lowered my chest to her and rubbed my nipples over hers, or should I go straight to the main event?"
"Mmmmm," was apparently all she could get out, because that's all she said. ‘Humph,’ I thought to myself, ‘I guess I'm on my own.’ I went to work.
All of a sudden, just when I had my face firmly wedged between Melissa's thighs and my tongue working furiously inside her pussy, we heard Carla mounting the steel stairs and loudly call, "Corset check!" The lights came on. When I turned to look, there stood Carla, her face twisted into an angry mask.
"What the fuck is going on here?" she demanded, as I rolled off Melissa. "You're not home a month and you're already having sex with my sister? You are a slut, you little bitch! Get the fuck out of bed! I'll teach you."
As I went to stand, she stalked about the room. I turned to look at Melissa, who, for some reason, was on her knees, searching under her bunk.
Carla turned when Melissa stood with a big smile and a box in her hands. As if in slow motion, I watched her take the gleaming steel device from the tissues. Carla was laughing when Melissa held the new chastity belt.
"Put it on, you fucking, little slut! I’m sure you know how!" she ordered with venom dripping from every word. Melissa was applied a liberal coating of biocide lubricant to the stent mounted inside the front shield then handed the whole thing to me.
Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I couldn't bear the thought of another chastity belt, this time, one that would actually invade me. I stood there, shaking my head, but not moving.
"Put it on," shouted Carla. "If you don't, I'll have you deported."
I looked up at her, begging with eyes, but her face was hard and full of hatred. It scared me to my bones. I saw no way out, and certainly didn't want to be deported, so I just did as I’d been told.
Melissa had been poised behind me to fasten the rear lock. Once I’d wrapped the band about the top of my hips and settled it on the lower portion of my corset, she held it in place while I reached between my legs to lift up the front shield. Once I'd done that, Melissa ‘helped’ by spreading my cheeks so the back strap could settle against my tailbone as I pressed the stent slowly up inside of me.
The front section of the new belt was much wider then my old one to completely cover my vagina and completely deny access to my sex. I started to cry when Melissa pressed the pieces of the locking mechanism in my shaking hand.
"You do it, you slutty bitch. You get to lock up your hungry cunt yourself," Carla hissed.
"Put the cylinder over the three studs in front. Now push the pin in from the side," Melissa instructed. Once I had, she handed me a small tool to seat the pin in the groove for the shackle.
"You need to pluck your lips into the two grooves in your crotch. Be sure they aren’t pinched because the secondary shield will cover them and there won’t be a thing you can do about it then." Using my long nails, I carefully drew each of my nether lips out until they were relatively comfortable, though it wasn’t a pleasant sensation by any means. I quickly learned that things would get worse.
The secondary shield was a perforated piece bent in a U to match the curve of the front shield there. This was bent inwards on both sides so that once I’d slipped the end into the socket below the opening over my anus, the piece stood away from the main belt with the sides closed to prevent anything from touching my lips and the knob attached to the stent inside protruded through the middle of it.
The lock mechanism assembled in the same way as the other two, in the middle of my abdomen. Melissa wrapped the shackles of two padlocks in the grooves of each assembly, covering the pins to prevent removal, but didn’t close the locks. That task was left to me to perform.
I pleaded with my tear filled eyes toward Carla not to do this to me again. It did no good. She motioned for me to do what she expected and smiled, once the shackles snapped into the heavy cases. She tugged each lock, hard, to assure herself that they were properly secure.
"Very good. Get back in bed, both of you." Melissa tossed me my nightie from where she’d earlier discarded it and put on her own. Climbing up to the to bunk gave me the first hints of why the belt’s designer had intended for the victim’s labia to be positioned as mine were.
As my body moved, the rubber covered edges pulled and tugged gently against sensitive flesh. I was going to be continuously stimulated! It would never be enough to push me to orgasm, if I could still have one, but it would constantly remind me of what I could no longer touch.
I sobbed in frustration and probed about the steel.
Melissa, however, wasn’t going to tolerate my whimpering. Once Carla had turned out the lights and gone back downstairs, she said, "Shut the fuck up, Jacqui. I want to sleep!"
"Sleep! How can you be so insensitive after what your sister has done to me?" I whined.
"If you don’t be quiet, I’ll call her back and you’ll learn what fun it is sleeping with a gag as well as those cute leather cuffs they put on you in the clinic after you attacked Ms. Martin," Melissa threatened.
I lay awake for a long time that night, feeling even more sorry for myself than I had at the hospital. Being turned into a woman was one thing. Being prevented from even touching my new vagina was something else altogether. I didn't know how I would survive if I couldn't get out of there. I'm not sure when I fell asleep.
*****
"Alright Jacqui, Let's get to work. Don't think that just because I let you go down on me last night that that changes anything. When I say jump, the only thing you have to figure out is how high. Now get moving." Melissa completely ignored the other little thing that had happened last night.
"Stand there," After I’d served her coffee at breakfast, Carla pointed to the opposite side of the table.
"I’m fully aware of the medical need for you to dilate several times a day." She talked between mouthfuls without looking at me. "I did not invest my money in a new vagina for you only to have it wasted because you didn't care for it properly."
"I’ve consulted with several physicians regarding alternatives so that your hot cunt can be locked away with the kind of belt a slut like you needs, Jacqui. You’re wearing it. Instead of frequent, daily dilations, the stent built into your belt will keep your hole stretched open and available when I permit men to use you. On the front in the middle of the knob there is a fitting. Through it, you can douche and re-lubricate. Then you only have to twist the knob to effectively distribute the lubricant.
"They informed me that if you do this diligently, three or four times a day, there’s no medical reason to ever have to open the shields." Carla displayed a triumphant smile.
"Go upstairs and start your chores." That was it; I’d been dismissed. I was too depressed to argue — her decision had been made.
Melissa was a total bitch all day and nothing I did was right. As I thought about it later, I understood that the sexual interlude we shared was just like the sex many bosses had shared with their female employees for thousands of years. Any pleasure the boss gave was to establish dominance and the main purpose of the whole event was to allow the boss to get her rocks off. This particular instance had another motive as well. It was to trap me and give Carla the justification, as if she needed one, for placing my new sex under lock and key.
Melissa wasn't experienced at this, so she went from one extreme, being an attentive lover, to the other, being a bitchy boss, to protect her own feelings. It seemed clear to me that she would demand sex again and that it would mean even less to her than it had last night. Oh well, at least I learned some things about myself. I liked the way my new body felt when she'd touched it. Truth, be told, I was eager to learn more. Despite the fact that I didn't trust her, I had no intention of resisting Melissa's efforts to seduce me in the future. Maybe I could become relaxed enough to eventually enjoy what she could give me, if we could only get the chastity belt off.
"So Jacqui," Carla said to me as she finished breakfast a few days later. "Mr. Mark has informed me that he wants you to meet his flight and spend the evening with him when he arrives from Germany on Saturday."
"He did, mum?" I curtseyed, brightening. "I didn't know." I had been working on my voice, but thought I still sounded like Minnie Mouse.
"Of course you didn't know, you twit. He called me, not you." She looked at me sourly, but then suddenly smiled. "But I think you should meet him. It's about time he met the new you. Everyone needs a good laugh now and again."
"I'm sure they do, mum." I had tried to stifle myself, but failed. That was obviously sarcastic, and it didn't escape Carla's notice.
"How cute, Jacqui, expressing your resentment in such a subtle way. I expect you'll be feeling like that a lot, as time goes on," she went on in a conversational tone. But then her voice hardened, "But you had better be careful, girly. I doubt you'll like the consequences if you piss me off with another one of your little zingers." She eyed me coldly.
Then she shifted back to a relaxed tone again. "Anyway, Henry will pick you up at three thirty and since nothing you used to own would fit anymore, I've gotten you some terrific new clothes. Just to show how generous I am, I've made an appointment for you at my salon to get your hair and nails done. You really do look a mess. Now what do you say?"
I curtseyed carefully and said, "Thank you, mum. That's very generous of you, mum. I'm sure it will make a big difference, mum."
"Yes, I know it will," she said sourly.
End of Part VI
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part VII - Makeover and Kurt's Return
There was only one word for me - Outrageous! Perched on those heels, my legs seemed to go on forever, and covered in tight, shiny leopard-skin print, they were shockingly, luridly sexy.
I found myself strangely jealous as I watched him interact with the other women. I guess I wanted all his attentions for myself.
Jacqui, one day I hope to enjoy your body fully, but not now. You are suffering and not thinking clearly.
_______________________________________________________________
By
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part VII - Makeover and Kurt's Return
Saturday morning, Melissa drove me to Carla's salon, where I had gotten my first bubble cut and makeover last spring. That had truly been in another life. Melissa and I were both there to get the works, but, unlike our first visit, when we had left looking quite like twins, this time we were going to end up looking quite different.
Melissa came out a blonde. Her now lustrous, softly curled hair was brushed off her face to give her a delicate, clean look. Her makeup was now softer and more natural looking with subtle earth tones accenting her eyes and a hushed brownish red color on her lips.
I couldn't have looked more different. I really wanted my hair longer, but when I told Carla what I wanted, she just snorted. "I'm in charge of how you look and you'll please me," she said. My hair was restyled just as before, in a spherical bob, only this time, my bangs were even fuller.
I had also asked to have my roots died black. If I was going to be oriental, I figured I should have black hair. Carla had other ideas, however, and had made her wishes clear to the salon. My hair was now several shades of red.
My long, thick bangs and the very front of the sides of my cut were an almost fluorescent pinky orange. Looking from the front, it was the only color you could see; an unnatural hue that only a rock singer might chose. The rest was a darker looking red, almost magenta, with lots of streaks that matched my bangs. My makeup was equally as garish, with lots of dark charcoal around my eyes, heavily applied black liner and lots on mascara to blend my natural lashes with the long thick, false ones the technician had glued in place. An orangey red defined my high cheeks, while bright red that clashed with my hair colors coated my lips and suddenly long fingernails.
I looked like a hooker, or an anime character, with huge eyes and full, parted lips. Because I was six feet tall in my six-inch heels, everyone would have a clear view of my face and I would draw attention wherever I went. I was a very attractive, as in I’d attract people's stares, and well-coifed hooker, but a hooker nonetheless. I was mortified and scared of what Kurt might think if I showed up at the airport looking like this. Hell, I might even get arrested by the airport police, if I showed up looking like this.
Panicked, I 'borrowed' a cell phone from a purse in the changing room and called Henry. I told him to pick me up an hour and a half early and directed him to buy me some conservative clothes and specific items of makeup. I couldn't change the hair, but I could certainly tone down the rest of me, I thought.
It's a good thing I had called him too, because Carla had not only selected my hair color, nails, and makeup, but she had prepared an outfit for me. She led me into her room as soon as she had inspected the new look, which she’d selected.
"It’s time to get ready to go meet your boyfriend, so strip down, sweetie," Carla said, as I stared at the outfit on her bed. "This is a big day for you. I'm taking off your chastity belt. I think you should be free of it whenever you go out with a man, in case you get lucky."
I shivered even though it wasn't cold. I didn't like the implications of that. She was keeping me belted to keep me from enjoying sex by myself or with a woman, but wanted me to be available for men. I would not have put it past her to set me up to get raped.
I shook that thought off as I examined the clothes on the bed. The first thing that grabbed my attention was a seemingly minuscule pair of shiny leopard-skin, stirrup pants. Carla noticed me looking at them right away.
"Aren't they great?" she asked, bright-eyed as an innocent child, "And guess what? Because they're so tight, you won't be able to wear panties."
"No panties?" I squeaked, as I lay my uniform on the bed before taking everything else off. "Why not?"'
"Think of the panty-line dear," she said, giggling. "We can't let you out showing a panty line. But don't worry, look what I got you instead." She handed me a tiny thong.
"What?" I gasped as she placed the slippery piece of lingerie in my hand. "There's nothing there!" Carla, and now Melissa, who had just joined us to watch me get dressed, both laughed.
"This nothing," giggled Carla again, taking it back from me to show me how it went, "cost a pretty penny. It's made of the slinkiest stretch satin money can buy. I wanted you to feel special when you meet your boyfriend.
"Special?" I squeaked, "I'll feel naked."
"Be that as it may," said Carla, you're wearing them. Now finish getting undressed and put these on. We mustn't keep Henry waiting. He'll be here early, you know. He just called."
"Early?" I said, doing my best to sound surprised. Of course, the pitch of my voice made me sound surprised whether I wanted to or not. I took off everything, but my corset.
"That goes too dear, turn and around and let Melissa untie it." I turned my back and Melissa removed the corset. Then she measured my waist.
"Twenty-three and a half inches," said Melissa proudly, as if she had anything to do with it. "Now that's what I call successful figure training."
I ran my hands down my sides and could feel them curve in when they got to my waist and then curve out again over my hips. I was pleased, but I repressed the smile and slid the ridiculous little black wisp up my legs, settling it above my hips. Right away, I didn't like the feeling of the string that slid up between my cheeks. Why would anyone wear such a thing? But what really blew me away, was the way the tiny little triangle of fabric in the front snuggled so tightly over my ... my ... vagina? It actually made the lips puff out on either side, accentuating rather than hiding them. I pulled the edges out to try to get it settled and then stroked it a couple of times. Carla slapped my hand away.
"I’ll not tolerate you playing with your twat," she instructed. When I looked up, she was watching me with a look of triumph on her face.
"Feels wonderful, doesn't it Jacqui? You always were a girl at heart. Just wait until you have some man put his hand on top of it and start to rub. You'll thank me then," she smirked. I frowned in response.
Carla handed me the pants. "Melissa and I agreed that you have earned the right to wear pants again, now that you are so completely female," she sniggered. "I'm sure you'll love these."
I struggled to get them on and was simply appalled at the look. They were the very definition of skintight. They were so tight; I would have been paralyzed by them if they hadn't been made out of a stretchy Lycra. But they did stretch, and I could move quite easily. I just knew they would give my smallish ass world-class emphasis. I rubbed my hand over the back of my hip and understood why women wear thongs. A hair would have shown through these pants, if it had been lying against my hip.
More striking to me, however, was how flat my front was. The low cut pants covered the small mound above my pubis as if I truly was a leopard, then dove down between my legs without even a ripple. I stepped over to Carla's mirror to look at myself. The space between my legs actually made me gasp aloud. The way those pants stretched, so evenly from one leg to the other, and from the waistband down to the slot where my groin disappeared between my legs was the most female thing I'd ever seen. And it was me. I gaped as I looked at the new me for the first time.
Carla and Melissa were smirking at me. It was easy to see why. Carla held out a ridiculous top in black lurex with gold threads running through it. That wasn't the bad part. No, the top was ringed with fringe and I could just imagine where the fringe would hang.
Once I had it on, my worst fears were realized. The top was cut very low, a deep vee running from far out on each shoulder down towards the middle of my chest, well below the tops of my breasts. I was showing tons of cleavage along with the top halves of my breasts. The bottom was cropped, leaving my midriff and navel exposed. The fringe hung down from nipple height, all the way around, as if I was a stripper, ready to shake it around on a gaudily lit stage. I was appalled. I could only gasp out, "You've got to be kidding?"
"Oh no, honey, we're not," hissed Carla, "And here're your shoes. You'll love them too."
I didn't think so. They were tall, strappy, platform sandals in black patent leather. The clear plastic, platform soles must have been over and inch and the heels seven inches.
"I can't walk in these," I said, as I stood up. "I'll kill myself."
"Just take short steps and be sure to swing your hips," laughed Melissa. I could tell that I would have to, or risk falling off. To this, they added a zebra-stripped purse and a ridiculous fake fur jacket, cropped above my waist. No doubt about it. They had dressed me as a whore.
"Why are you so cruel to me?" I asked, stupidly.
"Because you deserve it, you fucking pansy!" snapped Carla, so harshly that even Melissa cringed. "You humiliated me with your stupid girly games, you almost ruined the business and you're stupid enough to let me get away with it!" She was almost spitting, she was so angry. By the time she had finished, she had backed me up to the door of her room even though I was looking down on her by several inches. "You tricked me into marrying you and now I'm getting my revenge. You make me sick."
Despite being taken totally aback by the ferocity of her anger, I couldn't miss the comment about humiliating her. Where had that come from, I wondered, now worried that she might actually attack me.
"You can’t go out looking like that." Carla’s mood suddenly changed. She was starting at my exposed belly. "Take off your jacket and top." Her change of heart brightened me.
"Melissa run and get that new red corset. The pressure marks from her other corset and red streaks from its laces and bones simply ruin the entire look I wanted."
The corset was long enough and had big enough bra cups to be a bustier, but was still heavily boned. Thank goodness it came well up to my breasts, but not covering the nipples. Melissa laced me tightly into the leather garment. When she tied off, I felt and heard a click in the small of my back.
"What did you just do?" I asked.
"She locked it, you silly twit!" Carla snapped.
This was no better than the previous top in terms of advertising sex, but Carla at least calmed down quickly once I had it on, and just said to me. "Get out of here. Wait for your driver by the maid's entrance. I only wish I could be at the airport to see Kurt laugh at you when he gets in, you pitiful excuse for a sissy."
I opened the door and teetered downstairs as quickly as I could. Actually the shoes weren't that bad. I'd worn very high heels before, the only difference this time was that the soles were inflexible and really made me concentrate on putting the heel and toe down together.
By the time I had gotten to the kitchen, I had calmed down only somewhat. Carla had really gone off the deep end and I really needed to get out of her house and life. I could only pray the Kurt would help me, because if he wouldn't, I didn't know what I would do. I walked around the kitchen, practicing in my heels as I waited for Henry. After a few minutes, I couldn't resist and went into the foyer to check myself out in the full-length mirror.
There was only one word for me - Outrageous! Perched on those heels, my legs seemed to go on forever and, covered in shiny leopard-skin print, they were shockingly, luridly sexy. The little jacket was ridiculous, but when I took it off, the combination of my tiny waist and huge tits in their red leather wrapping was scandalous. I had never tried to be blatantly sexy before, but now I looked like I had escaped from a bad porno movie. God, I was a teenage boys wet dream, a totally tasteless knock-out. I was sexier than any woman I had ever seen in real life.
I was mortified too. Everyone would be looking at me carefully. In fact, they would be studying me. And as ridiculous as it now was, I still held every cross-dresser's fear of being read and outed. I just wasn't used to being the center of attention anywhere, and now all eyes would be on me everywhere I went. Men would lust after me and woman would hate me. What was I going to do?
As I was becoming increasingly agitated with myself, just beginning to realize that I was a caricature of sex object, the back doorbell rang. I grabbed the stupid little jacket and the ridiculous purse and hurried to greet Henry.
When I threw open the back door, slightly out of breath from having rushed through the house to get there, Henry's face struggled to maintain its professional mask even as his mouth fell open. For a moment, he was paralyzed. He hadn't known what to expect, but after he got over his initial surprise, and had drawn his eyes back from my tits to my face, it was obvious that what he saw distressed him.
"Hi Henry," I said, trying to keep my voice from squeaking, but it's ridiculous pitch brought him back to his senses.
"Jacqui?" he said, still trying to recover.
"Yes, Henry. It's me," I replied in a slightly shaky voice. "This is why you never want to piss Carla off," I said smilingly ruefully.
His eyes jerked up and down in his head a few times, trying to make sense of the thing standing in front of him before he recovered and said, "Come along, I brought some things for you in the car." He escorted me to the big Rolls.
"I do hope that these will, do, Jacqui," he hesitantly offered. "I had to guess your sizes." He removed the plastic covering from the suit.
"Did you tell Suzanne these were for me?" Her logo was on the wrapper. I hadn't thought to tell him to shop there, but he had driven me to the boutique before.
"Suzanne and her sister own the store where you bought the suit," I explained.
"Ah yes. I did not, at first, tell the woman your name, but she guessed it once I had described you, Jacqui."
"Then these will fit." I checked the other bags. "Where’s the make-up?" I heard Henry draw in his breath and raised my head to see his upset fade.
"Forgot the makeup, huh? It’s OK; I’ll manage. Shall we get going?"
Once I’d changed into the suit, about all I could do with the makeup in my ridiculous purse was to remove the hideously colored rouge from me cheeks. I replaced it with a thin blush of red using the lipstick. It looked better. I sat back to try to calm myself.
I didn't permit Henry to drop me at the arrivals terminal once we’d reached Kennedy. I didn’t think I looked like a hooker any longer, but I wasn't sure I had graduated much past high priced call girl. Few hookers wear thousand dollar suits of polished, black kidskin or five hundred dollar high-heeled boots, but then, not many women in expensive clothes have pink and magenta hair.
"Henry, give me an honest answer. Do I look alright?"
He just looked at me bug-eyed and said, "What do you mean by alright? You look like a goddess.
I blushed and looked down. When I looked up he was examining me closely and said, "Although I would lose the pink in the hair." His twinkling smile let me know he was joking with me. The pink was totally bizarre.
I turned heads in the lobby of the International Arrivals terminal when I entered. At first, I was quite anxious about being stared at, but when I finally realized that nothing bad was going to happen to me because of it, I relaxed enough to find the people who were checking me out amusing. There was a wide variety of feelings reflected in their expressions: awe, lust, jealousy, amazement, curiosity and more. The variations seemed endless. I had never known there were so many different kinds of leers, but I had to give up studying people because it seemed that every guy whose eye I caught thought I was coming on to him. I quickly went into a demure approach, casting my eyes down.
I started to wonder which look would have been on John's face had he been there, but quickly dismissed that tack; it led nowhere useful. I was Jacqui and there was no going back, although I swore to get my hair color fixed the first time I had the opportunity.
Even with my chauffeur near me, the stares never let up, but I saw more curiosity than I think I would have without him. Was I some very rich Chinese actress? Well, actress wasn't a bad way to think of it, although I wasn't on the set of any film.
My interest in the crowd disappeared the moment I saw Kurt exit from the Customs inspection area pushing a cart laden with luggage. Though Henry rushed to assist, I remained where I'd been standing, my heart pounding in my chest. I was suddenly feeling very insecure, scared that Kurt would find me ridiculous. The fear stopped me from rushing through the throng between us. As they approached me, I saw that Henry and Kurt were engaged in conversation, and Kurt appeared agitated, if not angry.
"Why isn't she here?" I heard him demand. "I did make it explicit that I wanted to see her, didn't I?"
"Yes, sir. But..."
"Don't 'but' me, Henry! I've warned you before about how I feel about your back talk! Now be silent!"
"But, sir?"
"Henry!" Kurt bellowed his name so loudly, the terminal actually quieted somewhat.
Kurt stopped only a few feet from me. Because he seemed so angry, I remained quiet, now even more afraid to approach him. He faced Henry.
"Did you even telephone Jacqui? Answer me - yes or no?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what did she say?"
"Jacqui said she would be here, sir. And..."
"Just shut up!" Kurt was so angry I could see the artery in his neck pounding. He looked around and his eyes briefly passed over me as they scanned the terminal.
"Get a move on! Go fetch the car, Henry!" Kurt thrust out his arm with a finger waving toward the door.
Kurt muttered as Henry pushed the luggage cart out.
After stabbing the keys on his cell phone, Kurt placed it to his cheek and seemed lost in the phone as he wandered about.
"Melissa, this is Mr. Mark," I heard him say. "Please, I wish to speak to Jacqui?" He paused to listen. I looked into his blue eyes as they danced over me from just three feet away. Kurt started to chuckle then laughed aloud.
"I cannot continue the game longer," he was laughing and smiling broadly. "Come to me, Jacqui." He said that while stretching his arms to encircle my body. I was so relieved; I threw myself right into them. Kurt hugged me tightly for a moment before I pulled my face back and silently asked for a kiss. He didn't disappoint me.
"You are beautiful, my dear, just stunning," he said as he broke the kiss. The awe in his voice made it clear he wasn't exaggerating. "And your lips are simply delicious." He grabbed me again into a tight hug. "I've missed you," he whispered into my ear. "How have you been?"
"Lonely," I whispered back, not wanting him to hear my voice. "I missed you too." I felt very secure in his arms.
"You missed me so much your hair turned pink?" he asked with a smile in his voice.
"Carla," was all I had to say.
"You can tell me about that later, Henry has already alerted me that something was going on. Do not worry, liebling, I will protect you, even if you insist upon having pink hair."
"Oh, God Kurt, just hold me. I've been so scared, but now I'm so relieved I'm not sure I can stand."
"I will hold you up. Do not worry. Come, let us get out of this horrid place." We walked out front with his arm about my waist, holding me close. There, he turned me so that we were face to face, and held me at arms distance with both of his hands encircling my waist.
As we stood at the door of the terminal, Kurt said, "Stand still, let me look at you again." He took a step back and gazed at me for a moment. "Your face is truly beautiful," he said with wonder in his voice. I started to melt. I had vowed that I was going to tell him about all the pain I'd been through, not the physical pain from the surgeries, but the mental anguish Carla had caused by stealing my life from me through her manipulations and fraud. Kurt cut me off by saying, "But the hair is a little too much, don't you think?"
I could only giggle in response. When I stopped, I said, "Please stop teasing me, I'm afraid I'm a little too fragile for it now."
"Well then," he said in reply nodding his head to indicate the teasing about my silly hair was over. "How do you like these then, Jacqui?" As he had moved back in front of me, he raised his left hand to my breast. Although it was somewhat flattened by my leather jacket, it was still obviously quite large. I blushed furiously and had to push his hand from my right breast.
"Not here, please?" I squeaked. His touch had thrilled me, but it was very embarrassing to be fondled in such a public place.
He withdrew readily, saying, "Later then?" I could only blush and say, "God Yes."
"Ah, you found her then, sir." Henry had a broad grin and winked at me while opening the door to the passenger compartment.
"Yes, I seem to have," Kurt chuckled. "She would be a hard one to loose, wouldn't she? Tell me, Henry, isn't Jacqui just the most beautiful woman you ever saw?" I blushed; he seemed serious.
"Yes sir, she is. I think the pink hair in front is an especially pleasing touch."
"Stop it, both of you. You're embarrassing me," I squeaked as I got in back and sat. Kurt settled beside me. As Henry pulled away, Kurt was staring at me again.
"Your voice is not what I expected, Jacqui." I glared at him, but said nothing.
"Are you angry?" he asked. My, he was being very perceptive!
"Yes," I continued to whisper.
"Why? You are truly beautiful."
"And I sound like a four year old!" I retorted. "Carla had no right to do this to me!"
Kurt continued to study me as we rode toward Manhattan. We both remained silent, thinking our own thoughts. I wanted to cuddle up to him, but was feeling intimidated and insecure.
After a few miles, he asked. "Where would you like to dine?"
I thought of saying 'McDonald's ®', but what would be the point? Looking as I did and dressed as I was, I'd be even more out of place in a burger joint than at a fancy restaurant.
"The best seafood place that you know of," I answered in my hateful squeak.
"Ah," he said brightening, "then we shall have breakfast in Portland, Maine. Would you like dinner before the drive, Jacqui?" He was joking, right? The fact that I wasn't sure whether he was joking showed just how insecure I was feeling.
"I'd like lobster, but between here and home. Perhaps we can enjoy it in Maine another time … for breakfast?"
He smiled then pulled me in for a kiss. I met his lips so gratefully that I frightened myself a little.
I moved my cheek to rest on his shoulder when we broke; it was nice. His hand covered my head as it rested there.
"This color won't run on my shoulder, will it?" he said, continuing to tease me. I just sat up and pouted at him. I wanted to be angry that he was making fun of my hair, but he had such an endearing look on his face I couldn't. In fact, he was starting to get tears in the corners of his eyes as he looked at me. 'What's going on?' I thought, starting to get anxious again.
"Jacqui, I never thought I could fall in love after Erica."
What? I started to rise off his shoulder, but he pressed me back.
"Lie still and listen to me," he said gently. His hand stroked my hair. I knew I'd never win any physical contest with him. I had discovered after getting home from the hospital that Melissa had been feeding me a cocktail of female hormones and testosterone blockers from the first day she had arrived. That was one of the main reasons she did most of the cooking. That, along with my tight corsets and the surgery, had turned me into a true weakling. I relaxed and lay still.
"Erica was the joy of my life, mon raison d'etre. She was a beautiful lady, but while I loved her dearly, I always admired a feminine beauty and physical grace, both of which had been denied to her.
‘What exactly was he saying?’ I didn't know where he was going, but it was obvious I was somehow involved.
"What are you trying to say to me, Kurt?" I hesitated, but had to ask.
"Erica had her spine broken on the Autobahn in a wreck caused by a drunk."
I didn't want to hear about that. "Where are we going to dinner?" I asked him, trying to stay away from what I feared would be an uncomfortable conversation.
"No," he went on, "I have to tell you. You are a graceful beauty, Jacqui. I find you irresistibly attractive."
"Kurt," I squeaked, "you're crazy. I look like a hooker and sound like Betty Boop on helium. Now where are we going to eat?"
I felt his chest silently chuckle against my face. "Okay, he sighed. You win for now, but I'm not giving up. I know a bistro near where the Fulton Fish Market was." He picked up the gosport and instructed Henry.
From the outside, the place looked like a dive. In fact, calling it a dive would have been a compliment; it was small, grimy, and dark. Its exterior belied the service and the food. 'Great' was not enough! The atmosphere within the candlelit confines was pure elegance.
"I would like a small steamed lobster with drawn butter and the smoked eel for an appetizer, please?" I asked after reading the single-page menu. Kurt stared blankly when I'd said that.
"Interesting. Do you know that most of the eel in Europe is imported from America, Jacqui?"
"I’ve heard that," I answered. Kurt was scanning the wine list still.
"None for me, remember?" I reminded him. He smiled in response.
"Ah, yes, 7-Up ®?" I nodded.
We both had the eel and it was delicious. I enjoyed my lobster, eating it slowly while Kurt feasted on a broiled seafood combo that I thought could have fed three, as huge as it was. I was enjoying the sensation of finishing a meal without feeling over stuffed.
"Dessert?" Kurt offered, "They've a very good selection."
I didn't think he actually expected me to order anything. I never had before. "Yes, I'd like something with enough chocolate in it to poison me. I haven't had a real dessert in many months."
"Kurt, let's get out of here," I said as I finished the last little trace of chocolate mousse off my spoon. If we hadn't been out in public, I would have shoved my tongue into the shimmery flute the mousse had come in. It was that good. "This was exquisite, but we're sitting way to far apart, and being close to you is what I want now." Throughout our meal, I had been thinking about how Kurt had touched my breast at the airport. I didn't dwell on how embarrassed I had been having my breast touched in public, as I might have done in June or July, but instead was having a hard time getting the sensations that had rippled through my body under Kurt's gentle touch out of my mind.
I wanted something when we left the restaurant. I wanted to explore the heat I felt deep inside from his touches and caresses, but troubling thoughts were clouding my mind and I couldn't resolve them. Once we had settled back inside the Rolls, I drew the curtains across the windows and adjusted the lights. Kurt was grinning when he saw me move to the rear facing jump seat.
"What are you doing, little maid?" he asked when I started to open the buttons of my fitted jacket.
Hesitantly, I began to tell him everything that had happened to me, beginning with my excessive plastic surgery, and on through the kidnapping from the hospital and the involuntary castration and unwanted SRS.
"Henry has already informed me of some of this Jacqui." He sounded troubled. "I wish I could have been here to protect you."
"I don't want to hear it!" I snapped in my stupid voice. I was trying to relay a confidence that my voice couldn't carry and I didn't feel. Once I had shrugged out of my jacket, I neatly folded it then set it on the adjacent cushion. For several minutes I neither spoke nor moved - I just sat and thought carefully about what I wanted to say while Kurt ogled my breasts, which were pushed up and exposed by the tight red leather corset. I sat straight up, holding my breasts thrust out in front of me.
"Do you realize what you are doing?" Kurt’s eyes were focused on my breasts.
It was a bit of a surprise to realize that I was unconsciously playing with my nipples. I continued and tried to arouse myself, putting on a small show as if I was a stripper in a cheap bar. I was angry at Kurt. He should have been there to save me.
"Fraeulein Jacqui, you are truly beautiful. I am sorry. What was done ist wrong"
I ignored him instead sat back up as straight as I could, now displaying my breasts, holding each one up as if I was offering them to him.
"Is this what you want Kurt? A freak? A Barbie Doll created by a vengeful woman to humiliate her weak, submissive husband?" I had no idea why I'd said that. Was I testing him? I had to be an idiot trying to drive the only person who could save me away.
"Jacqui, you are in pain. Do not make it worse with hateful words. They will do no good for you and they won't drive me away." He looked down and sighed. When he looked back up, there were tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "I do not want to lose you. It would break my heart in two to lose what I adore for a second time in my life." The tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes to his cheeks.
"Please sit with me," he went on, reaching his hand out to me. "Let me show you my love. Allow me the chance to repair your hurt, which Carla has caused you to feel."
Could I refuse? No. His tears and my own need pulled me across the short distance, which I had created because of my own pain.
As soon as I had seated myself beside him, Kurt reached for my jacket and slipped it over my shoulders, although I didn't button it.
"Jacqui, one day I hope to enjoy your body fully, but not now. You are suffering and not thinking clearly. This is not the right way. Put your head on my shoulder and let me hold you. That is what you need now."
"Please," I pleaded with him. "Touch my breasts?" I took his hand and slipped it under my jacket, directing it to my breast. He held still for a moment and then started to caress me. I let my head fall back onto his shoulder and tried to open myself to the sensations.
My man, yes my man, started to fondle my breasts. Once upon a time, when Melissa had teased me about Kurt being my boyfriend, I had protested. Now my boyfriend was causing the most pleasurable sensations to course through my brain. I couldn't stop myself; I twisted in my seat and reached up to kiss him.
I was soft on his lips, not urgent. I nibbled and tugged on his lower lip and teased the top one with my tongue. He tentatively let his tongue out to explore mine. I encouraged him by pressing my lips more firmly against his and then seeking is tongue more aggressively. After a few minutes of this sweet, tentative exploration, a moan left my throat that surprised us both, but I knew just what it meant and dove into his kiss with all my heart.
Once he had held me with a threatening grip. Now, he was wasn't holding me at all. I was gratefully snuggled into his side, while his fingers, kneaded, squeezed, and caressed me. It was his affection that had a grip on me.
It felt frustratingly wonderful - wonderful because of the wild sensations his gentle hands sent pulsing throughout my entire being and frustrating because I was ready for him to be in me, at the center of my sex.
"Mmm ... that feels soooo good." My eyes were closed as I murmured. I took his hand and placed it over my vagina. "Touch me here Kurt. Let me know how a woman feels."
He allowed his hand to linger and to caress my gently through my skirt. But then he said, "Not tonight, liebling. I am tired and you are too eager. We must ease into this and make it beautiful."
Even though I was already writhing beneath his caresses, I sat up and looked at him. Didn't he love me? What kind of man would stop when a woman asks him to go farther? The look in his eyes and on his face was very clear. He adored me, but was worried about me.
As soon as he had seen that I understood, he put one arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side with the other. I just sighed with contentment. Yes, I wanted to feel sexual arousal, but no, there wasn't really any rush. Actually, right then, feeling secure was much better. The little game I had played by flaunting my breasts at him had been pointless. I still wasn't sure what I had intended to accomplish, but it didn't matter. I had what I really needed anyway.
I had to change back into the outfit Carla had dressed me in before I could go back into the house. Needless to say, Kurt was flabbergasted. "She made you go out like that?" He asked in wonder. "Why does she hate you so?"
I just shook my head sadly as I sat by the car door, pulling the fake fur jacket over my corset. I still didn't understand the depth of Carla's anger or the lengths she had gone to for revenge. As I sat on the seat, my legs partly spread as I worked on my face, Kurt got down on his knees and stuck his face in my crotch. He nuzzled and kissed and even gave me a few little bites as I sat there with my arms out, startled by his actions.
"Jacqui, dear," he said looking up, "you will wear this for me sometime in the future. " It wasn't a question.
"I will?" I squeaked.
"Yes, you will. This screams sex and I must have some. I have never seen anything as sexy as these pants pulled so tightly across the space between your legs."
"You pig!" I squealed, grabbing his head in both hands and driving it back down into my vagina. "You men are all the same. You all want whores for girlfriends. A pair of big tits and skintight pants and you're behaving like a teenager in heat."
"Perhaps," he said looking back up at me, "but at my age, that's a pretty amazing feeling. But just remember, when it comes to protecting you, I'm no teenager. You have nothing to fear from here on."
I fell asleep in my bunk that night with fond memories of my evening. As I softly caressed my nipples with one hand and my pussy with the other, I imagined that it was Kurt who was between my legs and actually started to look forward the having him inside of me. I was still scared, but knew this was something I had to do. Not for him, but for me. It was one way 'little' Jacqui was going to become a real woman.
*****
It was still very warm during the third week of September, so Ms. Martin hosted another pool party. Nearly a hundred guests had been invited, many of whom I'd never met. The last minute cleaning and the preparation of the refreshments kept Melissa and me very busy throughout the week. I guess I was getting used to my new body, though my breasts still surprised me on occasion by getting in the way. I was growing increasingly unhappy with the chastity belt, which was terribly intrusive, making me aware of its presence, and therefore my status, at all times.
I had been rushing around as the party started and didn't see Kurt come in, but as I was serving a tray of shrimp toast to the guests, I saw him looking at me strangely. He waited until my tray was empty before approaching me.
"Guten Tag, Kurt. Wie gehts?" I smiled and curtseyed.
"Guten Tag, Magd Jacqui," he returned my greeting with a huge smile. "I am well." I moved closer and lifted my mouth for a kiss.
"You will make the others jealous," he teased.
I smiled up into his eyes. "Let them be. I am very fortunate that you are mine." Kurt hugged me to him and kissed me intimately.
"I must ask a favor of you, Kurt," I said after we had broken apart. "Ms. Martin asked me to request that you allow me to spend most of my time serving her other guests today, okay?" I asked.
"Yes, you seem busy. But first will you serve me a beer, bitte?"
"Certainly." I curtseyed and went to the keg to fill a glass for him. My nemesis, Jim Wilson, moved to intercept me. I had given my previous encounters with him some thought, and put my own plan into action before he could act on his.
"Hello, sir. I guess you'd like a kiss today?" I simply leaned into him and planted a noisy one right on his cheek. Apparently, his buddies had been watching us because they gave me a big cheer as I trotted over to the beer keg. I turned and gave them a bright smile and a big curtsey. My plan must have worked, because to my delight, he did not bother me for the rest of the day. After I served his beer, Kurt moved to mingle with the other guests.
I found myself strangely jealous as I watched him interact with the other women. I guess I wanted all his attentions for myself. I had hoped he would have rescued me from Carla by now, but he had convinced me to be patient. He thought it would be best to give his lawyers the opportunity to thoroughly review the phony medical files and forged passport Carla had given me.
Of course, he was right. Until we had Carla trapped, it would be best to do nothing. For the time being, the most effective course of action would be for me to remain as Carla’s maid. Reluctantly, I had agreed to act submissively and pretend that her hold over me was unshakable. Kurt gave me confidence that I’d eventually triumph; though right then, acting as a serving girl, I wasn't feeling very optimistic.
"Jacqui?" Carla interrupted my thoughts. When I looked over, she motioned for me to join her. She was talking with Dave Crawford, his wife, Judy, and Toni Bauer. "Come here, please?"
"Yes, mum?" Carla formally introduced me to people I'd known for years and who I had served then at the earlier parties.
"Jacqui, Mr. and Mrs. Crawford will be entertaining some clients at their home next Saturday and thought that it might be nice if they had a maid to serve so that they both could maximize their time with their guests," Carla said, as if explaining something complex to a child.
Dave took over. "They represent a Swiss company that is considering establishing a small plant in the area, Jacqui. We thought that having a gorgeous and exotic Chinese maid might add a little extra flair to our party and help win their account." Obviously, they thought that maid should be me.
"I've told Davy that I'd be happy to loan you to them for the weekend," Carla said, making my participation mandatory. It was obviously a done deal.
"Yes, mum." I wasn't very pleased to be loaned out like a piece of luggage.
"They'll only be there for the evening, but I'll need you to prepare for the dinner, serve it then clean up afterwards. You may use one of our spare rooms while you are there," Judy told me. It sounded like nothing but work, but that didn't bother me at all. Serving in the home of John's best friend did. This was obviously another ploy of Carla's to humiliate me.
As I listened to Judy talk, I realized that being away from Carla and Melissa was definitely a plus under any circumstances. The Crawford’s were sure to treat me better than those two.
"How many will be expected for dinner, mum?" Though Doctor Tobias had told me that my voice would become lower with time, it didn't seem to me that it had changed at all. I still hated it and felt humiliated when I heard it.
"There will be six besides my wife, me and Toni there," Dave explained. The situation just took a quantum leap for the worse. Briefly, I glanced at Toni who was grinning at me as if she had just won the state lottery.
"I'll pick you up about nine next Saturday and help you set things up, Jacqui." Toni grinned at me. She was obviously looking forward to this.
"Toni, she might need some help with her corsets and uniforms. Be a dear and do what you can for her there," Carla asked.
"Sure, Carla. It'll be my pleasure. You won't mind if I ask her to return the favor?"
Carla laughed. "Mind? Not at all. I swear, Toni, if I hadn't met some of your guys, I might think you were a lesbian." Carla joked.
"Well, I'll admit that with a doll like this," she nodded at me, "handy, I might just be tempted. But I really do prefer guys." Toni laughed brightly, making it into a joke.
"That will be all, Jacqui. Run along now and make sure my other guests are happy." Just like that, Carla had dismissed me. Her arrogant attitude, the demeaning way she treated me and the fact that she could loan out like an object, made me burn with resentment! The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that she would be soon getting her just rewards.
Melissa and I were kept very busy throughout the afternoon and early evening tending to the big crowd. By seven-thirty most of the guests had left. Kurt summoned me to his side and handed me a soda.
"I've been watching you work all day, Jacqui. You must be exhausted. Come, sit with me for a few minutes. Surely Carla will not object if you rest for a moment."
I didn't care what Carla thought, I was thankful to be off my feet and do just what Kurt suggested.
"I have tickets to the ballet at Lincoln Center next Saturday night. I would like you at my side," Kurt said as I sipped my soda.
"Oh Kurt, Thank you for asking me. I'd love to. I really would. But I can't." I tried to look as disappointed as I felt.
He scowled as he realized I was turning down his invitation. "I will have words with, Carla."
"Kurt, you promised me," I pleaded.
"I must serve at a party at the Crawford's next weekend. It's business." He thought about it for a moment and then waved Dave Crawford over to discuss my commitment.
Kurt told Dave about his problem, adding, "Perhaps you could use Carla's other maid, David?"
"Sorry, Kurt," Dave replied. "It doesn't matter to me, but my wife has her heart set on Jacqui and there's no way I'm even going to try to change her mind. You'll just have to make other arrangements, Kurt, sorry."
I'd have preferred the ballet; that was for sure.
Kurt was obviously very unhappy about this, so I took the opportunity to remind him that the sooner he got me out of there, the sooner he'd have my undivided attention. Then, before he left, I told him that I’d hidden my documents in a large envelop in the vanity of one of the downstairs guest bathrooms. He let me know he had it when we kissed good night.
"Look at it as broadening your resume, Jacqui," Melissa replied after I had told her about my job at the Crawford’s as we prepared for bed. "There is nothing like good references, and the more the better, when you apply for a job in our profession. A maid can never have too many." I looked at her sourly.
"Plus, it should help you with the Immigration and Naturalization Service too, when you’ve been here long enough to apply for citizenship." She laughed at me openly, mocking the false status she had helped to create.
"Thanks for your help," I replied sarcastically. "But I don't plan on being a career maid." Of course, arguing with Melissa about being a maid was pointless, and I knew it. It would be impossible to try to dissuade the First Girl from thinking that there was any better career for me.
"I'm sure you never did, but that doesn't change what you know is right," Melissa shot back, positive she was right. "Besides, I don't think uneducated immigrants have that many choices." I saw no point in arguing, so I said nothing even after she added, "And besides, you don't have a choice. You are Ms. Martin's maid whether you want to be or not!"
God, I hoped she was wrong.
Again, we had a few overnight guests, and when I cleaned her suite the following morning it became obvious that Carla hadn't slept alone. This saddened me less and less, because I realized that she was not my wife anymore. Still, I couldn't entirely suppress my feelings; perhaps one day they'd be gone. One thing was certain, however, I was never sleeping with Carla again. In fact, about the only thing I could do with her now was to compete with her for men.
Shortly after I had come down to with my first load of laundry, the telephone rang. Unless I was alone, Melissa was to answer it.
"Good morning, Ms. Martin's residence, First Girl Melissa speaking. How may I serve you?" I heard her answer.
"Good morning, Mr. Mark. Yes, she's here." Melissa came out of the office.
"Your boyfriend's on the phone," she told me, although she knew I already knew that.
"Guten Morgen, Kurt mit eine K."
"Hello, Jacqui. I'd like to take you to dinner tonight, since you cannot accompany to the ballet on Saturday. Six o'clock?"
"I'd love to, Kurt. Let me ask Melissa. Today is her day off and one of us is supposed to be here on duty." I set the phone down once he'd said he would wait.
"Melissa," I curtseyed, "Kurt wants to take me out tonight at six. Would you please switch your day off with me?"
"Sure, but it'll cost you. I'll be out most of the day anyway. I'll be back by four to give you time to get yourself pretty. In return, you give me your entire day off."
I pursed my lips and frowned. That wasn't fair, but I knew I had no choice. If I pissed her off or offended her, she could just as easily turn me down. "Thank you," I curtseyed, "you're a real pal." I tried to sound as if I really meant it, but I'm sure she was wondering if I was being sarcastic. After all, why should I be so pleased that she had just taken advantage of me?
"It's OK. Six o'clock. How should I dress, Kurt?"
"Nothing too fancy. I'm sure you'll look nice in anything you select."
I happily did my chores for the rest of the day, looking forward to my evening out, and having my chastity belt off, even if only for a few hours. Though I had Melissa for company most of the time, my life had become lonely since Carla cast me out and only treated me as her servant. We no longer communicated and since I couldn't trust Melissa, I didn't share anything important with her. With Kurt, I could share my thoughts and ... my body; being in his arms was more than just nice.
Looking through the rack that held my other wardrobe, (Melissa and I each had a separate one for all of our uniforms. In fact, Melissa had two), I looked for something I hadn't yet worn with Kurt. Though it was a bit young looking for my real age, I assembled a black wool mini and cashmere turtleneck. What to wear with them presented a small problem because none of my high heels looked right. I decided on my new black knee boots with five-inch heels that Henry had gotten me for the airport and black stockings. I knew I’d look sexy like that.
'Sexy?' is that how I wanted to look when I went out? Yes! I had two new goals. One was to enjoy being Jacqui. As sexy as I looked, it just wouldn't work for me to skulk around trying not to be noticed. In fact, I was pretty sure that's what Carla intended. She wanted me to be embarrassed looking like this, to leave a humiliated John in Jacqui's body.
What she didn't understand though, was that I really was Jacqui, and I was happy about it. What I had to do was to develop a more outgoing and confident style than I'd ever had before. I sure as hell didn't want to look like a hooker, but sexy was just fine, thank you. Besides, sexy girls have all sorts of advantages that can be used to their benefit. I would just have to learn how to do that.
My second goal was to share my body with Kurt. This was a new feeling for me and I was allowing myself to explore it for the first time. I figured I was sort of like a teenage girl, given my lack of experience with men, and so even though I was still full of doubts, I knew that thinking about sex with a man I was virtually in love with was natural. I would just have to overcome them, exactly the way any young girl who is about to make love for the first time does. In fact, I think the underlying anxiety made the whole thing more exciting! I felt daring. I couldn't wait to get my chastity belt off.
As she'd promised, Melissa returned about half past three and relieved me. She was thoughtful enough to offer to re-corset me so I could bathe.
"You do look sexy tonight, Jacqui," she commented when she saw what I was wearing.
How could I not look sexy, you twit, I thought to myself while smoothing the sweater over my seemingly gigantic breasts. Look what you and your sister did to me.
"You must be hoping to get lucky tonight. Have you and your boyfriend had sex yet?"
I laughed. "That's kind of personal, don't you think?"
"Yes, but I'm curious, anyway.
"No, we haven't had sex yet," I replied defensively. I immediately regretted having said anything at all. Melissa was not a friend, even though she often acted as if she were.
She giggled, "Not even by Bill Clinton's definitions?"
I said nothing, instead focused on my face as I sat before the vanity. That didn't stop Melissa though. She just went on, "We figured with you looking like the little slut you are, he’d have pumped your box as soon as he got you in the car last Saturday," Melissa laughed derisively.
"Well, I suppose any one of your dates would've had your legs spread before dinner," I said as huffily as I could. "But Kurt's a gentleman." I almost giggled when I recalled Kurt’s amusement as I redressed in that awful costume. Melissa didn't know about the leathers. Truth be told, they were no less sexy than the fringed top and leopard skin pants, but they were far less slutty.
"Well, just forget about getting laid tonight. Ms. Martin won't be home this evening, so you’re not getting out of your chastity belt. But still, even all locked up, there are other ways a girl can take care of her guy," she smirked.
A jumble of conflicting feelings washed through me. At first, I couldn't believe how disappointed I was to hear that my hoped for release wasn't going to happen. Damn! As soon as I became aware of that feeling, it was replaced, by a wave of relief as I realized that I wouldn't have to allow a man inside me just yet. Then just as quickly, I was angry that I would be wearing the belt at all.
Even though I’d been wearing the new chastity belt a much shorter time than my previous one, I hated it much more. Not that it was actually uncomfortable; it wasn’t, but the design was far more demanding and exerted greater control over me. I could never forget that I was wearing it. Combined with my tight corsets, it forced me sit in only a few different ways, all ramrod straight and upright. Hard seats were far more comfortable than the soft, deeply upholstered ones most people could enjoy. Thankfully, the seats in Kurt’s cars were firm.
The hip band so closely matched the contours of my corseted body that it was as if they were physically joined. To assure that any access was completely denied to me or anyone else, the belt also fit much more snugly through my crotch and there was practically no relative movement there. The much wider front shield spread my thighs further apart and I had to adopt a different gait, which resulted in a distinct hip swivel, which Melissa had quickly pronounced as extremely enticing. At first, I had been appalled that I would entice every male past puberty! When I saw how Kurt responded to it, however, I started to change my mind. No, I would never get lost in a crowd, so, even though it was easier said than done, I had vowed to be unashamed of my looks and how I moved.
That was the only good thing about this damn belt. When I’d used the toilet the morning after it had been locked on, I discovered, much to my chagrin, a feature I’d not seen when Melissa had first locked it on. Like my first belt, this one had been made with a fairly-large hole over my rectum. Quite unlike it, however, a spike was welded to the back strap. It extended halfway across the opening. Figuring out why it was there was a no-brainer. Not only was my pussy locked away, but no one would have access to my rear offering either. I’d never wanted to be used there, so I was thankful for the extra protection. Still, the spike presented a major obstacle to maintaining proper hygiene.
The worst refinement in this belt’s design however, was the parallel slots through which I had to pluck my labia every time the belt was closed after it had been opened so I could throughly clean myself; once a week under Melissa's close supervision. Carla had watched the first time only and had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that if I dared to give myself the slightest gratification during those times that the shield would remain locked for a month, with my largest stent inside of me. Melissa was diligent in ensuring I didn't play with myself.
Back when I'd still been John, the new maid, my daily hormone cocktail had prevented any sexual reaction once my penis had been encased in its steel tube. The new belt was different; it was specifically intended to induce a reaction in my new sex. Performing my chores caused my muscles to contract and relax and these movements constantly massaged my lips. Just walking did the same. Climbing on a stepstool or, worse, the stairs, created far too much friction for my comfort. Often I’d have to pause until the wave of sensation passed and I could again tolerate the stimulation. Melissa never failed to giggle or laugh if she saw me do this and sometimes added a humiliating comment.
"What is it, Jacqui? Are you imagining what sex is like with a real man?" or something equally caustic.
Having delivered her good news-bad news, Melissa left me to myself. Sitting before my vanity, applying my makeup, I started to think about what she was suggesting about my relationship with Kurt. Certainly, when I had first gone out with him, I refused to think about where it could lead sexually. God, I'd been totally phobic about the whole issue of sex. The first time he touched my breasts I flinched. I smiled to myself as, painting my lips red, I remembered that I certainly hadn't flinched the last time he had; I was squirming with pleasure.
For me, sex had never been the big deal that many people made of it. Carla and I had certainly engaged in it and had fun, but her defensive personality had not been conducive to becoming deeply intimate. She had behaved almost as if sex was a duty, or a chore, though she never withheld it or used it as a weapon. I suppose that being in bed with a guy who had tits didn't help much either. I shrugged; there was no point over analyzing that particular bit of history. The water was way over the dam by now.
How did Kurt feel about sex? I didn't really know. Would he need to get laid every night and twice a day on weekends? What would I do? Would I end up like Carla had been with me, doing it as a chore? God, I hoped not. I still couldn't really comprehend taking a man inside of me. The thought of me on my back with my legs spread wide to welcome him, just wasn't something I could imagine without flinching, despite my desire to make it happen.
Thank goodness Kurt actually arrived before I could become too carried away with that line of thought. He picked me up in the Audi that evening and drove us to a small, candlelit restaurant. Other than a couple of cafes and roadside dinners, I don't recall ever having been in a restaurant with only ten tables before. Only three others were occupied when we arrived.
I found that I could talk easily with Kurt. He took a great interest in what I did during my days and evenings, even when it had been nothing but routine chores. Never once did he ask anything about the previous the thirty-two years that had preceded my life as a full-time maid.
"So, how was it polishing the furniture today, Jacqui?" he asked after we'd ordered.
"Actually, I was assigned to dust everything in the library today," I replied. "I've found an old book on gardening that I want to ask permission to read."
"Must you have permission to do something like that?" he scowled. "You are an adult and live in that house." I placed my hand on top of his to calm him.
"Think about what you just said and what I am," I said as soothingly as I could. "In that house, I'm a maid, just a hired servant. How would you feel if the chambermaid at hotel where you were staying found an interesting book or magazine of yours and borrowed it to read when she was off duty?"
I cocked my head waiting for his reply, when he just nodded, I said, "Just as I thought. Well, just like that chambermaid, I know my place. I need permission to borrow Ms. Martin's books." It was obvious he understood, but he still seemed angry over it.
"Kurt, give me a kiss," I said to get his mind off it. We touched lips. "It's okay with me, so let it be okay with you too." I was pleased that he dropped the subject to again compliment my appearance. That was something I could deal with easily.
Instead of driving straight home, we drove out into the country after our meal. I had been thinking of what might be coming, as we rode in a comfortable silence. He pulled his car off the rode and parked overlooking a farm. I started giggling.
"What's so funny? Share your amusement, liebling."
"I feel like a seventeen year old about to neck with her boyfriend."
"Neck?" he asked. "What is neck?" Leaning over the console, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer to kiss him.
"It means this." My lips parted and I pressed them to his. Kurt responded warmly.
"This is never going to work." I said, sitting back up. "Why didn't you bring the big car?"
"What isn't going to work?"
"This small car. The damn gearshift is in the way. Time to get out." I was soon on his side of the car and opening the door. I still don't think he grasped my intentions.
"Come on, let's go over there," I motioned to a grassy knoll. Kurt smiled knowingly and leaned behind the seat to retrieve a blanket. He had obviously anticipated this. I guess he did grasp my intentions.
I knelt on the blanket once he'd spread it on the soft grass. Taking both of his hands in mine, I pulled him down to face me then hugged and kissed him again.
He placed his hands on my breasts and gently rubbed them through the soft knit. Even his large hands couldn't cover them. It was, I guess, a measure of how much I had changed since our first date in July that I had no intention of stopping him as he fondled me. Instead, I reached down and pulled my sweater out of my skirt to provide easier access.
Kurt didn't disappoint me. He put one hand under my sweater and around my back. Then he lifted me slightly so I could stretch out my legs, before laying me gently on my back, placing himself down on top of me without ever breaking our kiss. It felt absolutely wonderful to feel his strength as he eased me down carefully before letting himself settle on top of me. He probably outweighed me by eighty pounds, but I didn't find his weight oppressive. Instead, I found it comforting and reassuring and … somewhat to my surprise, exciting.
We kissed and he played with my nipples through the sweater. That wasn't enough for me; I pulled my head away from his mouth and said, "Please take it off." I sounded desperate and was slightly shocked at my neediness and my willingness to express it so aggressively. Confused by my feelings, I looked down shyly. There was no denying it, I wanted to feel his skin on mine. I looked back up. "Then you can play with them again. Please?"
He smiled at me adoringly, and it took him only a moment to pull the sweater over my head. Once he had; Kurt sat back on his heels and looked at me. My corset pushed the large mounds of my breasts up and together, creating deep cleavage. I still wasn't used to seeing it. The sight of my pale white flesh illuminated by a lustrous moon was simply breathtaking.
I was so caught up in the view that I let out a small gasp and looked up quickly when he touched me again. Looking up raised my face right to his lips, so I greedily lunged into a new kiss while I pushed my chest into his hands. I reached up and put my hands into the soft hair on both sides of his head, caressing him as best I could. I was in heaven, feeling like a real woman. He was certainly a real man.
After who knows how long, we lay side by side, looking up at the stars. Kurt started to talk about astronomy.
"Oh, shut up," I said, trying to sound angry, something my silly squeaky voice just wouldn't allow. "I don't want to talk about Galileo or anyone else."
"What do you wish to discuss then, Jacqui?" I propped my head up on my elbow and gazed into his eyes.
"I don't want to talk about anything, you silly man. Just shut up and lie still." I took as deep a breath as my corset allowed and moved my right hand to Kurt's belt. "Don't move," I ordered in a whisper. I hesitated for a moment, thinking about what I intended to do. After a moment, I nodded my head and proceeded anyway.
I lowered the zipper and parted his trousers. Kurt lifted his hips so I could pull them and his shorts down. Surprisingly, he was completely flaccid - there was no reaction, at all, to what I was doing. With just the tips of my long red nails, I traced lines slowly along the shaft. I tried to think of things that I had liked and did them to him.
Holding his penis in a firm, but gentle grip, I shifted my body to lay my cheek on Kurt's bare belly and then resumed teasing his cock. I giggled; one of my garden crew (had it been Emilio?) had said he'd been wrong to think I was a cock tease, but here I was, teasing Kurt's cock. Emilio's first guess was going to be wrong; little Jacqui was teasing this cock, but she had every intention of relieving the tension she created.
Yes, she was about to become a cock sucker too.
I let that thought linger in my mind to see how I'd react to it. Poor homophobic John would have felt repulsed and humiliated. He probably would have vomited if a penis had ever touched his lips. My response was relatively mild. This was something I had to do, that I wanted to do. It was how I could show my feelings for this wonderful man, who had become so important in my life.
One day I would let him penetrate me. I would lie on my back, spread my legs and ask him to stick his prick into my newly formed vagina in order to demonstrate my affection in the most primal way a woman can. I didn't know if I was ready for that yet, but it didn't matter. Even if I had been emotionally ready, I wasn't physically able.
Instead, I would do the next best thing, something any woman could do. I would satisfy him with my lips. Sucking a lover's cock wasn't a big deal for a woman and, if I was to be a woman, it couldn't be that big a deal for me either. It was absolutely the right thing to do. With that in mind, I started to lower my head.
"Liebling, stop." Kurt placed his hand on my forehead to push me away. I pushed back.
"Be quiet!" I ordered. I thought I sounded like a petulant six-year old.
Kurt's penis still wasn't reacting to me playing with it, although Kurt did give out an occasional faint moan himself. I pulled his prick up a little and shifted slightly, so I could kiss the tip. After I did that, parting my lips seemed natural, as did putting his penis into my mouth.
I began slowly to lick the penis in my hand; I sucked it into my mouth.
I hesitated for a second to think, while I lazily played my tongue around the head. How did I feel now that I had a penis in my mouth? It was Kurt's penis, which I held in my lips and I wanted to let him know how I felt about him. it was easy to tell myself that having him in my mouth was a good thing. I took bringing him off as a challenge, a thrown gauntlet, and proof that I was a real girl. Besides, this was something I wanted to give him. I began to suck in earnest.
Sucking on a cock was not the yucky, horrible thing I imagined it would be. To begin with, the penis itself wasn't at all like I thought it might be. It was velvety soft and warm. It smelled slightly musky, but also had an odor I couldn’t recognize. Perhaps it was Kurt's soap. I wasn’t sure. I didn't take time to focus on how it smelled or felt. I had a job I wanted to do and I wanted to concentrate on that.
I did everything that I could think of to get him hard. I even pumped my head up and down, letting his penis slide in and out as I went; I enjoyed doing that and Kurt moaned lowly while he stroked my arm and shoulder as I worked. There was simply no reaction from my target.
It took some time for me to admit defeat. I was feeling very frustrated and totally humiliated because of my failure. I moved to rest my head on Kurt's chest while I continued to toy with his penis with my nails. I didn't want him to see that I’d started to cry.
Despite my earlier rationalizations, I now knew that it had been a big, difficult step for me to give Kurt a blowjob. John never could have done it and it wasn't so long ago that I’d been John. The only way I could allow myself to suck on Kurt's cock was to totally negate any possible residual male identity left in me; my SRS had been so recent and so unexpected, that there was still plenty of male in me.
This hadn’t just been a blowjob, it was the symbolic final abandonment of John. Plus, it had never occurred to me that I might fail at such a fundamental act. That loss, mixed with the humiliation of not even being able to get Kurt hard, was too much for me.
"Kurt, do you want to tell me?" I softly sobbed.
"What is there to tell you, liebling?"
"How about what I was doing wrong?"
"You did nothing wrong. What you did was perfect, Jacqui." I slapped his stomach.
"What the hell did I do wrong?" My tears were now flowing freely down my cheeks.
"You did nothing wrong. It's me."
"Kurt, don't argue with me. I couldn't satisfy you. I couldn't even make you hard."
He lifted my shoulders off his chest and pulled me up so he could kiss me. I could see his face fall when he saw my tears and he gently kissed them from my cheeks and eyes.
"Listen to me," he said in an urgent whisper. "You did nothing wrong. Three years ago, just before I lost Erica, my prostrate was removed after years of chronic infection. I was a lucky man that it was not cancer."
He heaved a big sigh and I cocked my head slightly to look into his face as gently as I could. Seeing that, he went on. "I had hoped I would be able to respond to your wonderful kisses, licks, and caresses, but as you can see nothing happened. I'm afraid that's the way it is, Jacqui. I'm so sorry to disappoint you."
I didn't know what to say. I couldn’t even imagine what my face must have been revealing, because my thoughts were chaotic. I was sorry for Kurt, disappointed that I would never get to have sex with him, and at the same time incredibly relieved that I wouldn't have to have sex with him. At the same time, I couldn't believe that there was nothing his doctors could do, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to push him into further treatment because I didn't know what I really wanted.
Well, I knew I wanted to have an orgasm again sometime in my life. I hated the idea that Carla might have stolen that from me. I had no idea how to relate to my new vagina as an erogenous zone. I was terribly confused.
"Kurt," I started, "I'm so sorry for you, but I have to tell you the truth. I feel very relieved. I didn't know if I was ready for this, but I really wanted to do it for you."
"Oh," he cut me off, "you can suck on my penis any time you want. It was delightful." He gave me an endearing smile. "Just don't count on anything happening to it." Now his smile was rueful.
What could I say? His penis seemed so harmless now. It wouldn't be the instrument of my deflowering after all. "Well, the one thing I learned tonight is that I can," I said. "I wasn't sure."
"But you know what I really want?" I smiled up at him from under my eyelashes.
He raised his brows as if to ask "What?"
"Kiss me," I said, as I turned my body so I was on top of his and then waited for him to reach up and pull my lips to his, which took only a heartbeat.
Freed from the fear that had accompanied me earlier in the evening, I now felt ravenous for his affection. I kept him on that blanket with me for quite a long time.
End of Part VII
By Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part VIII — Loaned Out "But it's different, you used to be the CEO of your own business. Now you’re the maid to that business's new CEO. That's a long way to fall." "Remember I said to you that if things didn't work out between you and Carla, you should look me up..." "It's Jacqui, Toni. Yes, I'm okay. I refuse to allow my life to be ruined over this." _______________________________________________________________ By Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part VIII — Loaned Out "I've set out the uniforms I want you to wear this weekend, Jacqui," Ms. Martin told me while sitting down for her dinner on Friday. "Ask the First Girl to look over everything that you pack to assure you'll have all you'll be needing. Toni is going to pick you up about nine o'clock." "Yes, mum." What else could I say? She would never listen to my thoughts about this, much less change the plans. "That should do it," Melissa said as she closed the third case the following morning. I thought I would be taking enough uniforms for a week instead of a weekend when we set the luggage outside in the driveway before going back in to prepare breakfast for our mistress. Toni arrived just on time. She greeted me then requested Carla. "Ms. Martin left to go shopping, I believe. Perhaps you'd like to check with Melissa. She would know for sure," I told her. "It wasn't that important." She glanced about the kitchen as if looking for something." "Make me a cup of tea, Jacqui." Miss Bauer sat in the breakfast nook, staring at me. I could only obey and moved to start the kettle, before getting a cup and saucer, which I placed on a tray. "I want you to know something as this weekend starts. You serving this dinner wasn't my idea. Carla convinced Judy Crawford after she'd objected, I don't think that she likes the idea of another woman running her kitchen. Dave didn't go for it at first either, but Carla was able to bring them all around." She let me stew about that, not saying another word until I curtseyed to place the tea before her. "Clean those up and meet me at the car," Toni directed after finishing her tea. My bags were on the backseat when I came outside. I'd been to the Crawford's house many times before and had met their two daughters: Shelly, seventeen, and Ashley who was two years younger. "Wow! Mom wasn't kidding when she said we were having a real maid this weekend," Ashley said. "Hi, Ms Bauer. Is she yours?" Shelly asked while I straightened my uniform after getting out of the car. "Hi, girls. No, she belongs to your dad's and my boss, Ms. Martin." "Kewl, I didn't know Carla had a maid." I didn't anticipate that the girls would be home, but then, where else would they be? "Shelly, Ashley, this is Jacqui. She'll be our maid for the weekend." Miss Bauer introduced me. "Now Jacqui has a lot to do for the guests your parents are having over tonight, so try to limit your demands. If both of you are good, I'll see that Jacqui will do your laundry and clean your rooms before she's returned tomorrow." Seeing the slightly nasty smile on Miss Bauer's face made my heart sink. "I know that you'll want to choose to do that for the girls, won't you Jacqui?" I was trapped. "Miss Bauer, is Jacqui really Chinese, she sure looks it?" Shelly asked. "Yes," was her monosyllabic answer. "Then how did she get so big? Chinese women are short and they have little titties." She blushed and giggled after she said it. I blushed and giggled too. I wanted to say something funny, but I didn't want them to hear my voice. "Now leave her alone. As I said, she has a lot to do before tonight." I carried two of my bags inside, following Toni, who carried the other one. She entered through the kitchen, not even pausing to knock. "Judy, Dave, we're here," she called out, as she headed up the carpeted stairs. "Master suite is there, those are the girls' rooms," she pointed out. "That's a linen closet, my room is there and you are in here." She went into a nicely furnished guest room. "We'll share the adjoining bathroom. Leave your door unlocked so I can help you as much as I can. "Here," she extended her key ring. "Fetch my bags in the trunk and bring them up." After a moment's pause, she said "Please." I did as I was told. The girls were still outside. "Are you really going to clean our rooms before you go, Jacqui?" Ashley asked. "Yes, mum. It will be my pleasure." Saying mum to her didn't even phase me. I remembered how embarrassed I had been the first time I had to address a teenager that way, the night Carla took Melissa and me out to dinner right after I had agreed to her plan to turn me into a maid. Had I been that stupid, or was she just that clever? Hearing my voice and watching my curtsey gave them giggle fits. "Hi, Jacqui," Mrs. Crawford greeted. "Thanks for coming. I realize I really do need a professional's help with this." That was encouraging. I hoped I was up to her expectations. I hardly considered myself a professional at this. "Good mornin' mum. I'm happy to help." She motioned me up the stairs and followed me into Toni's room. "Hi, Toni. While doing the shopping yesterday, I came to realize how much we still have to do. Thanks for talking Carla into loaning us one of her maids. "My pleasure. I'm sure your husband has explained how important this dinner is." Toni paused to look at me. "Don't just stand there like an airhead, Jacqui. Start putting all my things away and take a few minutes to get your things in order too, girl." I flushed with shame as she turned back to Mrs. Crawford. "Tell me the menu and what else you've planned, Judy. "Listen up, Jacqui." I stopped unpacking. "I bought a standing rib roast. Can she cook?" "Yes. Go on?" Mrs. Crawford outlined the menu for the dinner and the appetizers. It was going to be a five-course meal. I moved to face Toni after Mrs. Crawford went back down stairs "Mum?" I curtseyed. I didn't like the way she was treating me, but I was more worried about having this party go right. Carla would kill me if it didn't. "What?" Her face seemed to reflect the concern I felt. "The downstairs is a mess. You saw it. I saw it. I can just see her saying to her family, 'Leave the house a mess and the maid will attend to it.' There is no possible way I can prepare that meal and clean the house in time. Melissa couldn't even do it and she is good!" Toni grimaced. "Look, you do this every day; what can I do to help you best? The cleaning?" I could tell she was really sincere and I'd had a few meals that she’d prepared. If it wasn't microwave ready, you could forget about it being even marginally edible. "My pinafores are in my gray bag. If you're going to clean, you might want to put one on. I'll get started in the kitchen." I was still busy in the kitchen, after having thoroughly cleaned it, when Toni came in. "I'm bushed, but the downstairs is done. How much more do you have to do?" Her hair was matted from perspiration and her makeup had smeared a little; she must have been working hard. I smiled slightly to myself, glad that she was sharing my ‘experience’. "I'll be done soon, mum; why don't you run up and take a bath. Be sure to wash your hair; it's soaked with perspiration. I'll be up shortly to help you." She looked at me questioningly then shrugged her shoulders and left. I entered the bathroom to see how she was doing just as she stood in the tub, fully uncovered. She made no effort to hide her nudity as I held a towel open for her to cover her. Instead of stepping into it, she took it from my hands and said, "I'll tend to myself. You go get yourself cleaned up, do your face, and dress in your Chinese uniform." "I'll need your help to do my corset, I'd like a bath too, please?" I emphasized my request with a curtsey. Despite never having worked a set of laces before, Toni had me naked to my steel belt in a few minutes. She stared at it for a moment, but didn't say anything, merely motioning me to the bathroom. Once clean, dried and powdered, I slipped on my silk corset liner, got the corset under the steel hip band of my belt and hooked its bust. After smoothing up my stockings, straightening their seams and gartering them, I buckled on the patent ankle straps of my six-inch pumps and went to her room for help lacing my corset down to the twenty inches needed for me to fit into my uniform. "I must tell you, I'm impressed with you," Toni said as she tugged at my laces. "I never worked so hard. Could you have finished cleaning downstairs?" "Yes, but no way I could do both. I had all I could do to get things done for dinner. I couldn't have done both, mum." "Can't you lace your own corset?" she asked as she took out the slack. "I've learned to do it. It's just, with these nails," I held up my hands for her to see, "it's a lot easier if someone else does it and then I don't have to worry about breaking one," I explained. I had lost so much weight and my waist was so well trained by now, that Toni didn't have to work too hard to get me under twenty inches. "Need help with anything else?" "No, thank you mum." She followed me into my room and sat on the bed as I started to do my makeup. "I want to apologize to you, Jacqui." I turned to look at her. "Work on your face. I don't mind talking to your back." She twirled her finger directing my attention back to the mirror. "I was going to make this weekend more than a bit difficult for you - a bit of pay back, I suppose. I was wrong to even think that and I want to tell you I'm sorry." "You know, Jacqui, you have really changed and I'm not talking about your face and voice either." I just listened and concentrated on gluing my lashes in place. "I mean that you're a different person than the one I used to know. I believed that story that Carla made up about John having a breakdown, everyone did. We'd all seen it coming for months before it happened. I think that you were the only one at the office who didn't see what you were doing to yourself." "I look at things a lot differently now than I did before, mum." "Will you stop calling me, 'mum'! Address me as Toni, please?" "I don't want be argumentative, but when we are with the others, I will continue with 'mum', Toni. I'm just a maid and it would be totally improper if I did otherwise." "Yes, of course," Toni agreed. "Does it bother you at all?" "Does what bother me?" "That Carla forced you to look and behave as a very submissive woman. What hold does she have over you that she could put you in such a degrading status. You're not just a woman, but her maid?" I set down my lipstick brush and turned to face her. "In the beginning, it appeared to be love," I forced a small smile. Toni shook her head 'no'. "I see you don't believe me. Ms. Martin did not force me to be Jacqui. Jacqui has been part of me since I was born. I grew up in the wrong body, but I was too afraid of how society would react if I ever let Jacqui out. I think a lot of John's problem was that he could no longer let Jacqui out. He lost trust in everything including me." "As to my being a maid," I continued, "until recently, I didn’t feel it as degrading at all. It was actually therapeutic. Do you feel degraded by being a secretary, Toni?" She vigorously shook her head no and said, "But it's different, you used to be the CEO of your own business. Now you’re the maid to that business's new CEO. That's a long way to fall." I shrugged my shoulders. "Toni, you must understand. Being a maid is how I rescued myself from a thoroughly self-destructive lifestyle. It wasn't just work, I was an alcoholic as well, but I haven't had a drink since I began this," I opened my arms to indicate myself, "last spring." Now she shrugged her shoulders in agreement, and merely said, "OK." I could see that she didn't fully believe what I was saying. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, it was a lot to swallow. I just said, "It's a profession and I've worked very hard to be good at what I now do. I don't drink and any threat of a nervous breakdown is long gone." I really didn’t want to get into it any further with her. Certainly, things were much different since my forced surgeries and nothing could be done to change that. Thank goodness for Kurt, who'd convinced me that dwelling on circumstances beyond my control would only make me depressed. If I was come out of this with my sanity, I needed to think positively. He’d told me that his legal team felt I could win and had provided me with hope that everything would eventually be a lot better and might not take too long at all. Toni ended it, much to my relief. "Look, I want to continue this, but we're running out of time and I've got to get myself ready." she stood. "I only need about five more minutes," I said. "If you'd like, I'll help you get ready once I'm done." I turned back to the mirror, resumed putting on my lipstick and did not see her reaction. I heard her leave then call back from the bathroom, "When you are ready, I think that I'd like your help, Jacqui." Once I was properly uniformed, I curtseyed to her and reached to remove her robe. "Do I need to talk you though this?" she asked. "No, I've a better idea. Do what you'd like. Make me pretty for tonight, Jacqui," she giggled. Having put all of her things away earlier, I knew what I'd like to see on Toni. Without hesitation, I started to assemble her ensemble. Spreading a black thong I had been surprised to find in her lingerie collection, I knelt so she could step into it. She gave me a curious smile when she first saw me open it for her, but giggled and wiggled her ass when I adjusted it through her crotch. Sheer black pantyhose were next, and then a lacy bra. "What are you doing?" she asked as I readjusted the straps once I'd settled her breasts in its cups. "I think you'd look a little better if these were a little higher," I answered. "Mind if we use my makeup tonight. I'm more familiar with it?" "No, you've free rein," she responded as she seated herself at my makeup table. She hardly ever wore even minimal makeup before, which I'd always considered a mistake. "Turn around please, I can't do this in the mirror, mum." Fifteen minutes later, I let her see what I'd achieved with blended eye shadows, eyeliner, mascara, blush and coral lipstick. Her broadening smile indicated that she liked it. "Remember I said to you that if things didn't work out between you and Carla, you should look me up, Jacqui?" I nodded that I had. "I think I could quickly get used to having you around. I do like what you did." "Do you think you could afford me, mum?" I teased. "After all you're only a lowly secretary." I smiled to show I was joking. She was an elite executive assistant John had stolen from a large corporation. Still supporting a maid would be a big stretch for her. "Oh, I have no intention of paying you," she teased back. "You'll like being with me so much you'll pay me to stay." With that, she put her hand firmly over my steel covered crotch and rubbed it a little. "You know that's not what it used to be," I said, frowning. "All the better," she replied with a wicked grin. "Now let's get cracking." She pushed me towards the bedroom door and I went down to the kitchen to check on dinner while Toni finished getting dressed. "Jacqui, get me a martini, please," Mr. Crawford said as I entered the living room where he was watching a golf match on the TV. "Yes, sir." Having mixed him drinks as john numerous times before, I almost forgot myself and started to move for their liquor cabinet. "How do you like it, sir?" He told me his preferences and how his wife liked her cocktail. "Here you are, sir." I delivered it on a silver tray. "Sir, how many will there be for dinner?" Though I'd been told the previous weekend, I didn't know whether that included his daughters or not. "Nine, the girls will be spending the night with their friends. Thanks for my drink." My former friend stared right at the exposed tops of my breasts as he took the glass and didn't take his eyes off them even as he began to sip it. "One more question, please?" I interrupted, curious to see if he would look up at my face. "What time would you like dinner to be served, sir?" "Seven will be fine," he said, finally lifting his face away from my chest to look at my face. "You are a doll, aren't you?" he said, absently, "a real China Doll. How did you learn to speak English so well?" I really didn't want to discuss anything with him, but didn't know how to avoid it. I stuck to the biography Carla had devised for me. "My mother was Chinese, but my father was Canadian," I said softly, dropping a bob and trying not to sound too squeaky. I didn't volunteer anything else, hoping he would just leave it alone. "Hmmph," he said, taking in my body once more with his eyes. "With a body like yours, you're crazy to just stay as a maid." "It's all I know, Sir. Ms. Martin sponsored my coming into this country to be her maid. I have a contract. "Just crazy," he said again, turning back to the screen. Obviously having been dismissed, I went to the kitchen; slightly appalled with the way Dave had turned me into an object. There was a lot still to do and I didn't dwell on it. I checked on the oven and started to get to work. As I had planned, I had just enough time to cook the roast. While Toni had cleaned the entire downstairs of the house, except for kitchen, which I'd done, I had ironed the table linens and polished the silver service in addition to getting all of the food prepared. I silently thanked Melissa for teaching me as much as she had during the previous months. "How are we doing?" Mrs. Crawford asked when she came into the dining room where I was finishing the table. "Fine, mum. I've everything under control." "I certainly hope so." Mrs. Crawford inspected my work carefully then went into her kitchen to check on things there. "Yes. Everything looks good." She opened the china cabinet to remove a small hand bell; which she rang. "This was a wedding present and I've never had occasion to use it before." She sounded so proud of herself. "When you hear someone ring, come in and attend to them. Otherwise, your place is in the kitchen." "Oh, I want you to get the door too, when our guests arrive." "Yes, mum." I curtseyed. With a last glance at the table, she left. For some reason, I grew very nervous while waiting a half an hour for the door chimes to ring. When they did, I hurried to the door, opened it with a smile and dipped a proper curtsey. "Good evening. Welcome to the Crawford residence. Please, come in?" When I heard their heavy French accents, I was relieved that I'd not followed through with my earlier thoughts of greeting them in German. I had forgotten that a substantial portion of Swiss spoke French as their first language. Each of the men had presents and I left the room to return with my tray and stood on the side, waiting. The men, in ties and sports jackets appeared to range in age from their mid-thirties to late forties. Two of their women were roughly their age, but a very attractive blonde with the oldest man seemed young enough to be his daughter. She wore a green velvet cocktail dress over an obviously corseted torso and sandals with six-inch heels. I realized that this was what I must look like when I'm with Kurt, our huge age gap would be very obvious. The gifts, which included two bottles of wine, were placed on my tray after they had been properly presented to Mrs. Crawford. After opening the box of Swiss chocolates, she told me to place it on a side table. "Jacqui, attend to our guests refreshments," Toni ordered. "La soubrette est corsettent, Pierre, the young blonde said to her husband, "Je pense que cinquant-trois centimetres." I did not correct her error of over an inch. "Elle est tres jolie, Angelique." I smiled, understanding his compliment and she caught it. "Parlez-vous la francais, soubrette?" "Qui, Madame, je peu la parle une peau." I curtseyed. "C'est Mademoiselle, pas la Madame," she corrected. All of the guests smiled and nodded when they heard I could speak a little of their language. I was kept busy serving drinks and appetizers until it was nearly time to serve the meal. At the same time I tended to the preparations for dinner. Toni occasionally came in to check that everything was going as planned. "Is Mr. Crawford going to carve the roast, mum?" I asked. "I'll check. Otherwise, it's up to you, Jacqui. "You know you are a big hit with the guests? That blonde wants to take you back home with her." "That's nice," I smiled. "But my visa doesn’t permit me to leave the country and I doubt Ms. Martin would approve." "What would you do if she made you an offer you couldn't refuse?" Toni quipped. "Maybe you could just run away with her." Maybe I could, I mused, wondering how I would feel if I didn't have Kurt to look out for me. Other than hard work, the evening went well. After things settled down, once I had served coffee, tea and after dinner drinks, I started doing the dishes. Even though they had a dishwasher, just as Carla had, Melissa had forbidden me to ever use one as 'they chip the crystal and scratch the China'. My rubber-gloved hands were immersed in soapy water when I discovered that Angelique was by my side. "Jacqui, I want you to come home with me when I return to Geneva," she said in French. "I'm sorry, mum. I can't," I replied without taking my eyes off the dishes. "I will offer you a contract for eighty-five thousand Swiss francs per year plus your expenses. It is nearly impossible to find good servants in Europe today. The only domestics there are from India, Turkey or other poor nations." Not that I was going to emigrate to Switzerland to be her maid, but I was curious about of her offer. "What would be my duties, Mademoiselle?" I asked her. "I want you as my personal maid, other than attending me and serving my guests when I entertain, that would be all. I do a lot of entertaining in my profession," she giggled. I had guessed, apparently correctly, what Angelique really was. "I employ a full staff to keep my chalet clean, do my laundry and perform the maintenance." "I have commitments here, Mademoiselle, but thank you for your most generous offer." This time I straightened up and turned to face her, careful to keep my wet gloves over the sink. She smiled at me. "My offer will remain open to you until the end this year." She took a business card from her purse then parted my cheongsam to slip it under my stocking top. "That has my telephone, fax, URL and e-mail addresses. Even if you decide to decline, I would love to hear from you, soubrette." I went back to washing the dishes. There would be time later to read her card. When I had finished in the kitchen, it was past ten o'clock and the guests had departed. Toni found me in the dining room putting the silver away. "You did a good job today. Thank you." She started to help and we soon had finished the last of the chores. "Come upstairs. We'll get ready for bed." As tired as I was, I didn't refuse. "Your bed is bigger than the one in my room, we'll sleep here, OK?" Toni had unzipped her black dress and slipped it from her shoulders. 'Just like that', I thought. Toni obviously was intent on winning me over. "What's this?" Her fingers plucked Angelique's card from my thigh. "Maitresse Angelique? My, my, Jacqui. She offer you a job in her dungeon or what?" "Angelique did offer me a job, fifty thousand dollars a year plus expenses, but said nothing about any dungeon." I pretended not to have guessed her profession. "How do you figure she is that kind of a girl?" "It says so right on her card. 'Maitresse Angelique, By appointment only, The Best Dungeons in Switzerland'. Are you thinking of taking her up on her offer?" We were both laughing. "I don't think so - whips and chains just aren't me. "Do you think the guy she was with is a client?" I asked. "Beats me; the way he showed her off, he acted more like her lover. The other two women never talked to her once and their husbands limited their conversation to just polite replies." I turned down the covers once I'd finished in the bathroom. "Are you wearing your stockings and corset to bed?" she asking, seeing that I still had them on. "I always sleep in one of my corsets. I thought the stockings might be nice tonight." I smiled at her shyly. "Might be nice. I never went to bed with anyone wearing them or a corset and steel panties either. Get in and lie on your back," Toni held the covers up for me. "I prefer to be on top." She wasted no time sucking my nipple into her mouth. Almost two hours later, we lay spooned together. "Anyone ever call you, 'Toni the Tigress'?" I asked as she cupped my breasts, continuing to play with them even though we were both exhausted. "No. I’ll tell you this though; Toni the Tigress is not letting her little sex kitten go. You can look forward to me getting my claws into you the future, Jacqui," she murmured before falling asleep. In the morning, Toni had me lick her to a final orgasm before letting me out of my corset to take a bath. I put on a clean day uniform then completed her toilette before we went downstairs to a still quiet household. I made tea and breakfast, for both of us. Toni invited me to sit with her to eat mine. "Are you happy, Jacqui?" she asked. That was a simple question, but I had to be careful. I couldn't let her know that I planned to escape Carla's clutches as soon as possible. "Reasonably. I'm a lot happier actually than I was in my old job, as surprising as that may sound. "Why do you think I should be surprised about that? I'm not. Yesterday, despite working your cute ass off and being ignored by almost everyone, I watched you smile more than in the previous four years that I've known you, put together. "You really seemed happy to be serving the dinner. Despite the fact that the guests directed all their compliments to Judy. Everyone must have known that you’d done all the work and should have gotten the credit for it. "Tell me something." Toni paused to meet my eyes, "Would you have tried to fuck me in bed, if you weren't all locked up?" "That’s no longer possible," I stated flatly. "What do you mean?" she replied, obviously not understanding. "That thing has got to be a real pain in your crotch. I don't understand why Carla keeps it locked on." "I'm not going there," I forced myself to smile. "Let me tell you what I was thinking last night. "I wanted to make love to you as another woman and for you to do the same with me. You're a terrific lover and last night I came as close to coming as I have in five months. It was great even if I didn't have an orgasm. I loved it when you did." The click of Mrs. Crawford's shoes as she approached the kitchen stopped our conversation. I cleared the table. "Good morning, mum. Would you like coffee?" "Yes, thank you." she sat in the chair I'd just left. "How do you think everything went last night, Toni?" I was ignored again as they began to discuss the guests. Being thought invisible really bothered me at times. It was past noon when Toni found me cleaning Shelly's bedroom. "I just looked in the other room, you are really amazing! I was just teasing you about having to clean for the girls." "Sheezh, now that I'm nearly done, you tell me!" I teased her and I continued to make up the bed with fresh linens. "I should be finished with the laundry in about half an hour, but I'll need a couple of hours to iron their clothes." "What's this about laundry and ironing?" Mrs. Crawford stuck her head in the doorway and gasped loudly. "Oh my god! Her shocked expression matched her surprised tone of voice. "You didn't have to do all this, Jacqui." "You hired a maid for the weekend. Ms. Martin would have been very upset if I had just idled away my time, mum." I smiled, amused by the shocked look on her face. "No, but..." That was all she could manage. Mr. Crawford was engrossed in football on the television as Toni and I passed through, heading for the basement. I stopped and curtseyed, but he acted as if he didn't see me and probably had not. Before going to the laundry room, I poured him a beer, filled a bowl with nuts and delivered these on a tray. "Thanks, dear." He looked up and visibly jumped. "A ... Thank you, Jacqui. I thought you were my wife." "What? Flirting with the maid?" Mrs. Crawford joked as she descended the stairs. "She's only been here a day, too. "Dave, next commercial, take a minute to go look what she did in the girls' rooms. You won't recognize their caves." She smiled at me. "Thank you, Jacqui." "My pleasure, mum." I curtseyed then continued to the laundry room. Toni had already started folding their clothes. "Those are Ashley's. That's her basket on your right." I moved to the shelves where I'd seen the iron then plugged it in. "Were you serious about helping, it's not necessary, Toni? That's what I'm here for." "Yes, I was serious. Besides, you were here to do dinner last night and that was all. I never intended for you to clean their house and do the dirty laundry. I got you into this and I'll help you finish." I went upstairs and brought back the iron that was in the pantry. "In the car yesterday, I was teasing you about making you clean my apartment. I want to make it clear that I was joking." Toni told me. "I really don't mind if you arrange it with Ms. Martin. It will give me an opportunity to get out of the house, for a change." Then I had an idea. "Why don't you see if you can get her to give you the key to my chastity belt as well?" I giggled. "I think I will," she said. "And I think I know how to convince her to give it to me as well." As we worked together, ironing the clothes, we talked like old friends, which I guess we were. Toni began to ask me some of the questions I'd asked of Melissa about her outlook on her career. As I answered them, with a combination of Melissa's own statements and my own new perspectives, I realized how much I had changed. "You know, Jacqui, watching you last night, working with you today and now listening to you, I think I'm falling in love with you. I never thought I could say that to another girl. Last night, when I climbed on top of you, I was still thinking that I wasn't doing it with another woman and that made it OK. Before falling asleep, I realized I wasn't in bed with a guy at all, despite what you have under that horrid chastity belt." Toni took a deep breath. "You ever think of having sex with a guy?" She seemed hesitant as she asked that. "Yes, but not like I think you are asking me." Her look questioned me to expand on what I had said. "John thought that having sex with another man was repulsive. I'm Jacqui, not John. Jacqui's a girl. By the way, I'm a girl, not a woman." I giggled. "I think there's a difference." "Well," Toni said, "you certainly look like you're only about twenty-one. Your surgeon must be brilliant." "So, what does Jacqui think about having sex with a guy? Just tell me if it's none of my business. Have you had sex with Kurt?" "We've kissed and fondled - petted, if that word is still in use. My chastity belt assures my behavior down there. You found that out yourself last night. Kurt hasn't been in me." "Is that because you won't let him?" Her question caused me to laugh again. "Nope. After his prostrate surgery, Kurt's impotent as they come and has no physical need or desire." I shrugged. "It's a moot point, but if he'd wanted me to, I would have satisfied him. "You mean you would have let him in your back door?" Toni asked. I suddenly realized that she didn't know that I'd had SRS. I didn't know how to react and my confusion must have shown on my face. Toni picked it up instantly and stared at me waiting for me to say something. When I didn't, she did. "You mean…" She gasped. "You've had the surgery?" she blurted out, once she had caught her breath. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand as if her hand could stop her mouth before it said anything else, but … it didn't work. She couldn't contain herself. "I had no idea! When? How?" "Shush," I said to her, putting my finger to her lips. Once she had calmed down, I went on. "It was done right after the plastic surgery. I thought I was going in for some minor changes, so it wouldn't be so easy for people to see that I was John. This is how I came out. Carla did it." "Oh my god! John are you okay?" "It's Jacqui, Toni. Yes, I'm okay. I refuse to allow my life to be ruined over this. I am and will be Jacqui. I will live a good life. I've spent all the time I ever intend to mourning about what happened to me. That's water over the dam." "Oh hell, let's finish this up and get out of here." We only had a little bit left to do and finished it quickly. "Okay, that's the last of the ironing," I placed the last of Ashley's blouses on a hanger, unplugged the irons and folded up the ironing boards. Together, we carried the clothesbaskets up to their rooms. Mrs. Crawford followed us after we went through. "Just put them on the floor, they can put everything away when they get home." Then she giggled. "Or not, they usually just pull stuff out of their laundry baskets without ever putting it away." She blushed a little at that revelation. Mrs. Crawford opened her purse and handed each of us one hundred dollars. I debated presenting some stupid, polite argument, 'I can't accept this, mum.' I was a maid, a minimum wage servant. She was offering me nearly a week’s take-home pay. "Thank you, mum," I curtseyed and tucked the bills under my stocking top as there are no pockets in any of my uniforms. Toni placed her money on top of mine. "Keep that safe for me, Jacqui," she smiled. I knew that Toni had no intention of asking me to return the money she’d placed in on my thigh. "Judy, if there's no further need for Jacqui here, I'll take her back home." "No, she did a fine job. "Thank you, Jacqui." I went to change into a clean uniform, pack our bags, and then load the car. Toni came out after I'd carried the last of our luggage to her car. "Here," I accepted the heavy and full shopping bag with my hands. "What's this?" I asked. "Your supper. I noticed that you were kept so busy last night that you never took a break and went without your supper. When I mentioned that and commented on how hard you'd worked to Dave and Judy. Dave insisted you take all the leftovers. Enjoy your own feast tonight." "Melissa and I can eat for a week with all this. Thanks." I had wrapped everything up in aluminum foil or placed it in baggies, so I knew what was in the bag. Toni came inside the house when we returned. While I put all of my things up in the maids' quarters, she went to talk with Ms. Martin. They were still chatting by the pool when I curtseyed to them there. "Toni has told me that you did a fine job last night, Jacqui. I'm pleased. I'll be leaving shortly and not require you further this evening." "Yes, mum. Thank you mum" I curtseyed, said a polite good-bye to Toni and went to the maid’s quarters. Melissa wasn't home, and I gratefully lay down to rest. End of Part VIII
© August 2002
© August 2002
by
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part IX - Take Me Out to the Ball Game
My mind went blank as I lifted the black, flocked box from his trembling fingers.
"I'll give you a kiss, if you sign the ball, please?"
I guess I would be a kind of a trophy wife for him.
_______________________________________________________________
by
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part IX - Take Me Out to the Ball Game
The following Saturday, I had a date to go to New York with Kurt. It helped me to think about that instead of the constant stimulation my chastity belt provided while I did my chores. It was terribly frustrating to be aroused all the time and not be able to do a thing to bring satisfaction to myself. Since the night Melissa had trapped me into being caught with her to provide Carla a pretense to lock me in a chastity belt again, she’d offered no other opportunities for sex.
Kurt was going to get me out of this! The knowledge that he would was the strength, which kept me going.
He had tickets to a Yankees game and, of course, had invited me. I'd never been a big sports fan even if it was the Yankees and Red Sox, but he wanted to see the game and it did give me a chance to get out. I missed the freedom that having a car had provided.
When I had told Ms. Martin about my upcoming date, she reminded me that my chastity belt would be removed for the day.
"I regret that I wasn’t available to unlock you for your last date, Jacqui. A slut like you needs to be used by a real man," she snorted derisively, obviously relishing yet another chance to humiliate me. She seemed to take joy in doing that every chance she got. "I’ll not tell you how to dress for your boyfriend and even allow you to wear those sexy leopard pants, if you’d like. You are such a sex kitten in them." She was goading me, but I wasn’t going to take the bait. My time would come, and then I'd wear those pants proudly. She was right. They made me look very hot.
For some reason, Melissa had decided to be nice to me and offered to loan me any of her pants since I didn't have any of my own. I'd have loved to wear her black leather jeans, but when I tried them on Saturday morning then a few of her others, I decided that pants were a bad idea. She was a bit rounder than I was and they simply didn’t fit right. I settled on a full mini in faded denim with a white blouse I'd embroidered, a wide red belt and my red boots. Melissa gave me a Yankee cap she had gotten from an old boyfriend. My red shoulder bag and a cardigan, in case I got cold, completed my outfit.
Melissa giggled when she saw me greet Kurt with a smile and a kiss after he came in. I knew this meant that her teasing me about my boyfriend was going to escalate, but I didn't care any more. He was my boyfriend.
"Jacqui, you look more like a Boston fan than someone rooting for the Yankees." I guessed he was referring to all the red I had on.
"I've got an official Yankee cap," I pouted in protest. "Do you want me to change?"
"No, you look scrumptious, as usual. Come, we'll go. I brought Henry with the car today."
"Great, I'm looking forward to later then," I said happily.
"Kurt," I said, once Henry had headed us towards the city, "you're going to have to tell me about the Yankees. I know the basic game, but have no idea who any of the players are."
"Certainly, liebling. First, give me your purse?" Curious, I placed it on his lap and turned, curling one leg up, to watch what he was going to do with it. From his pocket, he took out the phony Hong Kong passport.
"We’ve had this examined by experts. The passport book itself is quite real, almost certainly stolen. The paper and inks are the genuine items, Jacqui, as are the exit and entry stamps. It can pass any examination. Whether it would check against records in Hong Kong or New York, we do not know." He placed it in my purse. I was puzzled as to where this was leading. Kurt held out the work visa that is commonly referred to as a ‘green card’. Carla hadn't given me one.
"This is completely real. It makes it legal for Jacqui Lian Chang to work here in the United States of America. In fact, she can work indefinitely."
"How?" I asked. Kurt gave me an enigmatic smile.
"Let us leave it that money, placed in proper places, causes the government to be motivated." He opened my wallet and placed it one of the sleeves, closed my purse and settled it beside me.
"My attorney highly recommends that you believe that, for a time at least, your name actually is, Jacqui Lian Chang."
"OK, I understand, but what do you mean by, ‘for a time’? Kurt’s smile broadened.
"Jacqui has papers to prove that she is a female and never was anything else."
"Yes, but since my operation, I could do that," I offered. My research on the Web had given me sufficient information to know how and I explained what I knew.
"Yes, you could acquire papers to state you are female, but never the other part," Kurt patiently continued. "With the papers you now have, including your permanent residence visa, you no longer have to worry anything else.
"There is one more thing you can now do, which you could never do under the method you have suggested." I saw his hand go in his pocket as he slipped to one knee. I gasped and held my breath. This couldn’t be happening.
"Jacqui Lian Chang, I ask you to someday soon change your name to Mrs. Jacqui Lian Mark. I want you as my wife."
It was true! My mind went blank as I lifted the black, flocked box from his trembling fingers. Now I was trembling as well. Had I remembered to breathe yet? I wasn’t sure.
My eyes nearly burst from their sockets when I finally managed to control my hands well enough to open the box. It contained two rings, one of which held a very large diamond, the other three small ones in a simple setting.
"Kurt, I don't know what to say," I felt stupid and tongue-tied. This must be a dream. How could a man be on his knee asking me to marry him?
"Then say, yes," he said taking my left hand in his. Shaking even worse now, I extended my ring finger. Kurt placed the diamond on my finger then lifted my hand to his lips.
I think I just whispered, ‘Yes, Kurt’. My heart was so full; I thought it would burst. I grabbed his face in both my hands and reached down to kiss him. "Yes, Kurt. Oh, yes! Thank God, yes." I planted my lips on his as he rose up from the floor and sat down next to me. As we kissed, I started to cry. I don't know why, but I couldn’t help it. One thing I did know, they were tears of pure joy.
"Jacqui, my love, my future wife, you make me a very happy man." He embraced me tightly.
I clung to Kurt for the rest of the ride, while he very patiently tried to tell me about all the players, their positions and a little of their statistics.
I couldn't have cared less. I wanted to kiss him, caress his hair and face and hold my arms around his thick chest. At one point I did tune back in to his voice and then asked innocently, "I thought Raspberry was a Yankee?" That caused him to chuckle.
"You are so cute, Jacqui?"
"Why am I cute? Because I asked about one of their players? I'm positive he plays in the outfield and is one of their heavy hitters," I defended myself with all the mock seriousness I could muster. I knew I was right even if I wasn't a fan.
"Strawberry. It's Darryl Strawberry, not Raspberry, liebling. Yes, he was a player, but his drug consumption and cancer ended his career."
"Oh," was all I had to say. I decided not to ask any more stupid questions.
"A salesman who wishes to do business with my company has provided tickets to their box seats next to the Yankee dugout. There are seats for eight. Would you object if I asked Henry to sit there with us?"
"No, not at all, Kurt," I lifted the gosport to my mouth. This old car was wonderful.
"Henry?"
"Yes, Miss Jacqui."
"If you stop calling me Miss Jacqui. I'd like you to join Mr. Mark and me inside the stadium to enjoy the game this afternoon. Say yes, please?"
"It will be my pleasure M... Jacqui."
When we got to Yankee Stadium, I was walking on air. I felt like my engagement ring was as big as a baseball and that everyone was looking at it and me enviously. I was bubbling over with a joyous enthusiasm, that I hadn't experienced since I was a child.
Once we were standing in the parking lot, I moved in front of Henry.
As soon as Henry had helped me out of the car, I reached up and grabbed his chauffeur’s cap. "This stays here," I said as I tossed it inside the car and started to unbutton his jacket. "Take that off too." I waited. "Lean forward." His necktie followed and I undid the top button of his white shirt. "Now give me your hand, Uncle Hank."
"Kurt?" I extended my other hand, the left one, the one with the gigantic gorgeous engagement ring on it, towards him.
"OK, gentleman, take me out to the ball game." Henry's laugh was suppressed, but Kurt was laughing openly. They escorted me to the entrance.
After the usher had shown us to our seats, Henry moved to sit in the row behind where I intended to sit next to Kurt.
"Where do you think you are going, Uncle Hank? You are going to sit right next to me and if you don't, I'm going to sit on your lap to keep you there." I was quite serious. Almost reluctantly, Henry moved to my side again.
The stadium was quite full by the time we'd arrived and people continued to fill the empty seats.
"Are there always this many people, here?" I asked.
"It is a very important game. Boston is tied with New York for first place and the play-offs are soon." Henry answered.
Once the National Anthem had finished and the first pitch thrown, I quickly became caught up in the excitement and was yelling and cheering with the rest of the crowd. I was all over Kurt, until he told me to calm down a little bit. I think both my escorts were having more fun watching me than the game. I couldn't blame them, I looked like an exotic fashion model, but I was behaving like a hyperactive child. I couldn’t contain my joy.
I think it was the top of the eighth and the score was still tied at nothing — nothing, though there had been lots of action and a bunch of hits by both teams. One of the Red Sox hitters chopped a foul ball right at us and Henry managed to leap up and make the one-handed grab. The crowd cheered his catch, so Henry turned to them and took a bow.
Before he sat, he turned to face me, bowed, and presented the ball to me as if it were a valuable artifact. The batter struck out on the next pitch to end the half inning.
A wild idea raced into my head and, with one hand searching my purse while the other held the ball, I ran to the rail.
I called, as loudly as I could, for the pitcher to please autograph my ball while waving it in the air. I didn't know who he was, but he was a gigantic, at least six foot five, and his jersey said Pettitte. As I jumped up and down so he could see my tits bounce, I realized that he was kind of cute.
He did a double take when he first spotted me, but my plan had worked. Instead of going in the dugout, he turned, smiled and jogged towards where I was standing against the rail.
"I'll give you a kiss, if you sign the ball, please?" I offered, clasping my hands in front of me and twisting back and forth like a little girl, asking daddy for a favor. The way he was smiling at my chest, I didn't need to hear his answer. He accepted the ball and pen.
"What's your name, doll?"
"Jacqui, but please address it to 'Uncle Hank', he caught it."
"My pleasure, Jacqui." As he signed, I saw that the big television camera at the corner of the dugout was pointed straight at us. I'd noticed it pointing towards me several times, but I'd no doubt we were center screen now, I could see our picture on the giant scoreboard monitor.
"There you are." he offered the ball and pen back.
"Move closer for your kiss," I whispered to him. When he did, I grinned, leaned forward from my waist and I put my arms out to grasp him on both shoulders. They were huge and rippled with power. I pulled him towards me and planted a big kiss on his lips.
"Now go win this game for me!" I said as I pulled my face from his.
At that point, the crowd went nuts and he turned red as he spun to see us on the scoreboard. He was good though; he turned back to me and tipped his cap. "Sure thing, Jacqui," he grinned.
I thanked him with a proper curtsey, which drew another roar from the crowd as he trotted to the dugout. This pretty girl thing could be real fun if you handled it right.
"My gift to you for being at the hospital when I needed you, Uncle Hank," I bent to kiss his forehead when I handed the ball back to him.
I guess the camera was still on me because the crowd cheered yet again as I sat. I looked to the field and blushed. The umpire had just called, 'Batter up!'
The Yankees went down in order in the bottom of the eigth, and Andy Pettitte, as I discovered his name was, needed only nine pitches to dispatch the Redsox in the top of the ninth.
Their pitcher walked the first Yankee batter. Henry was obviously a real fan, diligently marking little codes in the boxes next to the players' names on the scorecard he purchased. I pulled his hand closer so I could see it.
"Who is the fourth hitter, Uncle Hank?"
"The designated hitter. Why do you ask?"
"It would have been my pitcher before they started using them?" I asked.
"Yes, Jacqui, that's right.
I stood and walked to the rail, calmly this time. I called over the ball boy seated nearby.
"Please tell the DH, that Jacqui wants a talk with him?" I tried not to act nervous. That camera was pointed at me again. I could only imagine what the announcers must have been saying.
"Hi, I'm Jacqui."
"I know," he smiled, returning my greeting.
"Do you remember Babe Ruth's most famous moment?" I asked, blinking my eyes at him in an open flirt.
"Sure, Jacqui."
"Point out where your homerun ball is going then?" I ordered.
His eyes opened wide for a moment, but then he just chuckled and went back to the dugout, shaking his head. I didn't let his non-participation spoil my fun. I turned to the crowd and jumped up and down jabbing my own arm toward the short right field fence; that, got me a cheer.
The next hitter got on with a weak single to left and when the following hitter bunted a little too hard, Boston tried for a double play, but only got the man a second. It was first and third, with only one out as my batter approached the plate. Before stepping into the batter's box, I saw him look towards where I was seated. I stood and again jabbed my arm to point to the seats I'd indicated. A time out was called when the Red Sox's manager stepped onto the field. Oh Pooh!
A relief pitcher was called in from the bullpen.
Finally! It was time to resume the game. He stepped into the batter's box swinging his bat menacingly. When he again looked, I was standing on my seat with my arm and finger stretched out, pointing. I think he nodded and then he slowly stretched his arm to where I pointed. The crowd went wild.
"Stee-rike!" I heard the umpire call.
After three balls, I heard, "Stee-rike!" It was a swing and a miss.
Crack! Thwack! He lined the next pitch so hard to the first baseman, that the sound of the ball hitting his glove was almost as loud as the sound of the bat hitting the ball. The runner was easily doubled off first to end the inning.
"Damn!" I muttered.
Kurt and Henry held my hands.
It was still zip - zip in the bottom of the eleventh when my guy approached the plate again.
"What the H!" I said. I stood and pointed as before. The entire crowd was yelling for a homerun. He just knocked the dirt out of his cleats and stepped into the batter's box.
Crack! He crushed the first pitch. I'm a novice, but even I could tell that it was a home run long before the ball sailed over the left field fence and into the monuments. Who cared if he hit it to the wrong field?
What was left of the crowd was so full of energy that even the walk back to the car was fun. Many of the fans recognized me now, and I could feel them looking at me and heard them talk about how hot I was. I was thrilled, but didn't let on, focusing all my attention on Kurt.
"Kurt, I want Uncle Hank to pick the restaurant and join us for dinner tonight?" I said as I entered the car.
"Certainly, my dear. Henry, you heard the lady."
Before the door closed, bright lights flooded the compartment and a microphone was shoved in.
"Mike Conners, Channel Seven, Eyewitness News. What's your name?"
"I'm Jacqui. Good-bye."
"Henry, the door please?"
I fell onto Kurt's lap having a giggle fit.
"No one ever told me that a ball game could be that much fun, Kurt," I said.
"Well, my dear, I don't think anyone there had ever been to a ball game quite like that one. Fans, even as pretty as you, don't make a habit of seducing the players."
I could tell by his grin that he was kidding, but I swatted at him in anyway. I missed, falling into his lap again, so I could snuggle into in his arms. We kissed and hugged all the way to the restaurant.
We ended up at a German restaurant in Atlantic Highlands, not exactly on the route home from Yankee Stadium.
Not surprisingly, the maitre de knew Kurt. "Guten Abend, Herr Mark," he greeted.
"Guten Abend, Arnald. This is Jacqui and you know my chauffeur, Henry." The portly man bowed to me with a smile and acknowledged Henry with just a nod. We were seated near the bandstand and dance floor.
"I should have worn my black dirndl and apron," I joked.
"Really, Jacqui?" Kurt asked.
"Really. I do have them."
"Don't underestimate Miss Jacqui, sir." Henry added, then turned pale for intruding.
"I think we learned that for sure at the ball game today," Kurt laughed.
I had a great evening, first dining and then dancing. This was the first time Jacqui had ever danced. It was a little awkward at first, especially going backwards, but Kurt was masterful, and such a strong leader, that following him was a snap. I picked it up quickly. I loved holding my hand on his shoulder and feeling his on my back. I even had a couple of dances with Henry, who was no slouch either.
In the end, however, I was on the dance floor with Kurt. I draped my arms around his neck and made him put his around my back. "This is how young American lovers dance," I said, staring into his eyes. Then I rested my head against his chest and let him lead me. I couldn't get over the amazing feeling of my breasts pressed against his chest.
Then, without any warning, Kurt dropped his hands to caress my ass and said, "Do young lovers do this too?"
"Yes, they do," I whispered as I pushed my body even further into his. I didn't know how it had happened, but this man had changed me utterly.
Both Kurt and I just collapsed into the big back seat of the Rolls when they finally threw us out of the restaurant so they could close. We both relaxed back against the leather seat back and waited for Henry to drive us home. After the car was in motion, the reflections of the lights in the parking lot glinted from my ring. Tired and emotionally spent, I easily got lost in random thoughts as I allowed myself to become transfixed by the twinkling.
One of the sparkles reminded my how happy I was right then. It felt so good to know that Kurt loved me. A blinking turn signal derailed that feeling and I started to get uneasy. How, I wondered, had Kurt fallen in love with me? It had happened so fast, and I couldn't think of anything remarkable about our early dates that might have led Kurt to propose so quickly.
I guess Kurt had been very lonely since Erica had died. Though he never dwelled on it, I was positive this was the case. So that was one thing, he was lonely.
I also knew, because he told me, that he had always adored Asian girls and that he had been infatuated with the vaguely oriental Jacqui since first laying eyes on her. I couldn’t remember how many times he’d told me I was incredibly attractive even before my surgery. Now I was an absolutely gorgeous Asian girl in his eyes and most others. I guess I would be a kind of a trophy wife for him.
I frowned at that thought — how demeaning, to simply be an object, but then another headlight caught the ring, setting off a bright twinkle that made me smile again. No, it wasn't demeaning; it was fantastic. I was a gorgeous young woman and he admired me for it. Hell, they say that Helen of Troy's beauty launched a thousand ships. Maybe mine only landed me one suitor, but he was a terrific guy.
Since we’d met, it had been over two months ago now, Kurt had had a lot of time to think about what he wanted, and it seemed he wanted me. Perhaps absence does make the heart grow fonder. We did have a rather long separation while he was in Germany. Then too, I’m positive he’d seen that I desperately needed help and I'll bet being the one to provide it made him feel good about himself. Nothing wrong with that either, I guess.
Okay, maybe all that could explain Kurt's feelings, but what about of my own? One thing I knew for sure was that I was more grateful to Kurt than I had ever been to anyone. Not only did he treat me as if I was valuable, which I desperately needed after what Carla had done to me, but he made me feel protected and taken care of. I had never really understood just how much I needed to have someone to take care of me.
I could feel tears of gratitude start to build in my eyes. I guess I was still an emotional wreck if a little feeling of gratitude made me cry. I guess I was as emotionally vulnerable as anyone ever had been. I'd been through hell over the last year, literally living in it since last spring.
Carla had wrenched me from one life and thrust me into another. She had betrayed me and destroyed my love for her and my belief in myself in the process. She had just about destroyed me as a person and would have had me as her prisoner forever if it hadn't been for Kurt.
Kurt had come along though, and he was my angel - my knight in shining armor. Not only would he rescue me from Carla, he filled my need for emotional support and attention when I needed it the most.
More importantly, perhaps, he helped me to become a woman by treating me like one. There was no doubt; he was a real gentleman, a gentleman in the old-fashioned sense, which made it easy for me to be a woman. The roles were pretty clear, and however he had done it, he had made me want to please him sexually, which really made me feel feminine.
Yes, Kurt had allowed me to leave John behind. John hated the thought of ever being intimate with a man. In truth, a truth I could finally admit to, he had been homophobic. That wasn’t a nice word, but it accurately described him. Had he been that way because he had been attracted to men, but wouldn't admit it? I wasn't sure.
I giggled. Stupid engineer’s logic - Jacqui wasn’t homophobic. I'd had sex with my man. It wasn’t horrible. In fact, it had been enjoyable. When I had shared those moments with Kurt, I had wanted to please him and it was unimportant that I had to play with his penis to do it. Even if he couldn't get erections, I was sure I would play with it again. I smiled to myself at the thought.
'I am Jacqui, Jacqui Lian Chang and very proud to be her,' I thought to myself with wonder in my heart that this could be real.
I held up my hand and played with the ring; trying to catch reflections of the passing streetlights on its facets.
"Kurt, why did you give me two rings?" I asked, turning towards him as I did.
He smiled. "First welcome back." I blushed, slightly embarrassed.
"Liebling, two rings - one to wear on your right hand while at Carla’s so you will always know that I am here to take care of you." He leaned over and gave me a sweet kiss. When we broke, he took my left hand and held it to show off the big diamond. "The other is for when we are together."
"I think Carla will accept the little one as a token of friendship, or perhaps payment for sex," he chuckled, which made me giggle. "But the big one would be too much. Carla would just get angry and make life worse for you because of it."
Of course Kurt was right. I lifted my left hand from his palm and caressed his cheek. Then I reached up and kissed him as I shifted my body so I was on his lap. Once we had settled into a comfortable position, I took his hand and placed it on my breast. "Please, I whispered, I need to feel your hands on me."
When we arrived at Carla's estate, I took off the big diamond and handed it to Kurt. Then, with a sigh, I removed the smaller ring. He put his hand on mine to stop me and he raised his eyes questioningly.
"Kurt, I don't want Carla or Melissa to know anything. And," I went on, reaching up to hold his cheek in my palm, "I don't need a ring to know you are with me." I looked down, squeamish about my feelings and what I was about to say. I looked back up and held his eyes. "I love you, Kurt Mark. You are in my heart, and that is everything to me."
He sat quietly as I put the smaller ring in the box. Then I looked back and said, "Kiss me, please? I need to feel your lips on mine as I walk back into that hellhole."
After a while, I broke the kiss to get out of the car. I had tears in my eyes because I hated the idea of going inside. "Kurt get me out of there, please? I just can't take it much longer."
"I will, liebling, I will. You are in my heart too and I will not let anything bad happen to you."
Near one o'clock in the morning, I climbed up in my bunk. Melissa was soon hugging me after she climbed up too.
"Tell me?" she kissed under my ear. "I saw you on the TV," she giggled, "Real show-off, Jacqui."
"I will, tomorrow. But let me sleep now please?" I answered.
"Okay, tomorrow," Melissa replied softly. "But remember, you promised."
End of Part IX
by Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part X - Rescued
© August 2002
"It is only people who trust others who can be taken advantage of, but if you don't believe in the people you love enough to trust them, life is terribly lonely"
_______________________________________________________________
by
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part X - Rescued
"Jacqui, I had a meeting with Paul Cardacci, my attorney," Kurt told me over the phone a week later. "He and his team would like to meet with you to discuss your options. I believe they will present you with a very interesting plan. Henry will pick you up at eight o’clock Tuesday morning." My spirits were buoyed by the thought that I might soon be getting out of this house.
"I can’t Kurt. Can you arrange for the meeting to be next Tuesday, instead?"
"Why can’t you be there this Tuesday?" he demanded. He was clearly annoyed and wanted to know why I had asked to reschedule such an important meeting.
"Carla has changed the rules," I replied glumly. I think she believes I don't have any options but to obey her or get deportated."
He laughed. "Ist gut. Let her continue to believe that. And just what are the new rules, liebling?" he asked, still chuckling.
"I’m not allowed off the property, except on my days off," I said forlornly. "And if I intend to go out, I must tell Melissa at least one week in advance." I was getting agitated as I thought about the way Carla and Melissa were treating me. "Kurt, things are becoming intolerable for me. They make my situation worse every day." I was feeling desperate.
"Just let her continue to believe that she owns you, Jacqui. It will be over soon. I promise you this."
"Oh, Kurt. It's worse than you think. Being off the property includes seeing you, and I can only do it on my scheduled day off," I whined.
There was a long pause before he spoke again. "She forgets quickly what I might do. I will talk to her and I will see you on Tuesday."
"Kurt, promise me you won't make her angry."
"Very well, I will call Paul and let him make arrangements. I will call you later today or in the morning." I hung up the phone and returned to doing my chores. Even though it seemed as if Kurt was finally going to rescue me, I was more dispirited than ever.
I told Melissa that Kurt wanted to see Tuesday and, as expected, she informed Carla.
"Jacqui, the First Girl told me that you wish to go out this coming Tuesday to go shopping with Mr. Mark," Carla said while I served her dinner that evening.
I bobbed a small curtsey and said, "Yes, mum."
"Very well, since it’s only shopping and not a date with Mr. Mark, it will not be necessary for your chastity belt to be off." She was smirking, daring me to give some indication that I had lied or not told the complete truth. I had to swallow my anger.
"Of course, mum," I said very slowly, emphasizing the 'course'. It took a lot of effort to smile. ‘You’ll get yours, Carla!’
"What do you intend to wear? From now on, I’m requiring you to tell me exactly what you will be wearing when you go out." Carla was doing everything she could to intensify her control over me and to dominate the defenseless immigrant she’d been kind enough to hire.
"One of my cheongsams. Does it matter which, mum? I’ll also wear my leather cape. It's cold out." It pleased Carla when I dressed Chinese, instead of wearing Western styles. I'm sure she thought of it as another way to reinforce the role she had forced me into. I was half surprised she hadn't also forced me to learn to speak Chinese yet.
"Yes, that will do nicely. Wear the beret and a veil too.
"Melissa, since I’ll be at work, make sure the maid dresses just as she has said." Carla began to eat, but she wasn’t through tormenting me just yet. "I think that her black net stockings and those cute ankle strapped pumps would go nicely; the new ones with the high heels." Carla was looking at me with her eyes narrowed. She’d like nothing better than for me to protest.
"If she doesn’t like that, she can wear her airport slut outfit again, Melissa. See to it!" Carla was dead serious.
"Yes, mum," Melissa, acknowledged with a joyful giggle. "She’ll look just like the cheap slut she is, either way."
Melissa and I dressed together on Tuesday morning. She was preparing to go on duty and I was getting ready to go see my lawyer. I only hoped that I wouldn't be arrested for prostitution before I got there. As I dressed, Melissa tried every way she could to upset me.
"Start on your makeup, Jacqui. Here," she handed me a small plastic box, "you're wearing false eyelashes when you go out today. Ms. Martin wants you to look your best. I’ll get your new shoes while you put them on."
Once she’d slipped the pumps on my feet, I didn’t need to measure to know that they had more than six-inch heels. Not only that, the new shoes had two locks through each ankle strap. Melissa giggled when she snapped them closed. She had really come to enjoy demeaning and tormenting me. I couldn't believe I had once liked her and thought she was my friend. If I hadn't lived through it, I would never have been able to believe that people could be as duplicitous as she and Carla had turned out to be.
Carla came in while I was still getting dressed. "I’ll not mind if you wish to earn some extra shopping money while you're out today, Jacqui. Will a dozen do?" Carla pressed a box of condoms into my hand, "Watch that you don’t ruin your stockings when you kneel down," she laughed in my face. She was still laughing as she made her way out to the garage.
‘You’ll get yours, bitch!’ I vowed yet again.
I took a deep breath to calm myself as I stepped into the elegant lobby of the lawyers' building. "I’m Jacqui Chang. I have an appointment with Mr. Cardacci," I said to the receptionist. I was shaking and felt humiliated by the way she looked up at me, first surprised by my squeaky voice and then startled at the way I looked. A homeless man in rags would have been looked more appropriate in these sedate law offices than I did. The only thing about me that didn’t shout, 'hooker,' was my cheongsam, which although tight, did cover me rather completely.
"Yes, Miss Chang." After her initial surprise, the receptionist, obviously a consummate professional, treated me with the same non-judgmental, friendliness that Henry normally did. It was as if handling clients who sounded like Betty Boop (I had managed to lower my voice a little — I no longer sounded like Betty Boop on helium) and dressed like hookers was an everyday occurrence. "They're waiting for you in the conference room. This way please?" Henry, who’d accompanied me inside, sat in the lobby to wait. The Rolls was sitting out front.
I was shaking like a terrified rabbit when she knocked and opened the door.
"Miss Chang has arrived."
I wanted to run into Kurt’s arms when he rose to greet me, but between the tight dress and the ultra high heels, all I could manage was a quick mince that included lots of hip swing. I'll bet the men just ate that up, I thought to myself as he first hugged me tightly and then gave me a quick kiss. After removing my cape and handing it to the receptionist, he took both my hands and said, "So, I see Carla is still dressing you. She really does have horrible taste." I nodded.
Then he turned to the people assembled in the room. "As you can see," he said, gesturing to me, "Ms. Martin takes routine pleasure in humiliating Jacqui. This must end." He patted me on the hand and pointed to the seat next to his before pulling it out for me.
I sat, and the receptionist placed a tea service before me. Not a word had been said until I thanked her for pouring me a cup and fixing it as I requested.
"Gentlemen, Ms. Fukes, let me introduce my friend, Jacqui Lian Chang," Kurt said proudly.
"Jacqui, Paul Cardacci, Adrian Stele, Joanne Fukes." He nodded at each and they rose to shake my hand as he introduced them. My papers, along with about three boxes of other stuff were arranged on the table.
Mr. Cardacci began, "Miss Chang…"
"Just Jacqui, please?" I interrupted.
"Jacqui," he started over with a nod to indicate he understood, "you know what we have here." Paul placed his hand on the medical folder. "Mr. Mark has told you about your passport and visa. Before we get on to other matters, do you have any questions regarding why we recommended you keep it and use it?"
"Only …" I paused to compose my thoughts. Paul Cardacci was one of those people who quickly made you feel comfortable. "What if something happened to cause the authorities to check up on the real background of Jacqui Chang in Hong Kong, Mr. Cardacci?" He smiled at me.
"Paul. Please, Jacqui?" I nodded my acceptance. "To answer your question," he went on, "we already have."
Adrian Stele picked up the conversation. "I’m retired from the CIA and own an international investigation firm. We checked you out."
I was so surprised, I could feel my eyebrows lift and my eyes open. "What do you mean, 'checked me out'?" I asked. "I thought I was a fake."
"No," Stele went on, "there actually was a Jacqui Lian Chang, born in Hong Kong in April of seventy-nine." He laughed, "Not every girl is lucky enough to knock eleven years off her age, just like that." I felt a little stupid. Although I’d looked at my passport a hundred times since Carla had given it to me, the birth date on it just hadn't registered.
"Records indicate that the other Miss Chang flew to YVR, sorry, Vancouver International Airport, last March. Three days later, she cleared US Customs and Immigration at JFK. From there, her trail is ice cold."
Paul resumed, "At first, we thought the passport was a forgery. Apparently, it is not, Jacqui — it is quite real.
"We checked other things and discovered some very interesting facts surrounding Miss Chang." Now it was Joanne Fukes' turn. "Ms. Martin, the former Mrs. Carla Ingram, has been planning this for some time."
"Excuse me, 'the former Mrs. Carla Ingram', J … Joanne?" I stared at Kurt and he smiled.
"I only learned of this part this morning, liebling." He patted my hand and smiled at me.
Joanne passed me some papers that bore embossed seals. The one on top was a divorce decree from a Nevada court and the other the approval to legally change her name. Our divorce had been finalized in March and the name change in April. I was in shock.
"Six months is the statutory waiting period in Nevada. Jacqui, Mr. Mark has made us aware of the significance of early September of last year," she said. Despite my surprise, I began to get so angry I started to tremble.
I could only stutter, "But … but…"
Kurt took hold of my hand and squeezed it gently. "Be calm, liebling. Your turn will come very soon ... very soon, I assure you."
"But this means she planned the whole thing a year ago," I shouted. It was a pitiful high-pitched sound. "She was lying to me the whole time! How could she?" I buried my face in my hands and started to weep. Kurt put his arm around my shoulder and held me. I sat up a few moments later, tears still running down my face. I wiped at them with the back of my hand."
"She said she loved me. I trusted her. How could I have been so stupid?" I started bawling again. I felt like a total fool, completely humiliated by my lack of insight and awareness.
Kurt somehow acquired some tissues and gave them to me. When I looked up at him, he started to wipe my eyes, while cooing comforting words to me. Again, I sat up after blowing my nose and wiping more mascara from my cheeks, I said. "I'm sorry, I just had no idea," which almost started me crying again. All the lawyers nodded their understanding, while I gulped in air to calm myself.
"Jacqui, we do not know what happened to the original Miss Chang yet," Adrian was speaking again. "And we can't rule out foul play. That is a police matter."
"Ms. Martin paid for her ticket on Air Canada with a credit card. She indeed sponsored her in this country and immigration records show her current address to be the same as yours."
"Oh," his face lit up as he dug in his pocket, "You might like to have this." Adrian handed me a laminated card.
"Her drivers license!" I squeaked. The picture bore only a faint resemblance to me. This time, I carefully checked the date and other data. It was a New Jersey license, issued in March.
"Where did you find this?"
"One of my operatives found it while snooping around the property." He grinned at me. "We hired Emilio to keep an eye on things as soon as Kurt called us. He’s sorry that he couldn't give it to you, but his instructions were to give it to us in any case."
"Carla built a nearly air-tight trap, Jacqui, except for these." Paul opened a new file. "These are records we subpoenaed from the hospital in New York City where one John Ingram, a.k.a., Jacqui Chang, had breast enlargement, facial and throat surgery." He set the pile aside. "These are from the other facility, which performed your reassignment surgery. And, just to complete the picture, we have these impressive forgeries — you mental health records. Adrian’s people have gathered a ton of evidence to disprove their authenticity. It seems that another Jacqui," he looked at his notes, "one Jacqui Marshall had the same surgery the week after you did in the same hospital. They found her and interviewed her. She is the Jacqui in all the therapists' reports. Ms. Martin bribed Ms. Marshall, who could not afford SRS on her own, to act as her transsexual husband."
I was goggle-eyed at all these revelations. I just kept shaking my head from side to side because I couldn't believe the magnitude of Carla's scheming. It might even include murder!
"Jacqui?" Paul turned quiet and spoke to me in measured tones. "We have still more, but we don't have to go over all the details, unless you wish us to. Suffice it to say, that the financial records at the company have been tampered with. We have approached, on your behalf, some of the individuals involved and have reached an ‘understanding’ with them," Paul winked as he said that. Obviously, all the cards were not yet face up on the table.
He reinforced my unspoken metaphor. "In short Jacqui, Carla's been dealing from a stacked deck." Paul smiled broadly, indicating his satisfaction.
"I think I understand," I squeaked, ashamed of my voice, but unable to change it. "Where do I go from here?"
"First, we highly recommend that you get out of the Martin residence as soon as possible, Jacqui," Joanne said." I mean immediately," she reiterated.
I looked to Kurt for guidance. He nodded and said, "You'll move into my house today.
"Then what?" I asked.
"Let me summarize first," Paul went on. "Please be patient."
"First, did John ever have his fingerprints taken and are they on file somewhere?"
"Yes, but it was a long time ago," I said. "In high school we took a field trip to the local State Troopers' barracks to learn what they did." When I finished, Adrian excused himself for a moment and went to a telephone at the end of the room.
Of course, how silly of me, I thought. Carla couldn't deport someone with John Ingram's fingerprints, even if she had succeeded in forcing him to be Jacqui Chang. Then I realized that Jacqui Chang wouldn't have XY chromosomes either. Carla had me so scared and so far off balance that I hadn't even thought to analyze my situation. The only problem was, I was so distraught and emotionally drained, I wasn't sure I could think straight any more.
"We believe that we’ve assembled more than enough evidence to have the INS, FBI, the IRS, State and local police as well other agencies investigate, and almost certainly file charges. Right now, I'd guess that they would suspect that the other Miss Chang has been murdered. In any event, our recommendation to you is to not get them involved at this stage. There is no statute of limitations on murder or certain immigration violations.
"Those aside," Paul touched my psychiatric folder, "forgery on numerous counts is sufficient, by itself, to convict Ms. Martin and put her in prison for a good number of years. We can add in a salad of civil matters, if you’d like."
"What I’d like," I said, trying to stay calm, "is to be rid of her forever and … and get my fair share of my assets back."
"Ahem," Joanne cleared her throat, "There is a problem there, Jacqui."
"What?" I was suddenly afraid. "What problem?"
"Apparently both Ms. Martin and your former lawyer had the appropriate legal powers of attorney to control your finances. Your current assets are relatively safe, but we are going to have to fight to regain control of them if Ms. Martin refuses to cooperate.
"Worst case scenario, they might not be accessible to you until you reach age fifty."
"There is also a Catch-22, Jacqui," Paul took over. "The assets are in John Ingram’s name. You cannot be both John Ingram and Jacqui Chang." I'm sure we can convince Ms. Martin and her lawyer that it is in their best interests, shall we say, to turn them over to you. Considering the potential criminal sanctions you could expose them to, they would be fools not to do anything you ask."
I again started to cry, perhaps because I was so relieved, I don't know. In any case, I couldn’t continue. Kurt thanked everyone and the meeting broke up. Henry drove us to Kurt’s house.
It was dark when I awoke with a start. I remembered Kurt carrying me inside but that was all. I had no idea where I was or how I’d gotten there. When a hand touched my forearm, I shrieked.
"You are safe, Jacqui," a kind sounding woman said. "You are in Mr. Mark’s home. I’m Anna, the cook. Mr. Mark asked me to sit with you." I'm going to turn the light on.
I found myself in a comfortable room. The furniture looked to be antique and the chintz curtains over the two windows were drawn closed. I was wearing a clean satin nightgown and my clothes were folded neatly on a bureau. As I awoke, I realized that I was free of my corset, but the hated chastity belt was still in place. My shoes were gone too. They were sitting on a dresser next to a pair of bolt cutters.
"Mr. Mark will be back shortly with some other clothes for you." I'm sure you'll find them rather more comfortable than," and she looked over at the pile of my clothes with a look of disdain, "those."
Anna picked up the cheongsam and examined it closely. "But this is quite lovely, the hand embroidery is just exquisite. It must have cost a fortune," she said turning to me.
"I did it myself," I replied softly.
"Oh my," was all she could say. I could tell from her voice that she was impressed.
Anna brought me some tea and drew a bath for me. By the time Kurt got back, I was sitting in a comfortable armchair thinking about my life.
"Oh good, you're awake," he said, obviously happy to see me looking so well. He came over and kissed me on the forehead. "Feeling better?" he asked gently.
I nodded shyly. "Kurt, I can't believe what a fool I've been. I participated fully in Carla's efforts to destroy and debase me."
"No, no, my little Jacqui," he replied, his voice still soft and soothing. He turned and sat on the bed, placing a pile of clothing bags next to him. "You are not such a fool as you think. Carla acted very deviously while you thought she was trying to help you. It is only people who trust others who can be taken advantage of, but if you don't believe in the people you love enough to trust them, life is terribly lonely. Please don't let Carla's betrayal harden your heart."
I nodded, but said nothing. My brain understood what Kurt was saying, but my heart was still telling me that I was a ridiculous fool.
Kurt wasn't going to let me sulk; he brightened and said, "I've brought you some new clothes for dinner, some things rather different than your usual attire." He drew an elegant emerald green pants suit of the softest silk from one of the bags. The top opened in front and closed with just one button and a sash. It was heavily shirred and would de-emphasize the size of my bust, although I just knew it would drape over them exquisitely. I had to giggle when I saw the pants.
"Kurt, except when I went to Kennedy, I haven't worn pants since last April. I hope I remember how."
"I'm sure you'll think of something, liebling," he said as he sat watching me.
I quickly put on the pretty black bra that came from another bag. Although it was of the softest fabric, with lace panels, the bra was full cut and supplied welcome support. Instead of panties, there was a pair of matching tap pants, which fit easily over my chastity belt. I thought they looked really sexy as the lacy hem fluttered around the bottom curve of my ass.
Kurt had brought both stockings and pantyhose and I decided that stockings would be perfect with the tap pants. Besides, pantyhose and chastity belts didn’t go well together. Thankfully, the stockings he’d selected had elastic tops so they could be worn without a garter belt, which he hadn't thought of. The shoes were open-toed sandals with only three and a half inch heels.
"I hope I can walk in something so low," I joked to Kurt as I finished putting them on, buckled their delicate straps and stood. I hated open toed shoes, but Kurt was trying so hard, I certainly wasn't going to complain. At least they were sandals, which were far preferable to open-toed pumps. I hated them, especially; they were just ugly.
When I started to stand, Kurt rushed over to ‘help’ me.
"Wait," he said. "You are not yet completely dressed." I was confused, but sat back down on the bed. As I did, Kurt withdrew the ring box from his pocket. Taking my left hand, he smiled at me and said, "My intention is that you will never have to take this off again," as he slipped the diamond engagement ring onto my finger.
I thought I was going to cry again, but Kurt said, "Wait, don't cry yet. I'm not finished," which made me giggle. Then he put the smaller three-stone ring onto my right hand. Smiling at me he teased, "Okay, you can cry now if you want."
"Oh Kurt," I whimpered, "I'm feeling better than I can ever remember." I threw myself at him and draped my arms over his shoulders, while I wiggled in close to his body. I loved the fact that I was shorter than him and tilted my head to look up into his eyes. He took the opportunity to kiss me. I kissed him back as lovingly as I could.
"My hero," I whispered after we broke for the first time. "You've rescued me from my nightmare. I'll always owe you for that."
"Oh, hush, Jacqui," he replied. Our faces remained close. "You don't owe me anything. It is I who owe you, for filling the life of a lonely old man with joy."
I couldn't take it. I lunged back in for another kiss before I started to cry again.
That night we slept curled up together for the first time ever.
End of Part X
by Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part XI - From Darkness to Light
© August 2002
"Oh Jacqui, you are such a dear. Let's go home. . ."
"It's Chang," I said, feeling rather jarred when I heard that come out of my mouth. I sure didn't feel like a Chang.
_______________________________________________________________
by
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part XI - From Darkness to Light
A Mark Seven truck and two of Kurt's workers followed us to Carla's house the next morning. This time I was wearing a full denim skirt hemmed just above my knees and white cashmere, long-sleeve, turtleneck sweater. Kurt had bought me an exquisite black leather jacket that hung down to about the middle of my butt and was suppressed slightly at the waist. I pulled the collar up and the sexy little lapels looked great next to my face. On my feet, I only wore white Keds, although I couldn’t resist the lacy little anklets Kurt had somehow thought to buy. In these understated clothes, I was dressed like an American classic, but I still looked like an oriental bombshell. I hadn't dressed this modestly, or comfortably, for that matter, since beginning my ill-fated career as a maid. Unfortunately, my mind was a confused jumble of thoughts and feelings. I didn't feel the exhilaration I thought would be part of my new found freedom.
When we arrived at Carla’s estate, two State Troopers and a Sheriff’s deputy, who’d waited at the foot of the driveway with Adrian Steele and one of his men, joined us.
The Deputy and troopers entered first and showed Melissa the court orders Kurt’s lawyers had obtained just the previous afternoon. One gave me the right to remove all of my belongings from the house and the other was a restraining order, preventing her or Carla from stopping me, and ordering them to stay away from me. Understandably, Melissa was intimidated; a trooper kept her downstairs.
While his workers carried all of my things down to the waiting van, I made a most propitious discovery. The keys to my chastity belt were on Melissa’s vanity. I immediately opened the shields on my chastity belt and then removed it. I started to toss it away, but as I stood with it in my hand, I changed my mind and decided to keep it. I wasn't entirely sure why, but I just knew taking it along was the right thing to do.
"Kurt, look!" I squeaked excitedly as I ran down the stairs. "I found the keys." And I held up the chastity belt so he could see it.
"Don't be too quick to throw it away," Melissa cut in. "Maids need their protection." There was so much bitterness in her voice that I cringed and just glanced at her sourly.
"Shut up Melissa, You may act like a subservient maid, but deep down inside you're just as nasty as your sister." I paused for a moment and looked at her, "And even more duplicitous."
It didn't take long before my entire wardrobe, makeup, jewelry and other personal items were loaded into the van. I didn't take anything that wasn’t mine, and I didn’t look back. I left the large house for the very last time without any regrets. My departure had taken less than an hour. Sadly, it didn't make me feel much better about my life.
"I won't take up much room, or get in the way," I mumbled to Kurt as we sat together in the back of his Mercedes.
Kurt looked at me like I was certifiable. "What kind of nonsense is that?" he asked as he lifted me by my waist to sit me facing him on his lap.
"Jacqui, you will be the center of my life. I want you to take up all my room and be in my way all the time. I want you to share my bed," he looked concerned.
I lowered my head so he couldn't see my eyes and shook my head no. "Kurt, this is all happening much too quickly for me. The day before yesterday, I was trapped as Carla's maid and threatened with deportation if I misbehaved. Today you are telling me to be the center of your life. I don't think I could live without you, but I need a little space to get my bearings. And I'm afraid of what Carla might do to you once she discovers that you've helped me."
"Jacqui," Kurt sighed, "you are really are confused, aren't you. Carla certainly can't hurt me, and I swear, she can't hurt you anymore either. It is she who should be afraid of us. Please believe that. She may have been able to terrorize you while you lived in her house, but you don't anymore. I insist you live in my house so I may protect you. And I promise that Carla will soon be paying the price for her horrible treatment of you."
"I love you dearly, Kurt." I leaned up and kissed his cheek, "But I need time to sort all this out. May I please stay in a separate room?"
"A separate room? Really?" Kurt asked, slightly confused. "Is that all you want?" He laughed and then pulled me into a hug. After a moment, he pushed me away by the waist and when I looked up, he asked, "Will you at least eat dinner with me?" I nodded, taking this all very seriously, but he laughed again.
"Oh Jacqui, you are such a dear. Let's go home. I have something to show you. A small room you might like." He laughed again and pulled me tightly into his embrace, not letting go until we reached his home, the dear man.
When we turned into the driveway that led to the front of his house (another led to the garages), Kurt sat me up and looked at me seriously. "Jacqui, as much as I'd like to feel your body next to mine at night, I can wait." He smiled down at me. I felt like a little bird. "I have the perfect rooms for you. I want no argument from you when you see them. Do you agree?" If not for Kurt, I’d still be sleeping in the maid’s quarters at Carla’s or in a Federal Detention Center awaiting deportation, I wasn't going to disagree. In spite of what the lawyers had said the previous day, I was still afraid of Carla. I nodded, 'yes,' but for some reason, I was still afraid.
"Oh my God, Kurt," I gasped as he led me by the hand into my new rooms. "You’ve got to be kidding. I've never seen anything so gorgeous."
"These rooms were Erica’s," he said. "She was the most important thing in my life when she was alive." He turned me by my hand and grabbed my shoulders. "Now you are. Do you understand that?"
I stood there, feeling weak and confused, suddenly more tired than I could ever remember. I had been under terrible stress and now this man was telling me it was all over. He was trying to create a safe haven for me, but I didn't even know what I needed. I just hoped he would keep telling me what to do.
"You shall stay here until you are ready to move in with me."
Kurt surprised me; for the first time since we met, he wasn't being the strong stubborn man that he was. He had tears in the corners of his eyes. Now it was my turn to do something for him.
"Oh Kurt, this is incredible. I never dreamed of anything like this. I'm so touched you want me to stay in Erica's room. Let me kiss you."
"Kiss me? I thought you wanted "space." You little wench. You were teasing me! I should spank you."
I squealed and tried to spin away, but even in sneakers, I couldn't avoid him and his large hand delivered a gentle slap on my butt. Then he grabbed me and spun me around to face him. I was giggling and received two more playful swats when I stuck out my tongue to mock his efforts. I was still smiling as I grabbed my ass in both my hands to pretend to rub away the stings.
"Is that how you are going to treat me once I’m your wife?"
"No," he looked serious. "That is how I will treat my fiancée, my wife will get more." I managed to scamper out of range when he came at me again after my tongue made another defiant appearance between my red lips. Both of us were laughing when he left to get his men.
After Kurt went to the office, I retired to my new suite to dilate and clean myself. I spent a good deal of time at it because this was the first time I had been able to look at myself in quite awhile and I wanted to become familiar with the new me.
I perched on the side of the large whirlpool tub and used a hand mirror to give myself a thorough examination, though my breasts made that really hard. So I used my fingers, trying to match what I was seeing with what I could feel. I was quite taken with my new lips, which seemed to be rather well formed, but was still uneasy with the space between them.
By the time I was done, however, I felt cleaner than I had any time since Carla had placed me in the female chastity belt. I put on a clean pair of silky French-cut panties, and perhaps for the first time really enjoyed the feeling as they snugged themselves over the now thoroughly female landscape between my legs. I don't know whether it was because I was finally out of Carla's clutches or not, but as I watched myself rub my hand over the front of my panties, I felt liberated not having a cock and balls there.
After I dressed, I went to find Anna. She was in the kitchen with Henry, drinking coffee.
"May I join you, please?" They both stood up as soon as I entered the room.
"Certainly, Jacqui. Please sit?" Henry tended my chair.
"What can I do to help with supper?" It seemed a natural question to me, but Anna surprised me by getting upset. Henry recovered more quickly; he was used to me by then.
"Jacqui, you are the mistress of this home now. You do as you please, but it is our job to take care of you and the house."
"Anna, dear, Jacqui is the young lady who I’ve been telling you about since July. She is Mr. Mark’s fiancée, although she and Mr. Mark have not yet set the date." Anna still did not seem very happy with my presence.
"How does, Mr. Mark normally take his evening meal, Anna?" I asked. I wanted to get along with her, even if she didn't like me being there just yet.
"In the dining room. My husband serves his needs."
So … they were husband and wife. Anna was obviously protecting her territory. There was no way that she would welcome my helping with the cooking or the serving.
"I have seen Henry at work, Anna. He is simply superb. Mr. Mark is lucky to have him."
That brought a smile to her face. Maybe I was making progress after my initial misstep. Still, I was having a hard time figuring out what to do. My instincts told me to put on a uniform and become the maid that I had been, but I quickly realized that was a very bad idea. First, I was no longer a maid and second, Anna would never accept me in that role. I would cause chaos in the household.
The right way to do this was to act, as I now was, Kurt’s fiancée, living in his house, albeit with my own apartment. I really needed to win over Anna and make it clear to her that I was not going to usurp her position in the household.
"Anna, I'm sure that Henry has told you that I have been working as a maid, although it's really more complicated than that. I'm fully prepared to help you with your chores, but I'm sure that Mr. Mark wouldn't like that and I doubt you would either." She nodded vigorously in agreement.
"So why don't you just tell me how things go around here and I'll do my best to fit in."
She let out a big sigh of relief and her defensive body language disappeared, replaced by a clearly more friendly posture. This encouraged me, so I pushed on.
"What time does Kurt normally come home after work, Anna?"
"Between five thirty and six. What is your last name, please?" Anna asked.
"It's Chang," I said, feeling rather jarred when I heard that come out of my mouth. I sure didn't feel like a Chang. "But I will be very angry with you if you call or refer as anyone but Jacqui."
"But people will think I'm being presumptuous if I call you by your first name, Miss Chang. It just isn't done."
Of course, she was right; I should have realized. "You're right Anna, in public you should address me as Miss Chang, at least until I become Mrs. Mark." I smiled at her brightly. "But please, when we are alone, couldn't you just call me Jacqui? That would make me feel so much more comfortable." She nodded reluctantly, but that's really all I needed at that point.
"So, please Anna, tell me about Kurt's normal routine?" We talked together for two hours, and when we were done, Anna was laughing and joking with me.
"Anna, there's one favor I need. I need someone to help me into my corset after I bathe. I can't tighten it as snuggly as I like by myself.
She looked rather startled and disapproving, "But I'll be busy with dinner and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to help you."
My request had obviously made her very uncomfortable. "Anna, please don't think that I'm being presumptuous, but Henry has helped me before, when I was in the hospital."
"Henry?" she said, even more startled. Then she started to giggle and looked at me as if we were plotting a clever crime together. "I'll bet it was the highlight of his year," she whispered. "If you promise not to steal him from me, I guess we can let him do that for you, as long as he behaves himself."
With Anna’s blessing, Henry showed up at my door an hour later to tighten my corset. I already had it on, along with a bra and panties to 'preserve his modesty', as Anna had suggested.
"Tell me Henry, who tends the house?" I asked.
"My wife and I perform the daily tasks, Jacqui. Twice a week, a contract crew comes to do a thorough cleaning.
"Will you require me to attend you further, or can you manage?" he asked once he’d tied off the laces.
"I’m fine. Thank you for doing my laces."
"Jacqui?" Henry lingered anyway. I pulled on my robe and then turned and nodded with a smile, for him to proceed. "Jacqui, I would think you’d be happy not to have to wear a tight corset any longer. Why did you put one on again?" He asked.
"Sit down," I said, motioning to the chair. I went to select stockings and shoes. I sat to face him on the stool before my vanity to put them on.
"I have a hate/love relationship with my clothes. Yes, my corsets are tight, they are restrictive and a first class pain in my torso." I gartered one stocking after smoothing it up my leg then slid the other one up to sheath my right leg. "At first I really hated them and even after I overcame the initial discomfort, I hated that I had to wear one, without choice. But then yesterday, I discovered that I hated not having its support and the feeling of its snug embrace."
I stood, unembarrassed, and straightened my seams before sitting back down to slip on the sandals Kurt had bought for me.
"I think I'll just have to see, Henry. I suspect I'll wear them some of the time at least. I'm afraid that in addition to enjoying the way a corset feels around my torso, I just love the way it makes me look. I'm afraid I've become quite proud of my looks since Carla turned me into a Chinese sex pot." I giggled and struck a pose for him with one leg bent and one hand over my head while the other was on my hip. I didn't need to look in a mirror to know I was centerfold quality now.
"You better go now," I teased, "If you're late to pick up your boss because you were hanging around in his girlfriend's bedroom, that might cause problems," I teased.
He rose with a wry smile on his lips, bowed to me and said, "Thank you mademoiselle. I shall keep that in mind." He smiled again, winked at me and left, carefully closing the door behind himself.
An hour later, I was reading a magazine and waiting for Kurt in the main hallway, eager for his return.
When I heard the car drive up in front of the house, I ran to open the front door for Kurt, greeting him with a deep curtsey and a big smile, "Welcome home, Kurt." I reached up to kiss him to show him just how pleased I was to see him.
Kurt broke the kiss and turned to Henry. "Please take the boxes to Jacqui’s rooms, Henry. That big one is quite heavy. Call me if you need help with it.
"Certainly, sir."
Unbidden, I followed Kurt up to his suite, which was at the opposite end of the second floor hallway from mine. Inside, I started to undress him.
"I know Henry usually does this, dear, but it is my job now. Besides, I’m going to have Henry helping me, from now on." Kurt didn’t believe me when I told him that Henry had laced my corset for me.
"Until Anna finds out," he said. "They’re married you know, Jacqui."
"Yes. Anna has no problem with it; I think we're buddies now.
The boxes, which Henry had carried to my rooms, contained a computer, equipped with the biggest, fastest and best of everything. I set it up myself the following morning, but had needed Henry to help me place the twenty-one inch monitor. My room was already wired with a cable broadband connection.
I spent the next afternoon, searching the Web for the perfect wedding gown and trying to forget about all of the unpleasant legal matters that loomed over my head.
My thoughts ranged from an authentic Chinese style with flowing robes of embroidered red silk over white under gown and classic Chinese pajamas to modern ones, but I ended up doing a diligent search of Victorian costumes. When I logged off, I had lots of ideas, but not the perfect gown for me. I wasn’t even keen on white for the color.
Three hours later, the house was dark and quiet when I made my way down the hall and slipped in bed with him. He didn't awaken, and I fell asleep, pressed tightly to his warm body.
Nothing eventful happened until two weeks later. I spent my time while Kurt was at the office in my rooms, surfing the web and designing my wedding gown or working on my embroidery. That evening, Kurt was in an unusually happy mood when I greeted him at the door at the end of the day . He kept me waiting until we were eating dinner.
"We have met with Carla and her lawyers today, Jacqui." Kurt was unable to keep it to himself any longer and he had a huge smile. I waited for him to tell me everything, trying hard not to display my eagerness to know the outcome.
"As I expected, she attacked you first with talk of deporting you back to Hong Kong." He chuckled, "It is amusing; I think that she has come to believe her own fabricated story."
"Next, she was going to charge you with grand larceny. That is not the exact accusation, but claims you stole your uniforms when you left."
"My contract specifically states that uniforms and accessories were included as part of my compensation." I replied angrily at the absurdity of it. "It is a prima facie case — not guilty as charged."
"I know, I know." Kurt chuckled. "Calm yourself, liebling."
"Paul pointed her sharp beak to that clause in your contract. Carla was not pleased to be shown up so easily."
"He then carefully pointed out the evidence in your favor to her lawyers," Kurt continued, but stopped and began to eat his dinner when Henry placed our plates before us. I waited impatiently until we’d finished supper.
"As you might expect, Carla was livid with rage, but wisely remained silent."
"She had better," I giggled. "What next, Kurt?"
"Paul presented a proposal demanding that she turn over the entire company to you plus twenty-five million dollars."
"I don’t want the damn company and, besides, Carla doesn’t have that kind of money." I countered.
"We know that and didn't expect her accept it, but they need to understand how serious we are and how much Carla stands to lose if she plays this wrong. So, we expect a counter offer," he explained "and we will counter that. It is negotiation, Jacqui."
"I understand that you do not wish to become involved with the Immigration and Naturalization Service, the FBI or the police. Carla may try to play that card, but she is at much greater risk than you are, and her lawyer was smart enough to appreciate the magnitude of the evidence that you have." Kurt gave me the confidence that Carla would not do anything stupid. I turned pensive.
"Kurt?"
"Ja, liebling?"
"Kurt, do you think that Carla resorted to murder to do this to me?" I felt very saddened by that possibility.
"Ah!" he slapped his forehead. "Ich bin eine Dummkopf.
"Jacqui, Adrian believes that he has found her."
"What, in a grave near where they found the driver’s license?" I was still trapped by Carla's negativity.
"No, no, in Los Angeles. He is flying there next week to follow up a strong lead."
"Stop just trying to make me feel better, Kurt." I don't need false hopes to cheer me up.
"It is true. Carla issued an International money order to a man in Singapore in January for twenty-five thousand dollars. The other Jacqui Chang traveled there two weeks later. Apparently she never left the airport and retuned to Hong Kong on the next flight."
"So? What does that prove, Kurt?"
"It is a beginning," he stated. "One week after she arrived in New York, one ‘J. L. Ingram’ flew from Newark to Los Angeles. The ticket was purchased on Carla’s credit card again."
"You’re not teasing me, are you?" I was skeptical.
"Certainly not, Jacqui.
"It was also interesting to learn what you used to do for a living?"
"Me?" I squeaked. "We already know what I used to do." I was too focused on the details to even guess he might be joking.
"No, liebling, not John, Jacqui Lian Chang. She was a makeup artist in the film industry in Hong Kong and a part time actress. Adrian is seeing if he can obtain some of your tapes while out on the coast. They should be … educational." Kurt was laughing and I caught on to just what he was saying. I threw my napkin at him.
***
I had finalized the design of my dress and commissioned Suzanne to make it for me. Planning my wedding became the focus of my attention during the day when Kurt was at work. With my divorce having been finalized before my life as a maid had begun, there was no reason for us to think that later was better than sooner for our ceremony. Kurt was my life. Other than occasional updates on the status of negotiations, I did my best to forget about Carla.
Not being controlled and dominated any longer by Carla, I gained increased confidence in public. I’d been frightened and shy when I’d first been forced to go out in uniform, but serving the crowd at Carla’s last party had stripped away that silliness. Standing about in bright sunlight and serving strangers while wearing a ridiculously abbreviated French Maid’s uniform and ultra high-heels had taught me that I could do just about anything.
End of Part XI
by Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part XII - Wedded Bliss A German-Victorian theme was what I had decided upon for my wedding ensemble "Stop teasing me," I complained, my voice rising as I tried to thrust my hips up to impale myself. "Take me!"
© August 2002
_______________________________________________________________
by
Part XII - Wedded Bliss
We set the date for the day after Thanksgiving. It would be a small wedding with the reception at the house. I no longer had many friends left, so Kurt limited his guest list too. Suzanne had agreed to be my Matron of Honor and her husband, along with Jayne and her husband were my only guests, although I’d never met the men. Kurt’s brother, Karl was going to best man and Karl’s wife, along with, Joseph Marlin and his wife as guests. Joseph was the President and COO of Mark Seven. I’d met him once, or rather John had. I doubted anyone except Toni Bauer could connect our pasts any longer.
Karl and his wife were due in three days before our wedding. Kurt asked me to go with him to Kennedy to pick him up. Of course, I agreed.
"Certainly. What time would you like to leave?" I asked.
"Their plane lands at three. We should leave the house no later than noon. There's no predicting New York traffic except that on the day before Thanksgiving it will be horrible. I must go to the office for a few hours first thing in the morning. I’ll ask Henry to drive me there then return to the house to drive you when it’s time to leave."
"I’ll be ready. Do you want to dine out?" I suggested.
"No, I’ll instruct Anna. Karl and his wife will be too tired from their flight."
When I got up in the morning, Kurt was already gone and Henry hadn’t yet returned. I went down to breakfast in a fantastic mood.
"Good morning, Anna," I sang. She was seated at the table. Tears were streaming from her eyes when she turned.
"Anna, Anna, What’s wrong?" I grasped her hands and squeezed. It took a lot of coaxing to get her to tell me.
"My father just called," her head motioned to the wall phone. "My mother has had a heart attack and is in the hospital."
"Then you must go to her now, Anna." I said.
She just sobbed. "Miami isn’t exactly an hour drive from North Jersey. How will we ever get a flight so close to Thanksgiving?" she managed to say. I debated telephoning Kurt, but he’d told me the meeting that morning was a very important one. Instead, I called his travel agent and told them about our problem. The receptionist hemmed and hawed, but as soon as I got on line with one of the owners, our problem was solved. Within fifteen minutes they had gotten Henry and Anna First Class tickets on a flight out of Philadelphia in the early afternoon.
As soon as Henry came home, I filled him in and told, no, ordered him to take Anna to Florida. It was the only time I had ever had to yell at Henry. He wanted to disobey me and started to protest, but I raised my eyebrow at him and he shut up. Then he gave me an unexpected hug, held me at arm's length and said, "Thank you Jacqui. We'll be back as soon as we can."
"Don't you dare return until Anna's mother is all better," I said, sounding to myself like somebody's mother. "Take care of your family. I can take care of Kurt." Then I leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He blushed, looked down, and nodded.
Over their vociferous protests, I'd also had the travel agent arrange for Kurt's limo company to take Henry and Anna to the airport, and I'd rented them a car for them in Florida. What the hell, I reasoned. Henry was used to driving the best. I got them a Lincoln Town Car. When Henry tried to pay me back I just glared at him.
I softened. "Henry, you and Anna have been wonderful looking after Kurt since his wife died. Now, you must accept our generosity in return."
He pursed his lips once, twitching them to the side, and then said, "OK. Thank you. This really will make everything easier. Thank you."
As I watched the limo driver help them into the car, I got a really wild idea, thinking Kurt would get a big kick over it. The last time I'd played this role it had been horrible for me, but I wasn’t going to let those thoughts to interfere with plans and went up to change.
Driving the big Rolls Royce was a new experience, especially because I was wearing six-inch heels and it was a stick shift. At least it hadn’t been built for use in England with the driver on the right side. Going slowly, I managed to get down the long driveway onto the street. As I already knew, it was a big car, although driving it gave me a whole new appreciation for what big meant. I’d left plenty of time and increasingly gained confidence as I drove along.
Although I hadn't realized it would happen, I also had a great time because of all the double takes I was getting. People would first notice the car, and as they stared at it, they noticed me too. That really blew them away. 'Look at that gorgeous Chinese chick driving that huge old Rolls', their faces seemed to say. As my role demanded, however, I kept a thoroughly professional demeanor, except for the half dozen or so single guys I winked at just to enjoy their reaction. Still, I reached Mark Seven right on time.
I guessed Kurt had been watching and came out just as I’d stopped in front. He didn’t even wait until I exited to tend the door for him. When I felt the door close, I chuckled. He couldn’t stop me now. I eased out the clutch.
"Henry, where’s Jacqui?" the gosport barked. I had to stop laughing and concentrate on pulling into traffic. He repeated the question.
" ‘Ow’s that guv’?" I barely controlled my giggling. Of course, he couldn’t help, but to recognize my voice.
"Jacqui, where’s Henry? Why are you driving car?"
I explained about Anna’s mother and what I’d ordered them to do. I omitted telling my fiancé how I was dressed and he didn’t think to ask. The partition prevented him from seeing me.
"Now just try to relax, Kurt. I’m being careful and we’ll get to Kennedy on time." Maybe he relaxed, but I couldn’t. Traffic was heavy, it seemed everybody was suffering from road rage and the car was still gigantic. Something else began to worry me once I’d become used to the heavy car; Thanksgiving dinner I could handle, but who was going to do all the preparations for my wedding?
"Jacqui, do be careful. It’s starting to snow." Like I needed him to tell me that!
"Yes, sweety, I’m being very careful. Would you like to drive instead?" I cringed a little at the sarcasm in my voice, but I guess he got my message because he shut up after that.
By the time I stopped the car in front of the International Arrivals building, an inch of snow covered the ground and it was falling heavily. Mindful of my heels and the snow, I walked to the door and opened it while executing a curtsey.
"We’ve h’arrived at Kennedy H’airport, guv’."
"Oh, mein, Gott!" Kurt stared at the black PVC uniform I was wearing, but, a moment later, he started to laugh.
"Park my car then join me inside." He barely managed to get that out before he started laughing again and he walked quickly inside shaking his head and holding his hand over his mouth, laughs breaking through his fingers.
I found him waiting just inside when I entered. His big smile told me that I’d made him happy.
"But why, Jacqui? Why did you put on that uniform?" he asked once I was beside him.
"To have some fun. Besides, it just wouldn’t have looked right if I was dressed like a lady driving your tank. Would it?" He chuckled and led me deeper into the terminal.
"Gut, their flight from Geneva is forty minutes early."
"Geneva? On our first date, I thought you had told me Karl lived in Cologne?" I questioned.
"No, liebling. What I said was that he was working in Koeln then. He has been a Switzer for more than ten years."
"I see. Tell me about his wife?" I asked quietly while we waited.
"Katie, Katrinka actually. I know little about her and we’ve never met. Karl and Katie married a year ago while he was on holiday last Christmas in the Canary Islands. On the moment, Karl was a bachelor, but by the time his Christmas card arrived, he was married. I am looking forward to meeting my sister-in-law for the first time. I understand she is gorgeous and I know she has Karl wrapped around her little finger." We didn’t have long to wait.
"Ah, there is Karl." Kurt began to wave. I scanned the crowd, not knowing who I was looking for.
My heart stopped when a man, nearly as large as Kurt, but at least ten years younger, moved forward with his arms outstretched! They spoke German much faster than I could begin to comprehend and hugged each other exuberantly. It didn’t matter, I was focused on the woman who stood back with the luggage. She must have been Karl’s wife.
I moved forward, curtseyed, but didn’t speak, praying she wouldn't either. I took hold of the large luggage cart, curtseyed to her again and started out.
"I’ll be fetching the motor, guv." Kurt didn’t stop me. They followed me to the doors where I left the bags.
There are advantages to driving a Rolls Royce in a snowstorm and parking it in a ‘No Parking’ zone just inside the lot. It wasn’t ticketed.
I drove around the loop then stopped next to the entrance. The weather being what it was, Kurt led them out before I’d the door open, but I closed it then placed the luggage in the boot.
While driving in the snow with the heavy traffic on the roadways was bad, I managed to get us home, albeit in four hours. Karl and Katie were asleep. I was exhausted, the strain of the long difficult drive made me feel like I had just taken a transatlantic flight. I wanted someone to take care of me. I missed Henry and Anna already!
"Guv, I need to talk to you, privately." I’d tugged Kurt’s sleeve and whispered. His look told me he’d understood.
Five minutes later, as I was just beginning to change, Kurt came to my rooms.
"What is it, Jacqui? You look worried. Is something wrong with you?" Kurt asked as I stripped off my gauntlets.
"No, there's nothing wrong, but I am very concerned."
"But why? My brother and Katie are very much looking forward to meeting my future wife," Kurt was staring as he tried to figure out what my problem was.
"Kurt, darling. I have met your sister-in-law before, but her name wasn’t Katie or Katrinka." I handed him Angelique’s card, which I’d taken from my jewelry box before he’d come upstairs. I heard him draw in his breath. I told him what had happened the evening when I served the party at the Crawford’s.
"I knew the ballet would have been better," Kurt joked.
"How do you want me to do this, Kurt? I’ll put on my maid’s uniform, if you think that best?
"No, put on a pretty dress and behave as my fiancée. Unless she recognizes you, pretend that you never met Katie before. Come down when you are ready." Kurt left my apartment.
Almost an hour later, dressed in my original, dark green, embroidered cheongsam with black stockings and pumps, I entered the family room where they’d gathered before the fireplace, which was burning with a roaring fire. It really was a wonderful, sight. The light from the fire filled the room in front of the fireplace and the snow continued to fall heavily just behind the large windows that made up one side of the room. The three figures in front of the fireplace looked like they were out of a Christmas card.
"Good evening." From force of habit, I curtseyed, although I immediately felt stupid for having done it. I was so nervous I was shaking. Kurt and Karl stood at the sound of my voice and Kurt came to my side, putting his arm around my waist. I spooned into his side thankful for his presence. Katie stared briefly then jumped to her feet.
"Jacqui! Bon soir! Comment ca’ va?" She was smiling and grabbed me away from Kurt; hugging me tightly.
"Ca va, bien, Madame. Et vous?" Her greeting was not what I’d expected. I thought she would be withdrawn and suspicious, afraid I would reveal her secret. Instead, she greeted my like a dear old friend. Holding my hand, she tugged me before a bewildered Karl.
"Mon cher, c’est Jacqui, la soubrette." Katie switched to English. "You remember, I told you that I tried to hire a Chinese maid when I visited here last."
"This woman? You will have me to believe that you wanted to hire mein brother’s fiancée." Karl looked at Kurt then at me, as if I was to expected to confirm what his wife had just said. Then he started to laugh deeply. I didn’t understand, neither did Kurt; judging by his expression. Katie was giggling.
"Ist eine … how do you say? It is tiny world, not is it?" Karl’s command of English, while understandable, was not nearly as good as Kurt’s, plus, his accent was heavy. He turned to me.
"Und so, you know Maitresse Angelique then, Jacqui. Ist gut." He sat on the couch and Angelique or was it Katie, sat beside him.
"Und now, the necessary to pretend is not." Karl turned to his brother.
"Mein Frau ist eine Dominatrix, Kurt, un die Fraeulein ist eine Magd. Ist gut!" Karl attempted English. "A family are we!" He raised his empty stein in toast. Kurt did the same. I rose and went to the refrigerator behind the bar. She was right next to me when I rose with beer bottles in my hand.
"I’m really happy that we could meet again, Jacqui," she spoke to me in French.
"Maitresse, how should I address you?" I asked in kind.
"Friends, very close friends, call me Kat. We are friends, non, Jacqui?
"Now, tell me where are your uniforms? I think that I can fit into one." I knew that Kat had been assessing my body and I too had concluded she might if she laced her corset tightly.
"Pick what you’d like," I told her where my dressing room was located then served the beers to Kurt and Karl.
"I’m going to fix something to eat for us. Do either of you need anything in the meantime?" I asked.
"Where’d Katie, Jacqui?" Kurt asked.
"She went upstairs to change. I’m sure she’ll be down shortly."
The refrigerators, yes, there are three, and the pantry, were all well stocked for our guests, Thanksgiving and the wedding. I had more than enough food to select from. I made fried shrimp and French fries and had them well along when Kat entered the kitchen looking fantastic in my black kid, French maid’s uniform. With it, she was wearing black net tights and black thigh boots.
"I couldn’t find anything but stockings and your shoes are too small," she said apologetically. "Does this look alright?"
"You look great, Kat, very sexy. I waggled my eyebrows at her.
"How much do you want to get into being the maid tonight? I mean, you are our guest and you've just had a long plane ride."
"I want to play!" she giggled. "When I get too tired, I'll fall asleep, but in the meantime, Pour ce soir, vous etez, la Maitresse."
After learning that she couldn't really cook, I ordered her to set the table. I attended the men.
"Supper is underway, I’ll need to be in and out, but it should be ready shortly. Anything you’d like, Kurt? Karl?"
"Please to go up and inform Katie that we will eat shortly, Jacqui?" Karl asked.
"Your wife will not be joining us this evening, Karl." I stood in front of him as imperiously as I could, which probably wasn't very. I'd never been commanding as a guy, and as a woman, I was downright submissive.
"She did say that she was tired when in the auto." I wasn’t sure if he was saying that to Kurt or to me. I returned to the kitchen.
After all was ready and I checked that Kat knew how the table should be set, I gave her last minute instructions then invited the men to the table. No, Karl's wife wouldn't be joining us, but my new maid would be. In fact, she would be serving the meal.
When she first waltzed into the room, curtsying just inside the door, Karl's eyes went wide and Kurt actually dropped the fork he had been showing to Karl. It was a family heirloom then everyone broke out into laughter.
"You got her to do this?" Karl asked me, apparently astounded, "but, but…"
"Never underestimate the power of a woman," I said to him, before winking a half beat later.
He laughed again and shouted at Katie, "Fraeulein, wo ist mein Abendessen? I am starving." He laughed again. Katie came over to his seat and whispered something in his ear. He suddenly went rigid and nodded. Katie left the room a moment later to get the wine.
"What did she say, Kurt whispered to his brother.
Karl turned to him with a slightly guilty look on his face. "Little boys can be punished if they don't behave," he said.
Kurt and I looked at each other and burst into laughter yet again. By the time dessert was ready, Karl was in a frilly apron helping with the dishes. I can only guess what went on in their bedroom after they retired.
Thanksgiving morning, I eased out of bed early. There was a lot to do and I’d a plan to accomplish it. I slipped into the guest room. Covering Kat’s lips with my hand so she stayed quiet and didn’t wake Karl, I took her from the bed.
"You want to still play today, Kat?" I asked.
She grinned, "Oui! Je suis la soubrette," she answered. "You are la Maitresse and I must be in bondage." I let that go for the moment.
Kat was a total delight. We dressed identically in my black French uniforms, did breakfast for our men then prepped the turkey and all of the trimmings and got the meal underway. Our wedding party was coming for dinner.
"Jacqui," Kurt was in the doorway to my apartment when we’d finished chores and I’d taken Kat there to help me freshen up and change. Karl stood behind his brother.
"Katie is to be the maid. I think you have done enough of chores today. I want you by my side for our guests." He stated this authoritatively.
"Kurt, I came here to change, as you wish!" I was a bit testy. "Kat will be the maid today and be dressed as she is." I saw him stiffen at my words.
Karl spoke quickly to Kurt in German, far too fast, for me to understand. I saw Kurt grin.
"My brother wants to have Katie in your very sexy uniform, Jacqui, and she asked if we’ve any chains?" Hearing Kurt tell me Karl’s request caused me wrinkle my lips.
"I would prefer her wearing the uniform she has on or one of my satin ones, but she is not going to be prancing about with her breasts exposed or like a bondage model. I must insist on this, Kurt. There will be friends and business associates as our guests and I’m not going to permit this in our home." I didn’t want to upset Karl or ruin Kat’s fun, but I was going to stand my ground. "Thanksgiving is an important Holiday to be respected and not a sex show." I glared at both of them and waited for one to challenge me.
Karl spoke first, "Of course. The request was inappropriate; I apologize."
"Danke schoen," I dropped a formal curtsey, pleased that nothing further came of the matter. Karl excused himself and Kurt came into my room.
"Jacqui, it was wrong to have asked and put the decision on you. Perhaps you will play with her another time?"
"Kurt, I see that I have not fully explained how I feel. No one, but me will wear the uniform she requested and the only one who is going to see me when I do is you." At the time, even my husband to be hadn’t even known I had it. The subject was closed.
I finished dressing into a floor-length cheongsam of soft black velvet with white trim. It was the first time I’d worn it other than for the fittings. Carla had bought it for me to wear for the holiday meals; it was actually a uniform and there were appropriate accessories to accompany the dress. I didn’t put on the pinafore, but took it with me when I went downstairs.
After checking that Kat had things well under control in the kitchen, I inspected the dining room then joined Karl and Kurt by the fireplace.
"May I make a suggestion for tomorrow, Kurt?" I asked. Since Henry and Anna had left suddenly for Florida, I’d given a lot of thought to the wedding reception and how it might be accomplished. I’d given thought to Kat’s request also and had some ideas that just might work. I began, by telling the men these.
"I’d like to suggest that we cancel the reception here, after we are married." Kurt was clearly surprised by my unexpected request. "Everyone, especially me, is going to be very busy tomorrow and not have any time to devote to preparing for a big party here. It's my thought that we all go to a restaurant and party there?"
"In Switzerland, such would require months to prepare," Karl observed.
"Here too, normally, but the wedding party and guests are only five couples," I countered. "We could go somewhere with a band, just have a nice meal and enjoy. That way no one has to miss any of the fun." Kurt was smiling and nodded when I had stated my proposal.
"Where would you like to go, Jacqui?"
"How about Arnald’s restaurant that you took Henry and me too after the ballgame? I had fun dancing to the umpah band, Kurt."
"Ah! Yes that was fun, but I know a place better." Kurt was smiling broadly as he excused himself to make a phone call. I turned to offer my other suggestion to Karl.
"Kat wanted to play the kinky maid with me, Karl. I regret I disappointed her."
"The matter is closed, Jacqui," he replied. "There is not need to discuss this more."
"Yes, but I’ve an idea that might make your wife happy."
"Und was ist das, that, Jacqui?"
"I have another uniform that is a lot sexier than the one I wore to the airport to greet you. Do you think Kat might like being my chauffeuse tomorrow, driving the big Rolls Royce? I asked.
"Ja! She would like that!" Karl grinned. "Katie is, but a little girl, who likes to play."
Suzanne, Jayne and their husbands were the first guests to arrive, shortly after one o’clock. Dave Roberts, Suzanne’s husband, had been stationed in Germany while an Air Force pilot and spoke the language like a native. Of course, he hit it off instantly with Kurt and Karl.
Geoff Murphy was a stereotypical Irishman who could charm a stone. You couldn’t help but warm quickly to Jayne’s husband. If he wasn’t telling stories or jokes, he was attentively listening to another’s with rapt fascination.
Kat proved to be an excellent maid; scurrying about making sure that everyone's needs were fulfilled, while keeping dinner under control. She carried a big bottle of Italian wine when she escorted Maria and Joseph Marlin in about two. Joe’s grandfather had dropped the ‘i’ from Marlini when he’d immigrated to the United States, but the Italian heritage the couple shared fit in well with our international group.
With the guys glued to a bowl game on TV along with Maria, I showed off the house to Jayne and Suzanne.
"We’ll bring your dress over at noon and get you pretty for the ceremony and to the chapel on time.
"Don’t worry about getting there, Kat will be my chauffeuse and driving Kurt’s Rolls," I informed. "We’ll ride there together."
"Great. Where ever did you hire a real French maid in the short time you’ve been away from Ms. Martin, Jacqui?" Suzanne asked.
"I didn’t hire her. Kat is going to be my sister-in-law in just over twenty-four hours. She’s Kurt’s brother’s wife," I stated. "They live in Geneva where she has a substantial professional practice."
"She really plays the game well. I’d never guess her to be a doctor or lawyer. She’s awfully young too." Jayne was curious. "What profession is she in?"
"Nothing like you suggested," I grinned.
"Her boots should give us a clue, right, Jacqui?" Suzanne displayed a knowing smile.
"Right. Shall we join the guys?" I led them downstairs.
Before I knew it, Kat was gently shaking me awake. I couldn’t believe that I’d slept until ten the next morning, but then I hadn’t gone to bed until one.
"Bon, matin, Maitresse," she beamed.
"Good morning, Kat? Sleep well?"
"Ha, it is hard to sleep with a horny man, but yes once he was satisfied. If Karl’s big brother is anything alike, you just slept well for the last time," Kat teased.
Kat was the perfect lady's maid and I thoroughly enjoyed her ministrations throughout my toilette. It felt so luxurious to have her attend me that I decided it was something I could very easily become addicted to. As Kat began to dress me, I began then to think about someday having my own maid. But I vowed that I’d never treat her the way had Carla treated me.
A German-Victorian theme was what I had decided upon for my wedding ensemble, at least my underwear was. Kat wrapped the long white satin corset about me, hooked its busk and stepped back with a questioning expression.
"That is a very severe corset, Mademoiselle. Will you be able to endure it?" I'm sure she questioned that it was stem-waisted. By then, I normally laced to twenty inches, sometimes less, but never had tried a stem waist except when that corset had been fitted in the boutique. I'd worn it then for three hours to see if I could.
"Yes, it is, Katie. I'll lace as tightly as I usually do, so I'm sure, for my special day, I can last in this corset. Please get started?" My temporary maid grinned and went about her task. As my waist and chest shrank, I ran my fingers up and down my sides, delighting in the figure that metamorphosed in the mirror. A two-inch high vertical waist of just twenty inches was very attractive to me. I was getting mildly aroused just looking at myself.
The stockings were real silk, in a delicate lace pattern. Once Katie had smoothed them and straightened the seams until they were perfect, together, we fastened the ten raunched, garter straps to their tops. Each of the tabs was covered with a pink silk rose, forming a pretty flowered row about the top of each thigh.
"Please help me with my chastity belt, Kat?" I asked as I handed her the once hated prison.
"But why?" she questioned.
"Today, I will give my husband its key during the ceremony. My belt will become a symbol of my love, devotion and trust."
Her eyes widened and she exclaimed, "What a wonderful idea."
Silk drawers, in keeping with my theme, covered my legs from the rows of ruffled lace from my hips to below my knees, just above the steel band encircling them. They concealed my belt, the garters and wedding garter residing high on my left leg, just below the floral array.
I moved to my vanity and sat on the stool so Katie could fit the boots I'd selected. Real button-topped boots, the kind requiring a button hook to fasten, had proven impossible to find; at least impossible in the limited time I had to prepare for this special day. Forced to fall back on front laces, I had chosen six-inch heels and round toes which always made my feet look tiny and delicate. Carla had forced me to wear extreme heels so often, that they no longer bothered me.
"Smooth this everywhere above my corset, please?" I handed Katie an alabaster foundation pancake and sponge to apply it. "Try not to do it heavily, but so that it is translucent." She began on my shoulders and back while I started covering my face with the same product."
Forty minutes later, I modeled for myself in the triple mirrors, which dominated a corner of the room. "Tres, tres, jolie, Mademoiselle. Magnifique!" Katie complimented. I admit it; I am narcissistic enough to agree with her assessment. I looked great!
Once I was dressed in my bridal lingerie and had applied my makeup, we sipped tea. After a few minutes, Kat had me model for her digital camera, as she talked about what she did. Although I was very curious, I would never have asked about something so personal, but Kat was obviously quite comfortable talking about it.
"In Europe it is quite common for young women to work at what I do. We make fantastic monies, pay our taxes and live in luxury until too ugly from age to continue. If we invest wisely, the luxurious life continues until we go to heaven."
"Are you not afraid of AIDS or some other disease, Kat?" I asked.
"Only the stupid girl who have sex with their clients will risk it. I would not allow a client inside of me for all the gold in the world." She was then posing me on my large canopied bed.
"You will visit in our chalet so I can take proper photos soon, Jacqui, n’est pas?
"Kurt has said we might visit Europe next summer. I’d like to do that." Being posed wearing my corset, drawers, stockings and high-heeled boots that made me look like a Victorian girl was a lot of fun. Before we knew it, the doorbell rang to announce that Suzanne and Jayne had arrived.
First the florist then the photographer came shortly after they had. Jayne had suggested that I use Ashley, a promising young photographer they had used for advertising at the store. I liked the tall, thin brunette immediately.
"Ah, finally the perfect model in the perfect set," she moved rapidly about my bedroom for several minutes, looking at shooting angles and lighting then turned to me.
"Jacqui, if you give me a model release and let me photograph you another day too, I’ll do your wedding at no charge," Ashley offered. Before I could respond, she sweetened the pot. "I pay good models fifteen hundred a day and if I shoot anything I can sell today, you get paid for getting married too. Deal?" Before I could say anything, she added that she did not sell to men’s magazines and was targeting fashion magazines, as well as a coffee table book she’d been working on.
"Your cute maid gets paid for today too and I’ll need a release from her as well, Jacqui." Though she moved and spoke with authority, I found pony-tailed Ashley very attractive in her tight leather jeans, knee-boots and fitted jacket. I nodded my assent, hoping that Kurt wouldn’t mind.
"OK, give me a moment to get the lights setup and I’ll grab some shots of you. Maybe your maid can loosen your corset then retighten it for the camera." Kat moved right behind me and went to work.
Suzanne and Jayne unwrapped my gown, veils and petticoats when Ashley said it was time to finish dressing me.
The gown was in a design I'd put together myself from the ideas I'd found on the Web. It was in a dirndl style with a fitted bodice of soft white doeskin with the characteristic large pouffed shoulders and long sleeves. Because my inspiration was taken from the native costumes of Austria, I knew Kurt would be thrilled with the style. To fulfill my own long held fantasy of a gown made of loud, rustling petticoats and taffeta skirts, that is what I'd commissioned. They would stand the skirt out from my body and create the most delicious frou-frou.
I added one more, special touch. I had finally come to be proud of having been a maid. Like Melissa, I saw no shame in that profession and proclaimed my belief by wearing a starched white apron, which contrasted with the ecru, nearly floor-length skirt that didn't quite conceal my boots.
Ashley must have taken several hundred pictures by the time I was seated in the car and Kat, now in my black leather uniform, closed the door and went in front to drive us there.
"Nervous, Jacqui?" Jayne asked.
"No, but I’m very excited. A year ago, I’d have never have dreamed this to be possible," I answered.
"From the first time we saw you, Jayne and I couldn’t understand why some handsome man hadn’t married you already and speculated that you were one of those girls who might only like other pretty girls," Suzanne joked.
"Well, if the right one came along, I might be tempted," I quipped in reply. "I might even be tempted if she wore pants." I saw the sisters exchange glances.
"Pants like the polished black leather ones Ashely’s wearing, Jacqui?" My grin gave me away. They giggled.
"Well, hate to burst your bubble, but our photog friend is still a guy, despite how good she looks as a girl."
"You’re kidding me, right, Suzanne?" I knew that they weren’t, but I wasn’t about to let them think I'd once been one too.
Suzanne’s red velvet and taffeta gown, also in a dirndl style, wasn’t nearly as full as mine, but she still needed help getting out of the car. When my turn came, both of my friends and Kat had to guard my cream colored skirt to keep it clean. All on my taffeta petticoats made it nearly four feet across if they weren’t compressed. Suzanne had suggested a hoop skirt to achieve the look I’d designed, but I wanted to hear the frou-frou. We hurried out of the cold air and into the small room at the front of the chapel.
With Ashley shooting pictures, my Matron of Honor arranged my gown, veils and bouquet. She continued to primp and preen me until the pianist started to play.
"Ready?" she asked. I could only nod. "Good luck!"
We exited and she positioned me in the vestibule then got to her place before me. On cue from one of the chapel ushers, Suzanne started to advance slowly down the aisle.
Though most of my vision was obscured by the seven layers of veiling, I was a bit saddened when I saw the sea of empty pews in the room, momentarily regretting that we hadn’t waited to pull off a big wedding. I dashed that sort of thinking as soon as I spotted Kurt before the altar. He was smiling at me proudly and that was all that mattered.
The familiar strains on the Wedding March began to reverberate and I began my walk. I was very happy.
"Repeat after me. Do you, Jacqui Lian Chang, take this man … Kurt Oskar Mark … to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold … to cherish and nourish … to attend and to care for … through sickness and health … through times lean and bountiful, until death do you part?"
"I do."
"You may kiss the bride." A woman, to my left, started to cry. Briefly, I questioned who it might be.
Kurt started to raise my veils. "Are you wearing enough, Liebling?" he quipped. With my face clear, my husband took me in his arms and drew me to him then enveloped my lips with his own. It was heavenly!
Before we broke apart, I whispered into his ear. "Kurt I have a special present for you." I pulled my hands from around his neck and lifted a key on a long chain from inside my apron. "Don’t lose this," I said softly. You’ll need it later."
"You didn’t?" he whispered back; a huge smile splitting his face. I just nodded shyly.
"I wanted you to know just how important this is to me. Locking myself away for you is a symbol of that.
"Let’s go greet our guests."
Just for tradition, we formed the wedding party into a receiving line in the vestibule, even though we had hardly any guests, just Maria, Joe, Jayne and Geoff. I was talking with Maria, when a very familiar voice softly said my name. I turned to see Toni Bauer smiling shyly.
"Congratulations, Jacqui." She offered her hand. "I’m so very happy for you."
"Hello, Toni. Give me a kiss. I’m pleased that you’ve come." The weekend before, I had called her house, to settle my doubts that she had actually been an accomplice in Carla’s dastardly acts, but had only gotten the answering machine. I thought that she'd not returned my call, but I later learned that Henry had talked with her on Tuesday night. With the unfortunate events of Wednesday morning, he’d simply forgotten to tell me. Of, course I invited her to our diner and was happy when she accepted my invitation.
Kat drove us to a large German restaurant in Watchung, which I had never even heard about. It turned out that he Kurt was close friends of the owners there too, Georg and Judy Beirmeister. It was quite crowded when we went in, but the crowd fell silent when the band launched into the Wedding March to a lively polka beat.
My wonderful husband wasted no time in sweeping me onto the dance floor and soon we were twirling and dancing together on the maple parquet. I had dreamed of dancing like that. It didn’t matter in the least that my wedding gown was ecru and not the dark green of my fantasy. I was very happy.
Several tables had been set up in a U-shape for us in a private room, which, even on such short notice, had been decorated for a wedding reception, complete with a small wedding cake.
Toni was the only one eligible to catch my bouquet. Ashley surprised nearly everyone, but Suzanne, Jayne and me; she unashamedly stating her true gender when it was time for the garter toss and handed a camera to Kat to photograph the event.
When they broke from their kiss, Toni reached and squeezed Ashley’s breast through her silk blouse. "They’re real, guys!" All of us broke into laughter and Ashley bounced to jiggle them.
"Yes, all me," she giggled in her girlish voice. It was quite heartening to see she was so open about herself, not carrying around the shame that had always haunted me.
Kat, still wearing the leather chauffeuse uniform, helped me up to my rooms when we got home. Kurt and I had decided to spend our wedding night at home and to plan for a belated honeymoon later. I was as skittish as a lost kitten as she undressed me, but it was taking so long for her to unbutton the dress, I was beginning to think she'd never get it off and I'd have to go to Kurt still wearing it. She was eventually able to finish, jabbering on all the time in French about how stupid it was to have a wedding dress that was so hard to get off.
"Madame, cette habillement est ridicule!" Kat stated as she worked.
"Pour quoi? C'est tres jolie, n'est pas?"
"But so many buttons. On your wedding night, it should be quick to remove." I giggled at her reason for calling my beautiful gown ridiculous.
I'd already decided that I'd wear most of the lingerie I’d put on that morning. But I did switch my long silk drawers for a pair of French cut panties that just covered my chastity belt, and added a lovely lace encrusted, sheer white peignoir that I'd bought just for this occasion.
"Jacqui, you must change your boots," Kat said, as she looked me over. "You are going in to tempt your man to make love to you. Do you want to have to stop to unlace them?"
"Non," she went on before I could say a word. "You most certainly do not. I'll find you something easier to slip off." She came up with a pair of five-inch white pumps that Carla had once ordered for Melissa and me, although we'd seldom worn them.
"There, these will be much better," she said with conviction as she knelt before me. I steadfastly refused to change my footwear.
"Perhaps I should loosen the corset so you can get out of it easily."
"Kat," I admonished her. "Just relax. Kurt likes to take my corset off; it's part of the game for him. Besides, I like it. It makes me feel secure and right now, I'm very nervous.
"Well … of course you're nervous, cherie, you are about to be ravaged by your new husband. Every girl is nervous on her wedding night."
I wanted to shout out that I was a virgin and didn’t know anything about getting ravished, but stopped myself, thinking this was something Kat didn't need to know right now. "Brush my hair, please," I said instead, "I think that will help calm me down."
"I know," she said brightly. "You need some champagne. That will loosen you up. I'll be right back." Kat started for the door.
"No! I squealed, losing complete control of my voice in my hurry to stop her. "I don't drink." I lowered my head so she couldn't see my face, but then looked back up. "I was an alcoholic, so I had to give it up." She looked at me questioningly. I nodded, ashamed at my past behavior.
"Oh Jacqui, that is just marvelous; so many people cannot do that. You must be a very strong woman."
"Well, I don't know about that," I replied, "but I don't drink any more. Please brush my hair for a few moments?"
She nodded her head knowingly and came back to my side. Taking my hand, she led me to the vanity, where she seated me and began to brush my hair. As she did, she started to describe how I looked and how Kurt would react when he saw me.
"What a gorgeous China Doll you are," she started. "Very mysterious looking because there is something else in your face in addition to China. Your eyes are big and dark and your fluttery lashes are just so romantic, and you have such high cheekbones! Any model would be glad to trade with you."
By this time, I was blushing furiously and, as I glanced down, I could see the flush start to expand over my chest, running down into my cleavage. My hands came up without me willing them to, and I laid them on the exposed tops of my breasts, the fire-red fingernails a striking contrast to my pale skin.
A moment later, I could feel Kat tight against my back and her hands covered mine from behind. She reached down and nuzzled my neck with her lips. When I felt her breath, I tilted my head to give her better access. She felt just wonderful!
I jumped. "What are you doing?" I asked, startled that I had let her begin to seduce me.
"Jacqui, relax. I'm just warming you up a little." She smiled at me adoringly in the mirror. It's time for you to go to your man."
It was strange. Kat opened the door for me. With my peignoir fluttering around my calves and my high heels forcing me into a short stride, I walked with her towards Kurt's bedroom, the master bedroom, the bedroom where I would be sleeping in a bed together with my husband for ever after.
It was strange. What could have been better than having my calves tightened, the tilt of my pelvis changed and a small sway forced onto my gait because of those wonderful heels. Now, those delightful old feelings, combined with the new one of having nothing compressed between my legs, started to dissolve the apprehension that had accompanied me out of my room. I started to swing my hips, trying to feel sexy. I was a sexy woman; I was very proud of myself.
As quickly as that thought raced through my mind, it was undone. Kurt's house was big, and the hallway was long, or so it seemed to me. Perhaps because Kat was at my side, lightly holding my arm, I started to feel a bit like a condemned convict, on her way to the gallows. I threw that thought aside quickly, as well.
There was no regret in me about being Jacqui now. God, I was a bride! Could all this possibly be true? I sent my mind to search out the feelings that were coming from my body just to check; there was so much more than just my calves and hips.
My breasts were only slightly contained and they bobbled aggressively begging for attention. I knew they would get it too, as soon as Kurt was allowed near them. He loved them at least as much as I did. He had already made that clear by all the attention he paid to them any time I let him.
The corset that held me was still tight and comforting. I guess I really was a corset freak. I loved the way they felt even when they were uncomfortable. I just couldn't get over the way they made me look. OK, I did look something like an Oriental Barbie doll, but hell, I just loved it!
'Oh shit, there's his door. Are we there already?' I was just beginning to get into what was going on. I stopped six feet away.
"Jacqui?" I heard Kat ask, from very far away. "Are you okay?"
"Huh?" I replied, slowly coming out of my reverie.
"Why did you stop?"
"Kat, I'm scared." I only realized just how nervous I was when I said it.
Kat giggled, "Of course you are, silly. I already told you, every girl is afraid on her wedding night.
"Were you?" I asked, finding it hard to believe that could have been possible.
"Of course I was!" she said, as if I must have been crazy to ask. "Now give me a kiss and get in there. A new wife shouldn't keep her husband waiting. And remember, dear, just give yourself to him. That is your job tonight and every other night. Never give him a reason to look at another woman. Do you understand?"
'Just give myself to him?' Did I understand? Not really, but that did seem to make things quite simple. That was something I could probably remember. In fact, it seemed like a really good idea. Just give myself to him. Yes. That would be wonderful. I would give myself to my husband. I shuddered with unanticipated delight at the prospect.
"Knock," Kat whispered. "Knock. We've been standing here too long." Before I could react, she knocked.
"Come in," Kurt seemed to boom out from the other side. It might have been a whisper, actually, but it didn't matter. It was a command that went to my soul. It thundered there.
I looked at Kat with panic in my eyes. It must have been in my eyes because it was flooding my body. My heart rate had rocketed to a speed only seen during an arrhythmia and I was breathing so fast, I couldn't catch my breath.
Kat gave me a thoroughly frustrated look and gestured towards the door with her head. I was frozen. I couldn't move. She just rolled her eyes at me and reached for the knob, pushed the door open and thrust me inside.
"Jacqui, liebling. Come in," Kurt's voice was full of love and anticipation. I looked around for Kat, but she had closed the door and was probably already well down the hallway towards the stairs. I was on my own.
Kurt was standing in the middle of his room. There was a rather generous sitting area just inside the door, with a love seat and two wing chairs, all covered in the soft dark brown leather. Kurt and I had sat together in this very room on any number of evenings and had spent a good deal of time on the love seat making out. Now, he stood by one of the chairs, his hand resting easily on the high back. He wore a midnight blue silk robe, tied loosely with a sash. The key I had given him was around his neck. It was obvious that he wore nothing else. When I looked back to his face after making that discovery, the look of love in his eyes just melted me.
"Oh, Kurt," escaped from my lips on its own. I was startled, because it didn't sound like my standard squeak; it was throaty, hoarse and full of need. ‘Give yourself to him’ was loud in my thoughts. Yes, that sounded like a terrific idea. It's just what I wanted to do. Maybe he couldn't get erections, but that was no reason he shouldn't feel that I loved him with all my soul.
I took a tentative step then stopped short. 'No, Jacqui' I thought to myself, 'don't be tentative. Show him what you've got.' I put one foot in front of the other and twisted my hips so one was thrust out to him. I slowly ran my free hand up my thigh and let it rest on hip then swiveled my torso so my chest was directed right at him. Straightening to my full height, I looked him right in the eye.
"Mein Herr,' I purred, as best I could. "I've been looking for you." Oh God, did I actually say that? He must think I'm an idiot, but he didn't. I could see it in his eyes. They lit up even more. It took me a few steps to reach him. He kept his eyes on me the whole time. I could see them flit around my body, trying to take all of me in. First, they visited my groin, where they searched for my chastity belt, I’m sure, then they traveled around my hips, noticing with a smile the row of flowers my garters created. Then they ran down my legs, but they didn't linger long there. Instead, they seemed irresistibly drawn to my breasts, which I was doing my best to display. By the time I got to him, he had to drag his eyes up to mine to meet my look.
Despite my seeming bravado, I was scared to death. I had used up all my courage just walking into the room. Left to my own devices, I probably would have stood there all night looking at him, but this man had no intention of leaving me on my own.
"Liebling," he said softly, "I have never been happier than today. Come, share my love; let me share yours." My heart wasn't racing any longer; it was going more like pitter-patter. I was completely disarmed. Did he mean it? He had to; the look on his face and the clarity of his eyes made that clear.
He took my hand and led me through the sitting area to the side of his bed. We were standing at the side of the bed with the backs of my knees against the mattress and Kurt facing me.
"This will be your bed too, from now on," he whispered.
"Kiss me," I whispered urgently. "I need…"
He took my face in his two hands and kissed me lightly on the lips. Then he kissed me more aggressively, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to him. I followed his lead, opening my lips to hurry his tongue into my mouth and running my arms up to drape them around his neck.
As he pushed against me, I pulled him down on top and we toppled onto the bed. He was careful to twist so he would fall next to me and not hurt me. My husband turned and started to kiss my face and throat. I loved the feeling of his lips in the small hollow of at the base of my neck.
"Liebling," he whispered, "I want you."
"Only if you kiss the back of my neck first," I teased.
"My dear," he said haughtily, "You are now my wife. You are in no position to make demands."
"Oh?" I squeaked, arching an eyebrow. Kurt laughed and rolled me over, showering the back of my neck with kisses. After a minute or so, he started to fondle my breasts, being careful not to touch the nipples.
"Oh…" I started to moan. The combined feeling of his lips on my neck and shoulders and his hands on my breasts began to turn me on. I arched my back trying to get him to rub harder.
My breath was coming much faster, and although I wasn't aware of it, all the fear I had been feeling had evaporated. There was no room in my brain for anything but the sensations Kurt was creating in my body.
He licked his way up the side of my neck to my ear, and started to nibble on the lobe. He flicked his tongue around, tracing the wire that held my front earring before pulling it into his mouth and pulling my ear down with it; that made me squeal, anew.
"My nipples, suck on my nipples, please," I begged.
He grinned while rolling me back over to face him then rolled us both so he was on his back and didn't have to support his weight. Being able to look down at him and see the love in his face loosed an unexpected wave of desire that shivered through my entire body. Before he could reach his lips up to my nipples, I grabbed his head and mashed my lips into his. We kissed like that for many minutes, playing with each other's lips and tongues, while I caressed his face and hair and rubbed my breasts all over his chest.
With his hands free, Kurt started to rub them down the sides of my body and over my ass and thighs. When he put both of his hands between my thighs and started to separate them gently, I thought I would go nuts. He had not yet touched me down there because we had decided that I would be a total virgin, at least as a girl, on my wedding night.
My first response was to try to clench my legs together in surprise. When Kurt stopped our kiss and gave me a look that was both a question and a command, I let them relax and then slowly opened them so they fell on either side of his then I dove back into our kiss.
"Kurt," I softly cooed, "please remove my belt. I want to feel you there?"
"You are so soft and smooth," he whispered to me through our kiss as he ran his fingertips over the sensitive skin on the insides of my thighs. "Perhaps it is time to remove your armor." The decision had to be his. I'd given Kurt the key during our wedding ceremony and had thereby handed him sole control of my sex.
As I thrilled to the idea of him having such control over me, I realized he wasn't as soft as I had anticipated. His penis was actually getting a little turgid, which both scared and thrilled me. I knew he could never get fully hard, but the fact that I could make him respond at all excited me in an unanticipated way.
I lifted off him and reached down between us to grab his organ. Yes, it had grown a little. It was filling and now had a heft I had never experienced. If this was getting him excited, I wanted more. "Yes, my love, please take it off. My husband should know every part of me."
He had me stand beside the bed while he got down on his knees so he could kiss the skin between my thighs once again. Then he slowly worked my panties down my legs so I could step out of them. The front shield of the chastity belt stared him in the eye. He examined it for a moment before finally taking the key from around his neck and unlocking the belt.
I had to instruct him how to get it fully off, but once he had, he carefully set it aside, grabbed the cheeks of my ass and pulled himself slowly forward to bury his face between my legs, kissing and nibbling his way around, exploring every fold and crevice as he went.
"Oh God," I moaned at the unexpected feelings. I had squatted slightly to give him better access and he had taken advantage of that by tonguing, licking and nibbling at my lips as if he were trying to memorize their shape with his lips and tongue. His tongue was all the way to the bottom of my slit, when he slowly opened my nether lips with it and carefully ran his tongue all the way to the top, opening and moistening me at the same time.
I had to grab his head for support as my legs got weak and my breathing ragged. "Oh Kurt, don’t stop. That feels incredible." Before I'd finished, he ran his tongue back down again, this time burying it even more deeply and opening me more. Then he ran it back up one more time.
I couldn’t take it, and moaning, I collapsed in front of him. When I had caught my breath, I whispered to him hoarsely, "I’m never letting you go."
"Nor I you, liebling," he whispered back before standing up and helping me onto the bed. Once he had me on my back, he dove diving down to my breasts once again.
As I looked up, Kurt reached down and sucked the nipple of my left breast all the way into his mouth, licking it furiously with his tongue the whole time. "Oh," I moaned slowly, he continued to suckle the nipple already in his mouth, while grabbing the other with his thumb and finger to play with it.
I loved the pulling feeling he created on the nipple he was sucking, but was even more excited by the friction his fingers were creating on the other nipple. At the same time, I began to grind my groin against his thigh, rubbing it in a circular motion that created feelings I had never before experienced.
After a few moments, he switched. Now, the nipple he was rubbing with his fingers was wet and this created an entirely new set of feelings. I couldn't stand it, and pushed myself into his hand, mouth and thigh, trying to intensify the pleasure I was feeling.
I lifted myself up again to kiss Kurt. "Just wait," I gasped. "You'll get yours."
"Oh?" he asked casually, as if he hadn’t been doing a thing.
How could he be so sure of himself and so in control? I had a delightfully wicked thought; maybe I could change that.
"Yes, and I think the time is now." I rolled us over and slithered down his body, taking a few moments to play with his nipples and to suck on them before licking my way down the center of his abdomen towards his crotch.
I had only one thing on my mind — satisfying him. This lovely man had needs and I was going to do all I could to fulfill them. He had told me he enjoyed my sucking and I was going to start with that. Pulling the foreskin back, I licked around the head, moistening it.
Kurt had retained the fullness that I had noticed before and I enjoyed that firm feeling and the heft it gave him. As I lowered my head to take him into my mouth, making my lips into a small 'O' so I wouldn't rub my teeth on the sensitive skin, I had a strong feeing that this was something I had been meant to do. It all just seemed so right with my husband.
I began to slide my lips up and down its brief length while tonguing the head. I even began to suck, pulling it into my mouth that way, which I discovered made it seem a little longer. It helped too if I grabbed the base and circled it tightly with my thumb and index finger. I soon realized that I didn't need to hold the base anymore. Kurt's penis was beginning to stand up in my mouth. It was starting to grow!
"Mmmph … Nnnng…" I managed, as it filled my mouth. I felt scared and powerful at the same time. 'What was I supposed to do with this thing?' I thought in panic with one part of my brain. I looked up at Kurt who was staring down at me with a delighted look on his face. I think my wide, startled eyes almost made him laugh.
He nodded at me knowingly and said, "Mein Gott, Jacqui. You are amazing.
"I went to my doctor for medication, but he never led me to believe that I could get so ... again. It’s you. You turn me on like nothing ever has before." He grabbed me and hugged tightly for a moment.
Suddenly, without warning, I felt my body being lifted from the bed and twisted about, with Kurt's now large member and my mouth acting as a pivot point. When he set me down, I was lying on Kurt's broad chest and firm abdomen and his head was sandwiched between my thighs.
As I suckled, working to regain my control, Kurt's tongue started to explore the places in my body that he had just brought to life for the first time. He again worked his way around my outer lips, licking and lubricating them so he could burrow even more deeply. He found my most sensitive spot; when I jerked with surprise, he focused his attention there, slowly licking it and playing with it with his lips.
Briefly, his hands kneaded my ass then caressed their way up my sides before finding the middle of my waist. He didn't miss a lick as the knots of my corset were undone and the laces started to loosen quickly. I followed Kurt's lead and licked the stiff organ in my mouth, now slowly pumping my head; drawing suction on the out stroke. I was working to find a rhythm.
"Ah, mein Gott!" he mumbled, "Sie bist wunderbar, mein Frau!" I started to giggle.
"Sie bist sehr wunderbar, mein Herr," I paused briefly to say the words then plunged my head back down, almost gagging as he entered the top of my throat, but I managed to control it.
I continued to pump as deeply as I could while my wonderful husband sucked my clitoris into his lips. My breathing now came in short pants and gasps, not because of what I was doing, or because a corset was squeezing my chest, but because of what he was doing in my nether regions. I had never imagined anything could feel so good.
After several minutes, I let his penis out of my mouth, grabbed it with my hand, and whispered, "wait." I arched up to undo the busk of the corset. Kurt pulled the white garment away and put his hands around my chest, just under my breasts. He ran them down my sides, keeping his thumbs towards the middle. He could almost encircle my waist with his hands.
"Mmm…" he said. "What a marvelous woman you are; I am a lucky man to have such a gorgeous wife."
"No," I whispered back, suddenly feeling shy. I gazed directly into his eyes. "I am the lucky one." I gave him the most heartfelt kiss I could manage.
"Kurt mit eine K, Herr Mark, ict liebe dich." I never would have believed I could feel like this, but I was as certain about it as I am about anything. "Kiss me."
Gently, he took my head in both his hands and replied, "Mrs. Mark," — the very sound of that sent a chill up my spine - "I love you. After Erica died, I had resigned myself to never feeling love again. You have brought great happiness into my life." I was pulled down to his mouth and he kissed me just as I had kissed him only moments before. It was an intense kiss. As it went on, I wanted more and more to get even closer to Kurt. I had to have him inside me, I realized with a start. That was not a thought I had ever had before, even after I had met Kurt.
He had an erection. He could put himself inside me and I wanted him to.
"Kurt, I need you. I want you to fuck me. Please?" I reached for his penis and I started to fondle it, feeling it again harden in my hand. "Yes," I said, feeling certain. "I want you to fuck me!"
"Gut," Kurt replied. I flipped us over so I was now on my back and he kissed me deeply.
Kurt kissed his way to the creases that joined my thighs to my groin and began to tease the skin between my thighs with his fingers. His tongue soon followed and before too long, he was again licking my vagina, this time leaving it wet with his saliva.
I'd all I could do to not thrash about on the bed as he played between my thighs. At one point, I grabbed his head and pushed it forcefully into my groin, moaning.
Kurt returned to my clitoris, a spot he had carefully avoided for the last few minutes. After licking and sucking for a while, he grabbed the nub with his teeth, which raised me to the precipice.
"AHHHHHHHhhhh!" I screamed as my body went rigid, not because of any pain, but because of the earthquake of pleasure that suffused my being with waves of ecstasy. I couldn't believe what was happening to me. I was having an orgasm. It was both strange and intense. I had exploded inside, instead of outside and it was bigger and longer lasting than anything I had ever experienced.
Kurt had no intention of stopping. He continued to lick and suckle my now excruciatingly sensitive clitoris.
"Oh Kurt, I can't … It was too…"
"Rub gently, here" he urged. "Don't let the feeling disappear. Keep your eyes closed and concentrate on the feeling."
I did as he said. While I was carefully rubbing myself through the lips of my vagina, I could feel him shift on the bed and a few moments later, his finger entered me. He must have lubricated it, because it slipped inside easily. He withdrew then repeated the motion, adding lubrication to the inside of my vagina, working until he was sure I was fully coated.
Was I ready? Yes I was. I spread my thighs as widely as I could, while pulling my heels in towards my body to give Kurt access to my center. I knew that being a woman was much more than lying on your back welcoming a man to penetrate you, but I was also sure that this must be as womanly an experience as one could have.
Kat's instruction, 'give yourself to him', echoed again in my head. I responded to it eagerly. "Kurt, I am yours. Come take me. Make me your wife."
"You must guide me," he commanded gently. "Reach down and guide me into your body."
The insides of my thighs were facing upwards and Kurt's penis jutted assertively out from his body. I reached to grasp it and was slightly startled at its slipperiness. Kurt had lubed it as well. While I urged him towards me, Kurt bent forward, following my lead. "Push gently, Kurt. You are there."
"Ohhhh…" he thrust his pelvis and entered my slit. What a startling sensation it was to feel his erection fill me up and create sensations along the entire length of my insides. He gently stroked in and out, allowing me to get used to the feelings.
At first, I lay still, just savoring the feeling of having him buried inside me then without me even thinking about it, I began to thrust and twist my hips gently in time to Kurt's movements; that earned an appreciative groan from him and made me feel terrific.
"Fuck me, Kurt?" I asked plaintively. He pulled back, stopping only when the tip was at the very entranceway of my vagina. His failure to drive all the way home frustrated me. "Fuck me! Damn it!" I growled, showing my feelings with my tone of voice. He slid out and partially in again.
"Stop teasing me," I complained, my voice rising as I tried to thrust my hips up to impale myself. "Take me!" I screamed, now desperately wanting him. "Fuck me!"
Kurt let his weight go and he thrust deep within me. He hesitated only a moment, before withdrawing and plunging back down again with real force. I could feel the bed bounce beneath us as he drove his hips into mine. He withdrew again and started a rhythmic pumping motion. As he did, Kurt began to knead my breasts again. I covered his hands with my own to squeeze them harder.
He was so strong, I was now grunting in response to his thrusts and twisting my hips to amplify the remarkable feelings he was creating within me. This was completely different from when he'd licked and sucked on my clitoris and I could sense waves of pleasure that seemed more diffuse and distant. I reached my legs around his back and, no longer kicking, I pulled him into me even tighter on each down stroke.
All of a sudden, Kurt started to loose his rhythm and stiffen up. He rammed hard into me and I pulled him even tighter with my legs and arms. He bucked with his hips a few times then collapsed onto my body and lay still. He kissed my neck when he lifted his head, nibbled his way to my mouth.
"Ich leibe, sie, Liebling."
"Oh … Kurt! Ich liebe dich, auch!"
"I came," he said, his voice full of amazement. "I never thought that could happen again. You are amazing." I was too overcome with emotion to respond. I was lying on my back pulling my husband inside me as he slowly softened. I was deeply grateful to have him care for me.
I was a married woman who would be living life with a man she loved. He had given me my first female orgasm and been able to have his first in many years. I was overcome by the sum of all these events and started to cry silently, tears running down the sides of my face.
"Thank you, Carla," I whispered as we lay with Kurt still on top of me, recovering from his orgasm.
"What do you thank her for, Liebling?" he whispered. Kurt had rolled to turn onto his side next to me and propped his head to look down on me. Casually, he started to make little circles around my nipple with the tips of his fingers.
"For doing all of this to me," I replied, snapping out of my reverie. "I even thank her for forcing me to wear a chastity belt."
"But why, you hated it?" he questioned.
"Because this is how it is supposed to be, isn't it?" I could still see that Kurt didn't understand me. "Without it, I wouldn't have been a virgin on our wedding day. I wouldn't have discovered the joy of having my wonderful husband teach me how much pleasure there is for a husband and wife."
I turned to face him, gazing into his eyes. They were full of love. I grasped his shoulders and pulled him down onto me; meeting his lips with mine.
End of Part XII
by Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers Part XIII - Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End I don't think I need any quotes to entice those of you who've gotten this far to continue. Just enjoy Jacqui's new beginning.
© August 2002
_______________________________________________________________
by
Karen Anne Summerfield and Kelly Ann Rogers
© August 2002
Part XIII - Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End
"Jacqui, there is a large truck coming in the driveway," Kat announced. It was mid-morning and Kurt had taken his brother to show him the Mark Seven offices. I went to look, and sure enough, a large truck was backing into the driveway. I put on a coat and went outside to see why they were there.
"We have a delivery for Mrs. Kurt Mark. Do you know where we can find her, Miss?" The driver asked, as he looked me up and down with a grin. The other man had already started to open the rear of the truck.
"I’m Mrs. Mark," I said, thrusting my hands onto my hips and straightening up to show my displeasure at his behavior.
"Oh," he said, quietly. "Well," he stammered. "You need to sign this." He handed me a clipboard and went to help his partner.
It was an invoice from Precise Restorations All it said was ‘1 Motorcar NOIBN’. "One motorcar," I said aloud. I had no clue what the acronym meant. I walked back to where they were tilting the truck body and extending it towards the pavement. Looking inside, I saw a glistening red car. I immediately recognized the classic shape of a Jaguar XK-E. This one was so highly polished that it glistened even though it was still inside the truck and the sunlight couldn't reach it.
I stood there gaping at it as the winch unwound and the car came out. Once it had stopped, I rubbed my hand over the brightly polished hood ornament.
"What year?" I asked the driver.
"Sixty-six, XK-E convertible, with a blown Vette’ engine and five on the floor," he said, his voice brimming with pride, as if it were his own.
I looked at him a little confused.
He carefully explained to me, as if I were no more than a dumb redhead, that it was a Jaguar model XK-E convertible with a five-speed transmission and a turbocharged Corvette engine. "You'd need a full time mechanic to just keep the three carburetors tuned on the original Jag' engines, so we replaced it with a Vette’s." He opened the door revealing white leather upholstery and an elegant burl wood dashboard. I saw a big white bow tied about the steering wheel with an envelope pinned to the satin.
‘To My Darling Wife, Mrs. Jacqui Mark, Love, Kurt.’ I read the note then slipped into the driver's seat.
"My husband gave me a wedding present," I bubbled to the deliveryman, forgetting that I was angry with him. "Is there anything special I need to know?"
Patiently, the man explained everything and I played along as if I had never driven a car before. Frankly, I was so overwhelmed that I did feel slightly stupid.
After they left, I revved the engine in the driveway for a few moments. John’s favorite BMW certainly didn't have the sexy rumble of this car did. I left it parked in front of the house and ran in to get Kat.
"Someone give you a wedding present, Jacqui?" By her big smile, I could tell that Kat knew all about it.
"Yes," I cried out, absolutely delighted with the car. "Yes, my wonderful husband. Come on, were going for a ride. You had better wear a scarf 'cause I'm leaving the top down and I'm not driving slowly!" We were both breathless by the time we got back. I was exhilarated, but I suspect Kat was more likely scared to death. That car not only turned heads because of its beauty, but it could easily give you whiplash with its acceleration.
*****
I was sorry to see Karl and Kat off on Sunday morning. Kat and I'd grown very close during her short visit. They were off to a holiday in Aspen for the next couple of weeks then flying back to Switzerland before Christmas.
Because Kurt didn't have enough time to rearrange his schedule for a honeymoon, we postponed it until spring. At the time, I really didn’t mind; I guess because I'd never taken what most people think of as a vacation since I’d left home for college, I didn't know what I was missing. Although I eventually did learn about the delight of traveling for pleasure with Kurt, I was eager to settle down and make a home life with him.
Keeping the house in order, shopping and doing my hobbies, especially my embroidery, filled my days, and having Kurt with me, every night was all I needed to be content. Preparing our home for Christmas kept me from even thinking I could be bored.
One evening, the phone rang and Kurt took the call. I was curious when he closed the door to exclude me from the conversation, but he wasn’t on long.
"Jacqui, Henry has just called to inform me that Anna’s mother has died." I didn't have a strong reaction to the news because we knew she was very ill. However, I was unprepared for what followed.
"Henry and Anna will not be returning. Her father is not well and Anna’s mother had taken care of him. Anna feels she needs to stay to care for him. They will retire and remain in Florida, hopefully to enjoy the fruits of the hard work they put in all of their lives."
I’d only know Anna a very short time, but would still miss her; I’d miss my Uncle Hank much more.
*****
"Kurt, how do I look?" I stood, nervously examining my refection in a full-length mirror. I was wearing a black kidskin cheongsam trimmed with silver. It was a week until Christmas. "Beautiful, liebling," he complimented.
"You don’t think I’m overdoing it with the heels and showing so much leg?" I ran my hands over the fitted dress that displayed my now eighteen-inch waist. I'd decided that I could endure it for the effect we wanted to achieve. "And this cut out?" I said as I tried to tug the edges of the inverted heart-shaped cutout below the dress' high, snug collar together. It was carefully designed to uncover a shockingly large expanse of my large breasts.
"No. You are perfect. You must display what Carla did to you and project an air of satisfaction and confidence. Remember, Jacqui, you are going to flaunt yourself in her face," Kurt reminded me of the plan we’d established to confront my former wife and hopefully, totally blow her mind.
"But I don’t feel confident," I whimpered. "I feel like an Asian Barbie Doll."
He laughed at my joke then came over to stand behind me and wrap his arms around my waist. I melted back into him as he spoke soothingly into my ear. "Liebling, at Carla’s parties you wore a uniform that displayed far more of you, and still you conducted yourself with elegance and grace. Think of this meeting as just another party. Besides…"
"Some party." I laughed nervously, interrupting him.
"Besides what, Kurt?"
"I think I like mein Frau to be a Chinese Barbie Doll." I had come to accept my look even if Carla had mostly created it. I had even enhanced it myself by increasingly tightening the lacing of my corset. Both Kurt and I loved the way I looked and Kurt was my focus. If it made him happy, the discomfort of my corset fetish was worth the results. Besides, this would only be for a few hours.
An hour later, still as nervous as a cat, I stepped from the car and walked beside Kurt to the meeting with Carla and her lawyers.
Paul Cardacci and Adrian Stele met us in the lobby.
"Marvelous, Jacqui, absolutely marvelous," Paul complimented as Adrian took my cape. "Now do you remember what you are to do?"
"Yes." I quickly ran through the script, which we’d rehearsed several times in his office.
I drew what passed for a deep breath in a corset like that. "I guess I’m ready."
"May I?" Adrian asked, before he tilted the brim of my large black cartwheel hat so it obscured my left eye. "There," he smiled, "much more mysterious."
Paul and Adrian went in first. We waited a minute then Kurt opened the door. I couldn’t look at the faces on the other side of the table, but felt their eyes boring holes into me. As we planned, Kurt went to sit down.
I slowly turned and looked over my shoulder to check my seams. Since I’d not straightened the black nylons since exiting the car, they were crooked, as expected. I made a show of crouching then running my kid gloved hands up my left leg then slowly repeated the motions on my right one, but going further to re-garter it in back, exposing one cheek as I did. Still, without looking about, I walked to the open seat between Paul and Kurt. He stood to tend the chair.
"Splendid," my husband whispered.
Seated, I repeated the glove show I’d performed for Kurt on our first date, exposing the impossibly long red nails I’d gotten at the salon the day before.
"Still the slut, Jacqui," Carla tried to mock me with slow applause. "Marvelous performance," she ridiculed.
"Isn't she just marvelous, Melissa?" Carla said turning to her sister. "Did you teach her that?"
"Thank you," I said without emotion. My sarcastic smile carried my real feelings. I'd said all I needed to.
"Shall we begin?" Paul picked up his papers.
"I am Paul Cardacci, my associate Mr. Adrian Stele," Paul introduced. "I believe you know Mr. Kurt Mark and Jacqui?"
"On behalf of Mrs. Jacqui Lian Mark we demand…"
"What?" she screamed. "She can’t be married, that little … shit is a man!" Paul answered that claim by passing a copy of my Hong Kong birth certificate across the table to Leonard Jacobi, her senior attorney. A Xerox of our marriage certificate followed.
I almost giggled outloud at Carla; she was so upset, she looked absolutely ridiculous.
"On behalf of Mrs. Mark, we have demanded the sum of twenty-five million dollars, half ownership of JohnCarla Limited and the transfer of all assets held in the name of Mr. John Ingram."
"Shove it up your ass!" It was totally unlike Carla. In all the years I’d known her, she had never sworn like that in front of strangers. Something had gone wrong. I’d been assured that we were there to settle this matter and that everything had already been hashed out with her and the lawyers. This was not good.
"Leonard," she faced her attorney, "call Immigration at once and inform them that this illegal alien is in your office so they can arrest her."
"I would strongly advise you not to jeopardize your own liberty, Ms. Martin," Adrian interjecte. "I remind you, that if the truth comes out, it will be you who will be behind bars."
"Fuck off!" Carla shouted. "You heard me, Leonard! Do it!" Carla demanded.
"Mr. Jacobi, do we again need to show you my client’s evidence, or would you prefer to find yourself defending criminal cases in both the New Jersey State Superior and Federal Court? You know how bad the parking is in downtown Newark." Paul smiled gleefully, referring to the area surrounding the Federal courthouse there.
Paul went on, "Ms. Martin has constructed a very elaborate web of illegal misdoings. One, so convoluted that she apparently became careless because she did things that contradicted each other and left a clear trail of criminal activity, mostly felonies."
Carla was livid. I blew her a kiss just to twist the knife.
She flew across the table in a futile attempt to wipe the smile off my face. Adrian caught her arm and pushed her back.
"Shall I add attempted assault to the charges, Mrs. Mark?" Paul causally asked me. This was all part of our plan of attack, which had begun with my appearance that morning. We wanted to rattle Carla’s cage so badly that she couldn’t think straight, much like my own mental condition when I awoke in the clinic after surgery.
Melissa, who had remained silent, took her sister from the room followed by one of the other attorneys.
"Leonard, I thought that your client had agreed to settle this as we’d discussed over the phone? You were both fully aware of the evidence." Paul seemed as bewildered as I was by then.
"Ms. Martin informed me otherwise, only when she arrived here this morning. Just to refresh my mind, let’s hear what you have again?" he requested.
Like a machine gun, Paul rattled off the details of our evidence and then explained the mess Carla had created for herself. Jacobi listened without comment.
"We are willing to settle this, Leonard. If we cannot reach agreement, we will notify the concerned agencies and Mrs. Mark," Paul nodded in my direction, "will file her own criminal charges against your client. Ms. Martin will find herself in jail for a rather long time if she forces us to pursue this."
"Yes, that's what I recall," Leonard Jacobi coolly said. "Let me go remind my client of both the stakes and the evidence." He excused himself and left the room. As he opened the door, we heard Carla screaming at Melissa.
"Did you see her Melissa? The fucking little faggot is a fuckin’ gold dig…" The closing door blocked further conversation, despite its volume.
"Are you alright, Jacqui?" Kurt asked.
"I’m fine. I just wish this were over, that's all."
"It will be, Jacqui," Paul assured. "Leonard Jacobi is a good lawyer. I’ve worked with him in the past and I can assure you that he completely understands our position and what his client has gotten herself into.
When the meeting resumed, nearly two hours later, it appeared that Carla was sedated, for Melissa had to help her to the chair. I causally opened my purse, raised the two veils covering my face and started to freshen my lipstick.
I saw Carla stiffen, but she said nothing.
"Paul, my client has considered the matter and is willing to negotiate," Mr. Jacobi began with measured tones.
"What is your wager, Mr. Jacobi?" My use of Carla’s pet phrase caused her to glare at me, but still, she said nothing.
"Jacqui?" I was surprised to hear Melissa softly call my name. I met her eyes. "I want you to know that I only played a minor role in this. Carla lied to me, just as she deceived you. I’m so sorry." Melissa’s eyes were moist with incipient tears.
I looked at Melissa. Was this just a ploy or was she being genuine? It only took me a moment to realize it didn't matter. Melissa’s had behaved as despicably as her sister had set me up. What she did was inexcusable. I just ignored her hollow apology.
"What will it take? What will you settle for?" she asked as if begging me. Paul had instructed me not to answer that question, although I wanted to. Instead, I turned to him.
"You know our terms. The next move is yours," he replied. "In fact," he went on before anyone else could speak, "I thought your sister had agreed to the terms." Melissa glanced at Carla, but she didn’t respond. "That's the only reason we're here today."
Mr. Jacobi stood. "I apologize for taking your time, Paul. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can." They shook hands. I felt a grip on my arm. Adrian escorted me out of the building.
"What’s going on?" I asked him as he walked me to Kurt’s Mercedes.
"I honestly don’t know, Jacqui. Paul signaled to me to take you out of there. I don’t know any more than you do right now and I'm just as bewildered as you are." Fifteen minutes later, Kurt joined us.
"Thank you, Adrian. I’ll take my wife home. You are wanted back inside." Kurt took my hand.
"Kurt, what’s going on? That wasn’t what we expected," I moaned as he helped me into the car.
"No, liebling, it is not as planned, but better." He drove from the lot. "Your presence had the desired effect and your performance was perfect.
"Paul and Leonard Jacobi will negotiate an equitable settlement, but that will not be today. I ask you to trust that the matter is in good hands."
"If you say they are. Where are we going?"
"I'd like you to meet a client of mine."
"Like this?" I motioned to my outfit. He laughed.
"Yes, exactly like that. You look beautiful."
We stopped for lunch at an Italian restaurant along the route and needless to say, I was the focus of everyone's attention. I felt like a celebrity, which was both fun and scary. When we were done, we proceeded to a modern office campus in a nearby suburb. While we ate, Kurt had told me all about John Park, who I was to meet that afternoon.
"He will offer you a job, Liebling," Kurt said. Even if you think you might not want to take it, don't say no right away. Just say you'll think about it. Of course, if you want to take him up on his offer, please feel free to do so."
"Aren't you going to tell me anymore? I hate mysteries, especially when I'm part of them." I really didn't like what was going on, but Kurt obviously thought it would be loads of fun and I couldn't resist him.
The understated sign said, 'Kahn Publications Limited'. Below the English were Chinese characters. The sign was so modest I thought we'd be entering a tiny office suite. Instead, it was a large, rather ornate lobby, decorated with many pieces of Asian art. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that the receptionist wore a cheongsam or that she knew Kurt, but I was.
"Hello, Mr. Mark. It’s good to see you." Although she was obviously Korean, but she spoke without any hint of an accent, unless you counted the slight echo of Valley Girl. I know it was stupid of me, but I was always surprised when anyone who looked foreign spoke English like an American. Valley girl and southern accents were particularly amazing. Now, I realized, people would be looking at me and thinking the same thing.
"Good afternoon, Ellen. I'd like you to meet my wife, Jacqui."
"Hello, Mrs. Mark," the young woman stood and greeted me with a warm smile, reaching out her hand to shake mine.
"Mr. Park and the others will meet with you in the first floor conference room. This way please, Mrs. Mark," she glided from behind her desk and led the way to a richly decorated conference room. It was only once we'd stepped inside that Kurt let me know he was leaving.
"Jacqui, this is entirely for you. Do whatever you want. I don't want to be here to influence your decision. I'll wait for you until you've finished." Before I could object, he'd kissed me and left.
I turned into the room; feeling rather confused, Ellen asked, "Coffee, tea or something else, Mrs. Mark?"
"Tea, please."
Still clueless, I asked, "Why am I here?" Ellen looked as bewildered as I felt.
"Mr. Park wishes to meet you. Please sit there and relax while I make tea." Ellen was still busy when a distinguished looking Korean man entered the room. Several women, all quite lovely in different ways, followed him. They were obviously from several different Asian cultures.
"Mrs. Mark, hello," he greeted me with a bow. "I am John Park. I own Kahn Publications. He introduced the six others who all sat once they had acknowledged his introduction.
Ellen set the tea service on the table then fixed me a cup to my liking. After she put it in front of me, she nodded at my hat and said, "May I?" I nodded and she lifted my veils back onto the broad brim. Other girls had come in to serve the rest of the group.
"Mr. Park," I began, immediately regretting my forwardness.
"Please," he interrupted, "Call me John. And may I call you Jacqui?" I nodded.
"Well then," he went on, "I imagine you want to know why you are here."
"Yes," I said with much relief. "That's exactly what I want to know."
He smiled at me indulgently, as a grandfather might. "Kahn is a large publishing house for a group of English language magazines targeting the Asian population of North America. Our periodicals cover many interests, but central to our identity is that our employees, our models and everyone shown in our advertisements are all Asian." He paused and looked about at the assembled group.
"My friend, Mr. Kurt Mark, has told me that his lovely new Chinese wife pocesses many special gifts that might be of interest to our subscribers."
"Oh?" I replied, slightly shocked. "I do?"
As he selected a green folder from the colorful stack beside him, I saw the others do the same. He opened it and I saw picture of embroidery, my embroidery.
"Our magazine, Silken Images, caters to women who enjoy needle crafts." Ellen placed a glossy beside me. "Take a moment to look through that, please?" he asked.
Though the format was entirely different, as I turned the pages, the quality of the periodical and articles reminded me of Taunton Press’ Threads. Towards the back was a completely blank page. I raised my eyes in question to Mr. Park.
He reached across the teak table to place a mock-up over the blank page.
‘Coming in our next issue: Pictures of Silk by Jacqui Lian Chang.’
Several small pictures of my work, surrounded a large photo Kurt had taken of me one day when I modeled my dragon dress for him. I looked up at Mr. Park, my eyes thrown wide open in surprise. I was so startled by what was happening I thought I could feel my lashes hit my eyebrows.
"Mr. Mark showed us your work. It's exquisite and we would like to publish it.
"Please do not say anything quite yet," he continued, "because what we really want is to have you write an article about your embroidery. If it goes well, we'd like to consider a regular column, perhaps quarterly." He looked at me expectantly, with a big, and, I thought, very genuine, smile. I'd certainly never considered anything like this, but the thought did please me. I was an engineer, I would study my hobby in detail!
"Mr. Park," I said without hesitating, "I must admit to being totally surprised about this, but I find the whole idea very enticing. You must give me time to consult with my husband." I didn't care if Kurt had bought me a career as a columnist. I could do this; I wanted to.
"That's fine Jacqui, but I think I already know what he will say." Park winked at me.
I had to giggle. "Yes," I agreed, "I suspect you do know. But I want to hear discuss it with him anyway."
"Of course," he concluded. "And if I might, I'd like to ask you one more indulgence." He looked up at me expectantly, so I nodded. 'What,' I wondered, 'could follow that?'
He opened a red folder. Again, the others did the same. Inside were pictures of me, including some taken at my wedding.
"And now, he said, his smile even bigger than before, "shall we talk about your modeling career?"
"Huh?" I said, completely surprised, in a million years I would never have anticipated that.
"We are delighted to have you write a column for us, but we'd really like modeling to be your primary job. You are a stunning woman. You are well proportioned, with amazing legs. You are young, but not immature looking and your face, although clearly Chinese, has echoes of European ancestry that are quite fascinating. You are of mixed ancestry aren't you?"
I was blushing so hard, I couldn't hear any more. I had never had anyone say anything like that to me. Of course, Kurt was always telling me how lovely I was, and I did get lots of looks on the street, but this was just too much. I was literally speechless and sat there staring at John Park with my mouth open.
"Of course," he went on, filling in the conversational gap for me, "modeling is not easy work, despite its glamorous reputation. I hope you will find that this offer is sufficient to compensate you for the hardships." He wrote a figure on a piece of paper and slid it across the table. That didn't help me recover from my speechlessness at all. If anything, I was even more stunned. I had no idea they paid models so much.
Forty-five minutes later, I was still feeling quite addled from all the compliments I was getting when Mr. Park introduced me to a woman who had recently entered the room. The others stood and wished me, "Good-bye."
Not only was I to have a column on embroidery, but I was to model for Kahn Publications as well. Although I was married to a wealthy man and was soon to have considerable assets of my own, the monetary offer staggered me. It didn't matter that Mr. Park had warned me I would be working hard and would really earn it. I was going to be a model!
"Please, go with Li to discuss the details, Jacqui." He too bid me a good day and I left. Li walked me along the corridor to a large corner office, watched over by a lovely young woman, whose name I learned was Saya.
"I’m the editor-in-chief of Silken Images, Jacqui," Li began, after offering me a comfortable seat. She had to be older, but she looked like she was only about twenty-five and was quite attractive.
"I was born in Sebu City near Mactan Island, The Philippines though my parents are Chinese." I note on your resume that you are also Chinese." Her inflection sounded like it was a question.
"Yes, I came here last March." 'Careful Jacqui, you are on thin ice,' I warned myself. Adrian had prepared a file on the other Jacqui Chang, which I’d memorized, but I also had another story of my own. When she began to speak to me in Cantonese, I knew I would need it. I held up my hand to stop her.
"Ever since I was an infant, my father, who was a Canadian silk merchant, traveled all over the world, but I mostly grew up in Canada and was educated there. My mother was Chinese and both my parents spoke Cantonese fluently, but my mother insisted I speak only English though I can speak French too, and a little German. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I am one of those unfortunate first generation immigrants who can't even speak her native language. My parents only spoke it when they didn't want me to know what they were saying.
"I see," Li smiled broadly. "I apologize. Seldom do I get to speak my language. You’ve seen that we are a mixed nationality here at Kahn Publications. Unlike in China, we are in the minority as there are only two others of Chinese ancestry. Most are Japanese or, like Mr. Park, Korean."
"I hate to do this to you, but your first deadline is in three weeks, I want you to introduce yourself, give a short biography then describe some of your creations, Jacqui. It will be a feature article, so plan about two thousand words, for me to look at.
"You are scheduled to be photographed tomorrow starting at eight, so be here by seven o’clock." Li stopped to stare at me intently.
"Is that your normal makeup style?" she asked. "I like it. Perhaps we’ll change it in the future, but keep it for now."
"Your hair though, has to change, but, before we do that, I want James to see if he wants it?"
"Excuse me, Li. ‘If he wants it’, I don’t understand?" I was lost.
"James is the art director for a few magazines, one is Basin Beat, it’s a teen magazine and often he wants far out stuff for the covers and features. His big kick is China Dolls with blonde hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of us with hair quite the color of yours though."
"Anyway, after he has his fun, you are going back to basic black.
"By the way, get used to being called ‘Doll’ or ‘China Doll’ here." Mr. Park calls all of the models and other pretty girls that. He's so charming, no one complains. I don't mind it, coming from him. "Only problem is the other guys who work here do too and they're not all so sweet. We have Chinese, Filipino, Japanese and Thai models right now, and they're all lumped together as China Dolls."
"Bring a few pretty things to wear as I doubt wardrobe has anything that might fit you," Li was smiling as she stared at my torso. "Bring that cheongsam in the picture, too. I wish I had one like it. It's stunning. Do you always dress so sexy?"
I blushed and vehemently shook my head no. "I dressed like this today for a special reason."
"Of course," Li nodded her head. "To impress Mr. Park."
Since I had no idea I'd even be meeting Mr. Park, or anyone else for that matter, that couldn't have been the reason. Then it came to me; Kurt knew. It wasn't an accident that we came here with me dressed to kill. I decided that Li would be better off believing her misimpression, so I nodded 'yes' to her shyly.
"As long as you model here, we have you exclusively. No other modeling work, period."
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I can’t agree to that."
Li glared at me; obviously upset. "Why not? Certainly we will pay you well enough," she demanded.
"Oh, Li," I replied, "please don't misunderstand me. The monetary offer is more than enough. It's just that I’ve already committed to doing a catalog and Web pictures for a boutique. They make my clothes in return. As you noted, my size is not a common one. I’ve also done some modeling recently and some of those pictures may already have been sold. In fact you have some of them."
"You worked as a maid, right?"
'How did she know that?' I wondered. I've been the CEO of a highly successful computer consulting firm and I'm now known as a former maid? Life really is weird. "Yes, I did."
"I see. I don’t imagine it paid well. So, you bartered your beauty for your wardrobe? Beats selling sex I guess, and I like that." I just blinked at her, deciding it was better not to get into it.
"We've already made a deal with Ashley. She brought your wedding pictures to us not long after your husband had arranged for Mr. Park to meet you. We will let her do a wedding spread of you next spring." She shuffled some papers then looked back up. "We’ll talk about this again after I consult legal. What’s the name and address of the boutique?"
At that point, I called Kurt, or rather, Saya did, and Li and I chatted about Kahn Publications until he arrived.
"How did it go, Liebling?" Kurt asked, as we walked to the car.
"You know very well, Kurt. You bought me a job." I wasn’t angry about it and smiled as I spoke.
"No, Jacqui, that is not true. I asked John to give you an interview, nothing more. I thought, perhaps, he could use someone with real computer skills. Now you will not be so bored."
We had reached the car and were standing beside it. I stared at him in disbelief for a moment before I burst out laughing. "Is that what I’m supposed to be, a computer jockey for someone else's business? Is that all you think I can do, Kurt?"
"I am sure that you can do anything you wish," he replied, obviously taken aback by my attack, "But John Park is one of the most honorable men I know and he's desperately in need of computer help." I didn't know whether he was pulling my leg or telling the truth.
"Don’t lie to me," I chided him. "You bought me a job as a columnist. Just admit it."
"No. I have told you." He was so defensive now, that I was ready to believe him. "I asked only that they consider you, if a position arose. It came up when he spotted the picture of you in your dragon dress on my desk. Believe me, Jacqui that is the truth."
"Why did you give them pictures of my embroidery and of me?"
"He asked if I knew where you got the dress. I told him you'd made it. When he asked if you made all your clothes, I said, 'no, but you do a lot of embroidery'. He begged to see some examples and said he just had to meet such a creative and attractive woman. I didn't say anything to you because I didn't know what he intended."
I thought about it for a few moments and then laughed again. "You don't know what he asked me to do?" I said, arching an eyebrow at him. He shook his head no, looking a little intimidated by my apparent outrage.
"They want me to write a column on embroidery and try modeling," I said, now smiling broadly. "You sure you didn't set this up, Kurt?"
"No honestly, I had nothing to do with it."
I didn't care anymore. I wanted to write and to model and I didn't really care if Kurt had bought me those jobs or not.
"I have to be there by seven tomorrow morning," I told him. "Let's go home so I can get to bed early tonight. I have a feeling that tomorrow will be a very long day."
I think that Jamie, the art director, nearly swooned, if anyone actually does that in reality, when I walked into the studio. He stared at me as though in shock and his mouth started working without any words coming out then he closed his eyes and sat down hard.
He quickly recovered though and put me to work. Work it was too, nothing like the comfortable posing Ashley had me perform on my wedding day. I was posed, reposed and then reposed again. They asked me to change my expression, move slightly and then I was reposed again. I changed outfits innumerable times and, each time, my makeup was redone then it was back under the lights for more posing. I was ready for a break long before Jamie called it quits at noon.
You know what? I loved modeling. I couldn't believe that shy little me, the Jacqui who was happiest being overlooked, could be so 'out there'. Under Jamie's careful tutelage, I came alive in front of the camera. I felt like a caterpillar coming out of her cocoon and discovering she's a butterfly. I just loved it.
More than that, I learned all about how to use my face and body for various effects and my movements became increasingly graceful and feminine. If I ever wanted to flaunt my looks on the street, I could leave everyman who saw me devastated.
Best of all, I didn't have to do it to earn a living, so I could pick my times and projects. My face soon became widely recognized and I guess I turned into that trophy wife so many successful middle-aged men wished they could get.
That doesn't mean I ignored my responsibilities to our home, far from it. I was a meticulous homemaker and was ready with dinner every time Kurt came through the door after work. I guess I was kind of a parody of a fifties housewife, but I didn't care. The more time I spent with Kurt, the more I fell in love with him and the more I wanted to please him.
*****
"Kurt, no! I don’t want to wear it again!" I shouted in protest, as he struggled to fasten the belt in place. I tried to put as much anguish into my voice as I could.
"But I am going to insist," Kurt said softly. The main lock clicked in place.
"Now do what you must with your lips before I place the outer shield, liebling." While I worked with my nether lips, Kurt did the best he could to distract me. His fingers began to cause waves of renewed pleasure to course through my body as he fondled my sensitive breasts and nuzzled my now over the shoulder-length black hair aside to kiss my neck.
I had hated Carla when she had locked this damned contraption on me to deny me any sexual pleasure, but now I was absolutely delighted that my husband was locking me up, although I had to behave as if I still hated it. Since Kurt had awakened the potential pleasures available to me through my new genitals, I had become rather obsessed with sex.
One evening, as I was crawling all over him, trying to convince him to come to bed with me, he threatened to lock me up as Carla had, if I didn't behave myself. I got an incredible rush from the whole idea and I guess Kurt could see it on my face.
He immediately said, "You'd like that, wouldn't you; to be locked in a chastity belt that only I could open?" I couldn't say anything. My nipples had hardened and my breathing was becoming rapid and shallow. I must have been blushing as well because my face suddenly felt very hot.
Kurt broke out into a huge grin. We began to explore this idea. When I was locked away, I longed for release, but had no control over when that would happen. I did not want to have any say in the matter, but loved that Kurt had the choice as to when it might be.
It became a game between us. He would lock me up, usually for no more than for a few days at a time, and for me to have sex, I had to please him in any way that I could. I made him elegant meals, assured that his clothes were ready and helped him dress and was as sweet and loving as I could be. When Kurt was home, he had my undivided attention and this pleased him beyond words.
"Kurt, will you open my belt tonight, pretty please?" I cooed as I pressed close and nibbled his ear.
"I think that I would like a massage first, lil’ Jacqui." I slapped his butt as hard as I could. "That is a good place to start, liebling," he chuckled.
I pushed him on his stomach then jumped up to straddle him, using his thigh to press the crotch plate of my belt hard, against my pussy then attacked his muscled back with vigor. Before too long, he was on his back, moaning softly as I massaged his organ with my lips and tongue. I was fully engaged and enjoying myself when I was suddenly tossed backwards on the bed and forcibly spread.
I found that being on my back with my legs apart to be the most incredible sensation. Could there be anything more emblematic of being a woman than waiting on your back for your lover? Before I could resist, as if I ever would, the steel armor plate was laid open and his tongue was attacking me. It took awhile, but even after I had exploded in my orgasm, the attack did not cease, it intensified and his hands left my thighs to lovingly assault my breasts.
"Ah, ah! Oh my God!" I screamed with pleasure as an earthquake wracked my body.
Sometime later, I was half awakened when I felt something being done to my sensitive flesh. I tried to push whatever away and jumped awake when my nails touched steel again.
"Lay still, liebling." Kurt moved my hand away. "I must learn how to fit your belt." He was massaging my lips through the slots. "This is mine and I want to assure it is kept safe and away from your naughty fingers." I slapped him playfully.
"Kurt, darling?"
"Ja?"
"Kurt, perhaps your lips might be more effective than your clumsy fingers at working my lips where they should be?" He needed no more encouragement to set them working on the task at hand. My fires were rekindled, but, with my clit shielded, it was a fire that wasn't going to light. A few minutes later, the solid click of the lock snuffed it out altogether.
"You’re a beast!" I drew him up to lay on top of me then covered us with the sheet. With my hands locked about him and we kissed.
"Ich leibst du." He repeated what I said and we fell asleep together.
EPILOGUE
Kurt and I have been married for five years. We now live in a smaller mansion, which overlooks a picture postcard valley in the mountains of Northwestern New Jersey. He no longer goes to the office every day, but only travels in for the monthly board meetings and other special events. Mostly, he can be found taking walks in the forests surrounding our property or tending the formal gardens, he’s created closer to the house.
I’m still modeling. I think that I’m addicted to it, but limit my bookings to less than ten days a month. I’m so much in demand, that I can command a supermodel’s rate. Married to Kurt and with my settlement from Carla, I don’t need the money, but I do enjoy the work. Well, I can't really call it that. In truth, I'm rather infatuated with showing off my body and love being the center of attention.
Let me tell you a little about Giselle. She is my personal maid and a true delight to have about. During my first week at Kahn Publications, I was working on a spread with Natia, a very pretty, Thai girl. We’d met the first day of work and had become friends on the set.
"Jacqui, I’d like you to meet someone." Natia said after I’d expressed my desire to hire a maid. "My … sister is living with me and is looking for just that type of a position."
Giselle turned out to be a girl, almost just like me. She's a Thai ladyboy. She’s been with me since. I’ve never told Kurt her background. It is our little secret.
This autumn, we are all going to Geneva again. I’m very much looking forward to working with my sister-in-law. Things couldn’t be better. Yes, that’s right. I did say working with Kat. It was a ball the first time … but that’s another story.
C'est finis - or - Das Ende
The characters are all fictional, except for Thornton, who was my boss and did a number of the things described here.
Although this is not a story about sex, it is a story for adults because it does contain scenes of explicit sexuality. I believe each of these scenes is an important part of the story and that they help us to understand our main characters. There is no sexual violence or gratuitous sex. Because this is the story of a young adult transsexual discovering herself, there is sex between people of the same and opposite sexes (although only one at a time). This is therefore X-rated.
Some readers will find the first part of the story a little rough or perhaps edging into themes they would prefer not to read about. But if you get through that I believe you thoroughly enjoy the rest.
Acknowledgements: Writing is hard work, but being able to share that effort with others makes it more like a joy. So I would like to thank the people who helped me. Specifically I’d like to start by thanking Elaine, to whom I owe my deepest appreciation for being a wonderfully supportive and insightful friend and editor. I would like thank Lesley, who undertook the usually thankless task of proofreading much of this very long story, and who I repeatedly undermined by going back and rewriting parts she had already finished. Ellen Hayes and I would like to thank Ellen Hayes for helping me keep my eye on my target, including a crucial observation about the last part of the story that finally allowed me bring it to life, instead of making it a parody. Vickie Tern read an early version or this story (and then parts of a later one) and identified many of the discrepancies and inconsistencies that drive readers crazy. More importantly, however, she identified some of the key strong points so I could build on them. Finally, I’d like to thank Dawn DeWinter, who worked hard to help me understand what was important and what was not in the early parts of the story.
Thanks girls
Kelly Ann
The characters are all fictional, except for Thornton, who was my boss and did a number of the things described here.
Although this is not a story about sex, it is a story for adults because it does contain scenes of explicit sexuality. I believe each of these scenes is an important part of the story and that they help us to understand our main characters. There is no sexual violence or gratuitous sex. Because this is the story of a young adult transsexual discovering herself, there is sex between people of the same and opposite sexes (although only one at a time). This is therefore X-rated.
Some readers will find the first part of the story a little rough or perhaps edging into themes they would prefer not to read about. But if you get through that I believe you thoroughly enjoy the rest.
Acknowledgements: Writing is hard work, but being able to share that effort with others makes it more like a joy. So I would like to thank the people who helped me. Specifically I’d like to start by thanking Elaine, to whom I owe my deepest appreciation for being a wonderfully supportive and insightful friend and editor. I would like thank Lesley, who undertook the usually thankless task of proofreading much of this very long story, and who I repeatedly undermined by going back and rewriting parts she had already finished. I would like to thank Ellen Hayes for helping me keep my eye on my target, including a crucial observation about the last part of the story that finally allowed me bring it to life, instead of making it a parody. Vickie Tern read an early version or this story (and then parts of a later one) and identified many of the discrepancies and inconsistencies that drive readers crazy. More importantly, however, she identified some of the key strong points so I could build on them. Finally, I’d like to thank Dawn DeWinter, who worked hard to help me understand what was important and what was not in the early parts of the story.
Thanks girls
Kelly Ann
When I caught my breath and looked up, she was staring at me with a satisfied look on her face. From a distance, you might think her plain, in a Midwestern sort of way. After looking at her for a moment, however, you could see that she had a big, full mouth and large, dark eyes that glistened out at you over prominent cheek bones. Her hair was a glossy black, soft and straight for a several inches, with the ends permed into soft curls that hugged her neck and floated softly around her as she moved her head. To me she looked like some kind of tigress who knew she ruled over everything she surveyed. She carried herself with the confidence of a soldier and her body was trim and athletic. Taller than me, with taut muscles under the sleekest layer of feminine body fat, she now threw a lean but curvy hip into the air as she lay on her side. Her breasts were not large and barely sagged at all from her small chest. I was beginning to get lost in her when she spoke.
"You're hairless. Why?" It was a simple question, without any of the derision or cruelty I expected. She reached down, took my hand in hers, and pulled me up to my knees. Then she stared at my crotch. "Roll onto your back and spread your legs," she said calmly, her voice full of innocent curiosity. My prick was rigid, bobbing from side to side as I moved. I kept sucking blood back into my mouth. I was beginning to taste bad memories.
Though I expected her to humiliate me at any moment, she didn't: "You've shaved your body and your pubic hairs are shaped into a sexy little triangle. I've never seen that on a man. I'll bet you could wear a pair of high cut panties and not a hair would show." Her eyes widened for a second as understanding flooded into her face. "That's it, isn't it? You wear panties."
My breath caught it my throat. The enormity of what had happened to me in just one day simply overwhelmed me. I curled myself up into a fetal position and tried not to sob, though my soul was torn apart. I felt totally defeated, angry, and helpless.
There was something about those feelings, and the taste of blood that loosed a chaotic torrent of memories. Suddenly, I was sitting in an alley, my legs splayed out in front of me and my back propped against a filthy garbage can. My head was exploding with pain, I was gasping for breath, and blood was filling my mouth from the hole that had been punched through my lower lip when my teeth had been driven through it. I was with Ginny, my first real girlfriend. We had just been robbed and I had been beaten to the ground. Ginny’s face was flushed and she was standing over me and yelling down at me, her hands jerking around in the air like a crazed puppeteer was controlling them. "Why didn’t you protect me?" she shouted. Why didn’t you do something?
I looked up at her in wonder. What was her problem? I was the one who had been beaten. I was lying in garbage and my mouth was full of blood because I had pushed her behind me to protect her. Ginny’s hands weren’t even dirty and it was obvious she had no intention of getting them bloody by even helping me get up.
So I sat there on the filthy pavement, impotent with rage and humiliation. What was her problem? We had been jumped by three guys. It wasn’t my fault they took her purse. So what, she probably has ten more anyway. How dare she blame me. I was the one bleeding and in pain. I was the real victim here. Why was she blaming me? Why couldn’t she just shut up?
Her inane but poisonous accusations, "Why didn’t you protect me? Why didn’t you do anything?" rocketed around inside my head. I didn’t need her yelling that at me as I sat trying to suck the blood into my mouth so I wouldn’t drip all over my carefully aged, leather bomber jacket. I thought such a classic war hero jacket made me look more like man, but how masculine can you look if your tough-guy coat is covered in blood? But as I looked at her, I began to understand. In a strange way, she was right. She had been robbed. I hadn’t been able to stop that from happening, and I could feel the guilt boiling up inside me. Oh God, not again, I knew guilt far to well. It had been my constant companion since my eleventh birthday. That was the day I first tasted blood. I don’t know what it tastes like to other people, but to me it is the taste of impotence.
I learned that lying on my side in a wrecked car, blood all over me. My birthday had been yesterday and my father had promised me a double scoop Baskin and Robbins Rocky Road ice cream cone. But he had gotten drunk and passed out instead. He was drinking today too, but he was always drinking; a few more shots downed as quickly as they could be poured didn’t mean anything to me. Still, I had finally nagged him into taking me out. I didn‘t really understand what whiskey did to people, except that sometimes it made him angry. And then I knew enough to hide.
My father was fiddling with the radio as our car started to drift left into the opposite lane at the same time another car rounded the bend just ahead of us. I screamed and we abruptly careened back to the right, and then the left, and then right again. The brakes screeched for the longest time, bushes and shrubs rushed passed us madly and then there was a monstrous crashing sound. I was thrown forward hard against my seat belt and shoulder harness. Glass shattered all around me. I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was lying on my side against the passenger side door, still held by my seat belt. The window had been shattered and there were dirt and leaves in my face. The car was on its side.
"Please help me," my father whispered. I looked up. My father was hanging above me, held up by his seat belt, the steering wheel, which pinned his chest to the seat back, and the dashboard, which was all the way up in his lap. He was bleeding so much that his blood was spilling down onto me, and then into my mouth as I gasped for breath. I could taste my father's blood.
I tried to get free to help him, but couldn't. The dashboard was in my lap too and pinned me in place. Under the dashboard, my legs throbbed, but the only movement I could make was to wiggle my toes. I don't know how long we were trapped, but my father begged me to help him for the longest time. "Brad, help me. Brad please help me." He even got angry. "Goddamn it Brad why won’t you help your own father." Sometimes if I’ve had too much to drink, he comes back to haunt me in my dreams. "Brad, why didn’t you help me. Brad why didn’t you help me your own father."
"Dad, I’m trapped, I can’t get out. I’m trying as hard as I can, but I can’t move.
"Brad why won’t you help me, why won’t you help me.
"I’m trying to get free put I can’t move my legs, they’re stuck…, and they hurt." I desperately tried to get free to help him, but couldn't. I cried the whole time from pain and frustration and a sense of failure. He cursed my weakness and reverted to his favorite taunt, calling me a sissy. "If I had a real son instead of a faggot sissy girl, he’d have gotten me out by now." Finally, he fell silent. I had already stopped struggling to get free; the pain in my legs had overwhelmed my awareness and I simply lay in the now bloody leaves and mud that had puddled under my face, whimpering.
By the time the rescue squad got to us he was dead and I was completely covered in his blood. I remember thinking that he must have no blood left in him. It was all on me. There was so much blood the paramedics thought I was seriously injured as well and frantically looked for my wounds. They were in a panic about losing me. They made me think I was about to die. In a way I did. The child in me died that day in my father’s whiskey-soaked blood.
That child might have been revived at the hospital by a caring mother. She could have consoled the child and told him that his father had broken both his legs and almost killed him because his father was driving drunk. She might have told the child that a skinny little 11 year old couldn’t possibly drag a 220 pound man from a wrecked car. She could have told him that no one could have saved his father, because in truth, the rescue squad had been called almost immediately and gotten there as soon as they could.
Instead, my mother arrived at the hospital drunk and out of control, shouting her grief to everyone who crossed her path. When she got to my room she turned on me and accused me of killing my father. "If you hadn't forced him to go out to get you a stupid ice cream cone this wouldn't have happened," she yelled, "you killed him!" And she burst into tears. I still haven’t been able to rid myself of the guilt that was thrust upon me that day. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t help my father; I had killed him. In my mother’s eyes I was to blame. My mother was so unforgiving she never let me celebrate another childhood birthday. She either ignored the day altogether or used the occasion to humiliate me.
Years later I finally understood, intellectually at least, that I had not killed my father. He had killed himself by drinking and then driving. He could just as easily have killed me or someone else. But that particular combination of feelings, the helplessness and frustration and rage that I felt while trapped in that car blasted their way into my memory. Those feelings were back now, fueling my tears.
I can’t always predict when these dreadful memories will invade my consciousness, but I do know by now that the taste of blood will almost surely summon them. And here I was with blood filling my mouth, overwhelmed by feelings of impotence and helplessness and anger. I started sobbing. I was so distraught that I didn’t even notice Cynthia lying there watching, witness to my weakness.
Cynthia knew nothing of the boy or the man who couldn’t protect the people he loved. She must have assumed I was weeping from the humiliation. She moved back from the edge of the bed and languidly turned onto her side again, staring down at me, completely unaware of the tumult inside my heart. I’m not sure what she saw, but I just knew it disgusted her. But she simply reached up and turned off the lamp. "You can tell me about yourself and then get dressed and go home or you can lie there on the floor naked until you do. I’ve got all night."
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of my intermittent sobs as I tried to compose myself. Finally I pulled myself together enough to whisper, "what do you want to know. You've uncovered all my secrets today. It's not just my body that's naked now; it's my soul. Do me a favor, shoot me. My life might as well be over anyway, the way things are going." Again, there was a prolonged silence as I recovered a half step, from sobs to ragged breathing.
Then softly out of the darkness I heard, "I used to think I kinda liked your soul. You used to be a sweet guy; you cared about other people's feelings. Cute too... smart, sweet, and cute. A few of us had crushes on you."
I was stunned. She liked me? Others liked me? How could anyone?
"Then you started acting like an asshole. I still can't figure out which one is the real you. The sweet guy who first came to work in my office four years ago, or the total asshole who's been working there for the last year. You’ve done stuff that makes Bob Thornton look like a good boss."
Sweet, smart, cute? She couldn’t have meant those as terms of endearment. She was putting me down, right? After all, she just compared me with Bob Thornton, that shit. He’s the most destructive man I’ve ever met. I never really understood the meaning of psychopath until he was thrust into my life.
I couldn’t take it. I started to sob again. "I'm so sorry. I'm an asshole and I hate myself for it. I’ve treated you and everyone else so badly. I just can’t control myself. Thornton makes me so angry and I feel so helpless because I can't do anything about it."
Then, after another pause, "keep talking."
I tried to take a deep breath, but a sob caught in my throat and sparked a coughing jag. Even after I had gotten myself under control I didn't know what to say. "I don't understand." I forced out. "I don't know why I do it. It's...it's comforting somehow. No, that’s not true, it's more than that, it’s me. I've always done it. My mother dressed me as Tinkerbelle for a school play when I was four or five. I loved it, I just loved it. I danced and twirled and skipped around in my short, pink chiffon dress, white tights, and white Maryjanes. My mom had curled my hair, made up my face and painted my nails silver. I was totally in love with my nails. Of course, after I had gone on and on about how wonderful it was for a few days. Both my parents made it clear to me that it was not okay to feel like that. After that, I could never admit that to anyone. Then, when I got older, I started dressing in her clothes. When she caught me, she dressed me to humiliate and punish me. This went on through high school. Yet I loved that too. I had a girlfriend in college who dressed me all the time. We even went out clubbing together."
"Are you gay?"
"N… N... No." I stammered, "I just like women's clothes... and women. I like women a lot, that’s why I came to work for Abigail in an office full of women. Then she left and Thornton showed up…"
Another long silence was ended by her voice, "get dressed and go home. I need to think." She said it softly, but with finality. I got up and left her room.
"If you're not at work tomorrow, the police will be the first to know," she said it coldly, without compassion, but then added more gently, "go on, get out of here."
When I got home there was a message on my answering machine from Cynthia. It was only two words, "Wear panties."
I couldn’t sleep. I spent the hours after midnight trying to figure out how I had gotten myself into this fucking mess. I had never been real good at accepting responsibility for my own actions. I was much more comfortable having others make decisions for me. So I searched for someone to blame. Was it my parents? Why not? They had done nothing but harm to me. I left home emotionally scarred and psychologically screwed up… Or maybe it was Cynthia? She didn’t have to do this to me. She could have been my ally against Thornton.
Yes, Thornton, my mind kept coming back to Bob Thornton. He had been the bane of my existence since he first arrived in our office 18 months ago when Abigail Harrison left to have a baby. So I lay awake with Thornton plaguing my thoughts as I recalled the events that led to the awful humiliations of this evening, to the final shame of me lying naked on Cynthia’s floor, bawling like a little girl as my freshly trimmed, femmy little triangle of pubic hair made a joke of my erection. I had bared my soul to her and I had no idea what she would now do with all that information. I couldn’t really blame Cynthia, I guess, even though it looked like she would be the instrument of my imminent destruction. I blamed Thornton for this happening at all. I now knew that I was destined to be another in Thornton’s long line of victims, only with me, Cynthia was to the instrument of destruction. He only got to set the stage,. I laughed bitterly. Thornton would be really pissed if he knew he wouldn’t get the chance to destroy me himself. He so savored the pleasure of doing that personally. He was a real hands-on manager.
"Melissa! Where the hell have you been? Get over here." I should have buried my head back in my monitor, but I looked up as I always did when I heard Bob Thornton yell at one of my hapless office staff. This time it was Melissa Grant, a 25 year old single mother, who was an administrative assistant in our office. She was bright and capable, but working and taking care of her child kept her on the run. Since she had divorced her abusive husband, however, she’d had no choice. And lately, the child support checks had become unreliable and she was under a lot of pressure just to make ends meet.
None of that kept Thornton from beating up on her. He was on her case all the time, especially if she was late or had to leave early to care for her little girl. This morning she had called to let us know that Carly was sick and the day care center wouldn’t accept her. So Melissa had to enlist her mother, and the time it took to get all that straightened out made her late again. It was just her bad luck that Thornton was in the office when she arrived. I could see her shudder at the sound of his voice, but she dutifully trudged over to him, knowing what was coming.
She tried to mollify him, hoping to avoid his wrath. "I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton, but Carly was sick and I had to get my mother to take care of her because the daycare center won’t take sick kids."
Thornton could have cared less. He had already decided to get rid of her, even though her work was excellent. There was something strange about his attitude, we already knew he didn’t think much of women, but there was something about Melissa’s situation that really got to him. We had discussed it privately just a week ago.
"Who do these women think they are," he had said to me. "First they get rid of their husbands and then they expect men like us to rescue them and coddle them at work." He was so smug I wanted to puke. For him the workplace hadn’t changed since 1960. "I’m getting rid of her. She’s a bad influence."
"But Bob," I tried to counter, "she’s a good worker and her husband abused her."
"I know her kind," he sneered, "I can just seeing her baiting him until he doesn’t have any choice but to get physical with her. Women like that want to be roughed up. They love it." He snorted. "And then they turn on their husbands and suck them dry."
What century was this guy from, I thought yet again. I had never heard such Neanderthal attitudes before I met him. Still, I tried to protect her. "But Bob, what good will getting rid of her do? She does good work and think of all the time it will take to train someone new. And then there’s the unemployment compensation we’ll have to pay. It’s just not worth it."
"I’m fed up with the bitch. If you weren’t such a wimp, you would be too. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make a manager out of you. You’re too afraid of hurting people’s feelings to put your responsibilities to the company first."
What could I do? Now he’d made it my problem, just like every other time I’d tried to intervene when he was dumping on one or the other of us. Right then I knew Melissa didn’t have a chance, and now I could see Thornton acting on his threat.
"I’m getting tired of your little problems, Ms. Grant. We have work to do here and you’re not pulling your weight. I’ve got my eye on you. I know what you’re up to." You arrived 20 minutes late so you’ll have to stay late to make it up."
"Yes sir," she sighed. At least Carly was with her mom tonight, and she wouldn’t have to face the wrath of the day care center, and their extra fee, by retrieving Carly late.
I tried to intervene. I hated to see people be humiliated in front of the entire office just because Thornton enjoyed it.
"Come on Bob, Melissa knows what she has to do…"
"Just shut up, Miller, this is none of your business. You’ve already proven you haven’t got the guts to take care of real problems." He didn’t even bother to turn around to look at me; he just continued to glare at Melissa. Then he said to her "Get to work." Once he had stalked out of the office, Melissa burst into tears. Some of the other girls gathered round to comfort her. I just sighed and went back to my office. Once again I had failed to protect one of my friends and had been humiliated for trying.
Yes, there were lots of reasons to hate Thornton, but I hated him most of all because of the way he treated people. He sucked up to his superiors and clients, and shit on the rest of us. We were things to be manipulated towards his greater glory…, and his greater income. There was no evidence that he had any empathy for other human beings. We were simply there to be used to make him look good.
He tried never to give his superiors or clients bad news, even if the bad news was the truth. He left that to people like Cynthia and me. Yes, Cynthia. How ironic it was: the woman who was poised to destroy me was on Thornton’s shit list as well. For some reason she seemed to escape the worst of his wrath, but no one in the office was immune.
In return for our efforts, he gave us stingy bonuses and cost-of-living raises, along with vague promises that if we kept up the good work, we too would be "getting what we deserved" at some unspecified future date.
But we could both count. It wasn’t hard to calculate that Bob Thornton couldn’t live long enough to keep that phony pledge, even if he had sold his soul to the devil. Yeah, Cynthia and I can definitely count. We are both financial analysts.
Cynthia is really good at it; she’s one of the best in the firm. But I‘m a wizard. I don’t want to sound conceited, but everyone agrees that I am amazing with numbers. I have always excelled at math. For me, solving quadratic equations has always been as easy as adding up a restaurant check. According to my mother, I had an easier time learning calculus than learning to walk. In business school I developed the knack for using my math skills to perform magical feats with financial analyses. Spreadsheets aren't simply rows and columns of numbers to me they are musical scores. I can hear them sing. I see trends, flaws, and implications that are invisible to most other people.
But more importantly, I’ve always been innovative in the way I organized and used numbers. I even created three new analytical approaches, which earned me large bonuses from the higher ups at North State. With tools like these, we routinely waltz around our competitors as if they were flat footed bumblers. We make even more money as a result. Yes, I loved spreadsheets. I could hear the music of the spheres in them.
With all that ability, you might think that I would have progressed further by now. I certainly did. In fact, I had been progressing quite well until Thornton arrived. I then discovered what it’s like when a dominant alpha male comes barging in to your troop, and bellows that he has no tolerance at all for anyone who might challenge him. He had no qualms about insulting us, or making us look bad in public, or repeatedly undermining us in front of each other at staff meetings. The consensus in the office was that he probably pushed old ladies out of his way to get to the front of the supermarket checkout line. And then he expected them to apologize to him for being in his way in the first place!
So, even though the way Thornton treated me hurt, when I saw how badly he treated the people who worked for me, that hurt even more. I couldn’t protect them and this just proved to me (yet again) how weak and ineffective I was. I did try for a while to point out to him how his behavior was hurting people, and how that couldn’t possibly be to his benefit (figuring he would at least understand his own self-interest), but he rebuffed me easily. He just turned my argument back around on me, so that the problem was mine, not his. After awhile, I just gave up. Failing to be brave or assertive enough to do anything about Thornton’s behavior was a burning symbol to me of my own inadequacies. I longed to take care of others, but in reality, I needed them to take care of me.
Because I couldn’t do anything directly about Thornton, I struck out at him in the only way I could, through our books. That’s how Cynthia was able to trap me.
I just love the feel of slinky lingerie against my skin. I wear it almost every day. But when it gets wet, it’s uncomfortable. It gets clingy and soggy and just plain yucky. I guess that’s why most women wear cotton most of the time. It may not be as sexy, but it’s sure more practical. I even wear cotton when I’m cleaning my apartment But I never wore cotton to work. I mean the whole point was to feel sleek and sexy, and cotton just didn’t do that for me. So now I was sitting at my desk with my rayon tap pants stuck to the backs of my thighs and the matching camisole clinging uncomfortably to the small of my back. And it didn’t look like things were going to get any more comfortable for quite a while.
Arrayed on my desk was a set of spreadsheets and cancelled checks that revealed my entire scam. I had been writing out bogus invoices from phony Internet companies for products and services that were never supplied. The invoices got paid as a matter of course, and I pocketed the proceeds. Well, I didn’t exactly pocket them. Instead, I was depositing them in phony bank accounts that I had set up to launder the money I was fraudulently "liberating" from my bass. I had set up one account for each of the women who worked in our office. Getting money for me to spend was not my goal, reducing Bob Thornton’s income, and making sure our staff got their rightful bonuses was.
Our company, North Street Financing is remarkably profitable. It manages and finances large corporate takeovers, and as a Vice President Thornton pulled down big bucks like the other senior execs. Bob was different though. The other VPs shared their generous bonuses with their employees, keeping them quite happy and productive. In my division, however, Thornton, kept it all for himself. He ran the tightest division in the company. Our expenses were always the lowest and his bonuses among the largest. He ran big profit margins and kept the payroll small. He traveled first class, but the rest of us went steerage. And he never let anyone transfer out. The only way to leave Bob's division was to leave the company altogether, and in my office at least, many of us had been together for years. We had been like a small family and didn’t want to split up.
When I first arrived at North State, four years ago, I thought I had found the nearest thing work could be to heaven. We had a woman VP then, Abigail Harrison, and she was a peach. The whole staff loved her and we all worked very effectively under her nurturing hand. Our division was a top performer then too, and she made lots of money, sharing it cheerfully when bonus time came.
I was the last person she had hired and the only one with an MBA. Based on credentials, I should have been the boss, but I quickly discovered two things. First, I was much happier being an analyst than managing an office, and, second, the other analyst, Cynthia Morrison, already had the office in the palm of her hand. Cynthia was at least as good with people as I was with numbers. So while she marveled at the way I could coax information from a balance sheet, I sat in clueless wonder as she got other people to do things for her, and for me.
Cynthia was as attractive as she was effective, and she was very effective at her job. Even though she was six years older than I, we hit it off right away and worked well together. Unlike me, a whiz kid straight out of school, Cynthia had worked her way up and became a good analyst even though she "only" had a Bachelor's degree. She had bucked male dominated hierarchies at virtually every step of her life, but everyone knew that if it hadn't been for Abigail, and one or two other senior women who acted as mentors and protectors, the good old boys would never have allowed her to become a senior analyst. All the other analysts had MBAs, but not many were as good as Cynthia.
Compared to Cynthia I was a babe in the woods. I had no experience in the world at all. I was not yet 17 when I entered college, and after four years at North State, I was still only 26. Really, I felt like a helpless teenager with her, but she was smart enough not to over play her obvious social superiority. In retrospect, it was easy to see how much in charge of things she really was, but because I mostly squirreled myself away with my computer, I didn't understand that at the time. My position had authority, but I didn't. Cynthia, by contrast, had earned authority because of her strong personality and her willingness to accept responsibility. I fostered friendly relations with the rest of the office and they liked me, but they would die for Cynthia. As a result, I was dependent on Cynthia to get almost everything done. And she got it all done with apparent ease. We were a good team.
But Cynthia was more than a teammate. I was deeply, almost painfully, infatuated with her. She represented pretty much everything I admired in a woman. She had looks, personality, brains, and assertiveness. I didn't really know what she thought about me, although it was clear that she liked me. I remember one time when we hugged each other, warmly and without embarrassment while we congratulated each other after a particularly good job. At that moment I felt very close to her and desperately wanted to ask her for a date. But I was too timid, and rationalized my timidity by saying that personal involvement might threaten our professional relationship, so I hesitated. The moment was lost, and I never got the courage to do it again. If I had to guess, I would say she saw me as her little brother. She took pleasure in seeing me do well, but that never translated into any kind of intimacy. I was too in awe of her as a woman, and too insecure with myself as a man to think about any other kind of relationship, even though I longed for one.
After I had been there only 18 months, Abigail left to have a baby and Bob Thornton arrived. Our happy little world began to disintegrate. No one liked Bob Thornton, but everyone respected him. His success allowed him to live the high life on the company expense account, but he nailed me and his other underlings if we even had a light beer at company expense while on forced travel.
"We must maintain fiscal responsibility," he gloated the last time he cut my travel reimbursement to the bone, "the shareholders demand it."
Well, within a year of his arrival, I quit doing my best as I started to slip into a state of angry resentment. He expected us to be on call 24/7 and gave us nothing in return. Then, we had a particularly nasty staff meeting. He sent our youngest and emotionally most vulnerable research assistant, Heather Wilkes, home in tears when he accused her of making a mistake that he had made, and reamed her out for it.
"If you hadn't given me those figures, this wouldn't have happened," he ranted.
How absurd. He asked for those figures specifically. She even tried to tell him that he needed additional data. But he accused her of making his mistake anyway.
"But Bob," I objected angrily, rising to my feet, "Heather didn’t force those numbers on you. She couldn’t do that. None of us could."
"Shut up Miller! Your opinion isn’t worth the hot air that carries it out of your head. You’ve failed at every management responsibility I’ve given you. You haven’t earned the right to an opinion."
As I was sitting down, feeling humiliated and shamed yet again, Cynthia Morrison was rising to her feet. "Well I have," she said." This is not Heather’s fault. You were the one…"
"Oh for God’s sake," he blustered, fluttering his hands around his head, clearly frustrated by her interruption, "none of you ever want to take responsibility for anything. It’s always my fault. Well, you’ll learn." He waved Heather out of the room and ended the meeting a few minutes after that. Cynthia was the only who could stand up to him, the only one he didn’t try to intimidate. It was as if she had a guardian angel.
As my co-workers and I became increasingly demoralized under Thornton's hand, my personal relationships in the rest of the staff started to deteriorate. Frankly, I was pitiful. As I became more depressed about myself and the way Thornton was treating me and the others, I began to treat them just as badly as Thornton was. They certainly didn't deserve it, but I was just too immature to know how to handle all the stress Thornton created. Even at 26, I wasn't much more mature than your average high school cheerleader.
So I hated my situation, I hated myself for being too cowardly to deal with it or to leave it, and I hated myself even more because of the miserable way I was treating my co-workers. Like the guy who gets home from his lousy job and yells at his wife and kicks the dog, I let them have it whenever Bob treated me badly. Everyone knew what was going on and they were pissed at me as much for my cowardice as for my poor behavior.
I remember one particularly bad day in late December when Thornton had us working like dogs on financial projections that just didn’t need to be done then. No one would need them until well into the new year. We all figured he was doing this just to punish us for having the bad luck to work for him. Late one afternoon as we were getting ready to leave, I just lost it.
"Marci! What the hell is this?" I yelled at Marci Richardson. She was a 30-something administrative assistant who always seemed a lot smarter than her job title would suggest. "This is not what I asked for. Can’t anyone do anything right around here?" I was really yelling now, behaving just like Thornton would have. "I work my butt off and you can’t collect a few sets of numbers so I can use them?"
"Excuse me, MR. Miller," she interrupted. "This is how we always do it."
"So what? MS. Richardson." I returned her insult with one of my own. We never used Ms. or Mr. around the office. "Who cares how we always do it? You need to figure out the best way to do things, not just do it any old way. What the hell do we pay you for?"
I could see in her face that she was getting really upset, but I had lost control of myself. I kept after her. "Any 18 year old twit right out of high school could have done it this way…"
"Brad! What the hell is going on here?" It was Cynthia. She had heard me shouting and came to investigate. She didn’t like what she found. "How dare you yell at someone in this office like that. You just apologize.
"Apologize? You must be crazy. She takes hours to do something that could have been done in half the time and then does it wrong…"
"If he had told me what he wanted, maybe I would have done it differently. I’m not a mind reader you know." Now that Cynthia was here, Marci wasn’t going to back down. Worse, I now knew that she was right. I hadn’t told her exactly what I wanted. I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts at the time and just assumed she knew what I was thinking. But I wasn’t backing down now either. Without those figures, I was in for a long night. I stayed on the attack.
"Well, one of us is in for a long night and it’s certainly not going to be me," I insisted.
"Oh, grow up Brad," Cynthia cut in again.
"This has nothing to do with you, MS. Morrison. MS. Richardson will get this job done," I turned to face her, "and then she can go home, but she better get it done." Even though I was looking right at Marci, I was talking to Cynthia. Marci’s face was now a mixture of anger and fear. Before anything else could happen, I turned and walked into my office, slamming the door behind me. Two days before the end of the year, when almost every office in the building was virtually shut down, I had one of my staff working late to produce something no one needed.
Stuff like this fueled a nasty downward spiral in my relationship with Cynthia. She was angry for the way I treated her and let me know it. She was even angrier for the way I treated the staff and let me know that too. For my part, I was so ashamed of the way I was behaving that I began to withdraw. I became more abrupt and thoughtless in my dealings with her and everyone else. She got even angrier, and so it continued.
I was sick about the whole situation and after awhile, I turned my hatred on myself. I became ashamed of myself, and my shame paralyzed me even further. Shame..., that's anger turned inward isn't it? Too weak and immature to deal with the real sources of my anger, I started to let my shame consume me. I was ashamed of the way I let Thornton treat me, I was ashamed of the way I treated Cynthia and our staff, and I was ashamed because I didn't do anything about any of it.
Once upon a time, everyone in the office found me kind, pleasant, and funny. The older women pampered me, the younger ones pursued me. Some even caught me for awhile. People would actually smile when I showed up. They asked me to do things with them. I had been a source of comfort and confidence to them because they knew I would never hurt them and that I would understand when they were down. Now, no one wanted anything to do with me.
My only outlet, feeble as it was, was to embezzle money from Bob's profits - his bonus was going down because of it. That's why I did it and that's what I enjoyed most about it. I had even set up the separate accounts with the office staff in mind. There was one for each person except me. Thornton may not have been giving them bonuses, but I was. Whenever one of the staff did a particularly good job, I added some money to her account. Marcie had gotten a particularly nice contribution after our little altercation just before the new year.
But even stealing Thornton’s money wasn’t working the way I had hoped. Sure, I liked the idea of shrinking his take home pay and helping the women in the office, but the very fact that I had to resort to such a passive form of resistance to Thornton’s rule just emphasized my own weakness.
"I knew it," Cynthia said triumphantly. "There's nothing on the desk that ties you directly to those transactions Brad, but you've admitted to them anyway."
She stood back, fists on her hips, shoulders back, pride radiating from her face. I was such a jerk. She bluffed me without saying a word, and I fell for it.
Now, she was watching me the way a cat watches a mouse that has wandered unaware into striking distance. Her head was slightly cocked to one side and her attention was focused on me entirely. I nearly melted from the intensity of her gaze.
"You’re screwed, buster. Just wait till I tell Bob."
"You wouldn't!" I blurted out.
"He'll have the cops here so fast, you won't have time to pee." Her laughter sounded like fine crystal shattering.
Shit, I can't get arrested today. I mean, I can't get arrested any day, but certainly not today. A man just doesn’t go to jail wearing lingerie, and shaved all over. I’d been keeping myself hairless for quite a while, and last night, just as I did every few nights, I had shaved my legs, chest and underarms. Then I spent an hour lounging in a warm bath filled with a deliciously strawberry-scented oil. It felt just delightful, and my hairless skin was soft and smooth. I was so infatuated with how I felt that I had even shaved my pubic hair into a narrow triangle so it wouldn't show under the French-cut panties I preferred on most evenings. If I ended up in a cell tonight, I was going to be screwed all right, literally, by every guy who was in there with me. I would be the answer to their dreams.
"I'll cut you in," I whispered, without looking up.
"No way," she replied, without hesitating. "I'm not getting involved in this penny-ante shit. I have more ambition than that. And you're going to help me realize my goals. From now on, I own you."
I finally looked up. I needed to see her face. I needed to see if she was for real. She was. Her glare never wavered, instead, it nearly knocked the wind out of me. I cast my eyes down quickly.
"What do you want? I'll do anything."
"That's good," she said, obviously pleased with me. "I like it when you know to keep your eyes down, like a good slave."
"What?" I sat up straight and looked right into her face.
"I don't think you want to challenge me, slave." Let's see, what's the number for the 6th precinct? Doesn't matter, 911, will do. She dropped a finely manicured hand to the phone on the corner of my desk and started punching in the numbers with one glistening, elegant nail.
"Hello, yes, I want to report... I slammed my hand down on the switch, cutting off the call.
"NO!!" I shouted.
She erupted in anger. I had never seen her like this before! "DON'T you ever say no to me again! You little bag of shit! I'm in charge here from now on. Lower your eyes and apologize."
She started dialing again.
"I'm sorry... Cynthia?..." I struggled to say the words. "I need time to... to learn."
"You certainly do!" she cut me off. "Figure this out fast. You cross me and you go to prison. As little as you are (At barely 5'7" and a skinny 130, I was smaller than Bob Thornton. I think that's one of the reasons he liked having me around), you will be thanking the guys in your cell block for raping you before the first day is over."
I quailed. Did she know what I was wearing or just insulting me because of my size? I could hardly defend myself in a pillow fight. She was right. I would be getting it up the ass by the first guy who decided he wanted me. And the next, and the one after him too, and on down the line. Oh shit. I might like to wear woman's clothing, but I had never wanted to be raped by some big hairy man. Not that it hadn't happened before, sort of, but….
"Get out from behind that desk and get on your knees in front of me."
I hesitated for just a moment.
"Now!" I jumped up and stumbled from behind my desk.
"Down, now!"
I fell to my knees and dropped my eyes to her feet. She was wearing dark panty hose and black suede heels. They must have been 3 inches. Despite my humiliating position, I started to imagine how I would look in them. I seemed to spend much of my day wondering how I would look in the clothes of one woman or another. That didn't last long this time.
"Repeat after me!" She barked. "I am your slave. You are my Mistress. I will do your bidding willingly. Your needs and pleasures are my life... Your wish is my command."
Something deep inside my groin started to tingle. I didn't know where this was going, but it was somewhere I had always wanted to explore. I started to look up with wonder.
Smack! She slapped me across the face.
"Don't you dare look at me without my permission."
I threw my eyes down so quickly I almost hurt my neck.
"Say it!" She hissed.
"I am your slave. You are my Mistress. I will do your bidding willingly. Your needs and pleasures are my life... Your wish is my command."
I… I am your.... s...slave," I repeated my face flushed with shame. "You are my Mistress. I..I will do your bidding. Your wish is my c.. c... command."
The room was absolutely still. My voice was barely a whisper. I thought I would throw up. As I started to retch, Cynthia pushed me over with her foot.
"You're pitiful."
She stalked out of the office and I got up after awhile and went to the men's room to wash out my mouth and catch my breath. Just as I got back to my desk, the intercom buzzed. It was Cynthia.
"Get out here," she commanded.
Her office was just down the hall from mine. It was part of what had been a much larger office that had been divided up so two people could have cramped, but private work areas. This was a measure of the inequality in the office. She was senior to me in experience, but my academic credentials, and no doubt my sex, landed me the nicer office. I used to visit Cynthia frequently because I just had to share some exciting finding with her. Her door was always open to me or anyone else in the office. But over the past year, as I had withdrawn, I rarely went out there.
Lately, I had kept my door closed instead of open. Most of the staff had simply concluded that I was a stuck up obnoxious little twerp. So as I left my office and headed for Cynthia's desk, I drew some curious stares from the administrative assistants and secretaries. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I noticed them. I felt like I was in a glass fish bowl. I knocked on Cynthia's door and stepped around the corner.
"What took you so long?" Contempt dripped from her voice. "Get me a cup of coffee. You know how I like it don't you?"
"B… Black?"
"No, you idiot. We've been working together for four years and you still don't know how I like my coffee? Well, you'll learn that, and lot's of other things I like as well," she said leering at me in the strangest way. "One cream, one half packet of Equal."
I turned for the coffee room to fetch Cynthia's coffee. The pot was almost empty so I started to refill it. Then I realized that I didn't really know where everything was. As I was looking through the drawers, Marci Richardson came in.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
Startled, I turned around and stammered, "I… I'm, I’m… looking for the coffee filters. I was going to refill the pot."
Her eyes widened in amazement. "You… ? You're going to refill the coffeepot? You haven't touched it in…., in, I don' t know how long." And then, even more sarcastically, "what's the matter, don't you feel well?"
I blushed under her scrutiny. "Well, it was almost empty so I thought..."
She snorted in derision. "Third drawer on the left. Make sure you clean up the counter when you're done."
A few minutes later I was on my way back to Cynthia's desk and all the secretaries stopped working and looked up. When I turned into Cynthia's cubicle they broke out in giggles.
"Here you are Cynthia. I'm sorry it took so long, but I had to make a new pot."
She eyed me suspiciously, tasted the coffee and turned her glare on me. "Don't you ever keep my waiting so long again. And if you ever call me Cynthia, or even refer to me that way to someone else, you'll regret it. In the office I am Ms. Morrison. I can see you have a lot to learn. Get out of here. I'll meet you in your office at the end of the day. Don't you dare leave without me."
The rest of the day dragged by as I alternatively hated myself, got angry at Bob Thornton, and had horrible fantasies about what jail might be like. Cynthia showed up at 5:15.
"Alright, your training starts tonight. As my slave you will take care of me and my apartment. Go home, shower, shave, change into a clean pair of chinos and a white shirt, and be at my apartment at 7:00. Here's a shopping list and my address. You're paying for all my groceries from now on too. If you're not there on time, I'm calling the cops."
My mouth was still hanging open as she left, but I really had to hurry if I was going to get to her place on time. At least I would be able to change out of my lingerie. I shuddered to think what might happen if she discovered I was a cross-dresser. I would have to be very careful to hide that from now on.
"Who is it?
"It's me Ms. Morrison, I'm sorry I'm late. I went as fast as I could. I brought you a present to make up for my failure. It's a bottle of your favorite wine. It's chilled. I'd love to pour you some. Please let me in?"
"Hmmmph... Get your sorry ass up here." She buzzed me in and I took the small elevator to her fourth floor apartment. Her door opened as soon as I appeared in front of it.
"Put that stuff in the kitchen. Pour me a glass of your pitiful wine and get back here. I was back in less than three minutes. Cynthia was sitting on her sofa still in her work clothes. I stood in front of her and offered her the wine with an expectant look on my face.
"Down on your knees."
I knelt carefully, making sure not to spill the wine and then lowered my eyes before I held the glass out once more. This time she took it. I stayed on my knees, eyes studying her not so clean carpet for many minutes.
"You're so very clever to bring me my favorite wine, from a good vineyard too."
I started to look up, but managed to stop myself. "That's right, you keep your eyes down when you are in the presence of your Mistress unless she tells you otherwise." Cynthia finished her glass of wine over the next few minutes and then handed me the glass. "Now, go get me another glass of wine and then cook my dinner."
I did as I was told and she showered while I cooked. I cleaned up her small dining area and set the table for two. When the preparations for dinner were finished I called her. "Miss Morrison, dinner is ready."
My eyes almost fell out of my head as she entered the room and I gaped at her openly. She had changed into a stunning floor length black nightgown with matching robe. The skirt was sheer and I could easily see her panties and garter belt beneath it. The bodice was very low cut and shirred in a way that gave me glimpses of her breasts without ever leaving them fully exposed. She had black high heeled mules on her feet which left her lovely polished toenails to glisten in the lamp light as she walked.
As soon as she entered the living room she posed with one hand on her hip and the other flat against her thigh. She eyed me imperiously, but it took a moment for me to look down. I stood frozen next the dining room table with my eyes on the floor. I heard her move towards me and then her feet entered my line of sight.
"How dare you look at me, you worm!" I startled and then cringed because she was shouting right in my ear.
"I'm sorry Miss Mor..." I stammered.
"That's Mistress to you," she shouted right in my face again." You may call me Miss Morrison at work, at all other times it's Mistress, or Ma'am."
"Yes Mistress."
"Don't interrupt. From now on you have no life. You are going to spend your time caring for me and meeting my needs. I have plans for you. I'm going to get even with you for the way you have been treating me and the other staff. And I’m going to use you to get even with that little shit Thornton as well. It will be risky for you, but that's not my problem, you're the embezzler. Now serve me dinner."
"Yes Mistress."
I pulled her chair out and helped her get settled at the table. I brought a fresh salad, some crusty bread I had picked up after my stop at the supermarket, and poured Pellegrino water.
After I served Cynthia, she looked up at me and asked, "why are there two place settings at this table?"
"I thought..."
"You don't think! Haven't you figured that out yet? Clear that other place setting and go stand by the side of the table in case I need anything while I eat."
I carried my dishes and flatware into the kitchen, chastened by the way I was being treated. I stood there silently for a few moments trying to understand what was going on. She was treating my like a damn maid! God, if she learned I like women’s clothes, she’d probably have me in a French maid’s uniform by the weekend. Then I heard Cynthia's fork clank on her plate and realized I had better get back into the dining area.
I went to my appointed station and stood there silently while she ate, apparently unaware of my existence. As I watched her eat, I couldn’t keep the image of myself in a short, frilly French maid’s uniform out of my mind. My imagination embellished that enticing vision until I was fully dressed in a black satin uniform with white petticoats that held the skirt far out from my legs and showed prettily at the hem. The bodice and short, puffed sleeves were trimmed in white lace and I wore a bright white apron tied with a big bow at the back and a cute little lacy cap pinned to my hair. I twitched slightly where I stood trying to feel the garters that would be holding up my sheer black stockings and I even imagined that my feet were starting to hurt as I stood in my black three inch heels waiting for my mistress to summon me for my next task.
That little fantasy came to a crashing halt when Cynthia finished her salad. Because I was so focused on what was in my mind, I wasn’t paying attention to her, and she let me know in no uncertain terms, what she would do to me if that happened again. My face burning with embarrassment, I ran to bring the pasta I had prepared for the main course, refilled her wine and water glasses and returned to my station.
Standing with my hands folded in front of me and my eyes down, I wanted to continue my enjoyable French maid fantasy, but couldn’t if I was going to avoid be chewed out by Cynthia yet again. Instead, I grew angry about the way she was treating me. I felt myself start to rebel, but then got scared about what might happen if I defied her. I could just see myself on my hands and knees in a prison cell somewhere thanking the six guys who had just raped me and begging them to do it again real soon. Having forced me to be their little whore, they were now laughing as they forced me to thank them and beg them for more. I knew that would last until I got AIDS and died a slow, lonely death in the prison hospital.
No, I was going to do what ever it took to stay out of prison. I had to play along with Cynthia, even if the humiliations she was forcing upon me fed the fires of shame that already burned so intensely in my heart. And despite my conscious revulsion at what was happening to me, deep off in a corner of my psyche, I was getting turned on by the humiliation, and dreaming about ways to turn this into a sexual escapade.
"Clean up and then meet me in the living room. You may eat in the kitchen, but you have to be finished with everything in 30 minutes."
She moved to stand up and I rushed to pull her chair back. As she stood, she turned, and gently stroked my cheek with her hand.
"That's sweet." And then she slapped me for the second time. As I stumbled back, more in shock, than pain, she began to shout at me. "Why have you been such an asshole for the last year? You think a few courtesies now will get you out of this? I'm so angry with you I could tear your eyes out!" And she started to sob.
Again, I was clueless. What could possibly be going on in her mind? Her moods had been so mercurial today that I was completely lost. Angry one moment and in tears the next? I wanted to comfort her, but was scared she would get even angrier.
"Mistress?" I mumbled, "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't, you dolt. You've never had a clue. Trying to be friends with you is like having a relationship with a two year old." She sobbed again and then said somewhat hopelessly, "just clean the kitchen and get back in here. I have things for you to do."
She spun her head away from me, turned on her gorgeous heel and strode away.
My "Yes Mistress" was drowned out by the sounds of her heels hammering the floor as she stalked to her bedroom. So I cleaned the kitchen until it was spotless and hurried into the living room. Cynthia wasn't there, "Mistress?" I called out.
"Get undressed, and then crawl into my bedroom," she replied.
Oh shit, I thought, this time keeping my lips sealed. This was getting real weird. I was in big trouble now. I undressed slowly trying to figure out what to do. How could I explain my lack of body hair? She was sure to notice.
"Hurry up you asshole," she shouted from the other room. "If you're not in here in one minute I'm calling the cops."
Despite my fear, I crawled as quickly as I could towards her bedroom. I felt like a total fool, my penis and testicles flapping back and forth as I crawled. When I got inside the bedroom door I was startled to see her sitting on the edge of her bed naked except for her stockings and heels. She had her arms up, running her hands through her shiny black hair. Her breasts were stunning, riding high on her chest, the nipples turned slightly upwards. I looked down as quickly as I could, but she had already seen me looking at her.
"Look at me." she demanded.
I looked up with both fear and lust in my heart. Naked, she was just gorgeous. Her breasts weren’t very large, but they were beautifully shaped and jutted out from her chest like gravity didn’t exist. Her body had no spare fat on it, but was toned and slightly muscular, with a small waist and gently curving hips. As I looked down at her legs, I thought that her smoky black stockings with their lacy tops and her high black heels were just about the sexiest things I had ever seen.
She peered down at me haughtily for a second and then asked, "like what you see? Of course you do. What man wouldn't? Well, enjoy the view, because for you, it's look but don't touch." I realized instantly that she was purposely teasing me with her fabulous body. If I did something aggressive, she would be sure to call the cops. If I submitted to her, it would be a sure sign of her dominance over me. I guess she wanted me to understand that clearly.
She stared at me carefully for a moment, chuckled to herself, and very carefully leaned back on the pillows she had stacked behind her. She thrust her hips over the edge of the bed.
"My pussy needs some reverential attention. Start by sucking my toes, lick your way up my legs and then give me the best head you ever imagined."
I groaned without thinking.
"Oh, and don't you dare touch me with that thing." She poked my hard on dismissively with the toe of her shoe. "Now, get to work."
I had never sucked anyone's toes before, although I was quite experienced inside a pussy, one of my tongue's favorite places. That was another skill I had perfected in college.
"Get to work, I'm getting impatient."
So I bent down and carefully slipped the shoe off her right foot. I nuzzled her instep with my cheek. I felt like such a fool, pretending to adore her foot. Then I started to lick and suck around Cynthia's stockinged foot. The feel of the nylons in my mouth was really rather erotic, although they were kind of dry. My cock really started to throb as I sucked her big toe into my mouth. As I circled it with my lips, I couldn't help but notice the bright red toenails that glistened under her smoky stocking. I wondered how that color would look on me…
It was a good 15 minutes before I got anywhere near the tops of her thighs and it wasn't until I put my lips on the bare skin above her right stocking that I heard a sound out of her, and then it was only a whispered gasp. I then worked fairly quickly to get near the now glistening lips of her vagina. At least she was excited. By now my mouth and tongue were aching from all the effort I had put into licking and sucking just her legs and feet. But I had a goal: to stay out of prison, and this was certainly preferable to getting fucked up the ass by some hyped up serial rapist.
As I moved up her soft sweetly smelling thighs (she had obviously perfumed herself after she showered) towards her vagina, she began to become more active, and was now squirming around as I started to stick my tongue into her pussy. After who knows how long, I finally reach her clit. As I licked it for the first time, she lifted her legs and clamped them around my head.
I lost my balance and the full weight of my body forced my face into her pussy.
"Hurry," she gasped, "you've teased me long enough. Bring me off!"
I did, and that’s how I ended up with my head trapped between Cynthia’s thighs, and how she learned all about me.
She looked well rested and refreshed. I was a mess. I had tossed and turned all night with visions of prison rapes haunting my mind. Even my favorite ankle-length white cotton nightie, with cute lace around the square-cut neckline and puffed sleeves hadn't been much comfort. I had no idea what Cynthia would do, but by dawn had pretty much figured out that whatever it was, it was better than jail.
So with her staring at me like a man ogling a stripper in a sleazy bar, I stood up, unbuckled my corporately correct black leather belt, and let my pleated, gray flannel slacks slide to the floor. It had taken me almost 15 minutes to figure out which pair of panties to wear. I must have tried on nearly 10 pairs, most several times. Even after I was fully dressed, I took my pants off to change, twice.
Did I want to be sexy and wear my high cut, stretchy, black French cut panties, or elegant in a pair of pale gray silk bikini panties with slightly darker lace trim? Or should it be the pale peach satin pair with the cotton crotch and cute bow in the front. I never before worried about how others might see me. Except for one exhilarating period in my life, I dressed only for myself, for how it felt, for how it made me feel.
That other time was my junior year of college. My life was taken over by Rachel Martin, a senior who discovered that I liked to dress and thought that was great fun. When she dressed me, she called me Lilly. It was supposed to be ironic, she assumed I wouldn’t look anything like a flower, but you know what, she was wrong.
Lilly was a girl of paradoxes. Just like Rachel, she dressed demurely (which isn't surprising because she wore Rachel's clothes), but she was flirtatious, and much more socially adventurous than either Rachel or Brad ever were. In fact, she was a bit of a tease. But every guy eventually learned that even though Lilly might have come on to him, she always went home with Rachel. And around Rachel, Lilly was very submissive.
Rachel had developed a game that we both found exhilarating. She would send Lilly into a bar. If Lilly got picked up (and not read of course!), then she could get laid that night. If not, Rachel got oral sex from her lesbian maid, who went unfulfilled. As time went on, Rachel would leave me alone in the bar for longer and longer periods, eventually putting me in the position of having to dance with guys, kiss them, and even give an occasional hand job under the table to keep them at bay.
We did that on at least one night almost every weekend from the beginning of December until the middle of May when she graduated and left town. Those nights were thrilling. I was full of fear and anxiety each time I had to walk into a bar alone dressed as a chaste, young co-ed. I was usually the most modestly dressed girl in the bar, but my goal was to get picked up, so I had to send my message with my behavior. To get some guy to come on to me, I would sit in a suggestive pose, flirt with my legs, shoulders, and head, or in general use body language that was totally at odds with how I was dressed. Guys found this remarkably provocative and I found myself being courted by men even when girls who were far prettier, and who were dressed far more provocatively than I, were still alone.
Of course, once I had attracted a guy, I had to keep his attention until Rachel arrived to claim me. So I learned to flirt, chat, and even dance as a girl. I was very uninhibited on the dance floor. I was always sexually aroused, but scared to death of being read. That combination was exciting beyond words. Especially because I did get read a few times, though I was never harmed. Twice, early on in my experience, Rachel was right there to come to my rescue. She could tell what had happened just by the change in my body language and the body language of the guy who had picked me up.
One other time, around the beginning of April, the guy was enthralled with me even after he figured it out. He promised not to make a scene if I really acted like a girl who had been dying to date him. Rachel wasn't there, so I got to work on a few new moves, hanging on to him attentively, running my fingernails up and down his arm, and staring into his eyes. He caressed me wickedly and kissed me passionately. The first time he did this I was shocked and didn't respond.
He pushed me to arm’s length and whispered to me harshly, "Lilly, if you don’t kiss me like my lover I’m going to expose you out loud to everyone and leave you here." Then he pulled me back into his embrace and whispered gently into my ear, "Relax, I’m not going to hurt you, we’re going to be doing some necking here to amuse the locals. Let yourself go, you’ll like it. Girls tell me I’m a good kisser."
Then he stuck his tongue in my ear and started to nibble at my ear lobe. I giggled at first but started to get excited after a few moments. Rachel did the same thing and I loved it. What the hell, I thought, and sought out his lips. After that, I returned his kisses with some ardor. I discovered that I liked it, and really got into it, even though I was kissing a guy. At the same time I was praying for Rachel to show up. I guess I should have been upset by what was going on, but I wasn't. Instead I was having a good time. Hey, I was just one hot little bitch.
Well, it was more than that. This guy, Josh, was not the first guy who had kissed me. My mother caught me in her clothes when I was 10. She taunted me about it, telling me my father would be ashamed of me. But I simply adored dressing up in secret, and got an even bigger thrill when I had to go in public. I have to thank my mom for teaching me about that. Periodically, when she was feeling a need to crush my ego (to bolster hers no doubt), she would dress me up to humiliate me. It was always done on the pretence that I was being punished. We both knew that wasn't her real motive, but we each had our own reasons for letting it happen.
I did feel a little humiliated by what she did, but more than that, I became totally, mind-boggling, unceasingly aroused. I would be hard for days after just thinking about it. I was very confused by what was going on, who wouldn't be, but I developed (or may it was discovered) a taste for the combination of humiliation and sex that I have never lost. Thanks mom, I guess. Then, when I was in 9th grade, my mother not only dressed me, but also set up a date for me, more than one actually. He was older and larger than I was and he just took me really. That's when I really learned to kiss, and oh, to really hate my mother too.
Anyway, Rachel showed up in the middle of one of our kisses. "Lilly," she whispered with mock urgency, "what are you doing. You were supposed to be waiting for me!"
Josh looked up with some surprise, but didn't miss a beat. "Hi pretty lady, this is your girlfriend?" he pinched my butt, I squealed, "how about a threesome?"
Rachel was equally as quick on the uptake as Josh. "Lilly here is a little girl. I'm a woman, can you handle that?" He simply stood up, pulling me by the hand. He grabbed Rachel's arm and said, "your place or mine?"
But back then, Rachel told me what to wear. She never let me pick my own panties or anything else for that matter. This morning was different. I had to please Cynthia... my new... uh, mistress. I had no idea what she liked, or how she would react. In the end I wore the simplest pair I owned, the peach satin ones.
"Oh, that's just lovely," Cynthia gushed, "they're adorable, but the way you were shaved, I felt for sure you would wear something that showed more hip and thigh. Oh well, another day, I’m sure." I cringed.
She turned to leave with me still standing there. She opened the door, started out, and then turned to me, "I take coffee at 8:45."
"Cynthia... Uh, Uh I mean Miss Morrison, someone will see."
Now she turned to face me full on. "This is your last warning. Don't you ever call me Cynthia again, or you'll regret it."
She turned and walked away without closing the door. I rushed to pull up my pants, not knowing who might have seen me.
Everybody must have known that something was up because several of the secretaries were waiting in the break room when I went to get Cynthia's... I mean Miss Morrison's coffee. They giggled as I completed my task and then left as quickly as I could, sure that everyone could see through my clothes.
I fearfully presented the coffee to Cyn... Ms. Morrison. "One cream, one half packet of Equal," I announced, quietly.
"OK, she said, not so quietly, I have a busy day. Here are your instructions."
I whispered frantically. "Please Ms. Morrison, everyone will hear."
She threw me a dirty look, but didn't hesitate for a moment. I was aghast.
"Be at my apartment at 7:00. I want you wearing panties, a matching bra, a garter belt and stockings. If you have breast forms, put them in. You need black heels as well, three inches at least." Only then did she lower her voice and begin to whisper. "Your assignment for today is to figure out how to get the money you stole into accounts controlled by Thornton. I'm going to get that son of a bitch and you're going to do it for me. I don't care whether you both get caught or not, that's your problem. You figure it out. And if you cause any trouble for me, I'll make sure you end up in jail dressed like the sissy you are. Get out."
I gaped, my mouth hanging open in wonderment.
"Get out?" I asked.
"You want me to say it loud enough for everyone to hear?"
"Yes Mistress... I mean... no Mistress."
I spun away like the devil was chasing me, but tried to control myself as soon as I turned to face the rest of the office. Everyone was staring at me. I made believe that I hadn't seen any of them and tried to look calm, but I was panting from anxiety by the time I reached my office. I could feel sweat dripping from my underarms.
By the time I had closed the door and reached my seat, I was frantic. What was she going to do? What was I going to do? Everyone knew... I was going to be humiliated…I was going to jail. Thoughts flooded my brain so quickly they had no time to complete themselves before they were replaced by another. In a few seconds, I was in tears.
I don't know how long I cried before I actually heard the knocking. I tried to ignore it. It was hesitant and I had no intention of opening the door. It opened by itself. It was Marci Richardson! Oh God! Things are going from horrible to worse. She was a good ten years older than I was and at first had been quite friendly, but like everyone else on the staff had changed her mind over the past year. I don't know if I had done something especially nasty to her, but she obviously had nothing but disdain for me. I looked up at her bleakly, but unaware. Before I could say word she spoke.
"Mr. Miller, are you OK?"
"Marci, get out of here," I blubbered, putting my face back into my hands.
Then, another voice... "Is he OK?"
I looked up again. It was Kathleen Whitson, another secretary, younger and, as far as I knew, much more timid than Marci. Was there no end?
"Does he really wear lingerie for Ms. Morrison?"
Oh God - they had heard.
"Well, shit Kathleen, you heard just as much as I did. How do I know?" Then she grinned, "Let's find out. "
"GET OUT OF HERE! Both of you." I jumped up from my desk and advanced on them. I was furious now.
Marci made little fists out of her hands and thrust them down onto her hips, she must have learned that move from Cynthia. "I don't think SO! That's so NOT what we're gonna do. I bet you're wearing panties right now. Show us."
"Get out of here." I turned my back to them, but then spun around at the sound of a third voice.
"Do it, now."
My heart sank. For a moment I was so startled I thought I was going to pee in my panties. It was Cynthia. She had opened the door all the way and it seemed that the whole office was standing right behind her. She stared straight into my face and mouthed the numbers 9-1-1.
I was paralyzed… a deer caught in headlights. A train roared in my ears. My vision narrowed. Then I erupted.
"FUCK YOU! I am NOT going to let this happen." I said taking a step towards the door. Cynthia stepped forward, pushed the others out the door and slammed it shut behind her.
"I didn't think we would come to this point quite so quickly, slave. But here we are. Time for you to submit or go to jail. Get on your knees."
Again, I gaped at her. Before I could say a word, she attacked me with a torrent of words. "Listen you little shit. You've been humiliating the entire office staff for more than a year. I don't like to see my girls in tears because some little pussy boy can't stand up to his own boss and hates himself for it. Luckily for you I hate Thornton more than I hate you. So a long as I believe you can help me get him, I'm willing to keep you around, but only on my terms. Now, GET ON YOUR KNEES!"
I stood frozen. She reached out for my shoulder and started to push me down. She didn't press hard enough to actually force me down, but I started to sink anyway. As I sank towards the floor I began to cry again.
By the time she opened the door again, the issue was closed. I was her slave, everyone in the office would share in my humiliation as payback for the way had I treated them. I had to figure out how to set Thornton up so it looked like he had embezzled the money that I had embezzled. I was totally defeated. And, it was time for my humiliation to begin. The only real question was, how intense was it going to be.
"Girls, your big old boss here has something to tell you. Gather round. Heather go lock the door."
I had been standing with my head bowed, but as the six other women in the office gathered around I looked up at them.
"I'm sorry," I gasped out, choked with shame, "I've treated you terribly."
"Yes you have," I heard but I couldn't even tell who had said it.
"I've treated you terribly and there's no excuse for it. Right now I can't even ask you to forgive me. I haven't earned that yet. But I am going to work to earn you forgiveness..., if you'll only let me."
"Show them," commanded Cynthia who drilled my heart with her words.
I silently unbuckled my pants and let them fall to my knees. I pulled the tails of my blue oxford shirt up above my waist. I couldn't look, tears streamed from my eyes and I again began to sob. But even as my chest was heaving, my hearing and thinking seemed to clear up suddenly, the way humidity disappears after a thunderstorm.
"Peach," someone gasped out, "he's wearing peach-colored panties."
What a strange thing to notice, I thought.
"You little sissy faggot."
Now they're getting down to it.
"You're not a man, you're a pansy. I can't believe we let you take advantage of us." A couple of women started to laugh.
"Are those your panties?" Someone asked.
"Damn right they are." That from Cynthia. "He shaves his body too, look at his legs."
A hand reached out and slid up my thigh. It felt like an electric shock. I twitched and my dick started to swell.
"Hey, look at this, there's no hair sticking out from the edges of his panties," said Marci who stuck a finger in the edge of the right leg hole, pulled it away from my leg and let it snap back. "Did you get a bikini wax, sissy?"
"Show them," Commanded Cynthia again.
I pleaded with her with my eyes, which must have revealed the terror and shame in my heart.
"Would you like Marci to help you, or are you going to be a man and do this by yourself?"
I stood frozen. After a moment, she nodded. Marci slid around behind me, hooked her fingers in the waistband of my panties, hesitated for just a beat before she quickly pulled them down to my thighs. Several of the women gasped audibly. Others started to laugh.
"Oh that's adorable. Where do you go for your waxing, sweetie?" Marci reached around and grabbed my balls. "Look he shaves these too. Oooh, sexy." and she slid her hand to my cock and gave it a few gentle strokes.
At the same time, she ground her hips into my butt. Despite the shame and humiliation and self-pity I was feeling, or maybe because of it, I was getting aroused! I had a group of women gathered around me and one was actually playing with my cock and balls. Who wouldn't get excited?
Then Betsy Stephens joined in again, "Oh, I think he likes being humiliated, look at her cute little clit just swell right up."
Marci continued to fondle my penis, assuring that it wouldn't do anything but swell right up. What a strange gathering. There in the middle was... me. By now, my pants were down around my ankles, I was holding the front of my shirt up with my hands, my silky peach panties were around my thighs, and a girl was standing behind me fondling my cock and rubbing herself on my back. Five other women formed a tight circle, all leaning in to get a better look. One, Cynthia, stood to the side with a decidedly amused, but satisfied look on her face.
"Are you a transsexual?"
That snapped me back down to earth. I slowly refocused my eyes to the reality in front of me. I had been wondering about that forever. Sometimes I thought so, sometimes, I couldn't tell. I looked up in wonderment. Marci's hand stopped for a moment, but she didn't let go of me.
"Maybe we should help him come out, to transition," said Kathleen, I couldn't believe she'd say anything. "Maybe he's like one of those guys on Jerry Springer.
"That's it," now Marci had jumped in. "He wants to be a girl but he's afraid. Lord knows he's afraid of everything else." She snorted her derision.
"Is that it sweetie?" Asked Cynthia now, sweetly sarcastic, "do you want us to help you become a girl? Do you want to be a little prissy girl for us?"
She started to laugh. So did everyone else. The laughter overwhelmed me and I felt like I was shrinking into insignificance.
For the second time in just a few moments, time seemed to stand still in the room. The sound of laughter rocketed through my head and my crying redoubled. For a moment I got nauseous. Then a long-suppressed memory came flooding back. I wasn't in a midtown office surrounded by a group of women; I was in the back of the locker room in 10th grade. I was trapped by a group of larger boys who found me a convenient target. They were laughing at me just like the women laughed now. I was wearing panties then too, but the boys didn't know that. I knew if they found out they would kill me.
"Look at him crying, what a baby. Nobody even touched him."
"He's not a baby, he's too big, but he's not a boy, he's too small. He must be a girl."
Oh god, they must know.
"Say it!" they chanted at me, "say it, say it, say it!"
Then someone I never even saw sunk his fist into my midsection. I doubled over onto the floor, gasping for air. They huddled over me.
"Say it. Say it. Say it." Someone kicked me in the back, then again in my arms, which were clenched over my stomach. I had to keep them from finding out.
"I'm a girl!" I blurted out without looking up. "Are you happy now, I said it. I'm a girl."
"You're worse than girl, you're a faggot sissy." One more kick banged off my ribs, and then, "come on, let's get out of here, this stinking little pansy makes me sick."
I lay curled up in a ball for awhile until I caught my breath and stopped crying. Then I realized I was in my office, not my school, and that it was now grown women who were laughing at me, not teenaged bullies. Now, finally, after all these years, my panties had been exposed.
"I think he would be cute." It was Kathleen again, "probably a lot nicer to us too."
"Well, we'll have to think about that. It's time to go back to work," said Cynthia who was taking over. "I'm sure that no matter what he becomes, he'll be a lot better behaved than he used to be. Won't you sweetie?" She lifted my chin with her hand and stared coldly into my eyes.
"Yes Ma'am."
"Shouldn't he be helping out with the break room now?"
"No," Cynthia replied dryly, "he won't be helping out." Groans arose from the crowd and she waited for them to die down. "He'll be taking care of it all by himself from now on." The groans turned to cheers and laughter.
"Well I need coffee," Marci shouted. That was greeted with a chorus of, "me toos."
Cynthia leaned towards me and said, "get them coffee, learn how they like it, you'll be doing it from now on. Let's get to work girls." And to me, "pull your pants up, you look ridiculous showing off your panties like this. It's not high school you know."
She knew! No, that's impossible.
Actually, it wasn't too bad after that. Getting coffee and cleaning out the refrigerator were about all I could handle then anyway. And besides, it gave me an opportunity to apologize to each of the women individually. A little penance never hurt any sinner.
As part of my efforts to gain forgiveness, I had lunch delivered to everyone. I served and cleaned up. There was still a lot of derisive talk, and some of the women grabbed me and fondled my ass, but after the earlier scene in my office, that was nothing.
After lunch, I started searching for ways to get into Bob Thornton's computer. Not having to hack the company system from the outside certainly made it easier, and by the end of the day, I had access to his computer and thought I might have found some ways to pin my crimes on him. It couldn't be this easy could it?
I hurried home, and 10 minutes after I had reached my apartment, the doorbell rang. Who could that be, I wondered as I peered through the peephole in my front door. Oh My God, I said to myself as my heart fell, it's Cynthia. I opened the door with my heart thudding in my chest.
"Hi there sweetie, glad to see me?" She gave me a thousand-watt smile as she sauntered into my living room, kissing me on the cheek as she passed by.
"Holy shit!" This is gorgeous, she said with real wonder in her voice.
I had inherited this condominium from my aunt just after I had gone to work at North State. It was in an older building that had been rent controlled, but beautifully maintained. The mortgage was paid and all I had to deal with was the upkeep. I had six rooms with nine-foot ceilings overlooking Riverside Drive and the Hudson River. At night, the lights on the cables holding up the George Washington Bridge shone like strands of enchanted pearls. I had worked at renovating the rooms from the day I moved in. I had invested all my bonuses here.
The living room was quite spacious, the kitchen, set off from the living room by a long counter, huge by city standards, and my bedroom had room for a queen-size bed and a separate sitting area. Most amazingly, it had a walk in closet. I must say that I have good taste, and it showed. I really liked antiques and most of the pieces were wood, many from the late 1800s. I also like rich primary colors, especially deep green, so all the fabrics echoed that theme. Also, I was very neat. There wasn't a thing out of place, even the throw pillows were arranged purposefully.
"Where's your bedroom? I want to see your closet." There were two hallways out of the foyer and I nodded towards a short hallway that ran next to the kitchen. Cynthia set off asking, "where are your clothes?"
I hesitated.
"Don't fool with me you little twit. Don't even try to tell me you don't have women's clothes. You still don't seem to understand what's going on, do you?"
She stalked right up to me and put her face in mine. Before I had a chance to react, she ordered, "get your clothes off, slave. Leave the panties."
I hurried to obey and soon stood there in nothing but my satin peach panties, and the bright red blush of humiliation. If it had been possible to physically shrink, I would have. As it was, my cheeks burned with shame and I could see that even my chest was red as I looked down at the floor after undressing.
"Now, where are your femme clothes?"
"Would you like me to show you Mistress, or do you want to go yourself. They're in the back room." I nodded to the hallway on opposite side of the room from the kitchen.
She started off and then said, "Come with me."
Then I heard a gasp. I knew she would be surprised. My face flushed with shame because I knew just why.
"This is yours? You've got to be kidding."
I was beside her now, "No Mistress... I mean yes Mistress..." My voice trailed off and then added, "I mean it's mine..."
The two rooms in front of us were in effect a separate bedroom suite. There was a bedroom with attached bathroom, and very ample sitting room. These rooms were a feminine dream. Flowery print upholstery with a gentle pastel lilac theme, lace table throws, delicate vases (with fresh cut flowers) soft impressionist-like paintings and soft lighting. The wallpaper picked up the lilac of the upholstery and had a cream stripe with dainty flowers printed all over it.
The bedroom was a lullaby of soft pink and a pinky off-white, with lace curtains, a white four poster bed with a ruffled baby-blue Laura Ashley bed spread with red flowers that picked up the color of the walls, and gently curving white furniture. The vanity was well stocked, not only with an array of makeup, but with crystal perfume bottles as well. Small sculptures of ballerinas sat on several pedestals on the dresser and side tables.
Cynthia's mouth actually hung open and her eyes were wide.
"Most of the furniture belonged to my aunt. She had it out front and in the master bedroom. I moved it in here when I redecorated the rest of the apartment."
I was really embarrassed because the room was in fact an expression of me and my taste. As she wandered around the room, I felt like Cynthia was staring into my brain.
"I had no idea…" her voice trailed off and she was silent for a minute or so. "Go get me a drink, a big one. Do you have anything to eat?"
"Some cheese and crackers, may be a couple of dips."
"Set them up for me and then get back in here and get dressed. I assume your clothes are in the closet in the bedroom."
I nodded and when I came back to the bedroom, she had already laid out some clothes but was still looking through my closet.
"You don't have that much, I'm disappointed. We'll have to fix that." As she turned from the closet to look over my vanity, she noticed that I had her drink in my hand. "I've changed my mind about that drink. I'll be back in an hour, you better be ready when I get here."
She picked up a bottle of nail polish and looked over at the clothes she had selected for me. Then she tossed the polish over to me. "Wear this - toes and fingers."
Fifty-five minutes later I was sitting at the vanity finishing my makeup. My fine, straight, dark brown hair was well over my collar, but I had combed out a matching wig, which I simply adored. It was set into a cute flip that just bounced off my shoulders and it had bangs that covered my eyebrows. I liked to wear it by tying a ribbon at the base of my head under the hair, with a bow on the top, right behind the bangs. That let the long hair hang loose but kept it out of my face.
Cynthia had selected my favorite twin set, in a pale pink, lightweight wool. The first layer was sleeveless, slightly cropped with a high round neckline. The cardigan was only slightly longer with little pearl buttons running down the front. She had also picked out a midnight blue rayon skirt with tiny pink roses printed all over it. The hem was three or four inches above my knees and it flared out at the bottom so it swirled deliciously when I moved. Dark blue hose and three-inch heels that matched the skirt made my legs look great. I was pretty neat when I applied my makeup but didn't really know the kinds of tricks that real experts used. As a result, I wasn't overdone, but neither was I glamorous. I had clip-on earrings, a couple of strands of fake pearls and a half dozen golden bracelets. My pinkish red lipstick matched my nails and complimented my sweater set.
I stood up and looked myself over in the mirror, smoothing my dress down my hips as I stood there. It was easier to see a young woman than a man in a dress. Certainly, others had made that mistake in the past, at least in a dark bar. But then I was younger and thinner, and Rachel did amazing things with my makeup.
I was in the kitchen, putting the glass that had held Cynthia’s drink, which I had finished in about five minutes, into the sink when the doorbell rang again. My heels had never sounded so loud as they did while I was crossing the hardwood floors to reach the door. They were even louder than my heart, which almost filled my consciousness. I checked the peephole, took a big breath, patted my hair, and opened the door. Cynthia looked at me expectantly even as she was walking through the doorway. She had a two-suiter slung over one shoulder, a stuffed overnight bag on the other, and a shopping bag from the local market in her hand.
"Here let me take those." I reached for her bags as I closed the door.
"No, step back I want to see you. Walk to the center of the room and turn around," she ordered letting her bags slide off her shoulders as she spoke. She never took her eyes off me. I walked the half dozen steps to the center of the living room with my head bowed. My legs were feeling a little shaky. Again I took a deep breath, lifted my head, and turned to face her. I tossed my head back and forth gently to flip the hair off my face. I just loved to do that.
"Holy shit," that actually sounded appreciative. "Turn around. Let me see."
I gave a little twirl, the skirt flaring out from my legs. She eyed me up and down critically, and walked to where I was standing. She reached out and I flinched.
"It's OK baby," she said softly and caressed my cheek with the soft pads of her fingertips. "Straighten up, stop slouching." As I straightened my posture, I looked into her eyes. She gently plucked at the shoulders of my cardigan to straighten it a little, just like a mother might do.
Then she turned decidedly un-motherly. She unbuttoned the top button of the cardigan, slid it off my shoulder on one side, and exposed my upper arm. She slid her hand gently up my arm to my shoulder and then slid her hand right down over my breast. She unselfconsciously felt me up right through my sweater! She fondled my fake tit for a moment in the palm of her hand, getting its feel. "Ooooh, so soft, they feel real." She ran her finger around the nipple.
"They're pretty expensive."
"They're worth it. I may not ever let you take them off again... until I get you real ones."
I started at that, but she had a soft, joking smile on her face that relaxed me. She had really hit one of my hot buttons: forced to get tits by a dominant woman. I was starting to get hard.
She continued to run her hand down my side and over my hip. Then she rubbed my crotch. "Is baby getting excited? Is little dicky getting hard in there?" She massaged my prick for a few moments until it was fully erect. Then suddenly, after lingering a moment more she was all business.
"No time for that now. I'm hungry. I brought some dinner. Set it out. You may set the table for two tonight. I want to get to know my new girlfriend. But Brad Miller had better behave himself. In fact, I'd prefer that he not show up at all."
"There isn't anyone but Brad Miller," I said apologetically.
"We'll see about that, I guarantee it. Let's eat." Wait, I can't call you Brad when you're dressed like that, what's your femme name?"
I blushed and looked down, then looked back up into her expectant face. "Lilly," I said softly, trying to make the name sound as lovely as it made me feel.
She jerked her head up at me and scrutinized my face. For a moment I thought I saw the color drain from her face. But a few seconds after that she relaxed and said, "what a sweet name. My grandmother's name was Lillian, and…" Her voice trailed off and she got a far away look in her eyes. Then she shook her head slightly and returned her attention to me.
"But you're being punished. You'll have to earn the right to be called by such a nice name. So I’m going to call you Sissy. Now, Sissy," she said it emphatically, though not harshly, "get me our dinner. We'll have a pleasant conversation and then talk business later."
Sissy, oh no, she had to be kidding. It was obviously meant to humiliate me, and it did. For the longest time I felt at least a twinge of humiliation every time anyone used that name.
Cynthia was really quite friendly and relaxed at dinner, although she called me Sissy at every opportunity and I blushed each time. She asked me about my cross dressing, my taste in clothes, and the overly feminine rooms I had created in my apartment. She wanted to know whether I was a transvestite or transsexual. I told her that I didn't know. She really seemed to be interested and wasn't the least bit threatening. She even gave me pointers on how to act and move, in a very helpful way. I actually started to relax.
As we finished dinner, she said to me, "where's your computer?"
"Huh?"
"I know you have a computer here, where is it?
"There's a small office next to my bedroom," I volunteered.
"Show me." Then casually, "Oh, bring my bags."
"You're going to sleep with me in my bedroom?" I asked.
"I didn't say that. Bring my bags."
We walked through the bedroom and I put her bags at the foot of my bed. She was already sitting at the computer when I entered my cozy little home office.
"Open your browser." She said it as if she were asking to see nothing more revealing than a new tie. "I want to see your bookmarks.
"Huh?" She just stared at me for a moment and I deflated. "It's not password protected, there's no one here but me. Just open Netscape."
"Go do the dishes and then wait for me in the other bedroom. Put on something sexy for bed, maybe we can have a little fun." She leered at me for a moment, caressed the inside of my thigh by reaching up my skirt, and turned towards the monitor. "Now, GO!"
"Sissy are you in there? Come on out, let me see you." She had been on the computer for more than two hours. I was so anxious I couldn't sit still. I had changed clothes four times already. When she called, I was sitting on the white four-poster bed, tying to read Allure. At her summons, I got up, settled the pale blue, mid thigh length kimono I was wearing over the even shorter matching chemise, slid my mules onto my feet and headed for the other room.
I had taken the ribbon out of my hair, so it fell right next to my face, darkened my makeup, and added a slightly heavier perfume. Cynthia was sitting on the floral sofa, studying the Tiffany style lamp that stood next to it.
"Come, sit." I carefully sat on the sofa next to her and she swiveled around to face me. She took my hands and turned my upper body towards her. "Let's see, for a year now, at least, you have been doing your best to make every woman in the office hate you. I was getting really angry with you. Then I uncovered your little embezzling scam. I could send you to jail and ruin your life."
I winced and looked down, tears started to form in my eyes as I again faced the enormity of my situation.
"But I'd rather not send you to jail."
My heart lightened for the first time in two days.
"I wanted to use you to get Thornton. Plus, I wanted to punish and humiliate you for the way you have been treating us. Then, I discover that you like women's clothes and have a decidedly feminine side to your personality." She gestured around the room. I blushed through my tears.
"Your computer, of course, was very revealing. I've never read much about TG's, but visiting TG sites seems to be about all you do on the web."
"I have quite a few friends out there on the web." I opened my eyes and looked down at my lap. The lace bodice of my chemise showed through the kimono. My false breasts rose and fell thrillingly with each breath and the hair from my wig hung down around both sides of my face. I gave a huge involuntary sigh, cocked my head slightly to get the hair out of my left eye, and looked up hesitantly, lifting my eyes before I moved my head. I had to see Cynthia's face.
"Oh ho, don't you flirt with me."
"What?" I turned away quickly, but not before seeing the amusement in her eyes. "I wasn't..."
"Oh really? That coy little movement of your head and then the slow peek up through your eyelashes isn't flirting? If that's not flirting, I'm not a girl." She had said that with mock sarcasm, but then added more sternly. "Look at me."
I looked up quickly, quickly turning my head to flip the hair out of my eyes. She had that intense gaze turned on again, but her words were soft, almost regretful.
"You still have to be punished, and you still have to make up for the way you have been behaving. You still have to get Thornton. And if you fuck up, I'm still angry enough to send you to jail in a heartbeat. But you are about to have your deepest wish fulfilled. We're going to explore your femininity."
She reached over and fluffed up my hair, then she caressed my cheek, letting her fingers linger over my lips. I kissed them. She smiled.
"There's no way I could miss all those femdom stories you downloaded. Do you want to be a sissy-maid? Does that idea turn you on?"
I blanched and tried to say something, but my mouth only quivered a couple of times before she said, "you're mine now, the fact that you might end up as a woman, or part woman, doesn't change that. But instead of a slave, perhaps I'll have a... maid?"
Before I could even think of anything to say, she stood up and looked down at me. "And a lucky little sissy-maid you will be. Your Mistress is moving in. I get the master bedroom you sleep in there." She pointed to the four poster bed. "I'm going to drown you in femininity. You're about to go on a journey of discovery. You'll discover whether you want to be a girl or not, and I'm going to be your guide. But, and this is a big but, you have to earn the right to be treated like a woman. Right now you are in trouble, young lady, how you behave will determine if, and how quickly, you get out of it."
My penis had already begun to harden. Before I knew it, she had reached into my lap to feel it. It hardened even further under her touch.
"I thought so. Yes, this could really be fun." She leered at me lustfully.
"Come, help me move in. Then I may let you worship my pussy a little, like last night."
Suddenly remembering my orders, I jumped out of bed and ran quickly into the shower, before shaving, as closely as I could. It never occurred to me to dress like Brad. Instead, I put on some foundation, a little blush and mascara, and then lipstick. I carefully placed my wig onto my head, and tied it up with a ribbon, like I had last night. It was just adorable.
I put my breast forms into a silky smooth lycra bra, that held them firmly in the right place, but still allowed a good deal of jiggle, and then pulled a stretchy, white, ribbed sleeveless tee over my head. I just loved the way the ribbing on the shirt stretched apart as it passed over my fake tits. With, my short denim skirt, plain ankle socks and my white Keds sneakers, I was cute sexy (or so I liked to imagine myself). I hurried off to the kitchen to make coffee and prepare Cynthia's breakfast.
I put everything on a tray and walked carefully to her bedroom. I peeked in the door and found her sitting up in bed. She had obviously been up, because her hair was brushed and she had on some lipstick.
"Come in Sissy, I've been waiting for you."
I blushed upon hearing the word Sissy, but simply said, "Yes Mistress, I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, but there's no alarm in the other... in... my.... in Sissy's bedroom."
I put the tray on the dresser and grabbed a bed table I kept handy, because I often ate in bed while watching TV. I placed the tray in front of Cynthia and stepped back.
"You know Sissy, a maid should curtsey when she comes into her Mistress's bedroom. Do you know how to curtsey, Sissy?"
"No Mistress."
"Well, we'll have to fix that won't we?" She asked and then proceeded to instruct me on the technique she preferred for full formal curtseys and for a simple bob up and down for less formal encounters. She then proceeded to eat breakfast while she had me practice.
"You know, Sissy, you just don't look right with those sneakers on. Go get some stockings and heels.
"Are pantyhose all right Mistress, this skirt is kind of short for real stockings?"
"Sissy! How dare you question me? Do what I said. And put on the black pleated skirt I saw in your closet and your white apron. You have three minutes. You had better be back in here before I finish eating."
"Yes Mistress." I curtsied before I turned and left. I was getting hard again. I was back in less than five minutes, and Cynthia was just finishing her coffee.
She put her cup down on the tray, "Umm, that was good, thank you Sissy, for the nice breakfast. I look forward to this almost every morning." She gave me a big smile. "You look very cute this morning. Why don't you help me get dressed now, we have a lot to do today."
"Yes Mistress." I risked a simple bob and she nodded.
Helping her dress was a combination of acute embarrassment and sexy fun. I mean, she was a sexy woman and being allowed to handle her clothes and touch her body really made me hot. Acting as her personal maid just turned the heat up another few notches. I was kneeling in front of her to pull up her panties when she started in on me.
"Well, Sissy, what do you think of yourself now? The big boss-man, down on his knees pulling his co-worker's panties up into place. What would the boys down at the bar say if they could see you now? Next time I go to the bathroom, I think I'll have you come in and wipe me. Maybe I'll have you do that for the girls in the office too."
Kneeling before my Mistress, tending to her while she verbally humiliated me was a tonic. I had no idea why, but I felt free. I hadn't felt so light-hearted in years. I felt... playful. Cynthia had seemed to like me before when I was verbally playful, so I thought I'd see how playful I could get. I looked up at her through my lashes, as I had done the night before, and as soon as I caught her eye, I purposefully planted a lingering kiss right on top or her vagina.
She pushed her hips at me for a moment and then jumped back in mock horror and squealed, "Sisssssy, What do you think you are doing. That's very presumptuous, young lady." And she whacked me on the head gently as she laughed. To me, at that moment, her laugh sounded like silver bells. She did like me to be playful. I had a definite hard on under my skirt. Then she really surprised me.
"That will never do young lady. Get over here." She had backed up to the bed and then sat down. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to her, pointing to her lap with her other hand. I didn't know what was going on as she pulled me down, I thought she wanted me to sit on her lap. But before I knew it, I was across her knees instead and she was pulling my loose skirt up over my ass. She started to spank me before I knew what had happened.
"Owww! What do you think you're doing?' I shouted in surprise, tensing my muscles, getting ready to force myself up.
All of a sudden, I was home again with my mother. She spanked me on occasion right on through high school, and especially enjoyed doing it when she had me dressed as a girl. Kyle had arrived any number of times to find me in tears and my mother gloating. "Oh, your big strong boyfriend is here, Brad. It’s a good thing he’s so strong, because you certainly do need someone to protect you, don’t you dearie?" She spanked me for only one reason, to humiliate me. It was another thing I hated her for. I had sworn that once I left home I would never let anyone punish me like that again. Why was I thinking about that now?
Cynthia had surprised me, but I knew that she couldn't hold me down. As small and weak as I was for a guy, I was still a lot stronger than most girls, and Cynthia was no Amazon.
"You just stay still!" she shouted, "Take your punishment like the submissive crossdressing sissy you are. Don't you dare use your physical strength against me." Then more quietly. "Don't ruin everything. Things can be nasty like they were at the office yesterday, or nice like they've been here since last night. Your choice."
As I realized where I was and what she was saying, I began to relax my body, finally collapsing over her legs with a big sigh. As I was lying there I told Cynthia why I reacted the way I did. "Mistress, I would never hurt a woman, well at least not one who wasn't trying to hurt me. At my size being hurt by an angry woman was a real possibility. My mom used to revel in her physical superiority over me."
"While she spanked me, she used to taunt me by calling me a feeble little pansy. She told me that I should have been born a girl. She humiliated me like that repeatedly."
Cynthia responded quietly, but with authority in her voice, "You’re not with your mom now, and I really want you to know what it’s like to be overtly submissive. You want that to don’t you?"
She was right. I did want her to spank me and put me in my place. This was about psychological dominance; physical strength had nothing to do with it. "Please mistress, spank me. I would never hurt you. If I ever do, just call the police right away. I would never be able to live with myself anyway."
"You can count on it, Sissy." That was very harsh, and I cringed. She continued in a more playful tone, "Now, are you ready to accept your punishment for the crime of kissing my pussy without permission?"
"Yes Mistress, please punish me Mistress. I have so much to learn."
She gave me twelve hard swats with the palm of her hand. It hurt, but not enough to make me cry. Even so, I was startled at how small and out of control this scene made me feel. Cynthia must have understood this might happen because she told me to hold my skirt up and go stand in the corner while she finished dressing. She berated me the whole time, like I was her 13 year old daughter who had failed to come home on time.
Facing the wall, my mind ricocheted from one thought to another until I was totally bewildered. The last two days had been a whirlwind of the most unlikely events. I had literally lost control of my life to a strong woman, my fondest desire. Things I desired and feared, but had only dreamed about, were coming true. Is it possible that I am standing here, in women’s clothing, just having gotten spanked, and that I had a painfully rigid hard on? It was all I could do to not rub myself against the corner to try to come. Did this woman have a road map to my psyche?
While I was standing there, holding my skirt up above my hips, my panty covered ass and hosed legs facing back into the room, Cynthia finished dressing and then went into the other room.
After a while, she called, "Sissy, get in here." She was sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter, the phone in her left hand. I wiggled into the room on my heels and bobbed quick curtsey in front of her. "We have much to do but first, we have to move me in. Then we have to go shopping for you. And third, we have to start your transition. If you're going to be licking my pussy, I want you prettier. Do you have any jeans?"
"Yes Mistress, in my closet." I pointed to the master bedroom.
"No you airhead, girls jeans."
"Oh!" I blushed, looking down. "Yes Mistress, but they're very tight."
"Good." She gave me that big smile again. "I like my girls in tight jeans. Go put them on. Leave the stockings, panties and bra, but take out the breast forms. Put your sneakers on. Me and my sissy are going out for a while."
"Oh nooo, Mistress, I can’t go out." My heart shuddered with embarrassments I had been imagining for many years. I had never been out in the daytime before.
"Do you want another spanking, Sissy?" My hands involuntarily flew up to the cheeks of my ass.
"Oh no Mistress," I curtsied, "I'm sorry Mistress," I bobbed up and down again. "I'll go get changed right now." I took a couple of steps towards my new bedroom, my heart beginning to accelerate from fear. But then I stopped.
I'd have to risk it. "Mistress," I said as I turned, not giving her time to reply, "may I please keep my breasts?" My hands came up to my chest and I was cupping one in each hand by the time I was facing her. I did the best I could to plead with my face. She looked at me for a moment and then burst out laughing.
"You’re begging me to wear breasts? This is too good." She laughed again. "Of course you can, sweetie," she said with overly sweet sarcasm. "You can keep your breasts. But if you get me angry they're coming right off. I don't care where we are." Her laughter followed me to the bedroom. I didn't care. I was going out fully dressed as a woman for the first time in almost six years. The first time ever in the daylight.
Thirty minutes later we were at her apartment. I double parked my Jeep Cherokee by a hydrant and began to follow Cynthia inside. I tried to be a little feminine in my movements, but without heels on, I really didn't know how to walk "girlishly." I desperately didn't want to have to look anyone in the eye, so I didn't look up until I had opened the door to the lobby. Once inside, I stopped dead. I mean, totally dead, my feet stopped, my hands stopped in mid-air, my breathing stopped and my heart stopped.
There, chatting with Cynthia were Marci and Kathleen. They too were dressed in jeans and tee shirts. They were both smiling as they looked up at me.
"Oh, Sissy," they shouted together as they turned to me.
"You look so sweet." That was Kathleen. Marci just pointed at me and started to laugh.
Cynthia pushed her with both hands. "Marci, behave yourself, you said you would."
"Oh, honey," Marci said trying to stifle her laughter as she came over to me with her hands out, as if for a hug. I cowered back towards the doorway. "You're adorable!"
Then she hugged me. I stayed tense for a moment, waiting for her to strike again, but then I really got off on the feeling of her breasts pressed into mine. So I took a risk and relaxed into her hug.
She grabbed me by my shoulders, pulled herself away from me, and looked at me from arm's length. Marci had remarkably dark eyes and they flashed at me. "I'm sorry I laughed at you, Sissy, but for a moment I thought you were Brad Miller, that nasty old boss from my office."
Then she pulled me closer and lowered her voice, as if we were sharing a secret. "I'm really angry at him and wouldn't mind embarrassing him," Marci's voice got tight and picked up a hard edge. "He better not show up when I'm hanging out with my girlfriends." She glanced back at Kathleen and Cynthia, who both wore huge grins.
"Are you here to help Cynthia move, Sissy?" Marci asked light and sunny again, but really emphasized the "Sissy." I was too shocked to say anything.
Cynthia applauded lightly. "That was very well done Marci, a wonderful recovery. Let's get going girls." She emphasized the word girls and stared at me.
I curtsied and said "Thank you Mistress." She laughed and then hustled us all into elevator.
Over the next couple of hours we moved all of Cynthia's clothes down into my car and the minivan Kathleen had borrowed from her parents to bring her stuff here. We moved Kathleen's stuff into Cynthia's now empty closets. Cynthia was going to let her use apartment while she was at "her new place." Kathleen was just overjoyed about this because there was no way she could afford to move out of her parent's house on her current salary.
"You should thank Sissy dear, if she hadn't insisted that I move into her place to take care of her, all this wouldn't have been possible." I stared at Cynthia with wide-eyed admiration for her easy lie as Kathleen threw herself into my arms in thanks.
"Oh Sissy, you're so much nicer than that mean old Mr. Miller. What was the matter with him anyway?" She said laughing lightly.
Ummm... more breast to breast hugging. Brad Miller was taking a beating from these women, but Sissy seemed really to be in favor. Maybe this could be fun.
We headed back to my, excuse me, Cynthia's apartment. Once everything was upstairs, Cynthia insisted I make iced tea for her and the girls. "But first, change back into your black skirt and heels. And put on the apron. I won't have my maid wandering around the apartment in jeans and sneakers. The very thought of it." She giggled.
So the three of them sat in the living room and directed while I moved all of my stuff out of "her" bedroom and into "Sissy's." After my first trip between the two bedrooms, she called me over to the couch. "Here let me fix your hair." She had gotten a red bandana from somewhere and put it over my head, tying it in the back.
"Thank you Mistress. I curtsied and went back to work. As soon as I got an opportunity, I peeked in a mirror. It was cute and I loved it. The bandana pulled my hair back behind my ears and turned the ends of the flip outwards. I just wished I had earrings. Big gold hoops would have been perfect.
Later, after a light lunch, Cynthia invited Marci and Kathleen over for dinner that evening and they left. Cynthia then had me get undressed and took a variety of measurements around my chest, waist, hips and other places. Then, it was back into the short denim skirt, with pantyhose and sneakers. I had a cropped jacket that matched the skirt and the red bandana she had put in before just went with it perfectly. I loved the way my breasts forced the jacket to stay propped open.
The trip out was a surreal experience. First we walked a few blocks to "get me used to being out." My mind was overwhelmed with little details like the bounce of my hair, and the bobble of my breasts. I had to work to keep my purse on my shoulder. Every time someone looked at me, my heart raced and I braced for some kind of nasty comment. In fact, all I was got a couple of stares, a couple of winks, and a "hey sweetie" or two. Well, I thought to myself, this is New York City; there are lots of people stranger looking than me. In the overall scheme of things, I just wasn't very flamboyant.
At one point, noticing my anxiety, Cynthia simply said, as if my concerns were just imaginary. "You're my sissy, that's all you need to be. Keep your head up and your back straight young woman."
I went from elation about the way I felt to fear of where I was about 50 times in four blocks. I was light headed from the mixture of joy and anxiety.
Then we hopped in a cab and rode downtown. The first stop was Cynthia's hair salon. I froze as I began to get out of the cab and realized where we were headed.
"Come on, Sissy, let's go." Cynthia was trying to drag me out of the car.
"Yeah SISSY, get going" mocked the cab driver.
That got me out of the cab in a hurry, but not much farther. I stood paralyzed in front of the salon door. "Sissy, if you embarrass me I will make certain you are humiliated. As it is, you will have to be punished for your disobedience. Now get going."
So in we went. They obviously knew Cynthia because everyone greeted her by name. The receptionist looked from her to me and started to smile as if she were quite amused.
"Is this the little sissy?" she asked with mock sincerity.
"Yes Connie, you know what to do with him?"
"Oh yes, Miss Morrison. Everything's ready. It'll just be a few minutes. Why don't you have a seat."
I groaned inwardly. I had to sit in the window of a hair salon, I wished I could fall through the floor instead.
"OK Sissy, pay attention." Cynthia had her stare back on. I looked down as soon as I saw it.
"That's a very good instinct Sissy, keep practicing it. Now listen to me and don't say a word. This afternoon is the beginning of your transition. You are coming out at work on Monday. Not completely, but you will show some changes that will accelerate over time. Today you will get a new hairstyle, your nails will be done and there will be a couple of surprises. Do we need to talk about what happens if you don't cooperate?"
I just looked up at her tentatively and shook my head slowly back and forth.
"Give me your hand sweetie." I picked up my left hand, but she said, "no, the other," so I placed the right in her outstretched palm. "I know this is scary for you, but it's what you really want. In fact, I would say you’re lucky. If I hadn't discovered what you were up to and intervened, who knows where you would have ended up. If our controller had caught you, you'd already be in jail. Now you don't have to worry about any of that. I'm in charge and I'll make the decisions. I promise not to hurt you, if you do things my way."
I stared into her eyes trying to discover whether I could trust her or not. I desperately wanted to give myself over to her control, but I was scared. It's one thing to have fantasies about being controlled by a dominant woman when you are jerking off in the privacy of your own bedroom, it's another to have such a woman actually take over your life, and do it out in public. And this was all going so fast. As I looked intently at Cynthia, I had a vision of another strong, dark-haired lady, my mother. I shuddered involuntarily. If she was like my mother... I couldn't go there, it was too scary.
"Here sweetie, drink this, it will help you relax." It was Connie with a glass of wine. I was a barely able to whisper out a thank you I was so nervous.
"A few more of those as the afternoon goes on wouldn't be too bad an idea," Cynthia said as she watched me down the whole thing in a couple of gulps.
"Really," Connie agreed, giggling as she took the glass back from me before I could even look up. She headed off to fetch another.
"Sissy, I'm going to give you something that will help you deal with this."
She reached into her purse and I thought she would hand me a tranquilizer or something. But that's not what she pulled out. It was a ring! She took my hand and said, "let's see if this fits."
She slid the gold band with three small emeralds on it over the fourth finger. It got stuck for a second at the last joint, but with a slight twist, it slid gently into place. I just stared at it with my fingers spread apart and my palm facing away from me, just like a woman. I was stunned, frozen in place. She reached out and gently lifted my chin so that I was looking in her eyes.
"You're mine now. You don't own this ring, it owns you. Whenever you get a little nervous, just look at your ring. It will help you remember who you are and what your situation is. It will also help you understand my commitment to you. This ring was my grandmother's. I wouldn't give it to you if I didn't intend to take good care of you."
She enveloped my hand with both of hers and we just sat silently for a moment. Tears started to form in my eyes. What was I to think? This was an engagement ring! Even though it wasn't on my left hand, there couldn't be any doubt about it. But she didn't offer to marry me. This was something else altogether. I wasn't sure what yet. I felt like the ring was glowing, that everyone could see it, like the beacon shining from the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. I glanced around quickly. Of course, no one at all was even looking at us. My heart raced in my chest and my thoughts were too jumbled to be useful. Everyone could now see that I belonged to Cynthia.
"This will be nice Sissy. They're going to take real good care of you here. These people are my friends they won't let anything bad happen to you, unless, of course, you disobey them."
We sat together for about 10 more minutes before Shelly came out to get me. She gave Cynthia a big hug and they exchanged gossip for a moment.
"Hi Sissy, she turned to me with a curious smile. Let me see who Ms. Morrison is making such a big deal over."
I finally came out of my trance. All of a sudden, I felt like a bug on display at a museum. Well, about as big and significant as a bug anyway. I quickly hid my hand, but she was interested in my face. She lifted my chin with her fingertips and her smile brightened.
Oh, very nice Cynthia. This will be a joy. I think it will take about three hours. Have fun shopping."
"Bye sweetie." Cynthia gave me one of those fake hugs and air kisses that women are always exchanging so they don't smudge their makeup.
"Oh, don't pout. They're not going to cut your dick off, just make you pretty." She turned to leave, wiggled her fingers at me like girls do, and said, "ta ta." And she was out the door.
Shelly led me to the back and gave me a smock to put on over my clothes. She walked me to her station and gently took off my wig. Then she ran her fingers through my real hair.
"Very nice, so fine, and straight, and soft... and so much of it. I'll bet you never get the frizzies, do you?"
I nodded my agreement. My hair was fine and straight. It had never done anything but hang straight down. For years I had worn it in the standard male pony tail, low on my neck. When I wanted to dress, I could leave it loose or set it to get a little body. Although it was over my collar now, when I had been with Rachel, it was almost to my shoulder blades. Guys loved it.
"I've got just the style for you. You will be so fashionable."
"Wait a minute. What are you going to do?" I blurted out.
"Well I'm going to give you an everyday style so you can either look femmy when you want to, or a little androgynous if you have to. She didn't say anything about this wig," she held up the one I had worn in, "but we can wash and style this one too if you like."
"Yes, please," I said petulantly. I like this one, I think the flip is so cute." I was so nervous I was whining.
"It is cute. But Cynthia wants to update your look a little. She has very sophisticated tastes and she demands that all her girls meet her standards."
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but before I could get it together to ask, Shelly had my head back in her sink and was washing my hair.
When Cynthia came back to get me a few hours later, I was a new man. I had beautifully manicured nails, not too long yet, but with a lovely oval shape and flashy red polish. The manicure girl kept gushing on and on about my beautiful ring and my soft hands. She did my toenails the same color and then gave me a surprise.
"Cynthia left this for you as well," she said. And she slipped a thin gold ring onto my second toe. "It will look sooo sexy when you wear sandals." I just flushed.
My makeup was simply exquisite. The woman who did my face knew all about color selection and shading and all those other things women need to know about their faces if they want to look their best. She spent a good deal of time explaining what she did so I could duplicate it, or at least try. And she plucked my brows into a frighteningly well defined arch, thicker towards the middle, and then thinning before they turned sharply down before reaching the outside corners of my eyes. They were perfect..., for a girl. I went from thinking that maybe I was kinda cute to feeling absolutely delectable. I was in love with myself. My ears were pierced - twice each. For now, both holes had studs, but Shelly kept telling me that I now had a huge choice of earrings, and that with my new hair, I would have ample opportunity to show them off.
I guess that was true. She had parted my hair in the middle and layered it so that it looked full. It hung almost to my jaw line at the front and sides, and to the middle of my neck in back. If I swept it from the front to the back of my head, it flowed forward again in a thick curtain. It might have been unisex, but not in combination with my new eyebrows. I simply looked rather feminine, cute and feminine. Because it was parted in the middle, the hair on the both sides of my face was always going to be falling in front of my eyes so that I would have to flip it away or tuck it behind my ear every time I wanted to see out of one side or the other. If I looked down, it fell like a heavy drape next to my face. Shelly showed me how to use gel to brush it all straight back over the top so it looked kind of masculine.... to someone who was blind anyway.
But dressed and made up the way I was, I didn't look masculine at all. I looked like someone's secretary, or younger sister, or girl friend. Sitting in the safety of Shelly's workstation, I was absolutely delighted. I virtually squealed with pleasure when I saw the whole look. I definitely needed dangly earrings. I couldn't wait for the piercings to heal.
When Cynthia came back in I was sitting in Shelly's chair and playing with my hair. She walked up behind me and put her hands on either side of my head, running her fingers through it as if it was more valuable than spun gold.
"Oh Sissy," she moaned in my ear, "you are just gorgeous."
"Cyn.... Mistress!" I was startled. "Isn't it lovely?" I leaned my head back against her breast. Then I sat back up. "And look at my fingernails!" I lifted both my hands and wiggled my fingers in front of her face. "And look at this beautiful ring someone gave me. What do you think it means?"
"It must be magic," said Shelly, who appeared from around the corner it's transformed you into a lovely young lady.
Cynthia looked at me with admiration. I figured this was a good time to flirt with her and try to dust off some old moves. So I flipped my head to the right throwing the hair on that side back for a moment. Before it could rebound back into place, I looked down and peered up through my eyelashes, cocking my head towards my right shoulder. By the time I could see again, my hair had flowed over my right eye and come to rest, hanging slightly away from my face.
Cynthia burst out laughing and threw her arms around me. "Don't you dare flirt with me like that, you little tramp. Shelly, what have you been teaching her?"
Shelly was laughing too. "I never.... Cynthia, she acts like she's still in high school, for god’s sakes. Can't you find someone older to take advantage of."
I looked hurt, at least as hurt as I could manage while trying not to laugh. They both stared at me expectantly, Cynthia with a cocked eyebrow, which said, this better be good.
"Well, I never had a chance to practice this stuff growing up like you two did. I need to brush up to catch up with you guys." The both renewed their laughter.
"Come on, you little trollop, we're going shopping."
That got my attention. I started to protest.
"Quiet Sissy," Cynthia hissed. "Just do what I say. Get into the back room I have something new for you to wear."
I stood up and grabbed my purse, then turned to her and dropped a quick short curtsey. "Yes Mistress. Sorry Mistress. I'm just scared, that's all." Shelly looked on in wonder.
Cynthia turned to Shelly "She'll be punished later. She just doesn't know when to shut up and listen."
She threw her arms around Shelly's shoulders and hugged her. "Thank you dear, you do great work." Then she turned back to me with an impatient look on her face.
"Thank you Miss Shelly, you made me look prettier than I could have ever imagined, scrumptious in fact." Then I took my right hand and pulled the hair back from my eyes, just so I could let it flow back in front of my face again. I leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"Now you're learning," Cynthia beamed at me. "What a polite little girl."
It didn't take too long in the changing room for me to get into Cynthia's "gift". It was a corset, a severely boned satin corset in a creamy off white color. Cynthia only took my thin waist down a couple of inches, but that made a huge difference in my figure. All of a sudden my skirt was a little loose in the waist.
"We'll just have to get you something new then, won't we?" Cynthia asked when I pointed out the problem. "Let's go."
In a few minutes we were back on the street and I was getting really nervous again. Cynthia just didn't care. We started visiting the boutiques and specialty shops that abounded in this neighborhood. Cynthia treated me like I was her slightly stupid girlfriend or naive little sister on her first shopping spree to the big city.
Only three of the many saleswomen and shop girls we encountered that afternoon figured out what was going on, even though Cynthia called me Sissy in front of all of them. Cynthia's enthusiasm was so infectious that only one of the girls who read me even bothered to torment me; the other two just went along with her. As if buying girl's clothes for a slightly dumbfounded and thoroughly humiliated guy with beautiful hair and scrumptious makeup was the most natural and fun thing in the world. Even so, the slightly condescending way she treated me left me feeling vaguely embarrassed all afternoon. Cynthia was completely in charge. Even while she was humiliating me, she encouraged me, she cajoled me, she swept me away on a wave of enthusiasm that I couldn't resist.
By the time the taxi dropped us off at my apartment I was emotionally wasted, and had spent more than $2,000 on shoes, clothing, and accessories.
We had indeed replaced my denim skirt with a smaller one. It was tighter and shorter. My sneakers were gone and I had a pair of clunky two inch heels that just made the outfit. And I had a pair of the cutest sunglasses. They were white, in a kind of a fifties style, with pointed corners. I looked like a girl from "Grease" or "American Graffiti." My feet were killing me.
"I need a shower," she said as we dragged everything upstairs, "and so do you. Come on, you can wash me."
"Excuse me?" She was inviting me to shower with her?
"Sissy, sometimes I don't know how you get through the day, you are so thick." She shook her head at me like I was a six year old girl. You are my maid aren't you? I really couldn't keep up with her, mentally or physically. She was already on her way to the shower. She stopped and turned on me.
"SISSY! Get your ass in here. When are you going to figure out what is going on? When your Mistress speaks to you, just do what she says. Come on!" And she stared that baleful stare at me. "I'm tired of having to ask you twice. GET IN HERE!"
I was really only a couple of steps behind her, but she had made up her mind. She sat on the edge of the bed. "Over my lap, girly. You need another lesson. Take your skirt off. "
So she spanked me again. Twelve swats, six on each cheek. Then six more for not going into the salon when first asked and six more for not responding more quickly when she told me to go to the changing room. Being an adult male, and allowing yourself to be spanked by a woman who is weaker than you is a strange thing. Cynthia clearly proved that she was strong enough to make it hurt though. But pain was definitely not the issue here. This was simply a ritualized expression of dominance and submission. This time though, she raised the stakes.
"I don't like you just lying there like a dead fish," she said after the first half dozen swats. "I want you to squeal with pain and kick your luscious little legs in frustration." She caressed the inside of my thigh.
I just lay there silently, trying to understand what she had just said. I can't just take this like a stoic guy? I have to behave like a little girl? I needed to put on a little act for her...while she spanks me?
SWAT! The hardest spank yet, I jerked my head around. She had a hairbrush! She hit me again. I yelped and both my legs shot up at the knee.
"That's it, sweetie. That's just what I want to see. The more you convince me that this hurts and you can't take any more, the more gentle I'll be. Does mommy's clever little girl understand?
This was to be a scripted dance! This had nothing to do with pain at all, except maybe for psychic pain. My punishment was to act like a little girl even though nothing terrible was going to happen to me. I figured I could handle that. After all, no one could see, right? So as she continued to spank me, I squealed and yelped at each swat and kicked my legs up and down like a little baby. The intensity of her swats diminished as my reaction to them increased. Instead of pain, acute feelings of humiliation, helplessness, and sexual arousal now swirled through my consciousness.
I couldn't take it. My emotions overwhelmed me and I started to cry. And as I squirmed around there crying and kicking, I discovered I could rub my penis against her thighs. Thank god no one could see.
But she was pleased with my little performance. When she was done, she held me lightly with a hand on my inflamed butt and said, "Did little Sissy enjoy rubbing his clitoris on Mistress's legs."
Now I was immersed in shame over my behavior. Why did I think she wouldn't notice?
"That will cost you." She hit me 6 more times, really hard. I cried for real. "Maybe if you are a good, good little Sissy I might spank you long enough to let you come some day. But don't you dare do it without my permission."
"Oh Mistress, I would never do that." I said the word "never" with as much exaggeration as I could get into my voice. She whacked my butt again and threw me onto the floor, laughing.
When we got into the shower, we had a wonderful time rubbing our soapy bodies against each other. The only problem is that I had to get my beautiful new hair wet when I went down on her. She made up for it though, when she slithered behind me and jerked me off with soapy hands. Then, once we were out of the shower, she blew my hair out for me. She let her lovely breasts caress my back and shoulders as she did. I had a hard on the whole time. I was in heaven.
Then she told me to go into my room, where I would find some packages. I was to put on the black lingerie from Victoria's Secret, and the white apron from Laura Ashley. "I know you like Laura Ashley," she noted with some amusement. Also, my new black heels. I was to let her sleep for an hour and then bring her a glass of wine.
When I got to my room I discovered how she had spent the time while I was in the salon. There were at least a dozen shopping bags piled by the bed, all from clothing stores. I checked one of the receipts. It was charged on one of my credit cards! It looked like I had spent closer to $3500 on clothes today! God, how was I going to afford all this?
An hour and a half later I was removing the wineglass from Cynthia's room. I was dressed in a new corset, this one in black. I had tied it snuggly, but couldn't really take my own waist down that much by myself. A beautiful full lacy bra to hold my breasts forms, panties and seamed black stockings, which were hooked to garters that hung from the corset. The apron turned out to be rather small, but all white and edged in ruffles all around. It had a short bib that ended right at nipple height, and shoulder straps. I felt rather stupid dressed like that, but really kind of sexy too. Cynthia had made a big deal out of inspecting and caressing me when I first showed up in her room, rather hesitantly. She had me stand sideways to the mirror and put each leg in turn up on a trunk, to be sure my seams were smooth and straight. God, was that sexy.
I was just beginning to get her dressed when the doorbell rang. Before I could even become startled she said, "Get that, will you Sissy dear?"
"What?"
"That will cost you another spanking." She went from sweet to angry in a heartbeat. Then she went on a little more softly. "Trust me dear, I told you that you were going to be punished and humiliated, that is out of your control." Before she could say anything else, the doorbell rang again.
"It's only Marci and Kathleen. They have a present for you. Now scoot."
Only Marcia and Kathleen? Was she kidding? Here I was dressed in nothing but sexy, black, women's lingerie and a frou-frou apron and I'm supposed to let two secretaries from my office into my home? Nonetheless, I sighed and started for the door, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the foyer.
I tried to figure out how I was going to deal with these two feisty women. "And greet them properly," rang out from the other room as I approached the door. I took a deep breath, smoothed my apron over my thighs with the palms of my hands, and opened the door. As I swung it open, I stepped back behind it so it mostly hid me from the hallway.
"Good evening, Miss Marci. Good evening, Miss Kathleen, won't you come in? I bobbed a simple curtsey, but kept my eyes down.
They both stood there in the doorway staring at me. "Holy shit," said Marci at just about the same time that Kathleen said "Oh my God." Neither one moved out of the doorway. Marci figured out what I was doing right away and would have none of it.
"Come out from behind that door, Sissy. Let us see what you look like," said Kathleen. I reluctantly let go of the door and took a step away from it.
"Turn around," said Marci.
It took me three or four little steps to make a complete turn in the three inch spike heels and I kept my head down.
"Look at me, let me see your face," ordered Marci who wasn't going to let anything past her.
So I slowly looked up, flipping my head to the side as I did so to throw the hair off my right eye. Right then, I saw two of my neighbors, Miss Marks and Mrs. Fellows, walk past the doorway and do a double take. At the same time, Marci stepped forward, grabbed my head in her two hands, pulled my face to hers and planted a big kiss right on my lips.
"You're adorable." She beamed at me. "I just love your hair." Then she reached around a caressed my ass and the skin between my panties and stockings. "Ooooh, what a delicious tush, and such soft skin."
My face burned with shame and my heart filled with panic. Not only was she treating me in a most demeaning way, but my neighbors were watching the whole thing. They were absolutely goggle eyed. What must they be thinking? How long would it take them to tell everyone in the building? Marci kept her hand possessively on my hip as she took a step around me. It was only then that she noticed we had an audience.
"Hi," she waved at them. "Isn't he adorable?" Kathleen stepped forward with a shopping bag in her hand.
Then Kathleen finally spoke, "hi Sissy. Marci's right you know, you do look delectable. You're one of the prettiest girls in the office." She said that with real sincerity, but I continued to blush furiously and refused to look up. "But most girls don't just walk around in their underwear you know. Especially when their neighbors are watching."
She turned on them. "It's really not polite to stare you know," then, after a polite pause, "good night," with a most lovely lilt in her voice. Only then, did she finally shut the door. A moment later she burst out laughing. Marci joined her, a second after that. Kathleen approached me through her laughter holding the shopping bag out for me to take.
"This is for you. So you have something to put on over all that sexy lingerie." She handed me the bag."
"What....?"
"Would you please take my jacket dear?" Marci had turned her back to me offering her right shoulder. I put down the bag and hurried over to her to help her slip her jacket off.
"So sweet." She patted my cheek, as I stood there astounded at her arrogance. "But your steps are a little to long for someone as girlish looking as you. You need to shorten your stride. You know, mince a little. What are we drinking?"
Before I could reply, Kathleen tossed me her coat. "Marci's right, you know. Now don't let me see another long stride out of you. Didn't your mother teach you anything?"
I curtsied, and said "Yes miss, I mean, no miss, she didn't." Then I clipped off to hang up their coats, trying to keep my steps closer together and slow my heart rate to a speed that wouldn't kill me. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, so my hips swayed a little more as I walked. As I turned back into the room, they were both looking at me with an obvious question on their faces. I minced back to offer them drinks, still reeling from the fear and embarrassment they had heaped on me only a few moments before. I dropped a respectful curtsey and started to ask what they wanted.
Marci cut me off, "What's that on your finger sweetie?" She said it as if we were in a conspiracy together.
"Oh! My ring...Cynthia gave it to me..." My voice, which had started off strong and excited, trailed off to a whisper as I realized what I was saying. I looked down in shame yet again and blushed furiously. Kathleen grabbed my hand and pulled it up so they could examine this object that now felt like it was burning right through my finger. Just then Cynthia walked in from the bedroom.
"Hi girls."
"Cynthia," said Kathleen, "He's beautiful."
They gushed to her about what was going on and where we were, how I looked, and....about the ring. I just stood there, looking like a polite maid, trying to breathe at a normal rate. In truth, I was too humiliated to talk. My mouth was as dry as dust in the sun, I was hyperventilating again, and I could feel my cheeks flaming. I was too scared to look up.
Finally Cynthia shushed them. "Yes, I put it on him earlier today. I wanted to give him something to remember me by," her voice hardened a little as she went on, "and to help him remember what his situation is." And then it softened, "and to help him feel sweet and girlish, and to remind him that if he behaves himself, this might be fun for him. It's going to be fun for me in any case."
Then she turned to me, "I'll take care of things in here for awhile, you go get dressed. I can't believe you went to answer the door with no clothes on. Have you no shame?" Her voice seemed lovely as she teased me gently and she gestured at the shopping bag as she spoke. And put the big white ribbon in your hair."
Well, as you probably guessed, the "dress" was a black satin maid's uniform. Looking at it in the mirror as I held it up in front of myself, I knew that it would probably come only to mid thigh, but with two petticoats, I doubted whether it would cover the tops of my stockings. It had a lace trimmed scooped neckline that might actually show the top of my fake breasts, and puffed up sleeves, which ended in lace bands that would go across my thin biceps. The big floppy white ribbon that Cynthia had mentioned matched my apron. No matter how big I made the bow, the ends still trailed down the sides of my face. As I held the dress up in front of me and looked at myself in the full-length mirror, I almost came in my panties. This was really too much. I was being forced to dress as a woman, in a maid's uniform no less, and serve my Mistress and her girl friends. I'd have a hard on for the rest of my life, if I just managed to live through the evening that is. How much humiliation can one person stand? I was about to find out.
Then a minor disaster struck. The dress was too tight through the waist. My corset would have to be tightened, but I couldn't do it myself. I would have to endure the embarrassment of asking Cynthia for help. So I took the dress off, put my kimono on and went back to the other room. I peeked into the foyer.
"Mistress?" I could feel the heat as my face flushed with embarrassment. "Could you help me Mistress?" I was whispering, as if the other two women somehow couldn't hear me if I didn't speak up.
"What's the matter Sissy? What's taking you so long? Speak up girl."
"I… uhh... I need help with my corset Mistress."
"What do you mean Sissy? Are you too FAT to get into your uniform?"
What else could I say? "Yes Mistress, I guess I am."
"Just wait for me girls," she said as she put her drink down and started in my direction. "Sissy we're going to have to put you on a diet." Her voice was stern, but her eyes were crinkled with glee. She must have planned this. Marci and Kathleen just laughed.
"He's only been a girl for one day and already he needs to go on a diet." Kathleen blurted out. I think even my back blushed as I returned to my new bedroom.
Ten minutes later we were all back in the living room, but now I could barely bend over and was panting to catch my breath. The corset had cut down my waist at least another two inches and I simply couldn't breathe from my diaphragm. It was so rigid I could only take short breaths by expanding my upper chest. Now, just breathing was hard work. Not only that, but each breath pushed my breasts up and out like they were begging for attention. Breathing was hard work and embarrassing.
But, glory be, I was the maid. My name was Sissy. Marci especially like to call to me. "Oh Sissy-maid, come here please." I was ogled, patted, coddled, caressed, hugged, humiliated, ordered about, instructed, corrected, ignored, fawned over, and laughed at. I was either the center of attention or ignored as if I wasn't there at all. I must have made a thousand curtsies. I minced around the room in my high heels, and reveled when they clicked against the hardwood floors.
I had to straighten the seams on my stockings at least a half dozen times. At one point they tied my ankles together with a couple of scarves to make sure I only took short steps. I had to bend at the knee because I couldn't bend at the waist and I felt so feminine when I did it, that I looked for opportunities to do it again and again. My hand motion, elbow position, and word choice were constantly criticized and modified.
By the end of the evening, I was really quite swishy. They had made me into a bit of a parody of woman-hood and I basked in my humiliation. They also made it a point to constantly keep me hard by caressing my penis at every opportunity.
Kathleen especially seemed to enjoy holding it, and at one point had me stand next to her for 15 minutes as she sat on the couch talking to Marci and Cynthia while she played with me through my panties. I was under strict orders not to cum, as if I could control it.
To make sure I was always aware of how I felt, every so often, Cynthia would stop me and tell me to describe what I was experiencing, beginning with the physical sensations created by my clothes and including the emotional sensations created by my situation. Each time my description had to include more detail, and I had to pay special attention to use more of the kinds of words that girls (forget women) used when they talked, like totally.
"I am the maid (I curtsied deeply). I am serving at a party thrown by my darling Mistress (I curtsied and threw Cynthia a kiss) for her two delicious girlfriends (I curtsied to each of them). I'm wearing scrumptious black patent leather heels that arch my foot into just the most erotic position, and sheer, smoky nylons that make my legs glisten irresistibly and slither over each other when they touch. The lacy black garters that hold them exert a constant tug on the stockings and whisper across my bare thighs as I move." While saying that, I put my foot up on the cocktail table and caressed my left leg from my ankle to my thigh, pulling my skirt up to check my garters.
Dinner was ordered in, and of course I was commanded to meet the delivery man at the door, and act sexy for him. He just seemed confused. I mean, really, who has a French maid these days? After I had served the "girls," I had to stand by while they ate. Only then was I allowed to get a bite and clean up.
When I was done, and everyone had coffee, Cynthia announced that it was time for the fashion show. She invited Kathleen and Marci into my bedroom to watch. They hadn't been to that part of the apartment yet, but went nuts when they did. Marci could not resist dancing around and mocking me with the femininity of it all. I must say, however, that they simply loved my new clothes. So did I.
Mostly they were work clothes, a couple of dresses, three skirts with blouses, and two suits. Everything was on the short side. There was a dusty rose colored suit, with a pleated skirt and tailored jacket that was just to die for. I wore it first with a cream colored silk tank top and pearls. Then Kathleen suggested that I take off the top and wear a camisole in its place. She was right. The jacket showed just a hint of lace from the top of the camisole that made me just shiver with delight.
While this was going on, Marci and Kathleen had snuggled up together on the couch in my lacy sitting room. At first I wasn't sure, but after awhile it was clear that they were definitely fondling each other. After 90 minutes or so, I had tried on five or six outfits and was getting into a slinky, high-neck, long sleeve red dress that buttoned all the way up the back. It barely reached mid thigh. I had put it on by myself in the bedroom and come back into the sitting room to have someone help me button it. The girls had been taking turns helping me dress, and took every opportunity to caress me while they were doing it. The whole thing had become a terrifically erotic treat. I really wanted to feel more hands on my body.
When I walked into the room, however, Kathleen and Marci were in a total body-to-body clench, their lips seemingly welded together. Cynthia was sitting in a chair almost like a proud mother watching her toddlers at the playground. I simply moaned when I walked in. This was as erotic as anything I had ever seen.
"Looks like the fashion show is over. You drove them crazy with all those sexy clothes, I guess." Cynthia looked up at me with barely disguised lust.
"Grab the bag from Saks and come into my bedroom." She turned to Marci and Kathleen, "Girls.., oh girls." Kathleen opened an eye. "You two have this bedroom, see you in the morning. Kathleen closed her eyes and redirected her full attention to Marci. Cynthia turned back to me, "Well what are you waiting for, you have work to do, let's go."
I left the unbuttoned dress on and found the bag Cynthia had mentioned. I'm pretty sure Marci and Kathleen never even noticed me as I walked past them out of the room. Cynthia was waiting in the living room, standing by the couch.
"Come here you little slut," her voice was so low it was virtually a growl. It wasn't too hard to figure out what she wanted, so I put a little more swivel in my hips as I approached her, lowering my head. She wasn't the only one in heat. I glided around her, swiveling my hips and shoulders until I was between her and the couch.
"Who taught you to behave so shamelessly? You look like you've been doing this all your life."
I tossed my hair and looked up through hooded eyes, my lips barely parted. The dress had slipped off my right shoulder revealing the straps of my black bra and slip.
"Please kiss me Mistress. I'm going to die if you don't touch me soon," I said as passionately and demurely as I could.
Cynthia lips curled back and she reached up to my bare shoulder. She slid the two straps down over my arm and reached around my back, her hand sliding between the silky material of the dress and the slip I was wearing over my corset.
"Me too, you slutty bitch." And she jumped me.
We tumbled back onto the couch her mouth virtually raping mine in her urgency. We duplicated the full body contact I had just seen in the other room, slithering over each other in feverish lust.
"You're mine," she groaned through our grinding lips. "I'm going to kiss you so hard my tongue will reach down into your throat and then I'm going to fuck your slutty little brains out. We groped, pulled, stroked and kneaded each other with such fierceness that I was afraid one of us would hurt the other.
"Oh Mistress, please fuck me." I was needy. The other two girls had been keeping me on the edge of release all evening. Their constant physical attention, along with the overdose of humiliation and eroticism I had been fed over the last two days had me feeling faint and sexually ravenous together. If I had my way, I would spend the rest of the night under Cynthia, hopefully at least part of it with my now painfully hard dick in her pussy. It looked like she pretty much had the same plan.
Then after a time, she grunted "Now, I need it now," and she rose up over me. She pulled her skirt up to her hips and sat right down on my face. She wasn't wearing any panties! I started to lick and suck for all I was worth. I wrapped my arms around her thighs and started to work my fingers towards her pussy from the back. Cynthia nearly screamed with joy when I got one into her pussy.
After several minutes, she started humping my face. "Oh god, Oh god, Oh god, I can't take it any more. I need a prick in me." So she picked herself up off my face, slithered back down my body, licking me wickedly while she did. She had to pull my slip up and panties down, but then she sat up over my penis.
"Hold it up!" I put my painted fingers on the base and pointed it at her pussy. She slithered her lips down onto the head until it was aligned properly and then thrust herself down onto it in one movement.
"Hnnnhhh."
"Aaaaaah" We both grunted out our pleasure as she wiggled around to impale herself on me as deeply as she could. Then she started humping me with wild abandon. Neither one of us was a screamer, but we sure did a lot of grunting and moaning.
"Don't you dare cum before me," she demanded as she withdrew to the tip of my penis.
"I don't think I can control myself when you are doing this to me." She thrust down and I thought every nerve ending in my body was going to explode with ecstatic pleasure. "Aaahhhhh. A couple of more of those, and you'll have every ounce of my cum inside of you, no matter what you say."
"You better not, you little slut." She rose up again. "You tease me all day long with your sluttish behavior, you make me so hot, and then you can't control yourself?"
She again plunged down onto my cock.
"You had better learn to hold out because my pleasure always comes first."
She rose up and thrust down so quickly that I thought she had set my dick on fire. She continued to pump, and as I predicted, I came about 30 seconds later. It was so intense I thought I might pass out. My body shuddered so hard, she thought I might be having a seizure. I lay there panting. She let me recover while she slowly rode what was left of my erection rather more gently than she had been.
When I opened my eyes, she said, "Oh I just loved that. Did you?"
"Oh Mistress, I'm yours forever. I never..."
"I know you never, and I'm not done with you yet. Get your sorry butt into the bedroom. Hurry...."
I moaned quietly with joy at the memory of last night. I had cum three times. I lost count of Cynthia's orgasms, but in the end she had begged me to stop licking her because she was too sensitive. She promised that I could have at her again today if she wasn't too sore. Then she smothered my face with kisses for a moment, called me her sweet little girl, and fell behind me, holding onto me tightly. I was so tired by that point that I fell asleep about a minute later. It was now 10:00 in the morning, but only about six hours after we had fallen asleep.
I was sure that I was in love, I would do anything for this woman. If it meant being a submissive transsexual, that was fine. I was rather fond of my penis, but if she had asked me to cut it off when she woke up that morning, I’m sure I would have.
I was a little puzzled about something Cynthia had said while she had been riding me to my second orgasm. This time she had come first and was furiously working on her next orgasm while she humped up and down on top of me. She had apparently mistaken me for an old lover. Although she didn't use any names, she said that she knew it would be this good and she was so angry with me for blowing it. She was almost in tears when she said this, but pumping up and down on me with wild abandon. I was completely confused, then and now, about what was going on. But last night I was too full of lust to care and this morning it was simply a strange memory.
I gently freed myself from her grasp and slipped out of bed. I wanted to do something nice for her and figured breakfast in bed would be a good place to start. I quietly went to the bathroom and showered and shaved. Then I picked up my clothes and tiptoed into the other bedroom where Marci and Kathleen were as oblivious to the world as Cynthia.
I wanted to put my maid's uniform back on, but I could never manage that without someone to tighten my corset for me. But there were all kinds of clothes lying around the room since we had never cleaned up after my fashion show.
I pulled some lovely dark blue panties up my legs, and twisted to get the matching bra on. Next was a long cranberry red broomstick skirt I hadn't tried last night It was made out of some kind of crinkly nylon with a pale yellow rose print. I picked up a long, cotton knit sweater that was an even paler yellow than the flowers in the skirt. Cynthia said they would go together beautifully and was good for my complexion. I dropped it over my head and wiggled it down around my torso without dropping my hands. Yummm. Nude panty hose and pale yellow sandals with a two inch heel were just right. I did my face up lightly, but made sure my eyes were dramatic.
I tried to tiptoe out of the room without waking either of the girls, but Kathleen opened her eyes as I passed the bed. I stopped and bent down to kiss her on the cheek, "go back to sleep sweetie, I'll wake you when breakfast is ready." I tucked her in and patted her hair. I loved the feeling that gave me, as if I was her mother.
I was in the kitchen getting everything organized for breakfast when Kathleen came in. She was only about 5'4" with green eyes and wonderful red hair that cascaded in loose curls past her shoulders. The spray of freckles that splayed out over her nose and cheeks made her look sweet and innocent. The dark green chemise that barely covered her butt and highlighted her lovely breasts with pale gray lace belied that apparent innocence. She wore no panties and was not the least bit hesitant about showing me her delicious body. I guess I was one of the girls now.
"Got any coffee?"
"What are you doing up. I told you to go back to sleep."
"I always get up early. I hate it when everyone else is asleep on the weekend and I'm up by myself. But you're up early too."
"I'm the maid. I have to be up first." I startled myself with that statement. Cynthia thought she was punishing me by making me into a maid and here I was claiming the position with a bizarre sense of ownership.
Kathleen came over and put her arms around my waist. She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. "You're sweet," she said with a certain amount of wonder. "Why have you been acting like such an asshole?"
"I'm sorry," I dropped both my voice and my eyes in shame. "Thornton's been ruining my life and I haven't been strong enough to deal with it. I guess I've been taking it out on everyone else." Having heard myself say that, I felt a wave of shame course through my body, causing me to begin to cry. How could I have been such a jerk?
"Oh sweetie, I didn't mean to make you cry." She brushed the tears off my cheek with her hand. "We'll help you."
I smiled at her thankfully. I wasn't used to people reaching out to me and I certainly didn't expect this little girl, she was barely 21, to want to help me.
"Let me get you coffee," I said, "I think that will make me feel a little better." So we sat there sipping coffee together for about 10 minutes. I basked in the gentle way she spoke to me. I must have completely misjudged her. I thought she was a child, but she seemed to know more about life than I did.
"Do you think I should bring Cynthia her breakfast?" I asked.
"No honey, let her sleep. She likes to sleep late on weekends and you two were up late, weren't you?"
I nodded my head silently, a little embarrassed to be recalling the absolutely thrilling memories of the night before in front of her. Then, remembering where I had seen her last, I whispered, "very late," and gave here a knowing smile.
"Come here," she said heading for the couch, "sit with me."
So we snuggled up together on the couch. I was fully dressed, but she was mostly undressed. Her bare legs were crossed in front of her, her chemise was bunched up above her waist, showing off her nicely trimmed patch of reddish public hair, and her nipples were poking out through the pale lace that barely covered her breasts. She started to run her fingers through my hair in a most comforting way and I turned to see her face. The freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose and gently out on to her cheeks were simply adorable and her eyes calm and silvery green.
She had been waiting for me to look at her and as soon as my eyes found hers, a little spark shot between us. A moment later, she stretched up and kissed me. Her lips were soft and gentle. Her kiss was like a tender question, it didn't demand passionate fulfillment, the way Cynthia's kisses had last night. This was a languid pleasure I had never experienced before, not the insistent eroticism I was familiar with.
We kissed for awhile in this contented way and then she reached up and started to fondle my fake tits.
"Suck my tits," she whispered, "just the way you are kissing my lips now."
"Mmmmm," I dropped my head down to her chest and started to lick the tops of her breasts as gently as I could. Then I lifted her chemise from around her hips and pulled it off over her head. She raised her arms to help and just left them hanging above her head, which was propped up over the arm of the couch. She then softly extended her body down the length of the couch, exposing the whole of it to me. She had pale soft skin and not one extra ounce of body fat. There was a spray of freckles on the tops of her breasts, just like the ones on her face. It seemed to me at that moment that gentle fairies in a misty wood must have crafted her, fairies who were trying to make the gentlest, most beautiful young girl ever.
I spent the next 15 minutes or so working my way down from her breasts to her pussy, being as gentle and moving as languidly as I could. Then I licked and sucked on her pussy in the same gentle way until she came. It wasn't violent or dramatic, the way Cynthia had come last night. She just tensed her body for a few moments and then let it relax completely with a very long sigh.
So here it was still before breakfast and my face was already coated with pussy juice. But as I licked it off my lips I thought to myself that those fairies did a marvelous job because Kathy looked as innocent as a child and was just so delicious as she squirmed around under my tongue in the most delicate and sinuous way. She apparently liked me too.
"Oh, Cynthia was right," she cooed, "you are so talented. I wish you were mine." She just writhed around on the couch a little, like she was in the most comfortable place in the world and had no cares whatsoever. The look on her face was ethereal. I was going to fall in love again. She had bewitched me with the gentle beauty of her body and her sweet, gentle behavior.
"Mmmmmm," was all she said before she turned onto her side, snuggled up with a pillow, and closed her eyes. She quickly drifted back to sleep. I was totally captivated by her. I felt like I was in the presence of a fairy princess. I gently covered her with a light quilt, again feeling like an attentive mom, took off my shoes, and went silently back to my bathroom to fix my makeup. Then I finished the preparations for breakfast as quietly as I could and sat down with a cup of coffee in my girly sitting room to ponder my fate.
As I gazed at a print of one panel of Monet’s Water Lilies, I started to wonder where I really was? On the one hand, I was in a feminine heaven. Just the feel of my soft flowing skirt and the look of my painted toenails through my pantyhose made me shiver with delight. I had an idea. I tucked both my legs off to one side and under me, like I had been practicing. That's not a very easy move for a guy, but with enough stretching, you can pull it off. There, now I was even sitting like a girl.
My desire, no, let’s be honest here, my need, to cross dress was being fulfilled in the most extravagant way. And my deepest, darkest fantasy was being realized - a dominant woman had taken over my life and was feminizing me. I had more sex, joy, fear, and humiliation in two days than I could even comprehend. No spreadsheet could ever quantify all that had happened. My feelings had been on a tumultuous roller coaster, rocketing from heart-stuttering fear, to sexual thrill, to bottomless shame, to treasured feelings of being loved, and back, and back again, with such stunning speed that I was emotionally breathless, unable to keep clear thoughts in my head long enough to analyze them. I had always been so analytical that my emotions never really got out for very long. This was all new to me.
Well, they were out now, and I was loving how they felt. But the analytical part of me couldn't be suppressed for long, and it was trying to scare me at the moment. This woman Cynthia really was in charge of my life. The worst case scenario would be that she sends me to prison, which she can do any time she wants. And even now, in just a couple of days, she had feminized me so much that if I did end up in prison, I would surely have my brains fucked out of my head before I had been there one day. I'd be better off dead than in prison, where I’d probably end up dead of AIDS anyway.
I might be better off dead than going back to work too. I was going to be humiliated when I showed up there. Ha, if I’m only humiliated, I’ll be lucky. Even if I take off the nail polish and brush my hair back like Shelly had shown me, there would still the beautifully shaped eyebrows and the two studs in each ear. All the women in the office had seen me with panties down around my knees, cowering under Cynthia's thumb. Cynthia had said I was going to transition, I guess she wasn't kidding.
I almost started crying, as I understood how truly powerless I was to resist her. I've known her for four years, but did I really know her? I felt so vulnerable, so out of control. What would she do? What was going to happen to me?
For years I had dreamed of being a woman but was too cowardly to truly explore that part of me by myself. Instead, I had dreamed of someone who would do it for me. First it was my mother, who wanted to shame me, then Rachel, bless her heart, who did it just for the sexual thrill, but always looked out for my well being. And now it was Cynthia. From the looks of things she was going to go all the way with me, and in my soul I was both thrilled to the heavens and scared to death.
Would I end up with tits? Would I be able to keep my penis? Would I end up in prison with tits and a pussy? Oh god, I didn’t want any of this to happen, but I couldn't get out. I was trapped. Then an old saying came back to me, and I couldn't help grinning ruefully at the irony.
"Be careful what you wish for, you may get it."
Then I became aware of the ring on my finger. I extended my arm and hand and looked at the ring Cynthia had given me (And my beautiful nails. Oh no! One was already chipped.). Her words hung in my mind. The ring was to remind me of my situation. But she could have done something else to me if that’s all she wanted to do. It fact, she had. She had given me a woman's hairstyle, earrings, and fabulous nails. No, this ring was for something else, and she had told me what that was. It was to represent her commitment to me.
Was she just setting me up? I turned that thought over and over in my mind, looking for the evidence that would convict her. But there wasn’t any and I just couldn't make myself believe that she would do that. In the four years I had known her, I had never seen her do anything dishonest or betray a single confidence. Anyway, why bother with the ring if her plan was to set me up?
There was something serious going on here that I couldn't quite grasp. The giving of a ring is a revealing act. It says as much about the giver as it does about the receiver. No, it says more about the giver. Certainly more about the giver in this case, because I didn't ask for, want, or even dream I might get this lovely ring. I let Cynthia put it on my hand because, sitting there in the window of the salon, I felt I had to. But - she didn't have to give it me. Shit, she could have just as easily put an ugly steel ring through my dick.
She didn't have to give me this.... this really gorgeous emerald ring, which had once belonged to her grandmother.
I was almost in tears again when I finished that thought. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a tender feeling of being loved and I felt so...so...safe, so protected. How amazing - looking at the ring allowed me to feel protected when just a few moments before I was feeling vulnerable. Someone had given me a ring. She was going to take care of me!
With a thrill shooting through my guts I realized that's what this lovely ring represented. Cynthia had given me a girl's ring because she was going to turn me into a girl she could take care of. Then, a flash went off in my head. Did this also mean that Cynthia loved me?
No, she hated me. Well, no, she really didn't hate me, that was obvious from last night. But she sure was angry with me. Could she be angry with me and still love me? My mother was angry with me all the time, and she sure didn't love me.
I was getting dizzy, I couldn't figure this out. How could I? I didn't know anything about feelings. I barely admitted my own into consciousness and was clueless about everyone else’s. If only I could convert all this to numbers and put them in a spreadsheet.
I was still trying to understand what was going on when I heard someone in the kitchen. So shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I stood up, took one more look at my lovely ring, surprised myself by sighing contentedly, and headed for the kitchen to see who I could mother a little this morning. Yeah, that's me, Lillian Miller, mother.
Sunday was much calmer than Saturday. Marci and Kathleen left not long after I fed them breakfast and Cynthia spent the next two hours instructing me in "feminine deportment." Then we went out for a walk. I was dressed androgynously. I had removed all my makeup and nail polish, and wore my old chinos. But I wore a pair of women's flats and a stretchy scoop neck tee shirt with a camisole underneath, but no tits. Cynthia said this was practice for tomorrow. I think she just wanted to embarrass me.
As we walked up Sixth Avenue, I tried to assess what people were thinking when they saw me. But mostly, they just ignored me. In this part of town, which was full of artists, gay people, and general strangeness, I wasn't a particularly unusual looking person. We chatted as we strolled.
"For awhile at least, you're going to have to act just like you always have at work," she told me. "Definitely not how you were last night." I couldn't see her face at that moment, so I wasn't sure if that was an insult or not.
"All the women in the office will know what's going on, and you will, of course, be at the bottom of the totem pole as far as they are concerned. You WILL," and she stared at me intently, "treat all of the women in my office as if they were the most important people in the world to you. You have a lot to make up for."
I thought about that, "her" office? What about me? Well, I guess it is her office, when you get right down to it. It always had been.
I nodded my head in agreement, "yes I know, I will."
We fell silent for a half a block. I reached for her hand and she let me take it. I was holding hands with my girlfriend. I shivered with joy. After we had crossed 12th street, and gotten a couple of double takes at the intersection, she said, "But you will also have to deal with other people's responses to your new, more feminine look. What are you going to say when someone asks about your hair, or the earrings?"
"That I have a new girlfriend and she did this to me?"
She laughed briefly. "That's cute, Sissy. And it might be OK, except for Thornton. You're going to have to tell him the truth."
"What!?"
"Yes," she said, grinning slightly, "and let me tell you what the truth will be. You are a transsexual." My head shot up like I had been punched in the jaw. She stared me down. "You are transitioning. You want his help."
"I can't..."
"You will... Just listen. He's a misogynist. He hates women so much it just about oozes from his pores. To him, we're all stupid and irrelevant. When you tell him you are about to become a woman, that's what you'll become as well."
"No shit! I'll be lucky to leave his office alive."
"No, it will be easy. Company policy protects you and he knows that. Except for him, it's actually a pretty good company for women and gays. How do you think Marci and Kathleen have survived there for so long...and me?"
This was all too much. "YOU?" I was so startled that I squeaked. "You virtually raped me over the past few days. How could you be gay...a lesbian?"
"You really are naive, aren't you? I'm bi.... and in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a top. I always run the show."
"But you're so feminine," I was babbling now, "you.... you're beautiful, you dress like...like...like a sexy woman."
"Yes, don't I? I’m glad you think so. Sissy, Helllooo?" She knocked gently on my forehead with her knuckles, as if it were a door. "Is there any intelligent life in there? I thought you were smarter than that. Life isn't made up of stereotypes. I like being a woman. I love feeling pretty and sexy. I like sex with some men, but I LOVE sex with feminine women. And you, my little flower, you, who are about to become my Lilly, you, my submissive, transsexual boyfriend, right now I love sex with you. So what does that make you...?"
She grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me violently on the lips for a few moments and then pulled back. "Whatever it makes you, you make me so hot I...I..."
And she kissed me again, as if I was air and she hadn’t had a breath in five minutes. I twined my arms around her neck and held onto her head for dear life.
When she broke the kiss, a few couples on the sidewalk were watching us. I didn't care. "Oh Cynthia," I whispered hoarsely, "it makes me whatever you want me to be. I'll do anything for you. Just kiss me like that again." She did. Our small audience applauded appreciatively. I heard a female voice behind me shout,
"Way to go girls."
Girls, indeed, I could live with that.
We walked hand in hand to the Starbuck's on the next block and sat at one of the tables on the sidewalk. Over lattes, she laid things out for me. "Here's what's going to happen with Thornton, she said quietly. "He already doesn't like you because you threaten him."
"Me," I squeaked, "threaten him?"
"Yes you moron. You're more intelligent than he is. He has to depend on you for creative analyses. He hates that, but he doesn't dare give it up. You're just too good with numbers." She smiled at me like a proud mom; I blushed and looked away.
"Do you ever watch the nature shows on TV? You know how the chimps run around, wave their hands and beat the ground to try to scare each other? That's Thornton with you. The women in the company think he's hilarious, such obvious macho bluster and posturing." She giggled for a few moments, obviously remembering some little scene she wasn't going to let me in on.
"He wants to dominate you, completely humble you, so your ability will be at his beck and call, but so you, the person, will never be able to stand up to him. You're going to help him think he's achieved that goal by making yourself into the least threatening and most disposable kind of person he can imagine, a girl. And you’re going to be a girl who is easy to boss around, to boot."
I looked at her, dumbfounded. How could she possibly know all this?
"At first, on the surface, he's going to be supportive. But I've seen people like him before. He has no regard for women..."
"He has no regard for anyone."
"Right, but even less for women than men. He will believe he owns you. He'll think he can do anything he wants to you. You've seen the way he treats Tammy haven’t you? He'll believe that you're too helpless to resist him. Then he's going to begin to degrade you verbally, and almost certainly try to take advantage of you sexually. He wants you cowed and submissive. How better to do that than to have you service him sexually? He's clever, but not smart. That's how you're going to be able to trap him."
How I was going to be able to trap him? She had to be kidding. I didn't even know how I was going to get through the taunts I was sure to receive over the next few weeks. Thinking about trapping Thornton was way beyond my current ability, so I changed the subject.
"Did you mean it when you said you loved me when we were on 12th street?"
"I said I love to make love to you."
I knew what she had said, I was just testing her, put I pushed on. "I love you."
"You're so sweet," she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, then tenderly and for quite a few moments on the lips, "but you don't love me, you love being dominated by me and making love to me. You don't really know who I am yet. You may end up hating me before all of this is over."
My eyes widened in shock. "Never...I could never hate you...."
She went on as if I hadn't said anything. "And I don't know you yet." I know there are things about you that I adore, and you are great fun in bed," she licked her lips provocatively, "and you can be as sweet and attentive as anyone I ever met. I could love someone who's like that." Then she looked at me like I had just stolen her purse, and whacked me gently on the side of the head with a hand full of napkins. "But you can also be a thoughtless asshole who mistreats people and shows no empathy for them whatsoever. That's who you've been for more than a year. I could never love anyone like that."
Tears started to fill my eyes yet again. I’d cried more in the last few days than in the last few years. She went on. "Could you love someone like the Cynthia who took over your life and humiliated you in front of the entire office last week? How do you know I won't do it again?"
Now I was crying softly. I was beginning to lose all the hope I had gained since Cynthia first saw me dressed only two days ago. "Because I'll never again behave like I did over the past year. That's not me. You must know that?" I looked searchingly into her eyes.
"What I know is that you have a lot to learn about yourself and then we both have a lot to learn about each other." I looked down again, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
I had been fiddling with my ring the entire time we had been speaking. She looked at it. "Give me your hands."
She stretched her hands towards me and placed them on the table palm up. I put my hands into hers so our palms touched. Hers were so soft and smooth, and for some reason seemed touchingly warm. The ring seemed to be as big as a golf ball and to glow with impossible radiance, almost like it had a life of its own.
"I didn't give you this ring without considering it carefully you know." She ran her fingers gently over the ring. Then she looked into my eyes. "I've been very fond of you since you arrived in our office. I've never been as attracted to a...male the way I was to you. There’s something about you that really touched my heart, but I wasn’t sure what it was. And because I know how dominant I am, I was reluctant to get involved with you, you were so young and so completely naive; I didn't want to... corrupt you." She grinned at me lasciviously. "And, I really do prefer women so it was easy to stay away."
She ran the tip of her index finger around the nail on my thumb, drawing attention to the way it had been filed. "But you know what, you might make a nice woman, just my type, perhaps."
I blushed and then blurted out. "You make a great one!"
She gave me a sweetly indulgent smile in thanks. You know the one, it's what a mother gives to a child who is really thrilled with something trivial she had done. "Then, when Thornton arrived you turned into a total asshole. I wanted to kill you. I was beside myself in anger. Not just because you were behaving badly, but because I felt betrayed by you. I had such high hopes for you and you dashed them. She looked at me and pursed her lips in reproach. She had such an expressive face when she let herself go. "It was only then that I began to understand how fond of you I was and how infatuated with you I had been."
It was her turn to blush and look away for a moment. She was a little embarrassed by this admission. She did like me! She was infatuated with me! What a fool I had been. I jumped up from my seat, stood next to her chair and bent down from the waist and threw my arms around her. "Oh God, I so hoped you liked me." I kissed her face six or eight times before she stopped me.
"Stop, you’re making a scene."
I gave her one more lingering kiss on her forehead and looked at her gently. I adored her.
"That's not all," she went on.
"What? What are you saying?" I was clueless. I fell back into my seat a little deflated.
"I'm getting there, just be a little patient." She stroked my cheek and ran her fingers through my hair a couple of times to soothe me. I was warmed all the way to my soul by the tender look in her eyes. My shoulders relaxed and I almost purred.
"I've already started you on a life-changing journey." She played briefly with the studs in my right ear and then traced one of her fingernails along the border of my right eyebrow, barely touching me. I felt hypnotized by her presence. She looked back into my eyes; She was much more resolute now, like she had decided something.
"It will certainly be very hard at times. I don't know how your personality will evolve. I don't know how our relationship will evolve. We may grow closer together or farther apart. But, you're the one who has to do all the hard work. You're the one who is going to put everything, starting with your job, and continuing right on down to the very gender you were born with, at risk. If I were you I'd be scared to death."
I gulped and nodded my head. I understood that I had entered uncharted waters, but had managed not to think about it so explicitly until that moment. I spoke quickly, again without thinking, "I don't care if there are risks. I love you, and I love being a girl. I feel like a butterfly who has just emerged from her cocoon. And," I let my voice drop to a stage whisper and looked around conspiratorially, "I want to get Thornton as much as you do. I've already been inside his computer."
Her face changed from attentively sweet during the first part of what I said to silly giggles by the time I had finished. I had hoped it would make her laugh. I just sat there looking proud of myself. Then I grasped her hand again.
She stopped giggling, looked at me carefully and sighed deeply. "I've told you already, the ring represents my commitment to you." Now she had tears in her eyes. "When you are feeling insecure, or lonely, or scared, look at the ring. It means that I am there with you with all my heart. It means I believe in you. It means I want the best for you, whatever that may be. If you listen to the ring, you will be able to hear me cheering for you. If you touch the ring, you will be able to feel my hand caressing your cheek. I think we both understand that I am going to take you for my lover and that whether our relationship works out or not, we will progress according to my plan."
Again I nodded. "Yes, Mistress, and I've never felt better about anything in my whole life."
"Our relationship I can pretty much control. I can't control what happens at the office. There, I can only set things into motion, the way a parent pushes a child on a sled down a snowy hillside. You'll have to steer yourself, and decide how fast to go, and when to stop. I'll be there to pick you up if you fall off, and to give you a hug when you get to the bottom. Other than that, you will be on your own. It's about time you grew up anyway. Whatever else happens, that will."
She had just described herself as my parent, and before that as my Domme and my lover. "Oh Mistress, you have just promised me the best gifts. I promise to work to justify your faith in me. I promise." We talked long into the night about all sorts of things. We carefully planned our strategy for the coming weeks. At least for the moment, I was in heaven.
"I think our Lilly is in love, "Marci taunted me gently, "or else she got laid last night. Do you have a boyfriend now, sweetie?"
I just gave her a big hug and said, "Maybe it's just all those female hormones flooding my helpless brain, or maybe I learned that people can care for me."
"Oh shit, I better get you to employee health, I think you must have had a stroke, or estrogen poisoning, or something."
I was wearing my standard suit and tie, the only differences from the week before were my new haircut (I blew it out so it hung by my face, rather than using mousse to comb it back - I liked it this way the best), neatly manicured (though now colorless) nails, and the two studs in each of my ears. Oh yeah, the eyebrows, almost forgot about the eyebrows, their shape was the feature that most clearly revealed my life's new direction. They really made my face look girlish.
Of course, I was wearing lingerie as well, and Cynthia had added a corset. But I had long worn lingerie on my own, so only the corset was new, new and uncomfortable. My waist started off that morning at not quite 30 inches. She vowed it was going to be a lot smaller than that real soon and tightened me until I was more than two inches smaller. I liked how I looked, but hated how I felt.
Then the door opened and as I turned to see who was there I heard a gasp. It was Heather Wilkes staring at me like I had just arrived from outer space. She looked searchingly at my face and said, "turn your head, I want to see your ears".
I flipped the hair out of my eyes and brushed it behind my ear with my fingers. I turned my head so she could see my studs. "Two piercings, cool. Get my coffee and bring it to my desk."
"Yes Miss Wilkes."
She threw me her jacket, "hang it up," then turned and left the break room. Before I could get her coffee, Betsy and Sylvia showed up. Betsy was agog, Sylvia just appraised me coolly, like I was a piece of spoiled meat at the butcher counter.
"You really are a little pansy aren't you? As a girl you might be cute, but as a guy, you're pitiful." She spit that out. "No man would let this happen to him. Don't you have any pride at all?"
What a bitch! "Yes Sylvia," I said as evenly as I could. Then I flicked my hair to the side and looked right at her. "I have pride, but one thing that all this has finally forced me come to terms with is that I'm really a girl, a woman, I'm not a man. I never was. I'm going to transition. This," I ran my fingers through my hair and shook it out, flipping it back away from my eyes again, "is just the first small step." Before she could say anything else, I added, "I'm glad to hear you think I might end up being cute. Would you like coffee?"
I held up her cup in a conciliatory gesture. A giggle spluttered out of Betsy's mouth and through the fingers she had pressed to her lips to try to prevent just that. Her eyes went wide with embarrassment, and both Sylvia and I knew Betsy was laughing at her and not me.
"Give me my coffee, you little bitch," she spit the words into my face, barely able to contain her anger, and you better make sure I don't run out."
"Yes, Mrs. Denton." I poured quickly. "May I take your coat?"
"No, I'll keep it."
I turned to Betsy. "I'll be right back. I have to take this to Heather. I held up her cup.
When I got back she was sitting at our small table, her fingers wrapped around a coffee cup that already had a lipstick stain on it. "Sit with me for a moment," she said, looking up into my face. I sat.
"Did Cynthia do this to you?"
Cynthia and I had already decided what I would say. "No, I did it. Once everyone in the office had seen my shaved body and panties, there didn't seem to be any more point in keeping who I was a secret. I've wanted to do this for a long time. This is my silver lining for the dark cloud that Cynthia created for me last week."
"Holy shit, I never would have guessed." Then she reached out her hand and ran it through the longish hair. She fingered the two studs in my right ear, and traced the arch of my eyebrow. "Good luck, honey, you're going to need it. By the way, what's your name?"
"Lilly, well Lillian" I said quietly, Cynthia had given me permission to use her grandmother's name, but retained the right to retract it if I misbehaved.
"How sweet." She reached out her right hand, angled downwards to shake mine. I grabbed it as gently as I could, using only my fingers. "Nice to meet you Lillian, maybe we can become friends."
Instead of dropping it right away after we had shaken, I held her hand in mine as if it was a valuable object. Then I looked up into her eyes. "Thank you Betsy, I'd like that."
"That's a beautiful ring, where did you get it?"
"From a dear friend."
"Wow, she...." she stopped suddenly and looked at me questioningly, "he?"
"She..."
"She must really like you."
I just nodded my head.
By 8:30 everyone was in and no one was working, People just had to talk about me. Cynthia called me into her office. She closed the door and we stood behind it. "How'd it go?"
"Well, just fine actually, Miss Morrison. Sylvia was a little nasty, but everyone else has been fine with this." I pointed to my face. Betsy asked my name. I told her it was Lillian.
"That's OK, honey, it wouldn't do to have people calling you Sissy" she whispered it with an exaggerated hiss, "in the office. I think I had better go talk to the girls or they'll never get any work done. You need to talk to Thornton. I had Kathleen call him, he's waiting for you now. He only knows it's something personal. This part will be easy, don't worry."
I started to get really scared. "Cyn...Ms. Morrison, I can't...this is all going too fast. I'm not sure I want..."
She cut me off. "SHUT UP, you little twit. You seem to have forgotten. You don't have a CHOICE."
"But you're turning me into a girl. You can't just take over my life and turn me into a girl."
"You seem to have forgotten last week already" Her voice had a hard edge that made me cringe. "I can turn you into some serial rapist's prison wife, if I want to." Then she lowered her voice and took my hand. "Besides you want this to happen. Just relax and go with the flow. You'll love it." She swatted my butt. "Now, off you go." She said that with a singsong rhythm in her voice, like mothers use with their toddlers.
Fear and longing battled within me. I was pleased she was telling me what to do, but I just couldn't give up control over my own life. I hated having to take care of myself, but was afraid to let anyone else do it. How's that for a conflict? So, I got ready to leave, but a feeling of foreboding was growing within me. I said, "yes Mistress, is there anything else Mistress?"
"Come to mommy," she said. I stepped forward and she enveloped me in a big, warm hug, holding me to her chest for a few moments. Then she pulled back and gently grabbed my head in both of her hands. "Don't agonize so, Lilly, I'm in charge now, I'll take care of you. Trust me." Then she put one hand on my shoulder, turned me towards the door, and swatted me on the butt again. "Now scoot."
I gave her a wan smile, flipped my hair off my eyes, and left. As I walked to Thornton's office, a memory from my childhood came back to me. My father was an abusive drunk. When I was nine he disappeared for several months without any warning. I had tried to stand up to him that morning when he was yelling at my mother.
He just shouted me down. "Don't make me do anything you'll regret, you little pansy. You're not big enough to stand up to a Girl Scout. You're no man. You're not worth the effort it takes to raise you."
I was too skinny and too short. He always accused me of being a girl when he got mad at me. He sneered when he said it. Weeks later, my mother found me crying on the couch. Using kiddies logic, I had concluded that dad had left because of me. I wasn't worth raising, so he left. My mother hugged me for a few moments and then told me, "I'm in charge now, I'll take care of you. Trust me."
My mother betrayed my trust more times than I could count. She took care of me only rarely. She generally treated me like I was in her way, especially after my father died and she went on the prowl for men, which was often. There were many nights when she assured me she would be home by 11:00 or 12:00 or whenever, but didn't come home at all. I would lie in my bed listening to sirens. I was sure they were ambulances that were taking her to the hospital... or the morgue. I hated her for the way she treated me, but was scared to death that something would happen to her, as it had to my father. On nights like that, I drifted off only when sleep finally overtook my emotionally exhausted brain.
I longed to trust my mother, longed terribly to be able to do that, but over time, she taught me that I couldn't. I longed to have her take care of me, to hold me to her breast and comfort me, but she rarely did. Over the next 5 years or so, it was I who had to take care of her. I did everything I could think of to make her love me, but nothing seemed to work. I got to college still looking for someone I could trust. Had I finally found that person, or was Cynthia going to betray me too?
All of a sudden, I found myself in front of Thornton's office. I composed myself, smiled grimly, tossed my hair out of my face, and went in. His administrative assistant, Tammy Wright, glanced up briefly and started to say, "He'll be with you in a minute Mr. Miller...." and then the new me actually registered in her brain. She stared for a few moments and then nodded to the couch across the room from her desk. "Or is it Ms. Miller now?" she asked sarcastically.
"Not yet," I said coldly, "but keep watching this space."
I looked directly at her, until she looked away, embarrassed by her own staring. We fell into an awkward silence and she went back to her work. Thornton treated her quite badly, but instead of turning to the other people who worked at North State for help and support, she herself treated us just like Thornton did. Ten minutes later he buzzed for me.
Cynthia had been right. Thornton was friendly and professional, though obviously curious as well. He heard me out, told me he hoped it wouldn't affect my work, and that we would see what we would see. He complimented me on my lovely ring. I left to walk back to my office.
As I opened the door to the hallway, Tammy said, "Bye sweetie. Maybe we can go out clubbing together some time. What kind of guys do you like, anyway?" She raised a single eyebrow at me and smiled in false friendliness.
When I got back to the office, Kathleen told me to get my "cute little pantied butt" down to HR. I had a long discussion with the manager there about rights and responsibilities. My job would be protected if I kept performing adequately, anyway that was the law. The reality was that everyone would be watching me like a hawk. If I screwed up, I could end up in trouble in the blink of an eye. I was in a very vulnerable position, especially with respect to my boss, Bob Thornton.
The truth was that anyone who is different, and I was surely different now, had to be above reproach in their behavior. Everyone would have an eye on me. I no longer had a life of my own. I finally got back to my office just before lunch time. It was done. I was out.
Everyone in the office, which was just about everyone I knew, now believed I was going to become a woman. My hair, face, hands, and jewelry announced it to anyone willing to pay attention. How had this happened? How had my life changed so quickly and so completely?
In my admittedly brief experience with life, I had learned that things that happen quickly and easily usually did so because someone had prepared for them carefully. I had just changed from a lonely, closeted crossdresser to a declared transsexual over the course of a weekend. That was way too quick and way too easy.
Had I prepared myself for this? I knew the answer as soon as I asked the question. I hadn't actively prepared anything, but my life had prepared me for this as surely as tilling a field prepares it for planting. Maybe Cynthia forced the issue and it otherwise would have taken much longer (much, much longer, I'm sure), but looking back on my life, I could see that the path I had taken, or was sometimes forced to take, led pretty unerringly to where I now was. It was something that would have happened as surely as a row of dominos falls once the first one has been knocked over.
And maybe that domino metaphor was a good one because the next few months turned out to be remarkably easy. Despite the many world-altering changes that Cynthia introduced so quickly, my life actually fell into a comfortable pattern for a while.
First of all, now that I was under Cynthia's guidance and protection, and, even more importantly, was the object of her love, my mood improved considerably. Although I was still far from mentally healthy, I was spending less and less time being totally miserable. I mean, like how miserable can you be when you're in love and that love is returned?
Work didn't change all that much in some ways, although it changed entirely in others. After the first couple of weeks, when I was an object of curiosity for the entire company, people's responses fell into two main groups. Most people just lost interest in me because I wasn't really part of their daily life and they didn't have the time to bother with me.
The other group though was a big problem. They were almost all men, and for them I became an object of derision. Once they started taunting me, they never stopped. They did their best to make my life miserable. For many months going to the men's room was provoked anxiety because I was repeatedly teased, threatened, and even physically accosted when there were no witnesses around.
This was one of my biggest problems; each time it happened my fragile decision to allow Cynthia to lead me into femininity fell apart again. Once I started on hormones, it got even worse because my mood was all over the place. I spent a great deal of time in tears and often felt humiliated by my mixed-gender appearance. Once those men discovered they could make me cry, they became even crueler and were rarely satisfied unless they left me in tears. I felt like a wimp, even by girl standards. Still, I mostly remained in the background at work, where I had been anyway since Thornton had arrived.
I diligently did my job, though now there were frequently irritating interruptions by the girls in the office who needed coffee, or some other small errand. I really did try to make up for my horrible behavior of the previous year but at first it never seemed enough. Still, I did their bidding cheerfully and with care. I treated them all as if they were important, the way I should have been treating them all along.
The break room had never been cleaner or the coffee fresher. I was a better housekeeper than most people anyway, and I even kept all their desks supplied with fresh flowers. Slowly the environment in our small office became warm and friendly again. We all looked forward to seeing each other when we arrived at work each morning.
Taking an interest in other people and being nice despite all the problems I faced made me feel better about myself, and being treated like a friend in return was icing on the cake. The mood in the office had changed so much that one of the girls was almost always willing to comfort me when I came back from my misadventures in the men's room either in, or close to tears. Having friends to care for me also made me realize just how angry, bitter, and lonely I had been.
Of course, the women didn't let me off the hook just because I was being nicer to them. They talked constantly about my underwear, they teased me about my carefully plucked eyebrows and polished nails, and often called me a sissy or pansy. If someone was having a bad day, like a painful period or fight with a boyfriend, they were just as likely to take it out on me as not. "Even if you eventually become a girl you'll never experience the joys of a period," Sylvia bitched dismissively during one of hers.
But I wasn't getting back nearly what I had dished out, so I didn't complain. For the most part there was little cruelty in their voices, except for Sylvia, who apparently hated me.
The three youngest girls Kathleen, Betsy, and Heather seemed to grow in confidence as they learned that they could boss me around at will. At first that was difficult to accept, but one day I realized that it would help them grow in the long run so, I started to view myself as their mentor, and took some small pride in being able to help them learn how to be someone's supervisor.
I became increasingly close to Marci, Kathleen, and Betsy, who mostly treated me like a slightly stupid girlfriend. I didn't mind their teasing too much. I even went so far as to play straight man for them, setting up jokes at my own expense, acting obsequiously, and overreacting to their teasing.
At home, I was Cynthia's companion, attentive maid, and lover when she would have me (which, thank god, was often). I cooked, and took care of the apartment, making both our beds and keeping both our rooms neat and clean (aside from the great sex, one of the bonuses to sleeping with Cynthia was that there would be only one bed to make in the morning).
She insisted that I wash all our lingerie by hand and do the ironing too. She was a little nuts about wrinkles, so I ironed everything, napkins, curtains, towels - there wasn't a wrinkle in the entire apartment after a few weeks. In effect I was a housewife, who happened to have a full-time job, not so unusual these days I guess. I changed into woman's clothes as soon as I got home, and didn't change back until I had to go to work the next morning.
Cynthia would decide during the day whether I would spend the evening as Lilly (she only called me Lillian when she was angry with me, or when we were at work), her companion, or Sissy, her maid. As her companion, I dressed more or less normally, although I was always dressed up, as if I was going to work in a fancy office (like ours) or out to dinner at an expensive restaurant. I rarely got to wear jeans, or denim skirts, or tee shirts, or even flat shoes. It was suits and heels, or dresses and heels, or whatever and heels. Really, I loved it.
Cynthia was my Mistress and teacher. She was giving me an intensive course in womanhood. "I won't let you start to go to work as a girl until you can really pull it off. I don't want anyone laughing at you. It will hurt my plans to get Thornton if you become an object of ridicule."
I looked hurt when she said that.
She looked at me for a second and then laughed, "OK, I don't want anyone laughing at MY girlfriend for any reason, although I don't much care what people think of Mr. Miller."
This time I laughed with her.
So I was in a one-girl finishing school. Cynthia worked me with real intensity; Lillian would become a sophisticated young woman or be crippled in the attempt. Sometimes I wasn't sure whether Cynthia cared which. Every move I made, every word I spoke, every position I ended up in when I was still was critiqued and refined by Cynthia. We practiced for an hour or two almost every evening. On some nights I was near tears from the criticism Cynthia heaped upon me when I didn't respond as she wanted. She was unrelenting and my behavior changed inexorably. Within a couple of months, I could act as sweet and feminine as any real girl, when I wanted to.
What I really appreciated was Cynthia's attention to detail. Because of that, I eventually learned to move and act like a real young woman. I wasn't a swishy drag queen, or a bimbo, or hooker, or any kind of joke. I looked like a real girl from the real world, one who had perhaps had taken to be a modeling or dancing lessons at some point in her life.
My posture was more upright (even without my corset, which wasn't often), my shoulders were held a little further back, and my arms swung from my body differently. There was a definite, but modest sway to my hips, and my hands seemed to take on a life of their own, my fingers were more extended and held differently than ever before. I loved wearing skirts and fiddled with them constantly. I also loved to slide my stocking-covered legs against one another, and Cynthia kept telling me that I was going to get into trouble with some guy if I kept moving them around so provocatively. I had to really concentrate to keep them still. I was falling in love with the way Cynthia's Lilly was turning out.
Cynthia also demanded that we stay in shape using her collection of workout tapes. Like everything else we did, she used our exercise sessions as a training opportunity. We would exercise several times each week with three or even four sessions on the weekend. Again, my movements were analyzed and shaped until no one would have any doubt about the girl doing her exercises.
She took me shopping for workout gear and I ended up with separate outfits for Lilly and Sissy. Lilly's stuff was no-nonsense, dark, color-coordinated, and sexy in an understated way. The colors were mostly in several shades of the main color. Sissy's outfits were prissier, with feminine prints and pastel colors mixed and matched a little too obviously. Her stuff was slightly overdone, almost like her personality.
Eventually, I felt like I was sharing my body with two different women. One was Sissy the maid. Cynthia trained her to be somewhat swishy and sissified. I moved with a mincing walk courtesy of the death defying 4" heels she insisted I wear, and my responses to her request were slightly breathy and exuberant. At the same time, she saw to it that I was demure and submissive. I wasn't allowed to initiate conversations or activities, and slowly learned to be passive, but always ready to respond quickly to her demands.
My other persona was Lilly, the young professional woman. I was learning the manners, mannerisms, and behavior needed in offices and at fancy affairs. I was to be like any young woman, at least any young woman who had been sent to a finishing school as part of her growing up. I acquired excellent manners and a fine sense of etiquette, but I still retained a kind of submissive status, which suited me just fine. Cynthia assured me that once I had figured out how to appear as a young woman, that my confidence would grow and my assertiveness would increase hand in hand with that. I could wait. Right now I was thriving under Cynthia's protective wing.
Cynthia had a really wide circle of friends and occasional lovers when I first met her, and she continued to see them. Often she would go out for the evening, sometimes staying out all night. At first she wouldn't always tell me what her plans were, and I sometimes felt scared or even panic-stricken when she failed to come home. Her nights out were a big source of anxiety to me, but it wasn't because I was afraid to lose her to someone else.
One night she came in just after one in the morning and found me curled up on the couch, crying. She was tired and cranky. "What's your problem?" She challenged.
I looked up at her and through tear stained eyes, I blubbered, "I was worried about you. I didn't know where you were."
"Listen," she said curtly, "You don't own me, I own you, or did you forget? If I want to stay out that's my business. If you can't deal with it, that's just too bad." She turned to go to her room.
"Wait," I said, a little too abruptly. I regretted it almost instantly because she whirled around with fire in her eyes.
"What did you say?" She stared down at me angrily.
I knew I had made a mistake, but I pressed on, "I'm sorry Mistress, I didn't mean to be so abrupt. You can punish me, but please let me explain. I love you, I can't help worrying about you."
I looked down, embarrassed that I had been so blunt about my feelings. She said nothing, so I quickly continued, "My mother used to leave me alone and I worried about her too. I used to be scared to death when I heard sirens during the night. I thought they were ambulances taking her to the hospital..., or the morgue. Then one night my nightmare came true, a day after I turned 16, a policeman came to the door to tell me she had been killed in a car wreck. That night had been filled sirens. Tonight was too. Please, I can't help it if I worry when I don't know where you are."
I was crying openly now, but I could see that she was listening so I added, "please punish me so I can go to bed."
"Fine get your butt over here," she said in a tired voice. She spanked me six times for being rude to her and sent me to bed. I felt strangely comforted by the whole scene.
Twenty minutes later, she came in, sat on the edge of my bed, and began stroking my hair. As I looked into her eyes, she caressed my cheek and then kissed me softly on the forehead.
"I'm sorry for the way I behaved; I was cruel to blow you off the way I did."
I nodded, grateful for her apology. She continued,
"Here's what I'll do. I promise to try to let you know when I'll be home late. It may take me a while to remember to do it every time, I haven't had to tell anyone where I was going for 15 years. But I have no objection to doing it, and now that I understand how much it means to you, I want to do it."
I reached up and pulled her down into a hug. I wasn't prepared for such a warm gesture on her part.
"Oh, thank you Mistress. That would help so much," I said. The gratitude I felt in my heart was beginning to choke me up. No wonder people liked her so much.
"You're welcome, and just to be sure you don't worry too much, maybe I should spend more time at home. I think I'll start bringing my friends here. "Your friends Mistress?" I replied, beginning to grow a little apprehensive.
"Yes, my friends. This may be difficult for you, but at least you won't have to worry about where I am. But just remember, if you speak to me like that again, you can count on being punished again. Now slide over, I'm tired,"
I relinquished the warm side of the bed to her and she fell asleep almost instantly. I cuddled her firm body tightly and didn't let go. I felt so loved, I didn't want to fall asleep and lose that feeling.
Cynthia was serious about punishing my indiscretions, and as much as I tried to do what she asked, something always seemed to happen to get me in trouble. Sometimes I was late getting home from work, and I often couldn't get the apartment clean on time, but my biggest problem was that I just couldn't stop questioning Cynthia's orders and decrees, especially when I was feeling moody, and I was often moody once my hormone dosage was increased from its starting level.
During those first few months, I would frequently slip from my proper role despite the prospect of punishment. On occasion Sissy would become Lilly or visa versa, but the biggest problem was that Brad would pop up just about anytime or anywhere. Cynthia knew what she wanted from me, however, and was always there to redirect me and keep me obedient and under control.
One of Cynthia's punishments was to tighten my corset an extra inch for a day or two. "This will be good for you," she would say with mock sincerity, "your waist will be trimmed even faster." My waist really had slimmed once I donned corsets on a regular basis and Cynthia had taken charge of my diet, but that extra inch always meant discomfort during the day and lack of sleep at night. Cynthia knew that.
For more minor infractions, or when she thought I needed immediate feedback about my bad behavior, Cynthia just spanked me. This had now taken on a ritualistic pattern. First, I had to fetch my long handled hairbrush and then stand and present to it to her like a precious object.
"Mistress I deserve to be punished," I had to say.
"Yes Sissy you do," she indicated her legs as she sat down. I then draped myself as gracefully as I could over her legs. She would pull my skirt up and spank me with the brush through my thin panties. While she was doing this, I was to kick my legs and scream, "oh no Mistress, please don't hurt me. I promise to be good." I was also to squirm around on her lap, so she could feel my erection.
After a half dozen or more strokes, depending on what I had done, I had to stand, curtsey again, and thank her for my punishment. Sometimes I would be told to fetch a pair of very high heels and be forced to stand in the corner and not to rub my rear for a full hour. She rarely hit me very hard and the whole scene was designed to humiliate me rather than hurt me. I always felt like a stupid child when she did this, but when she occasionally did it in front of someone else, I felt truly and wholly mortified.
People began to see my punishments when Cynthia did what she had promised and started bringing lovers home. Almost everyone who saw it laughed out loud. It certainly wasn't funny to me, although I could see how it would be to others. Of course, I always had to be Sissy, and there were more than a few times when I wasn't too pleased about it.
Here I was, helplessly in love with her, and she would be necking and petting on the couch while I stood by quietly waiting for orders. I was jealous. I mean how would you feel? She did have the good sense to keep all her really heavy sex in the bedroom, and I was allowed to go to sleep once she had gone there. But I always had to be up early to serve breakfast to her and her guest when they got up in the morning. If it was a weekend, this often including running baths, washing and ironing yesterday's clothes, and staying in service until the guest left, if she did. More than a few stayed more than just one night.
Those late nights and early mornings robbed me of sleep and after a long weekend, I became tired, cranky and resentful. Sometimes that resentment spilled out, like the cup of cold coffee that accidentally ended up on the breasts of one lover I really didn't like. That incident earned me two dozen really hard swats on the butt and two hours in the corner. I didn't often cause trouble, but Cynthia always made sure I knew who was in control.
And all the time, we worked very hard on my voice. "You must change the pitch of your voice," she said early in my transformation, "it's too deep."
She encouraged me to try different approaches to intonation, pitch, and timbre. Now and again, I would sound good but it was hard to reproduce that sound every day. I found that if I could move the place my voice came from in my throat and allow it to resonate differently it was possible to create a voice that would sound pleasing coming from any woman.
Cynthia often reminded me that the alternative to developing my own voice was surgery, and that kept me eager to work hard to produce a woman's voice. After awhile, I could pretty much do it at will. I was a little throaty, and felt best when I was almost "singing" my sentences. I really loved to do "valley speak," and discovered that if I started there and toned things down a little, I really sounded like a throaty young woman.
Starting about a month after my coming out, Cynthia began to throw a series of parties for the girls from our office at her "new" condo. I, of course, was the maid and the women loved to have me serving them.
As they came to the door, each woman in turn was astonished at the way I was dressed and made up. I think this is when they really started to believe that I was serious about becoming a woman. Still, they delighted in having their old jerk of a male boss in such a submissive role and made sure that he paid his dues. This made me an easy target for their derision and invective.
Except for Marci and Kathleen, this was the first time the others had actually seen me as Sissy. Even though I had been in the office every day with my feminine hair and eyebrows, most had a hard time reconciling their working image of me with the saucy, feminine maid who served them drinks and snacks. They were quite amused with my Sissy character, who displayed all the sexy moves needed to attract an old-fashioned macho-type guy, but really had no idea how those moves looked to others. All this ensured that I was the main focus of the evening. They watched me relentlessly, laughing as I made little mistakes, and having a great time ordering me to perform feminine tasks, like fixing my makeup, or straightening my stockings. After the first party my status in the office was changed for good. I would always be lower than the lowest secretary. Talk about payback.
It was a joyous party as the girls reveled in ordering me around, and much like that first night with Marci and Kathleen, I was also groped, fondled, felt up, and made fun of. I was reminded repeatedly of the change in my status, from boss to maid, and it appeared to me that these women were getting even for every slight any man ever made towards them.
The one redeeming feature was that except for Sylvia, who found me repulsive, the others took the whole thing with good humor. They were having fun at my expense, but they weren't being overly unkind or cruel. They certainly intended to make fun of me, but they obviously had no intention of destroying me. It was almost like we were all in on a big joke together. The only problem was that I was the joke.
But I found that I could easily accept any of the jokes they made at my expense just to have all these women pay attention to me. After a short while, I didn't mind be fondled at all, not one little bit thank you. As soon as I felt a hand on my leg or my ass, I backed into it and wiggled shamelessly.
And then, a couple of hours into the second party Sylvia lost it. I had been bent deeply at my knees picking up some garbage from the floor when I lost my balance. I squeaked loudly as I fell, drawing every eye to me. I ended up sitting on the floor with my legs straight out in front of me, like a toddler. Unfortunately, I tried to get up as if I weren't wearing a short skirt and ended up on my hands and knees with my ruffled panties pointing right at Sylvia. The other girls were laughing hysterically, many had tears in their eyes they were laughing so hard, others could hardly sit up straight. Sylvia didn't react that way.
She grabbed my arm and stood me straight up. "Don't you have any pride? You're just disgusting. Flaunting your skinny little ass in front of us like this. You let these women fondle you like some cheap whore. I have never seen anything so repulsive in my whole life." She was so upset, she was spitting.
Marci stopped her. "Sylvia," she cut in, "this is a game, we're having fun. No one is getting hurt. Sure we're making fun of Sissy.... Brad, but he agreed to this. Chill out, will you."
"You're no better than he is, you little tramp. I've seen you and that lesbian Kathleen. Have you no shame either?" Sylvia banged her glass down on the table for emphasis.
Then Cynthia stepped in and took control, "Sylvia, if you can't accept us for what we are, perhaps you'd better leave. Brad Miller had been treating all of us like dirt, or did you forget? He agreed that his behavior was abominable. Sissy here has agreed to take the punishment for Brad. Before too long, both Brad and Sissy will be gone and only Lillian will be left. You can help in that transition or you can leave, it's your choice."
"You're all perverted lesbians." Sylvia shouted, "Except you," she turned on me angrily, "you're even worse. You'll burn in hell."
She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the apartment. For a moment there was stunned silence. Then, in the sweetest, most innocent voice I had ever heard from an adult, Heather, who loved men as much as life itself said, "I didn't know I was a lesbian, did I miss something?"
Everyone burst out laughing. Betsy gave me a big hug and whispered into my ear, "forget about that bitch, I think you're adorable." Shortly after that Sylvia was transferred to another division and we never saw much of her after that.
Three months and a few parties later, I was finally invited as Lillian. Cynthia asked everyone to dress up. I had on a long, bright red rayon dress that swirled enchantingly around my ankles. The top was fitted rather closely, but the skirt was softly pleated, which is why it flowed so nicely. I had strappy, red, three-inch sandals on my feet, and my toenails sparkled bright red through my sheer stockings.
I sported one medium size and one big hoop in each ear, and a bright red ribbon in a big bow in the middle of my head. My makeup now incorporated many of the techniques I had learned at the salon. I felt really good about myself and with my beard virtually gone, my appearance was quite convincing. I studied my face in the mirror before the girls arrived, and thought that with a little surgery on my nose and chin I could really look good.
The sight of Lillian that night really did impress the girls. Shortly after everyone arrived Cynthia made a big announcement. "Girls, I want you all to know that Lillian's period of punishment in the office is over. You can't order her around any longer, and if you tease her, she's allowed to tease you back, even if she's dressed like Brad." Everyone giggled. "Do you have anything to say Lilly?"
I thought for a second and then made a heartfelt, but potentially risky declaration. "I just want you all to know that I will treat each of you like an equal and continue to do my share of the chores around the office. If I start to sink back into my bad old habits, you can bring Sissy back. You can even have her work at the office."
Everyone laughed and applauded at the same time. It all seemed like a dream; they gathered around me as if I had just gotten engaged or something and simply accepted me as Lillian. There were hugs and kisses all around. In fact, it seemed as if there were more hugs that night than I had received in my entire life up until then. I had never felt so accepted by a group of people and told each of them that and thanked them as sincerely as I could for their friendship. I was near tears the entire night as they told me they would support me in the difficult months ahead. I was so overwhelmed at their generosity.
After the first couple of weeks of training, Cynthia had also begun to introduce Lillian to her friends. She would invite two or three of them over for drinks or dinner on different evenings and in this way I got to meet a remarkable group of women. A number of them were involved in business, but there were a couple of lawyers and doctors as well, with a few artists thrown in. They, in turn, were part of a larger network of women who supported each other's careers. A good old boys network, if you will, except they were young and they were girls (I know, I know, they were women, but they called themselves girls).
Cynthia told me that as long as I behaved myself, I could come as Lillian, but if she got angry with me, it could just as easily be Sissy instead. I was as well behaved as I could be, like a youngster who has been allowed to stay up late when friends were coming to visit her parents. Cynthia wanted me to meet them so I could learn how smart, young, professional women spoke and acted around one another. They knew just who I was, even though some thought the whole situation was rather amusing, or even grotesque, they quickly integrated me into their group
At first, I was quite shy, but very few of these women were unkind and most were at least curious about Cynthia's young man who wanted to be a young woman and tried to draw me out in one way or another, so I could never stay in the background for long. And once they discovered I was a financial analyst, they were all over me to explain market trends, different ways to analyze stocks, and how to read between the lines in annual reports. These were wonderful interactions because we weren't talking about typical "girl" stuff, we were talking business. But they would gently correct me if I started to behave too "manly," and never hesitated to give me suggestions for more feminine ways of saying and doing things. They turned out to be a great set of role models and tutors for me.
They shared make-up and clothing tips and some even were kind enough to give me little presents, like scented soap or interesting lipsticks. But all this was seamlessly woven into complex conversations about other things, and I absorbed these lessons painlessly and effortlessly in this safe, friendly environment that Cynthia had created with her friends.
One of these women in particular took great interest in me right away. Her name was Amanda White and she was Cynthia's gynecologist. She was to become mine as well. About a week after the first time she visited, which was only a week after I had come out, she dropped in alone, surprising the hell out of me. I learned later that Cynthia had set the whole thing up. She had led me to believe that she would be home before Amanda actually arrived, but she finally arrived a good two hours after Amanda.
"Amanda! I...uh...I mean Dr. White. Hi! It's so nice to see you won't you come in. Cynthia should be home in a few minutes," I said, a little tongue-tied at seeing her at the door.
Amanda just played along with me, "Hi Lillian, or is it Lilly?"
I nodded my head indicating yes to Lilly, and then added, "at least my friends call me Lilly."
"I'd like to call you Lilly, but you'll have to call me Mandy," she smiled to make me at ease, "that's what my friends call me."
"Oh thank you yes, Mandy," I said, slightly surprised at myself. For some reason I was embarrassed to call her that. I guess she intimidated me.
"Don't you look cute tonight, you almost make me wish I liked girls," she said plucking at my twin set and straightening the bow in my hair. Bows were almost becoming a trademark with me. I liked them because they were cute, something most girls my age had outgrown. But I was different. Although I was in my mid twenties, I usually felt and acted more like a teenager. In "girl-years" I guess I was still pretty young and trying to discover who I was. In the eyes of most of the adult women I met, I wasn't a grownup yet, and it was liberating.
"Thank you," I said, blushing.
She continued without hesitating, "I spoke with Cynthia a little while ago and she said just to come on over. Do you have any Chardonnay?"
"Sure," I said, trying to relax myself. I quickly went and opened a bottle and poured her a drink and then one for myself.
After I had poured our drinks, she asked if it was OK if we sat in my "girly room," as everyone now called my feminine sitting room.
"I just love this room," she gushed, "did you really design it yourself?"
"Yes," I blushed as I answered. I was pleased at her compliment, but still somehow embarrassed that this room was so "me." It was stupid of me to feel that way at this point, but that's how I felt.
"How did you do it?" She asked. Her manner was so comforting it's easy to see why she had a busy practice.
"I didn't do anything special, I said, "it's what I like." I looked down for a moment trying to understand my feelings. Then I looked into her eyes again. "I was always dressed when I was working on it. Really, it's the rest of the apartment that is less like me. I intentionally made it more masculine to hide my real self.
The conversation simply continued and after a few minutes we were chatting about all sorts of seemingly inconsequential things. After a while, Mandy gently redirected the conversation to why I wanted to become a woman. I learned much later that she was getting to know me to make herself comfortable with prescribing hormones. She just wanted to be able to talk with me alone when I had no idea what her goal was. I was just chatting; she was probing my soul.
Under her seemingly casual questioning, I admitted that I absolutely adored what was happening to me but that I was confused and didn't really know what I wanted in the long run, even though right then I wanted to become a girl. I told her how I had begun dressing myself in my mother's clothes well before I was ten and how I continued to do that all through high school. I told her how Rachel had completely taken over my life and how Cynthia was now the dominant influence, and that I had a hard time resisting her (Oh alright, I told her the truth, that I did whatever Cynthia said). I was embarrassed to talk about it at first, but once she got me going, I went on at length about my fervent wish to have my own breasts. I told her about my need to be cared for. I cried when I did.
"If I'm to be your doctor," she finally told me in a soft ladylike manner, then I will be morally bound to do what is best for you, no matter what Cynthia wants. She told me you want to go on hormones and you pretty much confirmed that. It's obvious, however, that she dominates you completely."
I blushed and smiled ruefully, "yes that's true."
"I'll need independent confirmation of your psychological status from an expert. So I'm arranging for you to see Dr. Beverly Wells, a psychologist who is a specialist in gender dysphoria," She said handing me Dr. Wells' card. Since you are to be my patient, I am bound to protect your confidentiality. I will not tell Cynthia anything unless you direct me to," she said. "From what I've seen, I'm willing to start your treatment quickly, but you must go into therapy with Dr. Wells. If you stop, or if I get reports from Beverly, that this isn't for you, then I will terminate your treatment."
"Yes Mandy," I said gulping air like a drowning man, which, metaphorically, I was.
"I'm sure that won't happen though," she said to reassure me.
From then on, both Mandy and Dr. Wells became huge parts of my life, and hugely positive influences on me. They were simply wonderful women. They were clever, and insightful, and supportive, but most importantly they were truly empathetic. They really seemed to know how I was feeling. When Cynthia had me dizzy, or too much teasing at the office had me hurt and confused, I could go to either of them to talk. Dr. Wells especially was brilliant at separating my real feelings and motives from the tangled rationalizations, evasions, and poorly thought out wishes that were my conscious thoughts and feeling.
After two meetings with Doctor Wells, I started on my hormone therapy. The more time I spent with her the more it became obvious to me that Cynthia, whatever her motives might have been, had actually forced me to do something that was right. I really felt that this was healthy for me now, although Doctor Wells said that we would have to wait and see about how far I would go. The circumstances that led to my transition, and my reasons for wanting to do it, disturbed her, which I guess isn't too surprising. So we would take things slowly and see how they went.
The following week, I started myself on a course of electrolysis. I hated my beard and simply decided it had to go. It was the start of many long, uncomfortable sessions in the chair in a local salon, but it's obvious now that it was worth the effort.
Six months after Cynthia had taken over my life, I was as happy as I'd ever been. Our relationship was fantastic, for me at least. She was in charge, there was no question about that, and, she took care of me. I gained more confidence in those months than I could ever have thought possible. It's not that she did anything special to try to heal my damaged psyche, but she was so nurturing, even when she was disciplining me, that it began to repair itself.
I, in turn, took care of our home life. I was the wife, if not the maid. I loved to tend to her body, to bathe her, to brush her hair, to give her massages, and to help her dress and undress. I adored her and couldn't suppress my joy in being around her unless I really concentrated on doing so. I could see in her face, and in her behavior, and in her words, just how much she appreciated my love for her.
Despite the hormones, we had wonderful sex together, and it was clear she was in charge of that too. We made love whenever she wanted and whenever I could nudge, sweet talk, or seduce her into it (She always accused me of wanting to get her to sleep with me so I only had to make one bed in the morning. That's not true, I just wanted to be with her, only having to make one bed in the morning was simply a side benefit..., really.)
Cynthia often said no to me if she wasn't interested in sex, but I would never say no to her. My basic insecurity and love for her wouldn't let me, so I never learned whether I could or not. The standard sex roles were exactly reversed in our household, and you know what, I was in heaven. I was so in love with her that I would do anything for her, especially anything that took place between her legs.
That's how Cynthia started fucking me with her dildo. I was rapturous one evening after she, on top as usual, had ridden me to a magnificent climax. I was cleaning her wonderful pussy with my tongue when she asked me, "have you ever wondered how women feel when they had sex?"
I looked up. "Well, yeah, of course," I replied.
"How would you like to experience it?
I licked her pussy, thoughtfully and looked up again, "I do want to become a woman so of course I want to experience it."
"I can help, you know."
I looked up at her and saw that she was holding a rubber strap on dildo. All of a sudden I understood. I panicked immediately.
"Oh Mistress, you don't mean...?"
"Yes I do sweetie. You have a pussy too, you know." She patted me on the butt. "I think it's time we started to use it for sex. What do you think?"
"I think it will hurt. I know it will hurt. I've already been fucked in the ass," I confessed, blushing and looking away.
"Really? You never told me about that," she said looking surprised," Would you?"
"It was Josh." I said, that night leaping into my awareness. "Remember I told you about the guy who read me and made me behave like I was in love with him or else he would out me at the bar?"
"Yes, I do," she said.
"Well, then he talked Rachel into a threesome. He fucked us both, on more than one occasion. He wasn't that gentle. Rachel loved it, but it really hurt me the first time."
"How about the other times?" Cynthia waited, raising an eyebrow to force me to respond.
"Well, I guess it did get easier, but I never really loved it. I guess I felt forced. I didn't really want to do it. I was scared of being gay in those days. Plus, he was kind of "wham, bam, thank you ma'am" in his approach. Satisfying me was not on his agenda." I paused, remembering the feel of his prick up my ass. Actually, it wasn't that bad. I might have enjoyed it, if Josh had been a little more generous.
"Do I satisfy you?" Cynthia raised that eyebrow again and cocked her head questioningly.
"Oh Mistress, I'm in heaven when I'm with you. I never, ever imagined sex could be so wonderful."
"Do you think I could make you feel better with a cock than that mean old Josh?" It wasn't hard to see where this was heading. I blushed, although I wasn't sure why. "Women have always used dildos, we use them on ourselves, and we use them on each other. If I use one on my darling Lilly, does that make her gay?" She had to ask.
"Well, I guess gay and straight don't make much sense as categories for me any more do they?"
"That's very perceptive of you, honey. I don't think they do. So how do you feel about it now?" She asked.
"I would do it if you are gentle" I replied, "will you be gentle?"
"Aren't I always?" She laughed.
"Well, you do get a little carried away at times." I replied a little timidly, hoping she would laugh.
When she gently hit me on the head with the dildo, I realized that she was happy with my reply.
Two days later there was a gift basket on my bed when I got home from work. It was beautifully made up with pastel colored tissue paper, ribbons, and flowers, There was bubble bath and perfumed soap. It also contained a Fleet's enema, two bottles of Massingale's douche, and a tube of KY jelly. A note from Cynthia was clipped to the handle. I smelled the flowers and then I read the note.
Darling,
Tonight's the night. I want you to be as sweet as a flower for me. Use the Fleet's and then one of the Massingale's. If you don't feel completely clean at that point, use the other. Lube your insides well. Then put on your favorite nightie and wait for me in your bedroom.
I'll be home at 8:00.
Love,
Cynthia
Oh god, she was going to do it and I was going to prepare myself for her. I was going to take a bubble bath and clean out my pussy with a flowery smelling douche and get into a sexy nightie and wait for her on my bed. She was going to come home and fuck me like I was really a girl.
I was very anxious when I started to get out of my work clothes and took a big glass of wine to calm my nerves. I put the bottle and an extra glass on the nightstand next to my bed, thinking Cynthia and I might want some later. I turned on the audio system and let the voices of Bonnie Raitt, Melissa Ethridge, and Deborah Harry fill the apartment.
Then, I went to my bathroom and following the instructions did the enema, followed by the douche. When it was obvious that I was cleaned out, I decided that one douche would be enough. It seemed quite erotic to know I was getting myself ready for my lover. I settled into my bathtub with a second glass of wine, and settled in for a nice long hot soak. Even with the help of the wine, I could barely sit still in the bathtub. I was so nervous I was almost vibrating. My mind wouldn't concentrate on anything but what was to come.
So I got out of the tub a lot sooner than I had anticipated and shaved my face while my remaining whiskers were still soft from the steam in the bath. I took an inordinate amount of time trying to select my nightgown before finally deciding on a pale lacy, almost transparent lavender chemise. Cynthia had always liked it and I adored the lace border around its bodice, and the two spaghetti straps that ran over my shoulders to hold it up. My just budding breasts barely peeked out over the top of the lace, while the hem came to mid thigh.
After I pulled it over my head and let it fall, I slipped on my highest mules, and sat down to do my makeup. Thank god for makeup. I really enjoyed applying it, and it takes concentration and skill to do it correctly. Staring at my face in the mirror that evening really convinced me that my decision to get electrolysis was the right one.
With my eyes and lips done, my face looked sexy, but I decided I had to change the chemise. I changed into a new black gown that was longer and more dramatic. I pulled on a pair of stockings, a frilly black garter belt, and a pair of black silk panties. I wanted to wear stockings and heels, just like Cynthia had that first night. She had worn black. I was going to wear black. I wondered how she would react when she saw me in nothing but stockings and heels and panties.
I decided against a ribbon for my hair, but put in a pair of dangly earrings that she liked. They were gold and onyx and after gently inserting them, I spritzed myself with Opium perfume. I knew she loved it on either of us. So I put it on my wrists, behind my ears, and between my darling little breasts. Finally, I decided to put some behind my knees.
I watched in the mirror as I lifted my foot onto a small stool to reach behind each knee. I felt soooooo sexy, I forgot to pay enough attention to my posture though, and with only one heel supporting my weight, almost fell. Then, I lifted my nightdress, lowered my tight panties and dabbed some perfume behind my scrotum. I remembered how Cynthia had smelled that first night. She had obviously perfumed her pussy. I really wanted to see if she could resist the sexy smell any better than I did, which as I recalled, was not at all.
Finally, I started to lube my ass with the KY jelly. I pushed it in gently with my finger, being careful because of my long nails. I reamed myself a few times and then went for some more. I just kept putting it in until I was really slippery inside. Then I put a panty liner inside my panties and pulled them back up. I was sure I could feel the KY oozing out.
I was ready and waiting for Cynthia's arrival by 7:30pm so I tried to find something to do that would take my mind off what was going to happen in an hour or so. I tried to read Allure but was so distracted that I flicked through it in just a few moments. Then I had an idea! I went into Cynthia's room and found two of her dildos. Then I went back to my bed, pulled my legs up above my head and started to work the smaller one into my slippery rear. I figured that if could loosen myself up a little, I might have more fun and less pain later. The little one was easy, so I let it sit there for five minutes while I applied some KY to the bigger one, which was clearly larger than my own standard size cock.
I was very careful and pushed it in very slowly, but still it hurt a little. I was entranced with what I was doing and focused all my attention of the feelings being created by this lifelike invader penis. Because of that, and the volume of the music, I didn't hear Cynthia when she opened the front door and walked in.
"Well," she said abruptly, "couldn't wait could you, you little slut."
I looked up at her, startled. I was frozen in place with my legs up in the air and the dildo halfway into my asshole. My nightgown was gathered up around my waist and my black stockings stood out starkly against my pale legs. Despite my fear, I all I could think of was the sight that greeted me as I looked towards Cynthia.
She was wearing a figure hugging black leather suit, black stockings, and matching high heels. She had bright red panted lips and smoldering dark eyes. She looked as sexy as anyone I had ever seen, but she didn't look pleased as she stalked over to the bed. I suddenly understood what the male black widow spider sees when the female turns on him. This was one giant spider heading my way.
"Cyn...Mistress!" I blurted out, as I started to pull the dildo from my rear.
"Oh no you don't," she said as her leather gloved hand quickly pushed it in even further.
"Owww," I screamed in response.
She grabbed my hand, wrapped it around my leg and placed it over the dildo. "Don't move," she ordered as she poured herself a glass of wine, "stay just like that." She looked at me and took a long drink from her glass. "Now, tell me just what the hell is going on here. You made an awful big stink about how this was going to hurt, and here I find you doing it to yourself, with my toys, no less. You better have a damn good explanation."
"I do Mistress, I do have an explanation," I whined.
I told her everything I had done since I got home and how I thought this would make things go easier later. She looked at me sternly for the longest time and then started to laugh.
"You have a lot to learn about how to look when your lover arrives home," she said pointing at me and laughing out loud. "You silly girl."
Then I started to giggle a little too. I guess I did look rather funny - raunchy and debased for sure - but funny.
"Don't move, I'll be right back," She said putting her glass on my bedside table. A few moments later she returned with something in her hand but I couldn't see what it was. "Take your hand away from your pussy," she said. Then she grabbed the slippery dildo and pumped it in and out a few times, penetrating me much more deeply than I had dared. She pulled it out suddenly and plunged something else inside me before my asshole could close up again. I felt it stretch wide as the object seated itself. She let it go and I was surprised that it didn't slip out
"Feel," she said.
I carefully put my hand between my cheeks but found no handle protruding out like I had anticipated. Whatever it was, it was all the way inside me.
"That's a butt plug. You'll be wearing it for a while, so get used to it," she said. Then she crossed her hands under her breasts and pursed her lips. "OK, you nitwit, listen up. You've spoiled my mood with your fooling around. So I'm going in the other room to sit down, have a glass of wine, and something to eat. The only chance you have of getting that thing" she nodded at my butt, "out tonight is to seduce me later. You, my fine young man, are going to have to seduce your lover into fucking you in the ass. But for now, pull up your panties and make me something to eat."
She simply turned and walked out of the room. I started to lower my legs, feeling the plug in my asshole and trying to figure what, if anything I had done wrong and more importantly how I was going to make it better.
As I thought about it some more, I realized it was Sissy who was being trained to be the sex kitten, maybe it should be Sissy who seduces her. Yeah, that was it. I jumped up and ran for the closet, at least for the one step it took for the butt plug to make its presence known. Then, moving much more carefully, I pulled my nightgown off and put on my maid's uniform. I quickly brushed out my hair, put on the frilly panties that went with the uniform and minced into the room where Cynthia was sitting, reading a magazine. She didn't look up.
"Good evening, Mistress, I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you but Lillian had me running an errand for her," I said starting a deep curtsey that was quickly aborted when the butt plug pushed hard against my insides. As I straightened up I tried a different tack, "that is a magnificent suit you are wearing Mistress. It just exudes power and it makes me feel small and weak."
I turned my head away as demurely as I could and shuddered a little bit at the delayed reaction to the butt plug, which was now proving to be rather... intrusive.
Cynthia looked up with more than a little surprise in her eyes, gazed at me for a few moments and then smiled to herself. "Yes, you should have been here. I'll have to talk to Lillian, she should know better. It will definitely cost her a spanking."
She was playing the game with me! OK.
"Oh, Mistress, I'm sure Miss Lillian wouldn't like that. But I guess she does forget who is in charge sometimes. She just has to do things her way. Is there anything I can get you?" I quickly bobbed up and down at the end of my question, no way I was going to try a full curtsey again.
Cynthia pointed to her wineglass and then gestured towards a bottle on the kitchen counter. I really did mince to the counter to refill her glass because the butt plug gave me little choice. I reflexively clinched my ass cheeks together to keep the plug in even though I knew it wouldn't come out until Cynthia withdrew it.
I put her glass on a little silver serving tray I always kept handy, and carried it back into the room with as much wiggle as I could put into my walk without spilling the wine. Then, keeping my knees straight I bent over at the waist right in front of Cynthia, so she got a good view of my face.
"Mistress, your wine," I said softly
When she took the glass, I shivered sending my breast forms into a slight back and forth movement within my dress. It was time for the seduction to begin, but I knew I had to be clever.
"Oh Mistress, I'm sorry," I said trying to sound appalled that my breasts were jiggling in front of her face, "I just got a little chill."
I still hadn't stood up. Cynthia tried to look at me harshly, but she couldn't prevent her amusement from showing in her eyes. I almost giggled in response.
"You look tired Mistress, may I rub your back?"
"That would be nice Sissy, why don't you."
So I walked around the couch and stood behind her. I was going to make sure she liked this and I gently pulled out the two combs she wore to keep her hair out of her eyes.
Then I began to run my fingers through her lustrous hair. After a couple of moments, I pulled her hair up with one hand and began to caress her neck with the other. Then I leaned over and began to kiss her neck and shoulders as if they belonged to a goddess. As I did that, I moved my hands down to her shoulders and kneaded gently through the leather. Her suit was so soft and supple that it seemed part of her body instead of just covering it. We both moaned as I worked.
After ten minutes, I went around the front of the couch again, kneeled in front of her, took off her shoes and gave her a repeat performance of the toe and leg licking that I had given her that first night in her apartment. It took about 15 minutes before I had reached her pussy and had her squirming around on the couch. After a couple of minutes of gentle licking and kissing, I stuffed my tongue as far up her pussy as it would go. She squealed with delight so I started licking and sucking with abandon. She came a few minutes after that. I kept my head in her lap, licking gently, savoring her juices.
I finally looked up and asked, "Mistress, may I ask you a favor?"
She looked down at me but it was obvious that she had not yet fully come down from her orgasm.
"Would you fuck me please?" I continued and I wiggled my butt around to indicate where. "You are a wonderful Mistress, but you never fuck me." I pouted. "Don't you like me?"
She smiled.
I looked up at her through my lashes, adoringly. She looked down at me with mild amusement. I got up on my knees, so I was closer to eye level.
"Sissy's not a virgin you know, she's been fucked by nasty men. But Sissy has always wanted to see how a woman does it. And Mistress, you are the most incredible woman," Her smile grew wider when she heard that.
I threw myself at her and kissed her fervently all over the face and neck. She just lay back and let it happen. I snaked my hand back down to her pussy and started rubbing there too. I pushed my tits into hers and rubbed them together as well. She was breathing hard.
"Make me cum with your mouth once more and I'll do it for you, but only if you're really good," she whispered.
"Oh Mistress, I will be." I sank back to the floor as sinuously as I could, keeping my hands on her breasts for as long as I could. Then I went to work on her pussy, as if my life depended on it. But, I refused to touch her clit. She started squirming and moaning, but I kept away from it and sucked her labia deep into my mouth.
Then she started to beg, "please Sissy, suck my clit, please..."
"Will you fuck me?" I asked knowing I had the upper hand for a change.
"What!? I said I would! I will! Don't stop you little whore!" It certainly didn't take her long to take back control.
Fifteen minutes after she had come the first time she was shuddering again to another orgasm. When she had settled down, I lay my head on her thigh for a few minutes. All the time I could feel that butt plug and before too long, I just had to get up, I straightened my skirt and started to wiggle off to my bedroom. I stopped at the door.
"Mistress can I get you anything else?" I asked looking at her as two beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.
"What? No I'll be fine," she said with a sigh.
"Please Mistress you look tired, please come to bed, I need you in me so bad," I replied and then rushed to my room.
I hurried into my room, pulled off the maid's uniform and untied the corset. Then I sat at my vanity, cleaned my face, and redid my makeup, which was a total mess. I ran a brush through my hair, applied more perfume and lay down on the bed with my head propped on the pillows. I then proceeded to get anxious, very anxious. That whole scene in the other room had taken all my courage and now that it was over, I felt totally lost. Thank god Cynthia didn't keep me waiting too long. She came into the room wearing her black high heels, a silky black robe, and a double dildo sticking out from her waist.
It looked unnatural on her but I knew that by using it on me she was going to enjoy it too. She didn't look or behave like a man, but then it would be impossible for her to look like a man under any circumstances. I smiled to myself realizing I had that problem too.
"You little slut," she said to me as she walked over to the bed. "You never told me you had been fucked by more than one man. How many have you had, 10, 50, 100? I know your kind, come on all shy and timid, but get on your knees for anyone with anything manly between their legs."
"I...," I tried to reply.
"Don't talk. You say you need it, you're going to get it. Then we'll see if you ever want a man again. Lick me," she commanded.
She presented the life-like dildo to me as she stood by the side of the bed. I sat up languorously, keeping my eyes on hers and feeling the butt plug deep inside me. When I was directly in front of her crotch, l looked down at it and began to kiss, lick, and suck her fake penis, moving it around in her as much as possible. She let me go on with that for a while and then took my face in her hands and lifted me up. She lowered her head to meet mine and ravaged my mouth with needy, hungry kisses. I thought she would suck the breath out of me with her intensity.
"Roll over onto your back Sissy and lift your knees up to your shoulders." Then she stood straight up and shrugged the robe off her otherwise naked body. God she was gorgeous. Her breasts were by no means large, but they rode almost defiantly from her narrow chest. She had softly taut muscles and luscious curves in all the right places.
Then she knelt on the bed and put a couple of pillows under my ass. As soon as she had me set she gently twisted the butt plug out of my ass and then leaned in over me, her hands on either side of my body, so we were face to face.
"Now, my sweet little Sissy, it's time to give you what you've been begging for. Don't you find it interesting, that yesterday you were afraid of this, and then today you begged me to give it to you? You're just lucky I'm so nice to you," she spoke softly.
She bent over and kissed me tenderly on the lips. Then she pulled her body up so she was squatting on her knees again, and positioned her dildo at the entrance to my asshole.
"I want you to love this, so you have to guide me in," she took a deep breath and leaned over me again, her breasts hanging down. I could look down between them and see the large penis that was about to invade my body. "That was a smart thing you did earlier, loosening yourself up. You're going to love this so go ahead, grab my dick and guide it into your little pussy. Then talk to me and tell me what to do, this has to go at your rate."
So I did what she said, and I was thankful for her gentleness because I really was apprehensive, although I wasn't sure why. As I grabbed the rubber phallus and it touched the entrance to my pussy, my mind raced back to the first person who had taken me like this. He was Kyle Marcus, a rather handsome, muscular, oversexed young gay man my mother had forced me to date. She had gotten fed up trying to humiliate me simply by forcing me to dress up when she finally realized just how much I enjoyed it. Instead, she figured that forcing me into a homosexual relationship would be something fun for her to try.
"Listen, you little pansy," she spit at me, "I told you that if I found you had been into my clothes again, you were going to get it. Well, sweetie pie, you want to dress like a girl, you're going to go out on dates as one. I've found you a boy friend." She was so proud of herself. "I think that he will be just your type, he's a faggot too." There was venom in her voice.
By the time my first big date rolled around, she had bought me a complete outfit of my own to wear and made sure I looked my part. She first sent me to the bathroom to shower and shave. I had no beard yet, but I had to do my legs and underarms. Then to enhance my humiliation, she shaved around my penis and balls, first trimming my still sparse pubic hair so it wasn't too long and then shaping it into a narrow V. I felt shamed when I saw what was happening, but got hard when she manipulated my penis. When she saw the confusion on my face, she mocked me.
"You really are a faggot aren't you? Getting all hard because I'm shaving you to look like a girl." Can you imagine, your own mother doing that to you.... (of course, this is the woman who accused me of killing my own father).
She went on, just dripping insincerity, "you're going to be so adorable." She slipped a pair of high cut black panties up my legs and fastened a matching padded bra around my chest. She filled it with foam pads.
"You're kind of flat-chested aren't you darling? Hope your boyfriend doesn't mind. But then you're only 14 so what's he expect. I just hung my head, a hot blush rising to my cheeks, although I wasn't sure what I was ashamed about. Then came pantyhose, a really lacy black slip, and a red sleeveless dress that just came to mid thigh. She really did a great job with my makeup and hair, and even put a hot red polish on my nails. It complimented the dress rather nicely. When she added a couple of bracelets, a small necklace and a white sweater for me to put over my shoulders, I was adorable. At least I thought so.
As I waited for Kyle to show up, I stood in front of the mirror, twirling back and forth to make myself feel girlish. I was loving it; it aroused me terribly. At the same time, my mother was doing her best to humiliate me and make me feel ashamed of myself. And as soon as I let myself become aware of what was happening, I got downright scared about going out with this guy, who was bigger and older than I was, and could certainly make me do whatever he wanted.
Fear, humiliation and sexual arousal, that's a heady combination, let me tell you. My mother really was an idiot. She thought this was going squash my desire to dress? Hell, this was like throwing gasoline on a fire. I really loved what was happening to me, at least until Kyle arrived.
Mom wanted me out in public with him, so he took me to a dance at his high school. He set the tone as soon as we got into his car. He turned to me and said, "Listen, princess, here's the deal. You're my girlfriend and you better behave like it or I'll out you and leave you right where it happens."
Oh, great, that would be perfect. I would be a guy dressed as a girl at a dance at a strange high school. No thank you, I would behave. I didn't say a word, I just nodded at him to let him know I understood.
"I'm in charge of this 'relationship,' sarcasm dripped from the word, "and you'll do whatever I say. Is that clear?"
I nodded again, too afraid to speak.
"Good," he said, "now slide over here and let me put my arm around you while I drive."
So I slid over next to him and we drove to the dance with his arm around my shoulder. It actually felt kind of comforting, so I very tentatively allowed my head fall onto his shoulder.
"Very good," he told me, and kissed my head. "You have good instincts, let's see what else you can come up with to show your love for me.
I thought for a few moments and then put my hand on his leg.
"That's a girl," he actually sounded appreciative, "you keep this up and we're going to have a great time together."
When we got to the dance, he actually helped me out of the car, so I gave him a little curtsey in thanks. His smile showed that he approved. As we were walking to the door, he had his arm so tightly around my waist and was holding me so close that I had to put my arm around his waist as well because there wasn't any place else to put it, he asked, "Hey, what's your name, your femme name?" Despite all the times I had dressed in my mother's clothes, I hadn't yet come up with a name I liked, and had no ready reply. But it didn't matter, he broke in to my thoughts almost immediately.
"Fuck it, I don't care. I've always wanted to date someone called Brittany, you'll be Brittany."
"OK, that's a nice name, I like it," I replied in a small voice.
All of sudden, he turned on me and grabbed my hand, bending my wrist backwards into a painful position that forced me down in front of him.
"Owww." I looked up at him with pleading eyes. I had no idea what had happened.
"You listen to me you little bitch. I don't care what you like. You're here to please me and that's all you need to think about." He glared down at me for a few moments and then released my hand. "You do that, and well get along just fine. Let's go."
With that he put his arm around my shoulder and led me into the dance. I was really scared now, he had gone from sweet to angry to sweet in less than a minute. He was a dangerous guy and I had to figure out how to keep him happy.
Walking into the gym where the dance was being held made me feel like a Christian who had just been thrown to the lions. I was lucky not to pee in my panties I was so scared. I clung to Kyle, like he was a life preserver in a rough sea. Fortunately, that was just what he wanted.
Once we got inside, I got really lucky. Someone had brought a bottle of vodka, so we got to drink spiked punch. That really calmed me down and by the middle of the evening Kyle and I were dancing close, with my hands draped around his neck and my head on his chest. With each step in my submission to him, he raised the stakes. Only a little while later, he lifted my head off his chest, tilted it up to his face, and kissed me. When his lips first touched mine, I froze like I had just put an electrical cord into my mouth.
He pulled back and glared at me, "don't you dare freeze up when I kiss you, remember who and where you are."
I wasn't sure whether he meant that I was supposed to remember that I was his loving girlfriend or that I was a crossdressed boy at a strange high school. It didn't matter. Either way I knew what I had to do. I turned my head to the side and tilted my face up towards his. Then I reached up with both my hands, putting them in his hair on either side of his face, and pulled him down to my lips. Then I closed my eyes and let him kiss me.
Let me tell you, I never expected to feel the way I did, but it was damn erotic. Here I was, as thrilled as I could be because I was dressed like a cute high school sweetheart, humiliated because my hunky date was treating me like I was a mere object, and scared nearly witless because he was a potentially dangerous guy who wanted me to behave like his honey. And I was kissing another guy and liking it. Erotic touching, fear, and humiliation fueled my arousal.
By the end of the evening, he had both his hands on my ass and was rubbing his rather hard erection into my tummy. It was amazing, there it was sticking straight up from his groin towards his belly and it was almost like there was another person there with us. Although I had never considered having sex with a guy before, his erection got me even further aroused and I not only rubbed back, but I was starting to consider what that penis might feel like in my hand. I really didn't know what was going on.
At the end of the evening, as I was collecting my bag and sweater to get ready to leave, I was starting to believe that being scared had been a good thing. It kept me close to Kyle and attentive to his needs. I wouldn't have (at least I don't think I would have) chosen to behave like I had on my own, but being forced had been incredibly exciting in a strange way that I couldn't understand at all. I had never felt so vibrant or alive. Every nerve ending in my body was tingling.
Then, all of a sudden, the dance was over. All the other guys took their girls for something to eat, but Kyle had another need. He took me to a local lover's lane, got me into the back seat of his car, and forced me to have sex with him. Really, he just overpowered me physically, and then looming up over me as I lay on my back, he reminded me that I was his loving girlfriend and started to kiss and fondle me. In this new situation, I froze up like I had before on the dance floor. He stopped for a moment, looked into my eyes, and said, "you love me, or did you forget. It's a long way home from here, and if I kick you out of the car, I'm keeping your dress."
OK, I get it. I started to respond to him, and you know what, just like before, I was getting pretty excited, so I went with it. After about 15 minutes, he rose up over me, pushed my knees up to my shoulders and grabbed something from the front seat. It was, thank god, KY jelly. He lubricated himself and then said, "put it in."
For a moment I didn't understand what he meant, but it dawned on me like the sun breaking through the clouds. I was aghast and didn't move.
He just growled at me, "either you do it or I will, and if I do it's gonna hurt more."
So I reached between my legs and grabbed the base of his penis with my right hand. It isn't that big, I remember thinking to myself. He allowed me to pull him towards me and aim the head of his dick at my virgin asshole. I let my head fall back until I was staring up towards the roof of the car. He was in shadow, and his silhouette blocked my view almost entirely. I took in that image for a moment, then closed my eyes and focused my attention on my hand, his erection, and my asshole. I still have a supernaturally clear image of me on my back, with my legs splayed out and pushed up to my shoulders. I was about to get fucked like a girl in the back seat of a car, and on my first date no less.
As soon as I had placed the head of his dick against my hole, he started to force his way forward. It hurt! I started to whimper, and then to cry. He just kept pushing, slowly, but without let up. Really, he could have made it much worse, but he could have made it much easier as well. It hurt the whole time and at one point, just as he finally pushed himself all the way in with one final lunge, I felt a searing pain right in my rectum. I didn't learn what had happened until later, but he had stretched the skin so quickly, it tore. I spent the rest of the evening in tears and ran right into the apartment when he finally dropped me off.
I don't think my mom knew what he would do to me, but when I told her, she just laughed and said welcome to womanhood. She was nice enough to get me a Tampax to stop my bleeding and to wash the blood out of my panties. But the fact that he had raped me didn't stop her from sending me out with him every time he wanted to take me.
We had many dates after that and the truth is, he did treat me better as time went on. We actually started having fun with each other. There was one great weekend when we drove upstate to the Dutchess County fair and then spent the night at a nearby motel.
We walked around the midway hand in hand, kissed on the Ferris wheel, and clung to each other and screamed on the roller coaster. He even won a couple of large stuffed animals that he dutifully presented to me. What could be more girlish than wandering around a fair with your boyfriend, carrying the stuffed animals he had won for you. Even though I felt rather overdressed in my full makeup, slinky red minidress with the flared skirt and shoes with chunky 21/2 inch heels, I was just in heaven.
That night we made love for hours. He always wanted to fuck me when we went out; sometimes that's all we did. Usually it wasn't very fulfilling for me because he came so fast I barely had time to get excited. He usually left me feeling used and abused, which I guess is how lots of teenage girls end up feeling when they have sex with their inexperienced dates. The night after the fair was different. He paid some attention to my needs. We sucked on each other's cocks and after he had come a couple of times, he was able to fuck me until I came just from that. In fact, that was the night I finally had an orgasm through anal intercourse. I could barely walk the next day, I was so sore, but I did learn that sex with a guy could be fulfilling, if the guy was willing to put in the effort.
That's what flashed through my mind as I drew Cynthia's dildo to my rectum. But this experience was nothing like that first time with Kyle. She changed my opinion of anal sex entirely before I had even come. She was masterful with her dildo. She was as patient as I needed her to be, and we took our time getting her all the way in. Then she taught me about rhythm, rate, depth, speed, and all kinds of other things that I, as a guy with his own cock, had never really considered before.
Let's face it, when a young guy is ready to penetrate, he is already wound up and aching for climax. His brain is in his dick. A woman doesn't have that...distraction, and Cynthia fucked me with care, with tenderness, with empathy, and finally with urgency only when one of us was nearing climax. I had my second orgasm from anal intercourse that night. We did it the second time with me sitting on top of her. I loved that too, but decided that I preferred to be on the bottom. It would take me quite some time before I got over the electric thrill of lying on my back with my legs spread so that I could present my special pussy to my lover. I still just love even the thought being in that wonderfully vulnerable position.
After that night, I let her have me whenever she wanted. Sometimes I begged her for it. We were so lucky to have so many ways to make love to each other. I could make love to her pussy with my penis, and she could make love to mine with her dildo. Or, we could just act like two women and make love without any penetration at all. Maybe it was because I was getting so much sex, but my need to penetrate her lessened considerably and I was more than content no matter how we made love to each other.
The change was subtle, but real if you were looking for it. I got some women's oxford shirts and a couple of ladies pants suits as well. We purposely selected suits that were also very man-tailored, but they were women's suits nonetheless. Everyone who knew anything about clothes knew what they were, but I was less flamboyantly dressed than a number of the openly gay men at North State.
My breasts had started to swell and puff out and became annoyingly sensitive. I now wore a soft cotton and lycra sports bra most of the time at work. My hair continued to grow and except for a trim to keep the ends even, Cynthia made it clear that it was going to grow longer still. That was just fine with me because I had no interest in cutting it either. I wanted long hair. When I brushed it out it came half way to my shoulders. At work I usually wore it back and often in a ponytail.
Cynthia insisted that my nails be kept perfectly manicured, although social correctness prevented me from growing them as long as I wanted, which was probably just as well because I faced certain punishment if I broke one or showed up somewhere with a chip or sloppily applied polish.
I always wore small gold hoops in my ears and of course my ring from Cynthia. With all this, it was becoming harder and harder to keep feminine mannerisms out of my work life, so Thornton told me he didn't want me at any more meetings with clients. I gratefully ceded that role to Cynthia who was a natural anyway.
I often ate lunch with Marci, Kathleen, and Betsy, and we talked about girl stuff and went shopping together. They even got me thinking about what kind of man I might find attractive (which was kind of weird because neither Marci nor Kathleen had much interest in them). That was a hard one for me, I hadn't really thought about that at all, but once they planted the idea, I started to wonder... I knew he had to be bigger than me, but not too muscle bound, and certainly not too hairy, and definitely not macho, ugh. Probably blonde was better, but...but...oh hell, I didn't know.
Then, one day, out of the blue, Marci solved my "guy" problem. She point blank asked me if I wanted to go out on a date with a "really cute" guy. He was the gay brother of one of Cynthia's woman friends, just a couple of years older than me. He was on the fast track to become partner at a big law firm and needed a date for a fancy affair that his company was throwing in honor of a new client. He was still in the closet at work, and often took Cynthia or one of her lesbian friends when he needed a date for appearances sake. But these women were mostly older than he was, and he felt uncomfortable about it. Cynthia had suggested Kathleen, but Marci, knew right away who should go on this date.
" Kathleen's not really sophisticated enough for that crowd, how about Lilly?"
"Oh, what a great idea," squealed Cynthia. My fate was sealed.
Marci was the one who broached the subject to me.
"A date? With a guy? You've got to be kidding." I truly was taken aback. "Cynthia would never..."
Marci cut me off, "Cynthia thinks it's a great idea. She says it will give you a chance to work on the kind of etiquette and manners that you can only learn at fancy affairs. Besides, this guy is adorable and he's almost as nice as you are. If I liked guys, I would be chasing him like he was the last man on earth.
She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I blushed with pride and hugged her back, remembering how much she despised me just a few months ago.
"Thank you Marci, I'm so glad you're not mad at me any more."
"She laughed for a moment and then said, "Sissy darling (she just loved to call me Sissy), I really liked you when you first came to work with us. You were one of the nicest men I had ever met, and so cute." She pinched my cheek in jest. "Then you became a jerk and I started to hate you. But no one could ever stay mad at someone as sweet and submissive as you've become. I'm only sorry we didn't rescue you sooner from the clutches of that stupid Brad Miller. So what do you say, will you do it?"
"I guess so, but I'll need some help," I replied.
"Oh! I know that's the best part. We're going to have so much fun. We have to shop for a dress and shoes, and get your hair done and....," she was gushing with enthusiasm.
"Marci, what kind of a date is this?" I asked, now unsure what I had committed myself too.
"Didn't I tell you? It's a black tie party in honor of a new client. It will be held in the penthouse at Trump Tower. Very ritzy, and there are sure to be lots of celebrities there."
My eyes opened wide and my jaw dropped, a fancy dress party? Oh no, what did I get myself into. As it turned out, I got myself into quite a lot. Michael Butler was indeed a very sweet, gorgeous guy. A dirty blonde, sort of like I thought I might have preferred, and big, but not muscle bound at all. I'm sure all the straight girls who knew him, thought, "what a waste," when they discovered he was gay, but you couldn't tell that by looking at him. He dressed conservatively, behaved impeccably, and played every sport imaginable.
It also turned out that he had as many misgivings about this as I had. His were actually more serious. He was afraid that if anyone even suspected I was not a real girl that it would damage his reputation beyond repair. As a result, even though he loved the idea of going with a guy instead of a real girl, he wouldn't take me to the party unless he was sure I could pull it off. So he made a deal with Cynthia. If she could get me ready to pull this off, I would be his date and he would buy her dinner at the restaurant of her choice. Knowing Cynthia, that would be one expensive meal. But, if I wasn't ready in time, she would have to go to the party with him instead and buy him that expensive dinner.
"Hey, what about me?" I said, "isn't anyone buying me dinner?"
"Lillian Miller," Cynthia shot back,
Oh no, I should have kept my mouth shut. I was in trouble again. But Cynthia broke into a huge grin.
"You win no matter what happens. You'll get to wear all kinds of pretty dresses, you'll learn more about being a woman, and you'll have all of us paying attention to you so you'll be ready on time. Besides, you're the one who will get to go to the penthouse at Trump Tower. So don't be selfish!" Her voice rose and she threw her magazine at me, though it was obviously in jest. Then she turned serious again (at least she looked liked she was serious). "If you blow it, however, and you're not ready in time, you'll be Sissy 24/7 for a month. Now shut up and sit down. Michael and I have details to work out and this is no time for your childish shenanigans.
Hhmmph, shunted off like a little girl again. I sat on the couch and pouted (Brad would have fumed, but Lillian and Sissy pouted; somehow it seemed more appropriate). Still, I hated it when people talked about me like I wasn't there, which is just what Cynthia and Michael were doing now, although Cynthia was in one of her take charge moods and Michael hardly got a word in edgewise. Then, during a brief lull in their conversation, Michael caught my eye, gave me a fake pout of his own, and winked at me. For a moment I thought he was making fun of me, but then I realized he was really commiserating with me instead, like maybe he and I were sharing a secret and Cynthia was the one being left out. I thought hat was sweet and it made me feel better and warm to Michael.
They eventually decided on a series of dates before the big night to allow Michael and I to get to know each other and to make sure I knew what I needed for such an upper crust function. That's how I ended up going out with Michael for a casual dinner one evening, to a fancy dinner and dancing on a second date, and to the opera for the third.
Cynthia, Marci, Kathleen, and several of Cynthia's friends immediately went to work to get me ready. They decided it was time for an all out effort on several aspects of the feminine me. It was almost like Christmas, and I was the tree they were going to decorate. The most exciting part of the whole thing for the old crossdresser in me was ball gown training. They borrowed some formal gowns for me to practice in, and a couple of nights a week, I was dressed like a princess and run through my paces like a big puppy getting ready for the annual show of the Westminster Kennel Club. In addition to the gorgeous gowns, there were elbow-length gloves, jewelry, upswept hair, and different kinds of wraps. One week I got to practice with a white mink stole. It was just luscious against my bare shoulders, and so much fun to cuddle in and twirl around.
We started with really basic stuff, like how to walk and sit down, and moved to more advanced lessons, like eating hors d'oeuvres while standing up with your bag on your shoulder (my idea of slinging it over one should and under the opposite arm, so the strap lay between my breasts was hooted down by all the women together - Geeesh). Then there was the really hard stuff, like holding up a long skirt so you can walk, especially up and down stairs, and even using the ladies room. I mean, there was a lot of dress and underwear to deal with in one of those little cubicles. No wonder the lines are always so long outside the women's rest rooms. There was one dress that I enjoyed wearing, but with a long slim skirt, it was a real bitch on stairs. I had to turn partly sideways to come down, and take such small steps that I never quite felt in control, much to the amusement of Cynthia and her friend Haley, who let me borrow the gown.
Then, one evening while we were practicing eating and drinking while standing up, and I was trying to be on my best behavior, Cynthia asked out of the blue, "So Lillian, tell me about yourself."
"Huh?" I replied, being as clever as I could be.
"My dear," she said as haughtily as she could, "I don't think 'huh' is used in polite conversation. I stood there looking stupid while the other women in the room laughed uproariously.
"Really," Cynthia teased, "correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that if you plan to go out as Lillian, it might be a good idea to create an identity and life history for you. You know, where you grew up, went to school, and whom you work for. "
We quickly decided that the easiest and safest thing to do was to keep my real life, changing only the names, to protect the innocent. Then Cynthia decided I should be a consultant. "Of course, if you're going to be a hotshot consultant, you'll need business cards, won't you?" It wasn't really a question. "If you're going to get cards made, you should have a feminine middle name. All my friends use their middle names or initials on their cards, and you will too."
I knew whose name I wanted right away, there was only one woman in my family who had loved me unconditionally, my mother's mom, Grandma Samantha. I liked that, being named after both Cynthia's and my own maternal grandmothers. So the cards would read Lillian Samantha Miller, which I thought was a bit much for a simple charade. But I was so delighted with my name, I didn't even think to ask about the name of the fictitious company that was to be my employer.
But I was Lillian Samantha nonetheless, and I both feared and hoped that it wouldn't be long before my driver's license would contain that name as well. A few days later, Kathleen started calling me Sammi and the first time she did, I cried with joy and hugged her as hard as I could. What a sweet, touching thing to do! I was still not used to people treating me so nicely. Each time it happened, I choked up. My heart felt so full, I just couldn't contain my emotions. Of course, by this time, the hormones were probably amplifying every emotion I had, but no matter, I was really touched.
One night, Roberta Watts, a friend of Cynthia's who worked at Saks Fifth Avenue, loaned me a long black sequined gown to practice in, and Cynthia decided that it was the one I had to wear to Michael's party. It was sleeveless, with shirred fabric gathered at the neck in front, so it looked almost demure. The back, however, was only a set of six criss-crossing rhinestone studded straps, leaving me exposed to the top of my derriere. I would have to wear this without a bra. It also had a side slit that went at least half way up the thigh. Mandy, who was over to help that night, pointed out that a "young thing" like me would be expected to be sexy, and I'll tell you, between the back and the slit, this dress should leave every guy who saw it with a hard on.
I was secretly delighted with just how sexy and feminine it made me feel, but figured I had to object to wearing something so overtly hot just for show. "Cynthia," I practically whined, "This dress exposes too much. Wearing it would embarrass me."
She just snorted at me derisively, "My dear girl," she sounded like some very proper British lady's maid, "don't be such a prude. You'll have men lining up all across the room trying to get you to pay attention to them. Besides you have no judgment in matters like this." She stopped for a moment and looked at me with her head slightly tilted, then she resumed talking in her normal voice, "besides, I know you're lying. You'd do just about anything to wear this dress wouldn't you?"
I smiled at her and nodded meekly. "Yes! It's wonderful." I minced over to Roberta as quickly as my little steps would carry me and threw myself into her arms. "Thank you so much for loaning it to me."
"Oh, I'm not loaning it to you, but I will let you buy it at my discount. Let's see, where's the tag," and she went rummaging through her purse. "Oh here it is, she said brightly, "only $795, retail, with my discount it'll cost you $640.
"What?" I almost choked on the drink I was sipping and ended up spraying some of it on Cynthia, who for some reason started to laugh, so did Rachel. I just looked at them horrified.
Once Cynthia had gotten herself under control, she told me that she and Michael had decided to split all the costs with me three ways. I had to dress up, but I didn't have to go broke, although once I had added shoes and accessories, and threw in a trip to the salon so Shelly could work her magic on me, I would end up spending more than $750 for this little charade.
What the hell, I thought, in for penny, in for a pound. I drove the cost out of my mind and got back to my practicing. I certainly wasn't going to risk ruining a dress that was so expensive. With everyone in high spirits, I spent the rest of the evening vamping for them, showing as much leg as possible and practicing sexy looks over my shoulder that emphasized my bare back. Cynthia threatened to spank me at one point if I didn't behave myself. We all had a wonderful evening
Cynthia also forced me to sign up for some ballroom dancing lessons because a sophisticated young woman like myself would of course know how to dance the waltz and foxtrot. I would indeed be Michael's partner in all respects. Kathleen agreed to go with me for moral support, and you know what, It was fun. We really loved it! Then, after my first date with Michael, I convinced him to join me and he brought along a friend to dance with Kathy.
Men commonly bond by sharing activities, and the dancing lessons were the activity that helped cement my friendship with Michael. While we were dancing, we talked to each other about all sorts of things, including our feelings, something I had never done with another man, not that I ever had many male friends anyway. It was great, we were getting along so well that even when I got confused or made mistakes, we both just laughed. I decided that as soon as I had the time I was going to learn to tango. It's such a sexy dance, and Cynthia was definitely going to be my partner. She would be so hot, I was getting excited just thinking about it.
One evening I told him about my new middle name, and why I had picked Samantha. He in turn told me that he loved the name Samantha. He had a childhood fantasy from an old TV show about having a girlfriend named Samantha, who he called Sam. At that point I decided to take a chance.
"You could call me Sam, if you like," I said as he spun me on my toes under his strong left arm. Although I started talking with some confidence, by the time I finished, I sounded like a rather shy 14 year old.....and felt like one too. I was surprised to feel so vulnerable just because I made such a little offer. The fear of rejection was strong in me.
But by then I was back in both his arms and he held me away from him a little and said, "Really?" And when I nodded yes, he just lit up, "I'd love that, Sam." And he kissed me briefly on the lips. I blushed so hard I felt like a flash bulb.
But I was driven by the moment. In the low heels I was wearing to learn to dance, I could only reach his cheek if I stretched up on my tiptoes, so I did, kissing him in return and leaving a plum colored lipstick mark. I pulled my head back and smiled at him. He looked into my eyes for a moment and then pulled me to him with his right hand, which was already on my back to guide me as we danced. His left hand came up to the side of my head and holding it gently, he kissed me again, this time lingering on my lips for a quite a while. I felt a little breathless, but wonderful being with him and in his arms. When I noticed the other six couples in the class staring at us, I blushed again and buried my face in his chest.
On the first of our dates, Michael had arranged to pick me up at the apartment, and when he arrived, I was struggling to get ready. I was anxious because I couldn't decide what to wear and Cynthia was being no help at all. In fact I'm sure she was torturing me just for the fun of it. She simply said that she liked everything I had and when I came running out to the living room to show her how one outfit looked, she looked up blandly, and said, "fine."
Fine? Fine? What the hell does that mean? I wanted to look great, and the way she said fine, it sounded like terrible. I mean, why have girlfriends if they won't help you dress for a date? I was so frustrated I stamped my foot. Cynthia just laughed.
Since this was meant to be an informal evening, for a while I considered jeans with a white cotton blouse, and black flats. Then I decided I just had to wear a skirt or dress, but I didn't really have anything that was particularly casual. So I finally decided on the long red rayon skirt and the long pale yellow cotton sweater I had worn the Sunday morning of that first weekend all those months ago, when Cynthia had just moved in and taken over my life.
Of course, by the time I finally decided, Michael was almost due, so I was still dressing when he arrived. Thank god I had done my hair and makeup and was wearing French nails. When I finally entered the living room, he was chatting with Cynthia, like the old friends they were. He rose from his seat with an expectant look that turned into a warm, admiring smile as soon as he saw me.
"You look wonderful Lillian," he said, sounding completely sincere. He was dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, with a muted plaid sports jacket of some wonderfully soft wool.
"Thank you Michael," I said, a bit breathlessly. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get ready, but my girlfriend here was no help at all." I threw a pouty look at Cynthia.
She just rolled her eyes and Michael and laughed. "She's insufferable, you'd think she'd never been out on a date with a guy before, and at her age.
Trying to ignore her pointedly, I turned back to Michael, "you look very handsome tonight." I couldn't believe I had said that in front of Cynthia! It just came out. I was soooo embarrassed. I sounded like a 16 year old. I lowered my eyes and could feel my face heat up as I blushed. All of a sudden I was feeling a little unsteady in my heels. Thank god my hair covered my face so well!
"You're blushing," he said with genuine surprise in his voice. He had no trouble looking down at me even though I was 5'10" in my heels. "Come on, lets' go, I'm looking forward to this evening, I think we're going to have fun."
I threw a long woolen coat over my shoulders to protect me from the October chill that descended on Manhattan after the sun set, grabbed my purse and went to give Cynthia a kiss before I left. Doing that made me feel like a teenager saying goodbye to her mom. I shivered with delight at the feeling. I got off on the strangest stuff. Then again, my relationship with my own mom was so bad, that I almost never got to feel anything positive from her, maybe I was just having a second childhood.
"Now you two behave yourselves," she said with mock seriousness. "If she comes home pregnant, you're both in big trouble."
"Moommmm," I bleated, "how could you say that? You're so embarrassing. I told you I'm on the pill, did you forget already?" I couldn't resist teasing her now that I had Michael by my side to protect me.
"You're what?" She shouted back. "Why you little tramp. Get out of here before I ground you altogether."
We waved over our shoulders as we laughed our way out the door. Michael put his arm around my waist and led me to the elevator. As the door opened, Mrs. Marks stepped out.
"Hi Mrs. Marks," I chirped.
I guess I was still giddy from joking with Cynthia. Instead of being embarrassed because my neighbor had caught me wearing a skirt and in the arms of a guy, I was teasing instead. Of course she had seen me that first night when I let Marci and Kathy in my door while I was wearing only lingerie, and a few other times as well, but we had never talked. She looked up at me, but it took a moment for her to figure out just who I was.
Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but only a very squeaky, "is that you Brad?" came out.
"It's Lillian now," I said, as the elevator door closed.
Michael started to snigger.
"Whhaat?" I looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Then I giggled along with him. What was a great start to a first date; my mood was buoyant.
From then on the whole evening went great. We went to one of those cozy little neighborhood Italian restaurants that dot New York City. We shared wine, we shared food, and we shared ourselves with each other. It was almost as if we were buddies, which sort of makes sense since we're both guys, even if I didn't look like one and did my best not to act like one.
I decided about half way through the evening that I really wanted to attend the big affair with him and did my very best to behave like the kind of sophisticated young woman he would want to take. I desperately wanted to flirt with him, although I wasn't sure why. Besides, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go where that might lead, so I restrained myself. Well, at least I restrained myself most of the time, really, no one's perfect..., right?
We had always planned for this to be a short evening, but after we ate, neither one of us wanted to go home. I wanted him to take me to a gay bar for a drink or two, but he wasn't up for that, "what happens if one of my friends sees me out with a girl?" he exclaimed, his voice rising as he finished, "it could ruin my reputation." We both just laughed, but I couldn't let it go.
"But I am a guy," I insisted.
"Well, maybe you are," he said, "but you sure don't look like one. What do you plan to do, pull your skirt up and show everyone your dick?"
I hit him playfully on the arm, "well I could you know?"
"Oh no you couldn't," he shot back, "you'd have every guy in the place after your ass in 10 seconds, and I don't know you well enough yet to promise to protect you against some of those body builders."
Our conversation continued in that light mood as we strolled aimlessly around the west village and chatted.
His childhood was not terribly unlike mine, although his parents were quite affluent. His father was a workaholic, who was seldom home, and then walked out on his wife altogether when Michael was only 13. His mom was not warm and focused much of her attention on his two younger sisters anyway. When she found out he was gay, she tuned him out altogether and shipped him off to an expensive prep school for his last two years of high school.
The prep school turned out to be a treat for Michael because his gay self was able to bloom among like-minded friends and a staff that turned a blind eye. But, because his mom cast him out, from the time he was 15 he rarely saw his family, and ended up feeling like an orphan. Like me, he believed he was escaping an intolerable situation when he finally headed for college.
As we shared the intimate facts of our lives, I began to warm to him. I was sure I knew how he felt growing up. So I told him my story, and he behaved like an absolute dear, actually getting a little tear in his eye. We both felt comforted by being able to walk hand in hand with each other.
Then an unexpected thing happened; the warmth between us started to turn into sexual arousal. I don't know, maybe it was pheromones, or maybe any sign of affection turns guys on, or maybe Cynthia just had me in such a high state of sexual arousal that I was turned on all the time anyway. By 10 o'clock we were headed down Sixth Avenue towards my apartment. He had his arm around my shoulder and I had mine around his waist and I was snuggled as close to his body as I could get. As we crossed 12th Street, a couple walking the other way noticed us, and as they passed the girl innocently said, "don't they look like they're in love," as if there were no question about it.
Sixth Avenue and Twelfth Street, this is where Cynthia had kissed me that first Sunday afternoon we were together, maybe this is a lucky spot for me. So a few steps after we had hopped back up onto the sidewalk, I stopped, grabbed Michael's hand, and guided him in front of me.
"Kiss me," I said softly, telling him exactly what I wanted. But it sounded somehow wrong that way, so I added a submissive, "pleeease?" to soften my already plaintive sounding command into a request.
He only said, "Oh yes." It came out as kind of a moan, but he had his lips on mine so quickly, and I was so hungry for them, I never really heard what he said anyway. I melted into him and hung on for dear life. This guy could kiss. It was so different than kissing a girl, even though many of the girls I had kissed had been in charge, just like Michael was now. He was strong and insistent, he had bristles on his face, and very much unlike me now, he smelled so much like a man. I simply received his kiss as openly and joyfully as I could. And when he put his arm around my back and pulled me closer to him, I had no choice but to let it happen. I was glad to do it.
When we finally stopped, I was breathless. "I had no idea," I groaned, and looked up into his eyes, "that it could be so good to kiss a man."
"You're exquisite," he said. "And you taste delicious."
I thought of the tiramisu we had shared for desert and stupidly licked my lips to see if I could taste it. Of course the only taste there was lipstick..., and Michael. We stood there for a few moments, not knowing what to do, and then turned towards my apartment. We didn't say a word the rest of the way back, but we held onto each other tightly.
When we got to the door, I said, "do you want to come in?" Then I giggled, "I'll show you my Barbie doll collection."
He simply leaned down and kissed me. I put my arms around his neck and enjoyed his tongue in my mouth. He stopped after a few moments and then said, "you are remarkable Sam. I don't think I've ever felt this way about anyone with tits."
He reached inside my jacket and rubbed my left breast with real curiosity. "In the past when I've felt them push into my chest during a kiss, they turned me off. I have never been so turned on by anyone who looks and behaves so much like a woman." He held me at arm's length. "You are a guy aren't you?" I nodded affirmatively, trying to look as feminine as possible.
We already had that dinner and dancing date set for 10 days from now, but we both wanted to see each other sooner than that, and we both knew it.
I looked into his eyes, "Call me tomorrow, I think I need to talk this over with Cynthia. I didn't anticipate being so attracted to you either." I looked away and blushed. I was feeling so weak and out of control. My heart was beating rapidly in my chest and my breathing was rapid and shallow, and for a moment, I thought I might faint. "I've had only trouble with men in the past and I'm a little scared." I looked back up, "Please kiss me again."
I have never felt more like a girl than during that kiss, and I reveled in the feeling. When I finally opened the door and went in I was thoroughly confused. If it hadn't been for my gaffe, I would have had a hard on that would have torn my skirt (well maybe not, it was a loose skirt after all).
It was dark inside the apartment with only the glow of the outside lights of the city to see by. I took my heels off of my slightly sore feet, and dangling them from my left hand by their ankle straps, walked quietly towards Cynthia's bedroom. I looked inside and saw that she was already asleep. The rule was that if she was asleep, I wasn't allowed to wake her. I wandered back to my room, completely dejected. I washed up, changed into a short nightie, and then went back to her room. So what if I get punished. I really needed her now. I got into bed next to her and cuddled up as closely as I could get. Not surprisingly, she woke up. The surprise was, she didn't look angry, she looked worried.
She sat up and put her hand on my cheek. "Are you okay Lilly?" Those four words almost made me cry.
It was such a simple thing, but I believed with all my heart that it revealed her true feelings about me. She really was concerned about my well being. I felt so lucky to have her. So I stroked her hair to relax her.
"I am now that I'm in bed with you. The evening was wonderful but now I'm totally confused. I just needed to feel you near me. Please go back to sleep, we can talk tomorrow," I said staring into her eyes. She closed them and went back to sleep. I lay there for quite awhile before I was able to join her. What a night it had been.
When Cynthia's alarm went off, we awoke together. She started to get out of bed but I grabbed her hand and wouldn't let her go.
"Cynthia, do you remember last night?" I asked.
She was back to normal, and glib, "sure, you were scared, I let you sleep here. I should have thrown you out on the street for waking me after I'd gone to sleep. I might just tighten your corset down to 14" as punishment." Her eyes crinkled with glee, showing she wasn't upset.
I pushed on, undaunted. She had to make fun of me, that was part of her role in our relationship. I was going to tell her how much she meant to me, whether she wanted to hear it or not.
"I'm sorry I woke you up. But you saw something was wrong and you put your hand on my cheek and asked me if I was okay. My heart almost burst with joy because your concern was so obvious. No one ever...." I tried to continue but she put a long-nailed finger over my lips.
"Shush, come here, I'll give you a hug...."
I almost leapt at her, I was so grateful. For no reason I could understand I cried in her embrace and then felt much better - must be the hormones.
"I told you that you would like Michael," she finally said, breaking off the hug.
"You were right, too," I blubbered. "Now what am I going to do?"
"You're going to explore that part of your life, that's what. I told you that you had a lot to learn about yourself. I'm going to see that you do."
I hugged her fiercely. "Oh Cynthia, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I never before knew anyone who was actually willing to put my needs in front of theirs."
She let me cry for a minute while she held me and patted me as if I was a baby. Then she said, "come on, let's get ready for work."
"No, wait, tell me why. Why are you so nice to everyone?"
She looked at me sharply for a moment and then sighed. She got a slightly far away look in her eyes as she looked out the window towards the Riverside Park. She started talking without looking back. "My parents were born again Baptists. They were fanatical about religion, but very cold. They had no empathy for other people at all, including their own kids. It was almost as if they didn't see the people around them as people. We were all objects, like furniture." She shook her head as if she were ridding herself of an unpleasant thought.
Then she slumped down on the bed and went on, "they were unforgiving of anyone who sinned, including their six children. I was the third and the second girl. We all longed desperately to be loved, but we weren't, and each of us in turn fled home as soon as we were old enough. I felt terrible leaving my younger brother and sisters behind, because for all intents and purposes I was their mother. The only nurturing they got came from Hannah, our older sister, and from me. Hannah was the first to leave, and when my turn came, I knew I had to go if I was to survive." She had started to tear up and now began to sniffle. I grabbed the box of tissues and handed it to her. She smiled at me feebly in thanks.
I dropped down on the bed right down next to her and grabbed her hand. "You don't have to go on," I said, "I never intended to cause you pain." I was feeling guilty because her feelings were so obviously intense. She was dredging up deeply buried memories and I was getting worried about where this story might go.
"No," she replied through now red eyes. You really do need to know this. It might change how you feel about me."
My eyes widened a little and I could feel my heart rate start to accelerate. Her words scared me, but I kept silent.
She went on. "I had joined ROTC in high school and went into the army as soon as I graduated, that's why I'm so good at discipline." She threw me a crooked smile and went on, "the Army saw my potential and sent me to college. I could never have afforded it otherwise."
I had no idea where this story would lead and I guess she saw the confusion on my face. She just pushed ahead, "I swore when I was 13 that I would never treat anyone the way my parents treated their children. I can't stand to see people suffer emotionally, and for some reason, I seem to know just how to keep that from happening."
"But you take care of so many people. How can you do it, don't we all drain you dry."
She smiled at me sweetly, like I was a ten year old who had just asked where babies come from. "You don't know much about love do you?"
I dropped my shoulders and shook my head. "I guess not, it's never been part of my life." Then I lit up and grabbed her in a hug. Pulling back I smiled as brightly as I could. "Until I met you, that is." In some ways, I guess I was like a ten year old.
"There's one more thing you need to know, Lillian." That startled me, she never called me Lillian except when she was angry, but this time she said my name with obvious affection. I started and looked into her eyes. "It wasn't just my grandmother who was named Lillian. I had a sister named Lillian. She was only a year and a half younger than me. We called my Grandma Lillian and my sister Lilly so we all knew who we were talking about."
The look on her face filled me with foreboding, but I said nothing. "For some reason my parents were really hard on her and she just hated them." She could obviously tell I was scared because she patted my hand. Without looking up she said, " But Lilly and I adored each other, we were inseparable..., we did everything together. She begged me not to leave, but I assured her everything would work out just fine." She gave a big sigh and I could see determination fix itself on her face.
Six months after I left home for the army, just after her 17th birthday, she ran away. Two weeks after that they found her body in a ditch only ten miles from our house. She had been raped and murdered.
I gasped, horrified, although the real horror of it was beyond my understanding. I started to cry anyway. "Oh Cynthia," I blurted out and grabbed her to me. She was now crying openly as well. We clung to each other for a few moments before she collected herself. She pushed me away, holding me at arm's length.
"When you first told me your femme name was Lillian, my heart almost burst. I had felt so guilty about leaving home to begin with, and that guilt just exploded in intensity when I heard that Lilly had been killed. I was overseas and was given a week to go back home for her funeral. I was sure she ran away because I wasn't there to protect her from my parents. I blamed myself for her death. At her coffin I promised her that I would never let anything like that happen again."
"My sister Lilly loved Laura Ashley, she talked about it constantly, telling me how she would decorate her bedroom, but we could never afford it. Then I walk into your bedroom, and it's all done up in Laura Ashley. The site of it hit me like a lightening bolt. I thought I could use you to replace my Lilly. I felt right away that I could assuage my guilt by helping you to mend. That wasn't fair of me. I've been so presumptuous. Please forgive me."
And she fell back into my arms crying again. I was stunned. I had no idea, how could I. But I was just as surprised that she was asking me forgiveness as I was appalled by what had happened to her sister. As I tried to understand my feelings, it became clear to me that I loved her, no matter what her motives might have been. I had never been happier than I'd been over the past six months. This woman, who was begging my forgiveness, was a blessing for me. As I held her, I told her so.
"Cynthia, I don't care what your motives are. No one has ever given me more love or nurturing than you. I feel honored if you think I'm even a pale shadow of your sister. I'm embarrassed to call myself Lilly after what you've told me. You don't need to ask for my forgiveness, after the way I've behaved, I should be begging for your tolerance and understanding."
She looked up at me through red-rimmed eyes, her cheeks wet with tears. "Now let me tell you the real reason I gave you the ring." She lifted my hand and ran her fingers over the emeralds. "I wanted to remind myself how important it was for me to take care of you. I could never forgive myself if I lost another Lilly."
That just choked me up completely and I started to cry yet again. I had never felt like I was important to anyone. I started to get scared. I wasn't sure I could bear being this important to Cynthia. But then I began to see that if I really loved her I would have to bear it. If she needed another chance to raise her sister, I would gratefully give her that chance. Lord knows, I still had a lot of growing up to do.
We sat there wrapped in our own thoughts for a couple of more minutes and then Cynthia stood up, dragged me off the bed, looked deeply into my eyes and kissed me. Then she gave me a big smile, and shoved me towards the bathroom. "The girls will be pissed off if there's no coffee when they get in, and I'm not going to protect you from their wrath. You better hurry young lady."
I seemed to spend much of the day floating on air. My friends teased me gently when they noticed the mood I was in.
"I think our Lilly is in love, "Marci taunted me gently, "or else she got laid last night. Do you have a boyfriend now, sweetie?"
I just gave her a big hug and said, "Maybe it's just all those female hormones flooding my helpless brain, or maybe I learned that people can care for me."
"Oh shit, I better get you to employee health, I think you must have had a stroke, or estrogen poisoning, or something." She laughed and hugged me back.
Betsy and Kathleen also assumed that I was behaving like a love-struck teeny bopper because of Michael, which of course was only partly true. Everyone was so happy for me and no one really knew what had happened. I opened Thornton's computer and transferred more of his money to each of the accounts I had set up for the girls. I was almost euphoric. The only problem was, if we exposed Thornton as an embezzler, everyone would lose the bonuses I was so carefully building up for them. Maybe I could find a way to launder the money through accounts of his and have it disappear into the accounts of my friends. I'd have to check that out.
Michael called at around 10:30. I wanted to see him again, and he offered to take me to dinner again, but I had a dance class that evening. I decided to convince him to join me. "No, Michael, I have to go to class. Cynthia will just kill me if I don't." Then I put on my best pout, and hoping he could hear it over the phone, I continued, "Pulleeaase Michael, will you come with me? Then I brightened, "I'll make it worth your while."
"Why you little tramp," he teased back, "just what are you offering me?"
We settled on a late dinner after class. I would buy. Somehow that seemed backwards, but I didn't care. I was getting what I wanted, time with Michael.
When we left the studio at 10:00pm, I was flushed from the activity and thrilled from all the contact with Michael. He could really dance and he led me beautifully. When he first put his right arm around me, placing his hand on my left shoulder blade, I felt a thrilling jolt. I graciously laid my right hand in his left and for just a moment savored the feeling of being in his arms.
From then on, he was completely in control. That by itself made me more breathless even than twirling rapidly under his fingers. I felt like a teenager at a first dance, and I got such a kick out of the spins and turns. I felt so feminine twirling around under his arm, throwing my hair around my head, as he spun me elegantly with his hand above my head, my fingers swirling under his. I couldn't wait to try this in three inch heels. For now, however, I was sticking to low-heeled dancing shoes for safety.
At dinner we talked more about ourselves and I told him about my longing to become a woman. Neither one of us understood why we found the other attractive. He was usually into big buff guys with hard, muscular bodies, and I was into girls, and all their soft curvy parts. We agreed that it was perhaps a little easier for him because I, at least, was a guy.
"I like you a lot Sam," he said with a huge grin. "Now I can tell my gay friends I went out with Sam last night, and won't have to explain anything else. They'll just assume you are a guy."
We both giggled. This conversation went everywhere and nowhere, and we each learned bits and pieces about each other. But more importantly, we both really enjoyed the time we spent talking. We were fast becoming good friends, but as the evening wore on, I found myself wanting more.
I reached across the table and grabbed his hands. "Do you want to sleep with me?"
"Girls aren't supposed to be so blunt," he countered, smiling gently and looking into my eyes. I could tell he didn't want to put me off.
"Point being?" I parried his thrust, "I'm not your ordinary girl, remember, I'm a guy, and I want to know."
Oops! That was a little too loud. I had said it with a great confidence, as if I was showing four aces in a poker game, but the couple at the next table both looked over, startled. They had heard me! What the hell, I blew them a kiss. The guy sat goggle eyed, the girl just giggled. At least they were cool enough to be embarrassed for staring at me, and they turned away, which is a good thing because I was nearly breathless at my own audacity. A few months ago, I would have been mortified with shame if something like this had happened. What remarkable changes had overtaken my life.
I turned back to Michael. His face had a little blush left on it. I had embarrassed him too. I started to apologize, "Mi..."
He cut me off, "Yes. Yes, I do." He looked right into my eyes when he said that.
I knew immediately what he meant and decided to bare my soul. "I'm scared, guys have only hurt me before."
"Well, there's no rush. I do relish the thought of getting you naked, on your hands and knees on a bed, but I'm no high school lothario. In fact, just to make sure you don't feel forced, you'll have to beg me to get it." He gave me a huge grin, like he had pulled a straight flush to beat my aces. Now, he was the one feeling proud.
"I don't think that's how a gentleman acts," I said, pouting. "A gentleman should do whatever a lady asks of him." I tried to sound haughty and self-important. "She shouldn't have to beg. It's unseemly." I tried to look down my nose at him, but he was too tall.
"Well, when you become a lady, I'll become a gentleman." He laughed. I tried to look insulted, but laughter sputtered out of my lips despite my efforts. He picked up my hands and kissed them.
We necked in the hallway outside my apartment for 10 minutes before I went in. It was so delicious, his kisses weren't just on my lips and tongue, they were reaching into my guts. I was sure I knew exactly how a teenage girl being kissed by her first real love feels. I wasn't ready to go to bed with him yet, but I knew that one of these days I would. Yes, I was sure this was how a young girl must feel as she plans to lose her virginity with her boyfriend (those that get to do any planning, anyway).
And for some reason, kissing in the hallway, as if we were hiding from my mother, made it even more exciting, and made me feel even more like a teenager just beginning to experiment with sex. The memory of those kisses is still sweet.
That night I didn't need to wake Cynthia to comfort me, and I fell asleep easily. My life was far richer than I ever could have imagined. I was in my own version of heaven on earth. I had Cynthia to take care of me and to be my Mistress and lover. I had all the girls at work as my friends and I had Michael, my good buddy, and I hoped, soon to be lover.
I had Mandy White and Beverly Wells, who were almost like fairy godmothers to me, they took such good care of me. I had a 26 inch waist and almost 33 inch hips, and a cute butt with much more padding than I ever dreamed I could have. My hair was well below my chin, now cut into a sleek pageboy, which, still parted in the middle, framed my face in a way that made me look both innocent and sexy. I was totally comfortable as a girl in any social situation, and I couldn't imagine how I could pass as a guy.
And oh, I had breasts. Yes, real breasts! I was so excited when they started to form and now they were beginning to fill an A-cup bra. I was just thrilled with them and couldn't keep my hands off them. Neither could Cynthia, and she really knew how to use her hands.... and her lips..., and her tongue.
Although she was the only one besides me who actually got to play with them, the rest of the girls were so happy for me. They all noticed my expanding chest at work because I did my best to make them notice. When I showed them my new little boobs in the women's room one day, everyone giggled and hugged me. I had no shame about them whatsoever, I even managed to embarrass Cynthia one night as I bubbled on about them when she had friends over. She spanked me afterwards to teach me some modesty. Then she made me lick her until she joyfully came twice, and then mounted and rode me until I came as well.
That was one of the really good parts about having Mandy oversee my medication. I was developing a nice female shape, but not losing too much of my sexual appetite or ability (not that estrogen does anything to your ability to use your tongue). It is true that I didn't feel the need to get Cynthia into bed every ten minutes, like I did before I started hormones, but she had a really healthy sexual appetite anyway. Sex was one thing we had plenty of. And being the careful doctor that she is, Mandy made sure that I had stored away several sperm samples just in case my fertility was affected and we wanted something small and wiggly later.
With things having progressed as far as they had, everyone agreed that it was past time for me to start working as a woman, and I was about to take that major step. One of Mandy's lawyer friends had worked it all out. So I would no longer be Mr. Bradley Lawrence Miller. I would be Miss Lillian Samantha Miller. My social security number, school records, driver's license and birth certificate were all set to be changed and just this week, the company Human Resources office received a letter detailing my change in status and gender.
The opera was at Lincoln Center. It is just the most amazing scene. The Metropolitan Opera House is one of three great performance halls arranged on three sides of a huge open plaza facing Columbus Avenue. There's a large fountain in the middle of the plaza and a broad set of stairs leading up to it from Columbus Avenue. The New York State Theater, which houses the New York Ballet is on the left and Avery Fisher Hall, home of the New York Symphony is on the right. The "Met" is straight ahead, its very tall arched windows sparkling with all the hundreds of lights that hang in its huge entrance hall.
As you arrive after dinner at some cutesy little bistro that's within walking distance, there are all kinds of limos lined up along Columbus Avenue letting their terribly well to do riders out. And yellow New York taxis buzz in and out from the curb like yellow jackets at a fall picnic, letting out the merely affluent.
The men are in dress suits and dinner jackets, and they escort women in fancy dresses, immaculately coiffed hair, and fur coats. You walk up the grand stairway from the curb, across the plaza (upwind from the fountain when it's windy - that's one way you can tell the first-timers; they're downwind), and towards the doors of the opera hall. There's usually enough jewelry on display to pay off the national debt.
Needless to say, I spent the entire day getting ready. By 5:00, there was almost a party at the apartment, so many people had come to help and to watch me get ready for my "big date". Marci and Kathleen were there, and so was Mandy. Betsy stopped over for a little while with her current boyfriend, but our place was so drenched in over-heated estrogen that he was too uncomfortable to stay long.
Cynthia was stalking around the entire afternoon, too nervous to sit still. I finally called one of her old lovers, Jessica Moore, who came over and settled her down. Like Cynthia, Jessica was a strong woman, and could handle her in a way none of the rest of us could. Jessica was a VP at North State, and was one of Cynthia's mentors. She was one of the reasons Thornton was rather more careful with Cynthia than with the rest of us.
Anyway, I had been to the salon at lunchtime and was back at the apartment by 3:00 looking radiant, completely coifed, waxed, polished, and made over. Shelly had given me some auburn highlights around my face, something I had really, really wanted, but had refused to get while I still had to work as a man. More importantly, she had changed my hair so that it was now parted on the side, instead of in the middle. My hair now fell over one eye unless I really worked to keep it out. I just loved the look - very simple, but elegant, and all the women cooed over it as if I were the first girl ever to wear her hair that way.
My hair was sleek, smooth, and glistening. The makeup was done in the way that only pros can do it, and I had never looked prettier, although I now appeared more sophisticated than cute. I think it was the way she did my cheeks and eyes. When I got back from the salon, all I really had to do was bathe and dress. With all those women around, however, teasing and laughing and telling stories about ''memorable" dates, great and horrible, I was becoming increasingly anxious as the minutes ticked slowly away.
Finally, I couldn't take it any longer and retreated to my bedroom to take comfort in my cozy Laura Ashley world. Before I did anything else, I douched twice, so I would be clean for Michael. Then, I ran the tub, putting in the same bath oils that Cynthia had insisted I use to prepare for her first...., well the first time she fucked me with her dildo. When I had been in the hot steamy bath for about 15 minutes, I heard a gentle knock at the door.
It was Cynthia. She told me I had better hurry, so I wouldn't be late. Then she asked, rather timidly I thought, "May I help you dress?"
"Are you kidding? I thought you'd never ask. Get in here."
So, wearing a happy smile, she grabbed a big fluffy towel and wrapped it around me to pat me dry. She powdered me all over with a big powder puff that held a lightly scented powder, tickling me between my legs and making us both laugh. Then she held out my favorite satin robe and after she had me snuggled into it, we went into the bedroom. Next, unfortunately, came my gaff to conceal my penis. No way I was going to show an erection at the opera (really, I'm very proper), and knowing Michael, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had tried to give me one just when some old matron was looking. Then I slid into a pair of high cut, dark gray panties made out of some kind of silky-lycra blend, with black lace trim covering the entire front panel.
Cynthia walked me over to the mirror so we could study me carefully. She stood behind me as we appraised the way I now looked. She described what she saw, running her hands over the parts of my body as she described them, using her fingertips to highlight her words,
"Mmmm, you have such smooth, sleek, hairless legs, plenty long enough for anyone's needs, lightly rounded hips, and a cute round butt that seems to defy gravity. And that just brings us to your small, tight waist. Aren't you glad I make you wear that corset?"
She stopped for a moment and circled my waist with her hands. I could only nod yes in response to her question. Then she ran her hands up from my waist to my chest, on either side of my breasts. "Look at these adorable little breasts, almost A cup, I'll bet, with small dark nipples riding out front like they are just so proud to be there. And she tweaked them gently. I squealed anyway. And I just love your smooth dark hair that hangs down past your chin in such a glistening curtain."
She didn't say anything about my face, which was now the only thing that even hinted at my former manhood. But I knew it looked sophisticated and sexy, even without lipstick.
"Look at yourself," she was like a proud mom. "Look at the young beauty you have become. Think of your friends in the next room. Think of your date on his way here to pick you up. Think of me."
Then she nipped me on the neck with her teeth, and snaked her hands around my chest to cup my little breasts, molding them sensuously in her hands.
"Why are all these people so fond of you Lilly? Do you know?"
I just waited silently, reveling in her touch.
"You are a special young lady my dear. You are sweet and pretty. You treat people with consideration and care. You're generous with your affection, you're funny, and you have the most breathless sense of wonder about the world. You do seem like a 16 year old girl getting ready for her first big date. You are giving each of us a treat by allowing us to share this with you and to relive, at least a little, what was fun about our own childhoods. Whatever you might have thought about yourself in the past, you must now come to understand that you have touched our hearts, we value your friendship and love, and we want you to stay in our lives."
That was quite a speech and I was struck dumb by her words. I was so overcome with emotion I started to tear up. I turned in Cynthia's arms and hugged her to my chest, my naked chest with boobs on it. I was speechless.
Cynthia only let me linger there a moment before she gently pushed me away and said, "Don't you dare ruin your makeup." She grabbed a tissue and started to dab at the corners of my eyes. Once I had gotten myself under control, she hugged me again and whispered, "I love you, you are a joy to me. Whatever is best for you is what we will do. Now, let's get you dressed. I have a surprise for you."
I knew that she had given me permission to open my heart to Michael if it came to that. More importantly, she had taught me that love could grow to include more people, the more of it you give. She was going to let me fly away if I wanted to, and would see if I came home on my own. What a precious gift.
"Here look." I drew myself back from my thoughts and looked at her hands. She held a bra and two small breast forms. "We're getting rid of your old breast forms," she giggled. "We're going to push your new breasts up and out for the world to see, and these," she held up the hand with the forms in it, "will do that just perfectly."
In a couple of minutes it was obvious what she meant and I was ecstatic with my new look. The small forms went in the bottom outside edge of the bra and forced my own breasts up and in. I had real cleavage! And I didn't need makeup to do it! Oh, this was too good. I couldn't take it any more; I had to finish getting dressed so I could see what I looked like.
I sat on the bed and rolled my sheer seamed stockings up both legs and attached them to my garter belt (no way I was going to wear pantyhose on this night) . I had to be careful because my nails were longer than I was used to and filed into serious points.
Needless to say, we had debated the selection of my go-to-the-opera dress almost as hotly as the congress had debated campaign finance reform. But in the end only one choice was really considered. We all knew what this date called for. It just had to be a little black dress, even if it was getting awfully close to winter.
I refused to go sleeveless even though I was outvoted by every single person who was asked. But I knew that everyone would stare at the scar on my arm and I didn't want to have to deal with that on this night. So now I had the most darling dress. It had long sleeves which arose from shirred fabric that was sewn to look like broad shoulder straps that criss-crossed the outside half of each breast, revealing almost all of the middle half of each of my glorious, pale white globes. The right strap passed over the left and went down to my waist, where it circled around my waist as a thick band of fabric, almost like a belt. Two big rhinestones buttons attached the loose end to the point where it had started to run around my waist. The skirt was formed from a layer of opaque rayon with a separate layer of organza over it. Both were gathered at the waist, enhancing the difference in size between my waist and hips. Both layers also swirled out slightly at the hem, so the whole skirt swung alluringly about three inches above my knees. It would take some concentration on my part to keep my stocking tops concealed and I pulled the garters as tight as they would go.
I wore a diamond stud in each ear, and drop earrings, with emerald-colored stones. They looked simply terrific when I pulled my hair behind my ear, a flirty move that I just adored. I had a golden chain holding one fairly hefty fake emerald that matched the earrings and hung down between my breasts to draw everyone's eyes to what I now saw as my irresistible cleavage. A couple of golden bracelets on my right wrist and a dress watch on my left completed my jewelry.
Of course, the ring Cynthia gave me never left my finger. When Cynthia first gave it to me, the gold was scarred and unpolished. I had it cleaned it up and the whole thing now glistened. I always selected any other jewelry I wore to compliment the ring, the beautiful gold and emerald ring that my dear, sweet girlfriend, Mistress, mother, and mentor had given me all those months ago. God, I just adored her. I kissed the ring.
My shoes were elegant three inch black pumps. They were cut very low at the sides and had a strap around the ankle. I just had to have ankle straps; they're so sexy. I had a small, beaded black clutch bag that came with a long thin strap, and a long black silk scarf to wear with my coat. If I got chilly in the theater, I could wrap the scarf around my shoulders.
I emerged from my bedroom feeling glorious, but suddenly felt very shy when I got in front of all my girlfriends. But they proved to be true friends. They met me with dead silence and somber faces, clearly designed to scare me to death, like maybe I was wearing a "kick me" sign. My initial rush of shyness started to turn to panic, but only for a moment, because in the second moment, a chorus of praise serenaded me. That simply released all the tension I had been accumulating throughout the afternoon, and I felt so good I did a twirl before anyone even asked me to.
This elicited a wolf whistle from Marci, and "Oh honey you look gorgeous," from Kathy, and applause from Mandy. I twirled on my toe to spin the skirt and my hair. I put one hand over my head, fingers pointed outwards like a ballet dancer and trailed the scarf in the other hand so it flowed around me as well. I was feeling almost drunk, but it was from happiness. I hadn't had a drop of alcohol.
When Michael arrived 10 minutes later, he too was more than impressed. He gave me a big hug, and an air kiss, so as not to ruin my lipstick. He was so thoughtful. But he was in a rush to get out of there, just like Betsy's boyfriend. Even gay men can be driven off if there's enough estrogen in the atmosphere. I went to grab my only warm coat so he could help me put it on.
Mandy stopped me though, "no don't wear that. Take the one that's in the garment bag on the left."
I unzipped the bag and gasped, astonished by what I found there. It was a pale gray full-length fur coat, it must have been fox, with a big, floppy fold-down collar and a sash to hold it closed. I was so surprised I stepped back.
"Oh Mandy, I couldn't possibly..."
"Oh yes you could," she said, "in fact, as your doctor, I insist, we can't have you catching cold now can we?"
I started to panic a little. "No, I'd be afraid. I might ruin it or lose it. I could never make it up to you."
"Well," she said in a fake huff, "if you won't let me loan it to you, I may just have to give it to you. Then you wouldn't have to worry about anything happening to it."
She looked at me like she had just trumped my ace. I still couldn't move, but Michael made the point moot by hanging up my coat and grabbing the fur. He held it open and looked at me. I had no choice, so I slipped my arm in, turned slightly and put in the other. I wrapped the silk scarf around my neck and threw one end over my shoulder, allowing the other end to hang down in front. I picked up my purse, turned back to the room and curtsied. Everyone applauded again, and Michael and I headed out the door.
Mandy shouted after us, "don't you dare lose that coat!" I blanched for a moment, until everyone else laughed.
The restaurant was a standard, have-a-quick-dinner-before-the-show kind of place. The food wasn't anything special, but it was overpriced anyway. The décor at least, was nice, kind of country French - very warm and cheery, but formal with softly padded chairs, white tables cloths, fine china, and napkins stuck in the water glasses to look like flowers. It had to be expensive-looking with all of the expensively dressed people who were there.
I have to admit I was watching to see what kind of reception I would receive, and the men at the restaurant didn't disappoint me. Heads turned as I walked by. As far as I can recall, I always checked out every cute woman in a fur coat, and that rule seemed to hold for me. But interest really picked up when I took the coat off. The dress, heels, and stockings would have been eye magnets for any guy who merely caught a glimpse of me from behind, but the view from the front, especially my revealing décolletage, and best every cleavage (I had used some makeup to enhance it even though it was real) just overwhelmed them when they got the opportunity to see it. I was a little shy about the whole thing at first, but as I relaxed over first few minutes, I started to get into the whole idea of being a desirable girl with many male admirers. I even flirted with some of the guys who couldn't keep their eyes off me. This was so much fun!
Michael thought the whole thing was a rip. We leaned close to each other and whispered. To others we looked like lovers sharing intimate secrets, but we were really reviewing the responses of the guys who were eyeing me. We were like two fraternity brothers goofing on the townies.
I was sky high over the response I was getting and just had to ask Michael what he thought." Michael, do you find me attractive?"
"You know I do Sam."
"But how, why? You're gay, you've told me you're attracted to manly looking men. I'm doing my best to look like a sexy woman, what actually do I do for you?"
He looked at me for a moment with his head slightly cocked. "I'm not sure.... but I like it. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I can't appreciate feminine beauty, and while you don't have the looks to be a super model, you are very attractive." He gave me a warm smile to show me that he meant he thought I was really very, very attractive. "Tonight you look simply fabulous."
I blushed and looked away demurely. It was time to flirt seriously with him. I wanted him to be hot later. He was going to beg, not me I had decided
"But there's something else about you... I'm not sure what it is. I certainly like the idea that you have a cock under that dress... you do don't you? I've never really checked." He smiled like a two year old who had just gotten the square peg into the square hole.
In return, I pouted at him like I was insulted. "Yes but not for much longer if Cynthia has her way. Would you like to see it before it goes?" I started to stand up. Thank god he put is hand on my arm before I got too far. I was only bluffing.
He gave me a condescending smile. "Later you tease."
"Really?" I lit up. "I'd like that. Can we go to your place?" So much for flirting, why bother, when you can simply throw yourself at your man instead.
He continued, " I really like that we're both fooling all these people. You're unreadable and I'm out with a guy I really like and I don't look gay to the world. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind being gay; I'm comfortable with myself. But it is stressful sometimes, even in a liberal city like New York. People give you dirty looks; they treat you shabbily, and you never know when someone is going to turn on you. This is just so much easier."
He paused for a moment and looked at me critically, as if, perhaps, he were a casting agent and I was a model looking for a job. Then he went on. "And besides, you are absolutely charming. You are intelligent, you know a lot stuff so you're easy to talk to, and I'm comfortable with you in a guy to guy kind of way. Yet..., you come across like a 16 year old girl, completely naive and innocent. You flirt shamelessly," I tilted my head and batted my eyelashes at him, "and frankly, I find it absolutely thrilling that you are attracted to me. You really make me feel good about myself and how I behave. I'm so tired of people evaluating and judging me by all sorts of lame standards. You know: is he gay enough, is he straight enough? Fuck it! You seem to like me because I'm me." He picked up my hand and kissed it.
"Oh, Michael, you are so nice to say that." I felt gooey inside and tightened my grip on his hands. I was afraid I was going to cry again (thank you for that, estrogen. I always wanted to be able to cry whenever someone said something nice to me).
I don't really remember much of what we ate for dinner, and stopped caring about whether people were checking me out or not. I only had eyes for Michael, and I desperately wanted to understand why I was attracted to him. Maybe I was gay, or bi, or something. But after a little while, I gave up. I decided just to go with the flow.
When we had just about finished our coffee, Michael pulled something from his pocket and told me he had a present for me from Cynthia. It wasn't much bigger than a business card, but rather thicker, and wrapped simply in gold foil and a cute little red satin ribbon. I opened it. It was a business card case in dark brown alligator leather, very elegant and very feminine. It had my initials, LSM embossed on the leather. I opened the case pulled out a card to read it. My eyes almost popped out of my head. It said,
Lillian Samantha Miller, MBA
Partner
M & M Financial Consulting Services
"What does this mean?" I asked Michael, a little worried about the implications of this card.
"It's part of your new identity as my steady girl." He grinned at me like the cat that ate the canary.
"I....." I must have looked panicked, I felt like a deer paralyzed by headlights.
"Just wait," he said, "calm down." He patted my hand. "We know we both like each other and you know I often need to take a woman to various social affairs. That's what got us together in the first place."
I nodded my head, still waiting to see where he was going.
"In my work, I run with a pretty exclusive crowd, and my date," he nodded at me, "has to be their equal or she will be dismissed as a bimbo or social climber. You, my dear are my new investment councilor."
"I am?" I squeaked out. "How?"
"Yes, you can talk financial analysis with anyone. You might even find some clients among this group - rich clients, if you are interested. If you don't want to go there, simply tell them you have no room for new clients at present. They'll be sucking up to you instead of looking down on you."
"Now listen carefully," he continued, even though I wasn't sure I was still with him. "You are not my 16 year old high school sweetheart. You are a mid twenty-something close friend and business associate. You can't hang all over me like you've been doing and you can't flirt with me every time you catch my eye. You have to be sophisticated, your own woman. Otherwise these people will eat you for lunch. They are arrogant, nasty, and dismissive - old money you know." He said that with a very bad English accent. "You have to be able to meet them on their own terms.
At least a few of my partners will be at the opera tonight. You will have a big advantage with the guys," he leered at my breasts, "so they should be no problem. The women, however, may be another story. Just watch for their claws and expect them to treat you like a rival."
All of a sudden I was starting to worry. Could I really pull this off? I licked my lips and realized that since I had just eaten I would have to freshen my lipstick. What if I had forgotten? It's one thing to be a ditzy little girl with your friends, who would find all your social mistakes amusing, but to be a sophisticated young woman with other women who will not like you the minute they meet you, because, well because you have nicer tits than they do, well.....
But my worries weren't going to get me out of this, so 15 minutes later, my heart thumping to match the clicks my heels were making on the sidewalk, we were walking hand in hand down 67th Street towards Columbus Avenue. A strange thought popped into my head.
I pulled Michael up short. "Michael, what does M & M stand for?"
"You're smart, Sam, you figure it out."
"Michaaeelll," I whined, "stop teasing me." I stamped my foot, just because it was a move I had always wanted to try and thought it might look cute just then. In fact my feet were already freezing and it hurt.
He looked at me with an innocent grin curling his lips. "Morrison and Miller, silly."
Oh no, she was actually going to do it, Cynthia was going to start a company with me. But we couldn't, we had to get Thornton.
Thankfully, Michael interrupted that thought before it could really form. "Come on," he said, "we'll be late." And he grabbed my hand and started to lead me down the street towards Lincoln Center.
".... We hadn’t set an alarm, and it was Cynthia who finally woke us up. She came bursting into the bedroom, waving an arm full of newspapers and carrying coffee and bagels. "You have got to see this," she said, her cheeks flushed from the cold New York morning, "You two are all over the society pages." The fact that we were in bed together didn’t even seem to enter her consciousness. She just had to show us the papers.... "
Next to those steps, on one side or the other, a short flight of steps gives access to a small sunken terrace where the garbage is kept. Kids use these terraces as small playgrounds because they make good hiding places where they can ambush their playmates with water guns in summer and snowballs in winter. There are so many of these that no one gives them a second thought.
That’s why we were totally unprepared when three young men suddenly jumped out of one of them as we walked up the block. They chose this place well because it was in a spot where the overhanging trees cast shadows that partially obscured the light coming from the streetlights. One grabbed me and the other two accosted Michael.
"Geeeve us your money," said the man who grabbed me. He reeked of alcohol and tobacco. Then he growled, "now."
One of his buddies nervously waved a knife in Michael’s face, and the other who stood slightly off to the side, kept his right hand calmly in his jacket pocket.
"Get out of here before I kill you," hissed Michael, his eyes so narrow I couldn’t see his pupils. "You have three seconds to decide."
"Hey look at this ring," shouted the asshole holding me. He grabbed my wrist and thrust it aloft to show Cynthia's ring. His knife was held carelessly in his right hand near my waist. He was a little unsteady and I realized that he was probably drunk. As I looked down at his knife, I saw right away that his heels were right at the edge of the stairway he had emerged from. I thought I could knock him back there easily, so I started to lean away, forcing him to pull back against me, overbalancing himself over the stairs, the way I wanted him to go. Michael glared at him for a moment.
"I’ll cut her fucking hand off," he spit at the Michael.
"No fucking way!" I would not let him get Cynthia’s ring.
Now furious myself, I looked up into Michael’s eyes and then quickly towards the stairs. I don’t know how we communicated, but he nodded imperceptibly. I just knew he was going to attack the guy who was holding the knife in his face. The idiot was looking at me instead of Michael. A heartbeat later, while he was still staring at my ring, Michael silently exploded at him.
Michael was not muscle bound but he was big and strong, just like the kind of guys he liked, and he had obviously studied martial arts because after just a few heartbeats the kid was lying on the ground and his knife clattered six feet away in the street. The kid's left knee was bent at an impossible angle and his right arm was definitely broken, lying limp at another impossible angle with a bone sticking out of his forearm. The kid screamed and started gasping for breath.
A split second later I lunged at the guy holding me, who, riveted by Michael’s destruction of his buddy, forgot about me just long enough for me to drive him backwards over the stairs. I pushed as hard as I could, and even though I was wearing heels, I was able to shove hard enough to send him lurching backwards into space.
I saw his feet search frantically for concrete but find only air, and had a momentary thrill of victory as the awareness grew in his face that he was about to fall backwards down the steps. At that moment I pulled my hand to free it from his grip, but now it was my turn to be startled, as I discovered I was no longer strong enough to break his hold.
So I was joined to him, and as he started to fall so did I. But he wasn’t done with me. He slashed upwards with his knife from my left hip towards my right shoulder, and then into my right arm. Then as our fall accelerated, he backhanded the blade into my side. With me in stiletto heels, and with his weight behind him, he easily pulled me off balance, and I simply careened over on top of him.
I felt the blade enter just below my ribs on my right side as I toppled down with him. As we fell I heard a gunshot, and a moment later there was a sickening crack and then everything went black as I fell face first into one of the solid steel garbage cans lined up at the base of the steps like soldiers on guard duty.
I don’t know how long I was out, but when I came to, my head exploded in pain and I could feel, smell and taste the blood. My assailant’s right hand with the blood stained knife was next to me, but not moving. As I lifted my head I could see that he was lying awkwardly on his back over a low metal storage box. Blood was oozing out from beneath his head. I let my head fall once again to the ground because it hurt too much to keep it up. Then I heard Michael moan quietly.
"Help me," he moaned, "help me."
"Oh no, Oh god no," I whispered, spitting blood from my mouth.
Suddenly I was back in the car with my father on the night he died, and I gasped involuntarily at the horror. But that vision lasted only a moment. I knew I couldn’t let Michael die like my father had and I started to get up despite the pain.
My head screamed "NOOO!" at me, but I only hesitated for a moment to get my balance. I got up onto my hands and knees and saw blood all over my right hand and thought, in a moment of surrealistic clarity, that it didn’t go that well with my nail polish. The blood was running down from the gash in my arm, which hurt like hell, but could still support my weight.
Then I felt my dress fall heavily downwards away from my stomach. It was soaked in blood, and below me there was a growing pool of my blood on the ground. The bodice of the dress was torn just below my right breast, but surprisingly there was no blood there and my chest didn’t hurt. My side was another matter. It was warm from the blood running out. My beautiful dress was torn a few inches above the waist and I was bleeding underneath the tear.
I felt a dull ache when I moved, but strangely, little real pain. I moaned in fear, but kept going because on this night, there was no dashboard pinning me in place and I just had to get to Michael.
I slowly crawled up the few steps, my coat hanging from my shoulder and my expensive stockings shredding under my knees. When I reached the top step, I sat heavily, exhausted. I shrugged the coat off and looked around over my right shoulder towards the sound of moaning.
The kid was still lying where he had fallen, now curled into a sort of fetal position and moaning pitifully to himself in Spanish. I looked to my left, towards the house steps and saw Michael curled up on his side, facing away from me. I saw the feet and legs of the guy with the gun splayed out on the steps above him. My shoes, were both off, but hanging to my ankles by their straps. They looked stupid and I wanted to take them off, but bending hurt, so I left them. I crawled the few yards to where Michael lay, dragging my coat and leaving a trail of blood. I could see he was still breathing. I slowly crawled around so I could see his face.
"Are you all right?" He asked me, his face a pale mask of pain and concern.
I couldn’t tell him the truth now, he was obviously hurt more badly than I, so I simply said, "yes."
"What happened to your guy?" He asked, coughing pitifully when he was done.
"He’s out cold."
Michael simply nodded and let his head fall. I lifted it gently and put one sleeve of the now ruined coat under it. I threw the rest of the coat over his body to keep him warm.
"The little shit had a gun in that jacket. He got it out just as I got to him." I thought I had kicked it away; I don’t know how I got shot. Michael pulled his left hand away from the right side of his chest. There was a mass of blood and a ragged hole just above the bottom rib. I felt sick to my stomach when I saw that and started to sob from fear.
"Not again," I murmured, "not again. Dear God no, not again." And then I tried to shout for help, but all that came out was a ragged wheeze. "Help us. Help us, Help us." It didn’t matter because people were already streaming towards and around us, mostly looking rather apprehensive, but there must have been six people with cell phones to their ears. They had to be calling the police.
I looked around helplessly for something to stop Michael’s bleeding, then remembered he had a handkerchief in his coat pocket. I wrapped it around my finger and gently but firmly pushed my finger as far as it would go into his wound. At least blood wasn’t pouring out of him any more. I don’t know how long we sat there like that, but I eventually passed out on top of Michael, my finger still stuck into his chest.
"You’re OK honey," she whispered, "you’re going to be OK. You got stabbed twice and have some nasty bruises, maybe a concussion, but you’re going to be OK. We have you strapped down in case you hurt your neck."
"Michael?" I implored her in a rasping whisper that scared me when I heard it, "where’s Michael?"
"He’s in another ambulance, he's on his way to the hospital just like you. You do know you probably saved his life, don't you? If you hadn’t stopped his bleeding like you did, I don’t know what would have happened. Just relax now, you’re both going to be OK," She soothed me.
She was an angel for only telling me only part of the truth. Michael was in an ambulance all right but I found out later that the bullet had shattered a rib. The resulting bone fragments had torn both his liver and right lung. He was still bleeding internally and would need hours of surgery to patch everything up again. Although I didn’t know it at the time Michael was within minutes of dying.
"Can you call my girlfriend, please," I whispered. Believing for the moment that neither of us would die; I was now suddenly confronted with other concerns. I was being rushed to hospital where my feminine identity would be stripped away and my true sex revealed. Fortunately I was a little too out of it to panic, but I knew this could be really bad. I didn’t know what else to do, so I had to trust this woman.
"I’m not a woman, I blurted out suddenly, can you help me?" I wasn’t sure what I needed to say, but with my brain clouded in pain that was the best I could do.
"What?" she said, her mouth open, "run that by me again."
"I’m not a real woman yet," I sobbed. "I’m a pre-operative transsexual. I’m still transitioning please, please don’t let them humiliate me."
I closed my eyes and started to sob freely. Then I continued and said with pleading eyes, "if any of my boyfriend's clients and coworkers find out who he was with, it could be really embarrassing for him. It would ruin his life. Please get my cell phone and call my girlfriend Cynthia. Do you have my bag? It’s number 1 on the cell phone."
"I wondered about your breast forms," she replied," when I was searching for your wounds I saw that you had been slashed along the chest and your right bra cup was cut through. I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t bleeding and then I discovered this." She held up my brand new silicon enhancer, which had been cut almost in two. My breath caught in my throat. If my breasts had actually filled my bra………..
"Lots of girls use these things so it never occurred to me that you were a guy," she admitted. Then, turning away from me for a moment, she added, "your bag is here."
She quickly extracted the phone from my small bag.
"Just press 1," I whispered again.
I heard a whispered conversation that got drowned out every time the siren wailed. A few minutes later she turned back to me.
"Your friend is on her way to the hospital. She said to tell you she’d bring Dr. White," she nodded at me as she put the phone back in my bag. She looked out the window, "we're nearly there, just another two blocks and then we'll take good care of you."
She smiled at me gently and I drifted in and out of consciousness. I just didn’t have the energy to worry about anything anymore. Losing a good deal of blood will do that to you, I guess.
I don’t remember arriving at the hospital, but once they got me to the emergency room and examined my wounds, they rushed me off to surgery.
When I awoke many hours later my mind was foggy and everything appeared blurred and distant. I did recognize Mandy beside my bed and smiled wanly before passing out again. Cynthia's face filled my vision the next time I awoke. I could feel she was holding my left hand tightly. She noticed my eyelids flutter open and looked down at me with grave concern etched into her face. I just lay there for a few moments drinking her in and trying to grasp what had happened. Suddenly the pain made itself known and the awful memories of what had happened came flooding back. I jerked up briefly with a small gasp.
"It’s OK Lilly, it’s OK," Cynthia said now stroking my hair and face, "You’re OK. You're going to OK."
"Michael? Where’s Michael?" I asked.
"He’s down the hall, he’s OK don’t worry," she replied.
I had been spared again. I found out later that he was indeed down the hall, but while I was in a regular surgical ward, he was in intensive care. He had lost a lot of blood and undergone many hours of surgery. The surgeons were really worried about him. Cynthia wisely decided I didn’t need to know that then.
"When can I see him?" I asked.
"When you both get a little better and stronger," she said," now just relax Lilly you’re not completely out of the woods yet yourself."
She looked over to where Mandy was standing so I looked at her too.
Mandy spoke, "you won’t be able to do anything if you don’t lie still and let yourself heal so just be patient."
Cynthia looked at me for a moment and then broke down in tears. She kissed me on the lips while she cried and I could taste her salty tears. For some reason I found that very heartening, as if I was comforting her.
Just then a nurse came in and checked the connections to the monitor. "Is she okay Dr. White?" She asked Amanda.
"Yes she just regained consciousness but she seems well."
As the nurse checked my IV line and some other things I couldn’t see, Cynthia held my hand.
"Oh Lilly, we were all so scared but you were so brave, "Cynthia said with real pride in her voice. "The police said you took out one of the muggers while Michael got the other two."
Then she started to sob again, "why did you have to be so brave. They could have killed you."
"He was going to take your ring. He threatened to cut off my hand to get your ring," I wheezed out, "I couldn’t let him get your ring — no one will ever take it from me."
Then she cried quietly for a few moments.
"Oh Lilly, it’s just a ring. I was so scared," said Cynthia. "I don’t know what I would have done if I'd lost you too."
Then we both cried. It wasn’t until that moment that I began to realize how close I had really come to dying. Once Cynthia had regained her composure, Mandy asked, "do you know what day it is?" I shook my head no and was surprised when it hurt. "It’s about 20 hours since you were attacked. I think you missed the opera." She smiled at me gently.
I smiled wanly, the best I could do and then suddenly I remembered. "Your coat!" I wheezed out. "It’s ruined; I'm sorry Mandy," and I started to cry.
"Now you listen to me young lady, don’t you ever think about that coat again," her voice was stern, but her face was full of compassion, "it doesn’t matter."
"But it’s ruined. It got cut and it must be covered with blood!" I said remembering the scene again.
"Lilly I’ll spank you if you spend another moment thinking about that coat. From what I’ve seen it probably saved your life," Mandy said. "It kept the knife from cutting too deeply into your arm and your side. The knife did tear your liver and you lost a lot of blood but it could have been much worse. The coat's nothing, a couple of thousand dollars to save a life is cheap. Thank god I made you wear it."
I was too tired to argue and it sounded like she was right anyway. So, I had a fur coat for three hours. It gave its life for me.
"Here, look at this," Mandy said, holding some kind of button attached to a wire. "This is your PCA." I had no idea what she was talking about, and probably looked it.
"I’m don’t understand, I'm sorry," I said.
She spoke more gently, "we use patient controlled analgesia, that’s what PCA is. You don’t have to call a nurse to get pain medication. You give yourself all you need, whenever you need it. If you start to hurt, even the littlest bit, just press the button. Don’t wait, just press it a couple of times. You can’t get an overdose. It’s perfectly safe and will keep you out of pain. There is no need for you to feel pain now."
Cynthia and Mandy stayed with me until I finally fell asleep that night. It was a strange night, filled with all kinds of lurid and frightening dreams. They were full of car wrecks, knifings, shootings, and blood, always so much blood, and some of it always in my mouth. I was in and out of consciousness and didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Every time I woke up scared from one of my dreams I started to press on my PCA button, only to drift off and start the cycle all over again.
The next morning Cynthia was back, or still there, I couldn’t really tell. Time didn’t mean that much to me in my drugged state. My consciousness had been floating and sailing all over the place when I eventually regained my senses.
As I sat up slightly so that she could wash my face, she told me more news.
"It seems you and Michael are real heroes," she said. "You’re the two opera aficionados who beat the shit out of the three muggers. Listen to this story lead from the Daily News, 'Culture Meets Muscle and Wins!' And the Post is even better, 'Opera Fans to Muggers: Make My Day.' The Times even ran a story about it in the metro section."
I wasn’t all that interested, I wanted to know about Michael.
"Is Michael OK and can I see him?" I asked. I was thinking that if the press got wind of who I was we were in for real trouble.
"He's a lot better today," she said squeezing my hand.
"Cynthia the last thing we need is the press snooping around. It could be bad for him," I said.
"Don't worry your pretty little head, I'll make sure they get what they want, but keep them away from you two," she replied and then added, "there are two detectives outside who want to know if you can talk to them."
"Oh great," I groaned, "what do they want?"
"They just want to question you about what happened," she said, "they'll leave if you don’t feel up to it."
I gave her the best "do-I-have-to" look and she grinned at me for the first time so I reluctantly nodded my agreement to see them.
"The hospital will do its best to keep your real identity a secret, but the police know. They’re prepared to deal with you as a woman. They have no interest in embarrassing a public hero and heroine." She looked down at me fondly. "Guess which one you are."
"I'm no hero, I just did what I had to do," I replied, completely missing her joke. She turned to call them in.
I expected two big Irish policemen in NYPD blue but was surprised when Sergeant Mendoza turned out to be a young woman about my age.
She immediately put me at ease with her gentle manner, "how are you honey?"
Her partner, an older man named Lieutenant Graves seemed warm enough, but wasted no time in telling me, "Miss you were either very brave or very foolish. Those guys would have robbed you and left you alone but you almost got yourselves killed by fighting back." Then he put his big hand over mine and said in an almost pleading voice, like you might use when telling your teenage daughter not to speed, "please don’t do that again, honey." I lay there wishing that my father and mother had ever expressed that much concern for my well being as these two strangers.
Mendoza went on, "we have a rough idea what happened but we need a statement from you and then we'll let you rest."
I then went through what I remembered of the incident, including how the guy who was holding me had threatened to cut my hand off, and they took detailed notes.
"Now Miss, we'll do our best to shield you from the press and there will be a man outside your door to make sure no one bothers you," Graves said. He was so solemn.
Cynthia asked, "what happened to the muggers?"
" We’re getting to that. The young who confronted Mr. Butler has a broken knee, and his right arm was broken in two places. He’s so deep in plaster right now he’s not even chained to his bed," Graves chuckled silently, apparently savoring the image.
"The leader, who was the one with the gun, has a broken arm and a fractured skull, from where he hit the steps. He also has a huge foot-shaped bruise just below his ribs. Apparently, he got his shot off just as he was hit and it was just Mr. Butler’s bad luck that the bullet hit him."
"How? What happened?" I asked.
"Ballistics figures the bullet ricocheted off the stone steps and then hit your boyfriend. I hear he is well on the mend," said Graves.
"What about the guy who attacked me? All I remember was he slashed me a couple of times," I held up my bandaged arm, "and then we fell down the steps."
"Listen honey, he's dead," Sergeant Mendoza said, squeezing my hand, "he broke his back on a metal storage box when he fell.
I just wasn’t prepared for that. My mind simply couldn’t process what she said. All I could think about were her very large and darkly lined eyes, which looked steadily into mine. When that guy attacked me I wanted to hurt him, but I never wanted to kill him. Then, for a brief moment, I felt glad, but before I could express that, I just burst into tears. Maybe it was the female hormones washing through my blood but I was overcome with horror at the thought that I had killed someone.
The crying made my abdominal wound really hurt, which made me cringe. I started pushing the PCA button as fast as I could. In a few moments, I felt a warm relaxing sensation as the morphine coursed into my veins.
As I relaxed into my pillows, I heard Graves say to his partner, "looks like were done for now."
I woke up a few hours later to find Mandy and Beverly Wells sitting across the room, in some serious discussion. I just lay there watching them and trying to listen until Beverly looked up and saw that my eyes were open. She rushed over and tried to hug me but couldn’t figure out how to do it without squeezing something that was covered in bandages.
So she put her hand on my left shoulder instead and asked, "hi Sweetie, how are you?"
I shrugged my shoulders because I really didn’t know, but as long as I didn’t take a deep breath, nothing really hurt. Then my conversation with the police came flooding back and the realization that I had killed someone filled me with self-loathing. I relived the events of that night again in my mind and the image of my attacker’s broken body filled my consciousness. I started to cry again.
Beverly handed me a tissue and I blew my nose gently until the pain in my abdomen got unbearable.
"I killed him Beverly. I killed him. I can’t believe that I killed him. I’ll never be able to forgive myself."
"Oh, shush, honey. You didn’t kill him. He died trying to kill you."
Of course she was right. My guilt-ridden analysis overlooked one important point. The scumbag had tried to rob and kill me, and I had responded defensively. It was just his bad luck to fall where and how he did. Over time, I came to understand that. But then, lying in my hospital room, I couldn’t see it yet, only that I had killed another human being.
"Sweetie, can you hear me?" Asked Beverly looking concerned. "We need to talk."
"Yes, could you help me sit up please?" I replied, feeling a need to change position.
"Sure I’ll get the nurses because they really want you out of bed for a little while now," she said.
Despite my protests, I didn’t want to move because I knew it would hurt, the nurses got me up and had me sit in a padded chair in the sunshine. Before they did that they removed some of the equipment leaving only my IV and PCA connected.
Then while I sat in the chair drinking some fruit juice they remade my bed. I really felt much better than I had, especially if I kept pressure off my injured side. I decided I was quite comfortable in the chair but in hindsight it was probably the thought that moving would cause pain again that made me stay in the chair even after the nurses left. Beverly and Amanda sat down in front of me.
Beverly started, "how are you, how is Lillian?"
I hadn’t thought much about who I was, and I didn’t feel any different about myself, except that I was now a killer.
My response was rather odd, "killing someone doesn’t change your core gender, does it?"
"No, sweetie it doesn’t, that asshole was trying to kill you and you're not responsible for what happened. You just defended yourself and he was unlucky, that’s all," replied Beverly.
We sat silently for a few moments and then she started again.
"We need to talk about Lillian's future because this mess has created some opportunities for her."
"Stop talking about me in the third person," I said starting to raise my voice, but finding that impossible. Instead, I coughed, which hurt even more, and then collected myself to speak again "I’m Lillian, I always was. All that’s changed is that she’s now a killer."
Now I was talking about myself in the third person. I was bitter and upset. I was feeling sorry for myself because fate had fucked with me yet again.
"Lillian, don’t you dare talk like that," said Beverly. Now she was angry and let me know it, "if you hadn’t pushed that mother fucker down those steps what would he have done to you?" Her voice was really rising now and I began to cringe away from her. "Did you know he and his buddies had robbed more than 12 other couples in that neighborhood? According to the police they had just seriously injured an old man two blocks away before they attacked you and Michael."
"No I didn't," I mumbled, trying to interrupt her tirade. She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. "They stabbed the old guy and left him for dead after they robbed him of $20. My god girl, you have two knife wounds, you’re covered with bruises, your boyfriend, who we all know and love, barely survived," she said in an agitated manner.
I was confused now and just stared at her. I didn’t know why she was so upset. She just glared at me. I had hit some kind of hot button I didn’t even know existed.
Then Mandy put her hand on Beverly’s shoulder to help calm her down. Beverly took a deep sigh and looked out the window hiding her face from me for a moment. Then she gulped and looked back at me with a deep sense of love and hurt in her eyes. I could see the tears well up and then subside.
"Sorry, it’s been very stressful here with both you and Michael hurt so badly," she said pausing to look outside again. "But I won’t let you punish yourself for what happened. You did a service to thousands of woman who have been attacked in this city and who got some measure of encouragement and revenge because of what you did. Then she started crying and sobbed, "including me."
Her teary eyes looked straight into mine when she added, "I was mugged ten years ago and even now hardly a week goes by when I don’t remember that awful day. Even after all this time I mentally search the scene for something I could have done, anything to defend myself."
Now, tears were streaming from her eyes as she remembered that awful day. She whispered harshly, "Fuck that little piece of shit. He deserved all he got. I would have left him where he was and let the crows pick the meat off his bones as a lesson to anyone who tries to terrorize women. So I won't let you feel guilty about what you did because you did the right thing."
Then she made a visible effort to calm down. Mandy gave her a tissue and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, which was now red.
"Besides, you little twit," I don’t think the word had ever been used with more love, "don’t you realize that because you were able to get that guy out of the picture you were able to save Michael’s life? He might have died if you hadn’t stopped the bleeding when you did."
I broke down completely at that point, weeping openly even though my wound hurt. Then I spoke through the tears, "I was so scared! My father bled to death after a car wreck and I couldn’t help him. When Michael called to me for help he sounded just like my father had. I just had to do something. I had to." I thought I sounded like I was making an excuse for doing something wrong.
"Yes Lillian you did. You should feel very proud of yourself," said Mandy, " we're all very proud of you."
I suddenly felt quite tired and achy. Mandy rang for the nurse and the three women helped me back into bed. It was painful getting up, so I gave a couple presses on the PCA button and in about five minutes I was asleep.
The next morning I awoke to find Cynthia sitting in the chair by the window reading a magazine. "Hi baby, how’s my sweetheart this morning?" she asked. Her smile seemed like it was made out of sunshine. It melted my heart.
"Better, I think," I replied, waiting for something to start hurting. "How’s Michael?"
"Oh he’s much better too, but he won’t be getting out of bed for a little while yet. Hopefully when you’re ready, maybe later today, you can go into see him," She said getting up and walking over to me to plant a kiss on my lips.
"Mmmm, I liked that," I replied and then said, "I’d like to see him very much."
Suddenly though Cynthia's face became serious and her voice made it clear that she wanted to talk about something important, "the Doctor told me that you'll still need some surgery and there are some things you might want to do."
"Like what?" I asked wondering where she was heading.
She grabbed a mirror from one of the drawers in the bedside table and held it up so I could see my face. I gasped in horror when I did.
"It’s OK, baby," she said. "I know it looks terrible, but we can fix it all." She lowered the mirror and I looked up at her.
"Your nose was broken and it needs to be set properly," she replied. "Mandy knows a really good plastic surgeon who could do it."
I groaned at the thought of yet more surgery. However it was soon apparent that Cynthia had been doing some thinking.
"While he’s here, and while you’re out, I think he could do a little extra work to pretty you up some."
"Like what?" I said, now getting a little concerned.
"Oh, well, since it's broken, he could easily give you a cute little nose when he resets it, and then he could shrink your chin a little. Mandy told me he could even shave your Adams’ Apple."
Over the last few months, Cynthia had frequently talked to me about some facial surgery. I had never been convinced of the need, after all it was my face we were talking about, not hers. She held up the mirror again and showed me how bad my nose was going to be and how prominent my chin and Adam's apple already were. That’s when I realized she was right.
"I made some inquiries, our medical insurance won’t cover cosmetic surgery, but it will cover reconstructive surgery. Because of this attack, you can get all this done for free, Mandy will see to it," she said.
"Mistress this is going to hurt though," I whined.
"Actually there’s one more thing darling. Well, two more things," she said enthusiastically, ignoring my complaint.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Your hormone treatments are not giving you much cleavage. I really think it would make sense to get your breasts done at the same time."
"Huh?" I asked unsure about what she meant
"Breasts darling, this guy does them all the time. In fact, he’s one of the best, women come from all over the world just to have him do theirs. Provided your insurance will pay for the facial surgery then he’s agreed to do your implants at no cost. Mandy told me he’s willing to do all this because he loves opera and because he’s impressed by the courage you showed." He views it as a reward for your courage. He said he wants you to leave the hospital better than new."
My first instinct was to shout, "God — Yes!" but I held my tongue. "I always thought I would grow my own," I said after some thought.
"I understand, sweetie, and you can start taking higher doses of estrogen if you want to. But this way you get great cleavage and your hormone dosage can be kept low so that you can retain your sexual responsiveness and potency for as long as you want." She hesitated for a moment and gave me one of her dirty leers, "I'm sure Michael would prefer that and I know I would." Just the look on her face made me feel much better immediately.
Oh God this was getting serious, I thought to myself, despite my first reaction to Cynthia’s idea, I was starting to question whether I really wanted to move so fast. But then I got tired of seeming to be reluctant. I mean, this was a dream come true. So I looked around the room as if I were searching for eavesdroppers, then turned to her and smiled. As loudly as I could I said, "yes, yes, yes, let’s do it." Then I dropped my voice, "but I don’t want them too big, remember we talked about having breasts that were in proportion too the rest of me."
"Leave it to me, Mandy will arrange a transfer to his clinic at New York Hospital on the east side," replied Cynthia kissing me on the cheek.
Five days later I was fit enough to be out of one hospital and heading for the next. A few days before I left I was able to explain to Michael what was going to happen and he seemed genuinely pleased for me. He had looked awful when I first saw him but each day, with my encouragement of course, he seemed to visibly improve.
Just as I had predicted, the facial surgery and implants hurt like hell and my first view of my new face was not something I would ever like to see again. When the bandages were removed, I actually looked worse than I had when I arrived at the emergency room right after the attack. I was bruised and black and blue all over my face and neck. Cynthia made fun of me for my complaining and the surgeon said I looked just perfect. I remember thinking that he had very strange standards.
But as the swelling and bruising receded, I began to appreciate the new me more and more. Michael just gushed over me when I went back to see him in his private room, and he kept trying to grab my tits.
"Miiichaeeel, they’re sore, I whined, trying to sound as annoying as possible while I turned my shoulders away from him. More than anything I wanted him to caress my new breasts, but I had to be in control. So I turned back and bit my bottom lip, as if I was considering something very carefully. "If you’re a good boy and promise to be gentle, I’ll let you feel me up." I stuck my chest out and turned on my best 1000 watt smile. He did what he was told and before too long I had unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked my bra so he could play with my new toys. I was in heaven.
Besides, he was so weak I wasn’t worried about stopping him if he got too enthusiastic. But his touch was as gentle as a mother’s caress of her hew baby. I loved having his hand on me and when I left I knew it was going to happen a lot in the future.
Even when a very weak Michael joined us at our apartment a couple of days later, I grew increasingly depressed. Both Cynthia and Michael sensed my depression, so I tried to plead weariness as an excuse because I didn’t want to worry them. But we all knew it was more than that.
In truth, I was having a hard time dealing with the attack, and it was more than the fact that I had killed my attacker. I had just discovered, in the most violent and horrible way, how physically vulnerable women are. At that time I was convinced that if I had been dressed in jeans and sneakers, instead of a confining dress, heels, and fur coat, that I would have been able to run away from those thugs before they could have done anything about it. I was also furious with myself for allowing my body to become so weak that I couldn’t pull my wrist away from my attacker’s grip.
Instead, I was left with the image of how easy it had been to pull me off balance and into his knife. Had I made a bad choice becoming a woman? Would I ever again feel safe when I was on the street alone? What do women do to make themselves feel safe? The more I thought about all this, the more confused I got. This just added to my depression.
I dreamed about the attack almost every night for several weeks. In my dreams I could smell the stale cigarettes and alcohol on my attacker’s breath. I saw him cutting my hand off to get Cynthia’s ring. On one occasion Cynthia woke me from a nightmare where I was shouting out loud in Spanish. I had dreamed that my attacker's dead body was screaming at me, accusing me of killing him. I was arguing back, saying it was his fault. Despite my words, I felt a heavy burden of guilt after I had been awakened and couldn’t fall back asleep for several hours.
I was becoming more and more clear to me that the magnitude of my response to this shattering event was larger than it should have been. I don’t know, maybe it was just second thoughts about my choices, or maybe it had tapped into some toxic memory within me and was slowly feeding off that. I started to discuss it with Dr. Wells, but my mood didn’t improve. She counseled patience, saying that I would be going through something like a mourning process and that there might be some elements of post traumatic stress syndrome at work as well. She said it could take many months for my mood to clear up, and I knew from what she had told me at the hospital that memories of the attack might be with me for years to come.
In the meantime Cynthia was my angel. She and I took the Laura Ashley bedroom and the girly sitting room (everyone called it that now), and I luxuriated in her attention and all the hugs and cuddles she gave me while we were in bed together. Sometimes those hugs were almost scary they were so intense. When I questioned her once, Cynthia said that she had been so scared when she received the call from the ambulance that she never wanted to let me out of her sight again. This incident had awakened all those horrible memories of what happened to her sister.
"I knew I liked you," she said, "but I thought I was in control. It was only when I got the call from the paramedic in the ambulance that I realized how much I really need you Lilly. I was so scared." I felt so in love at that point I couldn’t help but cry.
While we were ensconced in our overly feminine little sanctuary, Michael got the master bedroom. He got plenty of attention too, especially from me during the day, but he had to sleep alone. Still, he recovered pretty quickly and was soon fending for himself whenever we allowed him some space. But neither Cynthia nor I could resist smothering him with lots of tender loving care and treating him like he was a helpless baby, even long after he needed that much care.
During the day I had him pretty much to myself and I gave him so much attention he got sick of it, which was really very gratifying for me. I'd never taken care of anyone before and it made me feel like I was his girlfriend, or his mom, or even (dare I say it), his wife. I just loved the feeling and it helped me through my own very tough emotional times. I could tell that he would have been just as happy being left alone, but I needed to express my gratitude to him and he was gracious enough to accept my excessive coddling with wit and patience (why do guys have to be such stoics, they take the fun out of caring for them).
We had lots of friends come around to visit whenever they could, usually after work, but sometimes at lunch time as well. Michael never missed an opportunity to complain about my excessive pampering and how I was trying to turn him into a helpless invalid. It was a delicious backhanded thank you and even when I was feeling too depressed to be sociable, I adored him for it.
Of course, I got lots of attention too. Cynthia took the first week off from work and was quite the little nurse, changing dressings, massaging lotion around my scars, and my breasts and generally taking wonderful care of me. She made me feel safe and loved.
Then one day, she came home with some new bras for my new breasts, and that made me feel just wonderful as she helped me slip into each one to see if it would fit. We stood together looking at me in the mirror and I felt like a rose that had just won a blue ribbon at the flower show. That evening, all of the girls from the office and some of Cynthia’s friends came to visit and admired me. I posed shamelessly, even taking my top off to show them one of my new bras. Then, as always, I got tired and began to sink into my nightly depression. I just couldn’t maintain a good feeling for too long.
To make things worse, I had another terrible dream that night. I was being attacked again, but this time when I got slashed, I had real breasts inside my bra and blood came gushing out as if someone had turned on a fire hose. I tried to stop it with my hand and when I looked up, my attacker, obviously dead, was holding up my sliced breast form and laughing at me.
"I bet you weesh you were wearing thees now, don’ju, beetch?" I screamed so loud I woke both Cynthia and Michael. I was in an absolute panic and it took Cynthia a half hour to calm me down. After that, Beverly made sure I had sleeping pills that would suppress my dreaming at least a little.
The next day Cynthia did something totally unexpected that endeared her to me even more, although I already thought that would be quite impossible. She suggested that I might feel safer if I slept with Michael.
"But Cynthia, I protested, you’ll have to sleep alone. You told me…."
"Shush…. I know sweetie," she patted me on the cheek, "but if it will help you avoid some of these horrible dreams, it will be worth it." And then she smiled at Michael like he had just lost a dumb bet and said, "even if it doesn’t, you can wake him up for a change instead of me." Even I had to laugh at that.
So that’s how I started to sleep with Michael. Because both our injuries were on our right sides, we both had to sleep on our left. I made him sleep behind me so I could spoon into him. I don’t know whether it was being with him, or the sleeping pills, but I didn’t dream at all that night, and the frequency of my nightmares started to diminish after that.
Even though I enjoyed all the attention Cynthia and the others were lavishing on me, my sense of despair deepened anyway and having people around just made me tired. I couldn’t shake the sense of responsibility I felt for my attacker's death, and it continued to weigh on me heavily. I just wished I knew why. Beverly tried to convince me that my feelings were perfectly normal and that she would be worried about me if I didn’t feel a little guilty. "Be patient," she counseled, "you’ll feel better with time." I wasn’t so sure.
One day, almost five weeks after the attack, Linda Pearl, one of Cynthia’s lawyer friends dropped by and told me that I wouldn’t be indicted for murder.
"The police have concluded that your assailant’s death was accidental and no charges will be brought," she said happily. I surprised the hell out of her a second later by the almost instantaneous change that took place in my mood.
"What?" I screamed, suddenly red-hot with rage. "They were thinking about charging ME with a crime?" I didn’t wait for her to answer and she simply waited patiently as I screamed at how unjust the whole thing was.
"That son of a bitch tried to rob and kill me, I should have scratched his eyes out first and stuffed his knife up his ass!!" I went on like that for a while and was shaking with rage when finally she finally interrupted me.
"Are you done now?" She looked at me like a schoolteacher who had just discovered me throwing spit balls at her back. Then she giggled at herself and gave me a big bright smile. "There was no chance the police would ever have prosecuted you, but the case had to be formally closed anyway. So now it is and you needed to know that."
Michael came in from his bedroom to see what was wrong. Linda waved at him brightly and went on, "so it's all over now.
By then I had fully deflated and started to regain some presence of mind. I said, "thanks, I appreciate you coming round to tell me, even if it didn’t seem that way." I gave her an embarrassed smile.
"I was wondering though," she went on, as if she were discussing plastic placemats or something equally mundane, "how can someone who feels so strongly that she didn’t do anything wrong and who carries so much hatred for her attacker carry, so much guilt about what happened?"
My jaw dropped and Michael interrupted my thoughts before they could even form, "she's right you know, Sam."
Linda got up and collecting her bag said, "I'll let myself out." Then she gave me another one of her bright smiles, kissed me on the cheek, kissed Michael too, and left.
I was dumbfounded by her comment - How indeed? And right then it finally made sense to me. I shouldn’t feel guilty. I didn’t do anything wrong, or anything to be ashamed of. This simple revelation, something everyone else had understood perfectly from the outset, hit me like a bolt of lightening on a dark night. The whole thing was so simple, why hadn’t I been able to see it before?
From that day, my depression began to lift, and as my body grew stronger, I began to enjoy life again. Both Cynthia and Michael commented that I had become a more pleasant person to live with and I must admit, I certainly felt more pleasant to live inside of.
Cynthia and I made love three nights later, the first time in all the weeks since the attack. My breasts were still a little tender, so there was some discomfort, but I marveled at how much more sensitive my nipples were. Cynthia kissed them gently and took them deeply into her mouth. They were tingling when she stopped.
As I lay in her arms afterwards, I marveled at the transformation in our relationship. One day she was my Mistress and I did everything for her, and the next I was her patient and she did everything for me. She never uttered the smallest complaint, and as I thought about it, I was overcome with gratitude. So I sat up, told her I loved her and smothered her face with kisses and my grateful tears of joy.
"OK, I can understand that now that you’ve got it, you want to flaunt it, but what’s in it for me?" he teased.
I knew just what that should be and had prepared myself for it. As the days had rolled by Michael and I had become very close to one another, spending lots of time doing simple things, like resting on the couch under a blanket, watching TV, and best of all, reading to each other. It’s so sweet when someone you’re really fond of finds a passage that he really likes and shares it with you. Sharing one back is almost as good as kissing.
Even doing simple things like these, we still tired rapidly, and we would nap quite contentedly one against the other, or even better, in each other's arms. It was such a sweet time for both of us. I couldn’t tell if we were like brother and sister, or lovers, or an old married couple, but we were able to luxuriate in each other’s company and caress each other with no other expectation attached, and to watch sunsets and romantic movies, and sigh without having to explain why.
We talked repeatedly about the attack, trying to understand what had actually happened, trying to figure out if we somehow could have prevented it, and trying to keep the other from feeling bad because neither one of us could protect the other. One thing we vowed was if it ever happened to either one of us again, the perps would get the same treatment as the first three who had crossed our paths.
The day after that brave decision, Michael set up private lessons for us with his martial arts instructor. We started off doing simple katas, which didn’t take too much strength, but which started to loosen us up and teach me rhythm and concentration. I loved the focus required to do the movements correctly, and I found that it was relaxing as well. Michael, who turned out to be a black belt, helped me with all this, and all the gentle physical contact really made me yearn again to make love to him.
So, using Cynthia’s butt plugs, I had started stretching my special pussy again. I finally decided that the time was right, so, one morning douched carefully, lubricated myself, and then stuffed a large plug in my butt to loosen me even more. I put on light makeup, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice anything but how gorgeous I was, and then I put on my favorite emerald green silk teddy under a soft cotton sweater and loose pants.
When Michael jokingly asked what was in it for him, I sprung my brilliant plan on him. "Do you trust me?" I asked, batting my eyes to look as untrustworthy as possible.
"No!" he said immediately warming to my game. "Get away from me."
"Oh, come on," I pleaded, leaning over him, "I only want to tie you up."
"You only want to tie me up? Uh huh, and then what?" He raised a questioning eyebrow.
"That’s the part you’ll have to trust me about," I answered in my best little-girl-wants-something-from-daddy voice.
He laughed gently and said, "anything you say Sam, but if you’re going to tie me up, it had better lead to sex."
So I took him by the hand and eagerly led him to my bedroom, where I undressed him and positioned him on his back in the center of the four-poster bed. He protested the entire time, which made it even more fun. I pulled out the old pantyhose I had stashed in the night table and tied his hands and feet securely to the bed frame. After spending a quite a few minutes assuring myself he was comfortable, including placing a few pillows under his head, I stood right where he could see me and proceeded to take off my clothes. I dropped my pants first, but the sweater still hid my teddy. Then I grabbed the sweater by the hem and started to inch it up my body, wriggling sinuously as I did, until I eventually had my hands stretched far above my head to pull it off, revealing the teddy, whose lacey cups only covered the bottom half of my wonderful new breasts. It did even a worse job covering my penis and testicles, but I thought Michael would like to see those too.
I struck a model’s pose in front of him, putting my legs together and thrusting my hips all the way to the right and rotating my shoulders as far as I could to the left, so I looked curvy. Then I ran my hands along the sides of my body starting with my palms on my thighs. When I got to my head, I ran my fingers slowly through my hair, shook my head, and then extended my arms. I ended with my hands up and out as if I was presenting myself as a prize.
"Do you like?" I asked, and without waiting for a reply I put one hand on my hip and the other one behind my head. I shook my shoulders at him, setting my tits into motion.
He smiled, "I like."
Then I climbed onto the bed in the most sinuous way I could and squatted on my heels between his legs. Sitting straight up, I proudly thrust my breasts out at him, again jiggling them around a little. Then, without another word, I quickly winked at him to catch his attention and without taking my eyes off his I bent over with my hands at his sides, crawled up over his body and dropped my mouth on top of his for a heartfelt kiss. I teased his lips with mine and kissed, licked, and nibbled his face, eyes, ears, and neck. I spent a good deal of time with my lips welded to his and my tongue buried deeply in his mouth. I enjoyed roaming over his face and playing with him, but because he was tied down, it was hard for him to do much more than receive my kisses, so I decided that this was not as much fun as I had hoped.
Oh well, I had other things planned anyway. I worked my way down his body, letting my lips linger for a long time around his little nipples and tickling the midline of his belly with my tongue. I kissed and tongued at his scar, but because I couldn’t really feel anything near mine, I didn’t linger long on his. I did spend some time kissing and licking between his thighs, although I must admit that I much prefer the smooth shaven body of a woman to the hairy one of a man. Still, he squirmed around playfully and tried to find a way to get me to do something to his penis, which I was studiously ignoring. Then I felt like I was ready for the next big move. So I sat straight up on my heels and placed my hands on my thighs.
"Did you like that?" I asked, twisting my body back and forth, trying to look cute.
"Mmmmm," he said looking up at me without raising his head, "but I hope you have something more exciting planed for the rest of the afternoon." He smiled up at me. I really did adore him.
But, I couldn’t let him know that now. Instead I looked aghast, like I had been betrayed by my closest friend and simply said, "how ‘bout this," before I plunged my head down to engulf his already hard penis. I kept my eyes on him and only when I had it fully in my mouth did I look down at what I had. I didn’t know what to expect, but I sucked gently and it tasted good. I was startled for a moment when the shaft actually started to grow and harden in my mouth. He was really responding to me!
I swirled my tongue all around to make sure he was completely wet, then I drew his penis slowly out of my mouth, holding it carefully so I didn’t accidentally scratch him with my long nails. I sat up a little and smiled down at him. He was looking up at me expectantly. He had lost a lot of weight after surgery and the scar on his side was an ugly, hot, red ridge. I looked back at his erection, cocked my head slightly to get my hair away from my mouth and then kissed it right on the tip. I looked back up at him with just my eyes as I kissed and licked all around his solid head and shaft. I held the base softly in one hand and used my other to play gently with his balls. In some ways this was even more fun than eating Cynthia because this didn’t require difficult postures and I could breathe freely.
He loved it too. I could tell by the way he squirmed around, made little moans and groans and tried to stuff himself into my mouth every time I kissed his penis. Then he started to beg, "please, please don’t tease me anymore take it in your mouth, let me get off."
I looked up at him questioningly and said, "maybe this is all I can do."
"Oh no, please you must, I’m going to tear my stitches if I have to keep squirming around like this. Have some mercy Sam!"
I looked up again, idly fondling his now slippery penis with my wet fingers.
"You don’t have any stitches sweetheart, the doctor removed them. It’s a good thing he didn’t remove this," I dropped my head and started licking him again.
He tried another tack after I had nearly brought him to orgasm, only to let him cool down again. He lifted his head and glared at me, "I’ll kill you when I get my hands on you little tease. " He tried to sound stern, but couldn’t really, "now finish me off."
So I sat up, looked at him mournfully, and pouted for all I was worth. "If you want me to go, I’ll just leave." I said and started to get up.
"No!" He sounded really desperate, so I looked back questioningly.
"Please, please don’t go, I’ll be good, lick me all you want," he said realizing I had won.
This was fun!
So I slowly got back into position, but this time when I bent down, I took him as far into my mouth as I could. He groaned, his head falling back onto the soft pillows like he had just lost consciousness. I had never been in a situation like this before, having a man so obviously in my power. He was helpless under my touch and I felt thrilled. He looked up and started to say something.
"Just lie there and shut up," I interrupted before he actually got a word out, "Lilly knows what’s best for little Michael."
He looked at me with pleading eyes, his pole sticking wetly up towards my face and I added, "besides, if you say anything else, I’ll gag you."
Then I sank down again and swallowed as much as I could of his fat dick. It felt so velvety smooth in my mouth and tasted so clean. Now, I couldn’t resist and I really wanted to swallow it. Knowing that I had his pleasure in my mouth excited me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
I couldn’t quite overcome my gag reflex, so there was no deep throating, but by using my hands together with my mouth I was able to cover the whole shaft as I slid it in and out as far as I could. He grunted each time I sank down on him and in a few minutes he came, spurting warm globs of semen into my mouth. There seemed to be an awful lot, but then, he hadn’t had any sex for many weeks now.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," was all he could say for a minute or so as he recovered control over his breathing. Then he lay limp for a while as I sat back on my heels, still between his thighs, holding his penis firmly in one hand like a joystick, and watching the whole show. I had swallowed most of the cum that had exploded into my mouth and was now curiously cleaning the rest off my lips and chin with the fingers of my other hand, and then licking them clean as well. I don’t know what the big deal is about swallowing cum, it really had a rather mild taste, and what else was I supposed to do with it anyway?
I wasn’t quite ready to untie him yet, and just sat there looking at him, trying to figure out what I was feeling. "Sam, let me suck on you. I need your cock in my mouth,." He panted. So I pulled off the teddy and shifted my body so that I was kneeling over him with his mouth below my rigid dick and my mouth just above his limp one. He reached his head up to suck me into his mouth and I lowered my hips so he could keep his head on the pillow. A moment later I grabbed his dick between my lips as well. He was very good at sucking cock and had me cumming hard in his mouth within minutes.
I had kept up my sucking while I was cumming, and since he was hard again, I decided that this was to be the moment that had been stolen from me the night we were attacked. I was going to get laid.
"Michael, would you make love to me please?" I felt strangely embarrassed at this, but didn’t let that stop me. I untied his arms and legs and when he sat up I slipped a condom over his penis. Then I removed the slippery butt plug from my ass and rolled over on my back. He crouched over me, gently pushing my legs up to my shoulders and then leaned forward until the tip of his penis was touching my rear.
"Oh Sam," he sighed, "this is the sweetest thing I’ve ever done." He really took his time penetrating me, making sure I was comfortable with what he was doing. For my part I was delighted to welcome such a gentle man into my body. It was amazing, as many times as I had one of Cynthia’s dildos up my ass, this warm living thing was even more exciting. Neither of us could really fuck hard without some pain, so we were gentle, and rocked slowly into and out of each other for quite some time, forever maybe. I was really hot by the time he came but hardly disappointed that I hadn’t. I could do this a hundred times without cumming and still be satisfied.
As soon as he softened and slipped out of me, I stretched out on the bed next to him hugging him with all my might. "I still owe you one," he panted. So he removed my arms from his chest, turned me on my side, and proceeded to suck my dick again. I was so tired, he had to use all his tricks to make me to cum again, and apparently all his strength as well, because a few moments after I did climax, he fell asleep, exhausted. I grabbed a blanket, covered our naked bodies, and cuddled up with him to sleep myself. I know I went to sleep with a big smile on my face. Although I had sexual experiences with men, this was the first time I had actually made love with one, and I felt wonderful about it.
I awoke about an hour later and made sure the blanket covered him before I quietly left the room. The poor abused baby didn’t wake until dinnertime so I must have really worn him out. After I went to my bathroom to clean up, I grabbed a cup of coffee and curled up in a corner of my girly sofa to think.
I was rather confused by our lust filled morning, because I couldn’t understand why a guy was getting me so hot and bothered, and I didn’t understand at all why my avowed homosexual lover found the new feminine me so attractive.
On one level, I didn’t care. This was a very simple plane of awareness; it feels good, do it. I guess that sounds like the way most men approach sex. On another level, of course, it was all about identity. Here I was, looking like a woman in all ways except one, having sex with a man.
Well, I didn’t just have sex with him, I had made love to him and loved it. Did that make me a gay man, a straight woman, a bi something, any of the above, none of the above? Cynthia had helped me realize that these labels weren’t particularly meaningful for me, but somehow being able to put myself in some kind of category seemed important, perhaps even comforting.
I stood up and walked into my bedroom to examine my body in the full-length mirror. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately, but then there was a new me to get used to. The surgeon had done what he promised and my nose was now smaller and turned just ever so slightly upwards. His nicest touch was that the end seemed slightly chiseled, so that instead of having a big round tip, my nose was rather compact and very cute.
I could find no remnant of my former male self in my new face. My now petite nose, slimmer jaw, and fuller lips seemed to change everything about me. I was sure they had also done something extra to my cheekbones to make them look higher, but Cynthia had denied it. Because I had lost 10 pounds in hospital, maybe my cheeks simply looked less full because of the weight loss. Then again, maybe Cynthia wasn’t telling me the entire truth...
Cynthia had waited until just about the last minute before talking me into collagen injections to give me fuller lips. The surgeon, who made just the most subtle changes in the size and shape of my lips was an artist. Again, Cynthia had forced me just a little further than I would have gone on my own, but the results were great, so how could I argue. But, because she just couldn’t seem to stop herself from taking me further and further, so who knows what else she might have done. I must admit though, whatever it was, I looked gorgeous. My lips were just a little bit bigger but their shape seemed somewhat different. They were so delicious looking that I was often tempted to just reach forward and kiss the mirror. Now I ran my tongue over them purposefully, enjoying their new fullness and thinking that Michael must have liked that too. Even though I was alone, I put on some creamy dark red lipstick, which, I thought, just makes them smolder.
My newly highlighted hair still looked fine even though it hadn’t been trimmed in more than a month. I absolutely adored the way my hair fell over my right eye even though I had to spend a good deal of time to keep it looking well groomed. I brushed it languorously for a few moments and then back-combed to give it more body. As I did, I wondered briefly how long it would be before I decided that long hair just wasn’t worth the effort. Just for fun I tied a purple silk ribbon behind my head and over the top and flicked my hair back over my shoulder, vowing bravely that I would never give up long hair just because it was more convenient to wear it shorter.
As I studied the changes to my body, my eyes were drawn right away to the ugly, red scar that ran along the inside of my right arm. It started just an inch or so from my shoulder, ran along my bicep and down almost to the elbow. The scar just under my ribs was nearly six inches long even though the knife wound itself wasn’t nearly that big. the surgeons had lengthened the wound because they needed more room to work to stop all the bleeding. For some reason neither of these scars bothered me too much, even though I knew that if I wore short sleeves or a bikini, they would be the first thing that people just meeting me would notice.
No, in my eyes, they were both rendered insignificant by the two breath taking orbs that now seemed to hang most naturally from my thin chest. I cupped them in my hands and reveled in the feeling. I thought back on all the time I had spent imagining what having breasts might be like. At first I had stuffed the bras I stole from my mother with stockings and was delighted that I had anything that looked like breasts. Later, I had tried water balloons, which I could never quite get into the right shape, bags of bird seed, which I never loved because they were bags of bird seed. Finally, I had purchased expensive silicon breast forms, which at first made me shiver with pleasure, they seemed so real. I had even glued them to my chest to experience the pull of their weight. But you know what? It’s different when the pull is coming from under your skin, rather than on it. I glowed with satisfaction because I now knew that the real thing was even better than I had ever imagined.
As I stroked them, I noticed that they had the most beautiful sloping curve on the top, gliding gracefully from my shoulders down to the aureole. The nipples, which were really quite pale, sat a little high, pointing just slightly, but most delightfully, upwards. I couldn’t resist lifting each one to my mouth and kissing it thankfully, like it was a new baby.
I turned to examine them from the side and was delighted with their wondrous roundness and the tiny, but enticing sag that made even their bottoms seem perfect to me. I giggled to myself thinking that Cynthia must be jealous because she keeps yelling at me to wear a bra. But I love to feel them move so much that I just don’t want to confine them if I don’t have to.
My waist was now a very trim 25 inches, although I’m sure I'll have to work hard to keep it that size now that I can eat normally again. I’ll bet Cynthia would like to see me back in a tightly laced corset as soon as I’m fully healed, but if I can stay this thin maybe I can talk her out of it. Even the low doses of hormones I was taking have helped my hips flare out nicely, leaving me thin but curvy. Michael was right, I was a really tasty package.
Despite the effects of the hormones on other parts of my body (my skin was so soft!), my penis was still functioning well enough, although I had noticed the fluid was clearer than it used to be. And even thought my penis, and the testicles that dangled under them did look out of place on my feminine body, the pleasure they brought me made keeping them worthwhile. As I posed in front of the mirror, I suddenly realized that I looked like one of those shemale porno stars.
Yes, definitely a chick with a dick, and certainly not a sissy boy with boobs, not this girl. It seemed to me that I was a rather odd shaped peg and all the holes were either square or round. I was way too much a woman to fit into the square hole designed for men, so if I really did want to fit in somewhere, I guess I would have to go all the way and make myself fit into the round female hole. I carefully stroked my penis and watched it grow in the mirror. Would I be able to give it up? Would I ever get reassignment surgery? I just didn’t know, but didn’t have to make that decision now anyway.
I stood for a while, wondering just what is it was that I was seeing in the mirror. Was it just packaging, pretty wrapping paper and ribbons designed to enchant whoever got their hands on it? Was it just a façade for public consumption, a shell to facilitate a social role? Or did this vision reflect something that was more profoundly me? In the end, will I have gone through all these changes and still end up the same failed person, to cowardly to take advantage of the intelligence, good health, and apparently lovable heart that I was born with?
Did I change my appearance from man to woman just because I was too wimpy to live as a man, thinking that the life of a woman was somehow easier? I snorted at that thought, laughing at my own stupidity. Really, if anything, living as a woman had to be harder, not easier. Then, thankfully, before I drove myself completely nuts trying to figure this out, the phone rang.
That evening, when Cynthia got home, Michael and I informed her of our decision to go to his firm’s big party.
"Oh that’s wonderful." She got excited right away, but then turned serious a moment later, "but are you strong enough? What happens if someone recognizes you?"
Michael and I had discussed that at some length while we recuperated. When you come close to dying, other aspects of your life tend to get put in a new perspective. "I don’t care," he said, "I’m tired of hiding my homosexuality. If the firm can’t handle it, that’s their problem." Cynthia just pursed her lips.
"We’re just going to play it straight," I added, not realizing how ironic my choice of words was until Cynthia and Michael both laughed. I blushed in embarrassment for a moment but then went right on. "I intend to wear the backless dress and everyone will be able to see my arm and that I’m not wearing a bra. If anyone asks about it, I’m just going to tell the truth. And I’m going to tell them I work at North State. We figure that by the end of the evening everyone in the room will know who and what we are."
Michael grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him. "Wish us luck," he said to Cynthia, "it’s going to be a bumpy ride."
Cynthia looked at us like we were both slightly daffy and put her hand on Michael’s forehead as if to see if he had a fever. "Well," she concluded, "no fever, I guess that means that you really are crazy." Then she laughed and hugged us both. "Oh God, I do hope you’ve made the right decision." This could have such repercussions for both of you."
"Nothing like getting shot or stabbed," Michael said, "poking Cynthia rather hard in the ribs right where we both had been injured.
"Oh!" She jumped back clutching her side, surprised. "Well, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?" said Cynthia, "I think you’re both being very brave." And she kissed us both on the cheek.
The party was December 22, and the run up to this affair wasn’t even a pale shadow to the excitement that had surrounded my trip to the opera. I guess everyone was feeling somewhat superstitious about the whole thing and decided to stay away. That was just fine with me and with Michael, who decided he would get ready at my apartment so we could leave directly from there. He wasn’t taking any chances this time and had arranged for a limo to ferry us to and from the party.
So I had a quiet afternoon at the salon, where I again got the full treatment. Shelly wanted to put my hair up for a change, but I insisted on wearing it down. I was still enchanted with the way it hung and was having lots of fun throwing it around and using it to flirt with. She did make sure that is was at its glossy best and that it curved smoothly inwards at the ends. It was perfectly cut and I felt like a work of art. Because of my facial surgery, my makeup had to be different now and my cheeks especially looked sculpted, like I was some kind of model. I just squealed with delight at the results and hugged her tightly in thanks, before I strutted out the door so the poor masses on the street could behold my gorgeous countenance.
Then I went home and napped to make sure I had enough strength to make it through the evening. At seven, Cynthia woke me and I started to dress. It didn’t take very long because I was only wearing panties, pantyhose, heels, and the dress. Oh, and I put on the same jewelry I had worn to get mugged in. Without the dress, I just loved myself, but once I had the dress on, I starting have second thoughts, lots of them.
For one thing, I had goose bumps all over my arms because I was a little chilly. But that was the least of it. I just felt so exposed. This was a very sexy dress and I wasn’t sure I was a very sexy lady. Aside from the non-existent back, every movement of my breasts was quite visible because the bias cut fabric was designed to drape over them and hug them in the most sensuous way. I hadn’t noticed this when I had tried the dress on before because my breasts were so small then. Now, I was kind of embarrassed about the whole thing. But Cynthia made it clear that the choice had been made, so I knew there was no point arguing.
And finally, I was concerned about the scar on my arm. All of a sudden it looked gigantic, and very red and ugly. Cynthia thought we could put a little foundation on it, so that it wasn‘t so red and that did help some. It’s just that my intention had been to wear the scar like a badge of courage, but all of a sudden I felt ashamed of it and I couldn’t understand why.
At that moment, Michael came into the room looking just god-like in his tuxedo. "Don’t worry about the scar," he said, "the way your tits are bouncing around no one will notice it."
"Miiichaaaeel," I cried, "don’t say that, I feel embarrassed enough already. I looked at him with pleading eyes.
He was unmoved. "Well, look at it this way," he made it sound like he was trying to be helpful, but I just knew he was going to tease me some more, "you get to do an interesting experiment tonight. Women are always complaining that men only look at their tits. You’ll be able to see if that big, nasty scar is impressive enough to draw their eyes away from those big, pleasing tits." He had walked around behind me while he was talking and then reached around to take a breast in each of his hands. He nuzzled my neck and I leaned back into him. "The way you look I’m willing to bet that no one even notices the scar." He smiled at me like the cat that ate the canary. I just blushed and looked down, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms even though I knew I should be mad at him for teasing me.
"Here," Cynthia interrupted, "I have something that might make you feel more comfortable." She held out a beautiful black silk shawl highlighted by silver threads and tassels hanging off the corners. I was wide-eyed with wonder, and my mouth was drawn into an astonished "O" as she draped it across my shoulders. It was simply gorgeous. I grabbed it and wrapped it around my arms.
"Oh Cynthia, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much." I went to kiss her.
"It’s a gift from Rachel Watts, I guess she felt guilty about charging you so much for the gown. It is just the most exquisite shawl I have ever seen, so be careful with it." And she smiled at me like an indulgent mother and gave me a big hug.
When I opened the closet door to get my coat, there was a big garment bag hanging in the middle, just like the one that had held Mandy’s fur, the one I had destroyed the night of the attack. "Oh, no," I groaned, not again." Cynthia and Michael just laughed. I spun on them, trying to look angry. "Where did this come from?"
"Look at it before you make any decisions," said Cynthia.
"NO, I won’t even open the bag. Why are you tormenting me like this? Losing one fur is enough!" I felt like they were teasing me and was close to tears I was so frustrated.
"Oh, poo," said Cynthia as she pushed me aside and simply unzipped the bag as if I hadn’t said a thing. Oh God, this was just too much. She pulled out a full length, glossy black mink coat. It glistened even in the soft light of my foyer. The shawl collar was so big it could almost be a hood, and the lapels could easily cover my face if I pulled them up and around. It tied with a sash. I had never been so close to anything so beautiful. I backed away.
"Oh no, this is ridiculous. I can’t wear that. I’d be scared to death. Please don’t make me wear it." By now I was whining, but Michael had taken the coat from Cynthia and held it out for me. They both looked at me expectantly. As Michael held the coat open, I noticed the fancy initials monogrammed inside the coat: "LSM.’
"What’s that?" I asked, with a hint of fear in my voice. Something was going on here, and I didn’t like the looks of it.
"Well, it looks like she figured it out," Cynthia said to Michael. I guess we should tell her, what do you say?" Michael just nodded at her and then they both turned to me, shouting together, "Merry Christmas!"
I was speechless, and goggle-eyed, I’m sure. I never…
"This is your Christmas present from us," said Michael, again looking very proud of himself. Why is it that people are always looking at me like that? Cynthia just watched benevolently until she got impatient with my lack of action. Then she grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around so Michael could put the coat on me.
Knowing I had no chance against these two, I let them do what they wanted. In a few moments I had the coat on, and I must say it felt just wonderful, like I had died and gone to heaven, and was sleeping in a warm fluffy cloud. I grabbed the collar in one hand and snuggled my face into the fur. I kept my eyes down all the while because I knew I was going to cry at any moment. When I finally looked up, I started to sniffle. Cynthia was ready with tissues and started to blot my eyes before I could get a word out.
"I… I.. I don’t know what to say. This is too much. I can’t…"
"Oh yes you can, and you will," said Michael. "you saved my life, or did you forget? This is a trivial gift for such a wonderful act."
"You haven’t quite saved my life, but you’ve enriched it beyond my wildest dreams," added Cynthia. "You know Lilly, when my sister died I lost something very precious to me, the ability to love. I had given up hope of ever finding it again, but you seem to be bringing it back. You’ve helped to heal a hole in my heart."
I was really starting to blubber now, but Cynthia jumped in. "And don’t you dare cry. Shelly would kill me if I let you ruin her spectacular makeup job."
So I stood there pulling the coat tight around my chest and rocking back and forth in one spot until I could get control of my feelings. "But I didn’t do anything special for you two. I was just being myself." I turned on Michael. "No one would have let you bleed to death on that street."
"No Sam, you’re wrong," he said with deep sadness in his voice. "You passed out on top of me. I guess, slamming your head into steel garbage cans is not conducive to staying conscious." He gave me a crooked grin. "But I never lost consciousness. No one tried to help either one of us until the paramedics arrived. The crowd just stood around us in a circle. The paramedics were the first ones to touch us. I would have bled to death right there for sure." He pulled me into his chest and hugged me tightly even though I was still clutching the lapels of the coat in front of me.
"This is silly," Cynthia finally said. "Look at me Lilly." Her voice was firm now, like the army officer she had been. I turned from Michael and looked into her eyes. "Do you think we’re stupid? That you’ve somehow tricked us? I don’t think so. In fact, I’ll bet we know you better than you know yourself."
"You’re not who you were a year ago, and I’ll bet you’ve only just begun to emerge from your cocoon. I can’t wait to see the butterfly you’ll become. None of us can. So just forget the silly denials and get your butt to that party. I’ve got to meet a friend in a few minutes," she licked her lips lasciviously, "and I need some time to change. You’re not the only one who’s going to party tonight."
I just sighed and looked up at Michael, indicating I was ready to go. Then I went over to Cynthia and hugged her to me for a few moments with all my heart. I leaned back and looked into her face and whispered, "thank you Cynthia." My voice was husky from holding back tears. Michael gently took my hand and led me out. When we got into the elevator, I put my arms around his chest and hugged him to me too.
I didn’t say anything in the limo on the way to the party, but I held Michael tightly the whole way. Once I had gotten over the initial discomfort of having received such a stunning gift, I started to allow myself to feel the love that had motivated Cynthia and Michael to buy it for me. By the time we had turned onto Fifth Avenue a few blocks from Trump Tower, I was actually feeling wonderfully warm and mushy inside. I mean really, how could I deny that I had some value if two people like Cynthia and Michael thought I had so much. Maybe I was a good person after all. I started to feel a level of self-confidence that was rare for me. I started to really look forward to this party.
We got to the party a little late, which in New York is on time. As we pulled up to the curb in front of Trump Tower, Michael pried my hands from his body and sat me up straight.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked with concern in his voice. It’s pretty much inevitable that we’re going to let people know who we really are, are you ready to face that?"
"Will they be armed?" I asked, teasing him gently, "I don’t think I’m strong enough yet to fight off anyone who has a knife or gun." I gave him a worried look.
He just pursed his lips and looked down at me like I was a naughty schoolgirl. "Come on, I’m being serious. We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to."
"What are you talking about," I asked, my voice rising as if I was shocked at what he had said, "I dragged you here! My god, I had to give you a fabulous blow job just to convince you to come." With that I gave him a big bright smile, showing him I was indeed ready, even though I was starting to get apprehensive as hell.
We exited the penthouse elevator into a large, bright lobby filled with noise and people. I didn’t expect to know anyone, but Michael would have lots of colleagues and clients there. There was actually a surprisingly long line at the coatroom and I had to wait in the lobby while Michael checked my coat. I couldn’t help but yell, "don’t’ you dare lose that," at him as he turned into the hallway to get on line.
I noticed two things right away. First, the women were almost all older than me, most in their forties, fifties, and sixties, but they looked spectacular. This was a crowd that obviously made a significant investment in how they looked. I guessed every one of them had been to her salon that afternoon, the only real question was how many had their faces lifted as well. Of course, I guess I couldn’t really throw stones at them, considering the extent of my own facial surgery.
Second, this was a very affluent crowd. It looked like each woman wore at least 10 carats of diamonds, rubies and emeralds. They sparkled like the chandeliers in the lobby of the Met. And as I looked at their gowns, I began to realize that my $700 rag was one of the real cheap dresses in the room. There was enough couture clothing just in this lobby to keep a whole factory full of expensive designers in business for a year. I felt like a ragamuffin compared with the rest of this group.
They, apparently, did not share my point of view. After I got over my initial shock, the next thing I noticed was that everyone was looking me over quite carefully. The women had their brows drawn together and their lips pursed. This immediately embarrassed me and I pulled my shawl around my shoulders and tried to disappear. But after a few moments, I decided that was stupid. No attractive young woman would behave this way, so I dropped the shawl to my elbows and let the back fall below my cute little tush. I stood up straight and pulled my shoulders back, smiling to myself and at the people I caught staring at me.
The men clearly saw things differently than the women. They ogled me without much shame. I really felt like a sex object and decided that I would not let that feeling embarrass me. I would enjoy it instead and show off a little. So I started to wander around, rolling my hips and trying to slither to show myself off while I looked at the art hanging on the walls. I tried to give everyone who wanted it a good look at my front and my back.
At one point I heard a male voice behind me say, " well hellllooo gorgeous." So I slowly turned my torso to look back over my shoulder only to find three older men standing there, looking me up and down with obvious glee. So I turned to face them, looked them up and down in return, and gave them a friendly smile. Then I said, "I’ll bet there are some women here who would not be happy with the way you’re looking at me." Shall we wait for them together. Then, as their jaws dropped, I smiled and said, "no that would be cruel," and turned to saunter away, smiling to myself. I felt powerful.
Michael returned a few minutes later and because I knew the whole room was looking at us, I took his upper arm in both my hands and pulled myself up to give him a warm kiss on the cheek. He looked at me a little askance so I whispered, "later - just a put your arm around me." When he did, I reached my hand up and put it into the hair on the back of his head. It was, I hoped, a good signal to the men that I wasn’t going to be interested in them, and to the women that I wasn’t a threat.
As soon as we walked into the ballroom, which wasn’t too crowded yet, I said to Michael, "let’s get a drink, I think I really need it." He nodded and we headed for the bar, which had a stunning view of Manhattan behind it. Unfortunately, it took us about 25 minutes to get there. It wasn’t that we had to fight our way through the crowd, but every couple of steps Michael met someone he knew, and because this was a business affair, he had to stop to say hello and introduce me to everyone. That’s when things got really scary.
There were partners, associates, and clients. In fact all of the firm’s many clients had been invited. When you’re charging them $300-500 per hour, you’ve got to show them a little hospitality once in a while, I guess. There were also politicians. I had already spotted Rudolph Gulliani across the room, and I was sure I had seen Daniel Patrick Moynihan as well. There were athletes, like Derek Jeter, and artists, and I could see Sam Donaldson chatting up Katie Couric. From all the pricey dresses I had seen in the lobby, it was obvious that there must have been quite a few society women as well.
Fortunately, Michael didn’t know all these people, but in the short walk to the bar he did introduce me to two clients, two partners and one associate. The first client was a slightly balding, slightly plump fifty-something broker. His wife, on the other hand was a knock-out. She was rather younger than him, probably in her mid-thirties, and beautifully put together, an obvious trophy for her aging husband.
Even though Michael introduced me as an analyst at North State, he looked me up and down like I was a slab of smoked salmon on display at the fish counter at Zabar’s. His gaze finally came to rest on my breasts. In my heels I was actually taller than him, so he didn’t have to really look that far down to do it. I shrugged mentally and glanced over at his wife, who was patiently waiting with only a slight look of dismay on her face. We shared bemused grins, like two mothers watching their kids throw mud at each other. Like me, she was young and pretty and based on what I had seen so far, she would getting the same kind of attention from other men that I was getting from her husband right then.
As I lifted my arm to readjust my shawl, she noticed the scar. "Ohmigod," she blurted out, what happened to you?" She pointed thoughtlessly at my arm. Michael and I glanced at each other momentarily, as if to say, ‘it’s show time.’
"Oh, this little scar," I asked innocently. "Three guys tried to mug Michael and me. We had to fight them off."
She looked at me dumbfounded. My attitude and my story were just too far outside her experience, which apparently didn’t extend too far from the expensive shops on Madison Avenue, for her to process the whole thing. She recovered nicely though, "Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible."
"Well, it was over so quickly, I didn’t even have a chance to get scared. But he stabbed me in the side too, and the next few weeks in the hospital weren’t that much fun." Then I couldn’t help but dump on her a little more. "I’ll tell you, getting mugged can really ruin your evening." By the time I had finished, her eyes had opened wide and her mouth had made itself into a cute little ‘O’. I guess debutants don’t meet that many mugging victims.
The husband took the whole thing in without batting an eyelash, and true to Michael’s prediction, he only glanced at my arm momentarily before he was back fixated on my breasts. I couldn’t help but give a big sigh so they would heave up and down to reward him for his attention.
Finally, he looked away, and shifting his attention to Michael, he asked, "did you get hurt too?"
Michael looked down briefly at his side and replied, "I’m afraid so. I got shot right here," and he pointed to his side.
"But you said you fought them off," said the wife, a little confused.
"Oh we did," Michael replied, "two ended up in the hospital for a couple of weeks before they were sent to Riker’s." (Riker’s Island is New York City’s most infamous jail)
"And the other?" She just couldn’t let it go.
"I’m afraid he’s dead," I said, flatly. "I pushed him down some steps as he was stabbing me and he broke his back, the son of a bitch." That last I just spit out.
By now she had her hand over her mouth, and even the husband was looking at us wide-eyed. We took the opportunity to flee. "It was so nice to meet you, "I said, as I grabbed Michael’s arm to lead him away.
"Now I really, really need a drink," I whispered into his ear. He looked down at me with an obvious ‘me too’ expression. But we had to wait because that’s how it went with the others we met on the way to the bar. By the time we each had gotten our drinks in our hands, we both decided to have another right away, so we clicked glasses and downed the first one in a couple of gulps, and then got a second. Before we left the bar area we took another one with us. That first set of interactions had been way more anxiety provoking than we had anticipated. But the alcohol, along with some really stupendous appetizers, including caviar, lump crabmeat, in a stunningly well done mustard sauce, and big slices of filet minion on the most scrumptious little rolls, really helped to relax us.
But we were both getting tired, so we threw our things, well, my bag onto a big round table and sat down to eat more and rest. Within 15 minutes or so, four other couples had joined us. Two of the husbands worked at Michael’s firm, one woman was an artist of some sort, and the other couple both worked for a client called Boston Federated, who, as it turned out, also did business with North State. It didn’t take too long for someone to ask about my scar, and we ended up telling our story to the whole group in some detail. By the time we were done, three other couples were standing next to the table, listening as well.
"Wait a minute, said the artist’s husband, whose name was Phil, I remember a headline, from the Daily News or the Post. It said, "Make My Day." He just lit up at the memory. "You were on your way to the opera when this happened weren’t you?"
"Well, yeah," Michael and I both said at once.
"You’re, like, heroes," Phil beamed back at us.
"That’s right," added Tara, his wife. "Everyone who has ever even heard of the opera knows about you. You were so brave to take those guys on."
"Well, I don’t know how brave we were," I said, "but we were stupid enough to do it," and I held up my arm and twisted it back to show everyone my scar again.
Then someone shouted, "I propose a toast," and they toasted us, drawing the attention of many more people who were within earshot. Within half an hour most of the room knew about us. Lot’s of people stopped by to shake our hands and congratulate us, even rich and famous New Yorkers like to rub elbows with celebrities.
Neither one of us was comfortable with the level of attention we were getting, but we couldn’t escape it. Worse, the couple whose company did business with North State had been staring at me silently the whole time. Early on I had said to Michael, "They know me, they just can’t place me yet." I could tell, they were beginning to put it together, but it was just too far out for them to believe. I wondered how they would solve their little mystery.
But by then, the band had begun to play, and Michael and I decided to take refuge on the dance floor. We really were tiring by this point and our dancing was not at all vigorous, which suited me just fine. I really savored the feeling of being in Michael’s arms, and spent a good deal of the time with my eyes closed and my head resting against his chest. Although we started in a classic dance posture, with my right hand in his left, and his right over my shoulder blade, every time there was a slow dance, he dropped his left hand so that he had one hand on my bare back and the other on my butt. I just loved it. It made me feel both sexy and protected. I think most of the other people in the room saw it as somewhat scandalous, however. Investment bankers don’t dance with their hands on the butts of upper east side society matrons.
While we were on the dance floor we could hear the swirl of conversations coming from around the floor, and more than a few were about us. Of course all we could hear were bits and snippets, like, "that little thing?" "One of them had a gun;" "yeah, she killed him;" "he’s a black belt, and she’s a doll." I actually looked around to see who had said that, I wanted to kiss him, but by the time I was looking at the spot the sound had come from no one was actually facing us.
We also could see the light from the speed flash units the photographers used, and as we left the floor two photographers actually had us pose for them. We agreed only if they promised to send us prints, so Michael gave them his card, and we wandered back to our seats. As we sat sipping exquisitely expensive champagne from crystal flutes, the fellow who knew me asked me to dance. Reflexively I looked at Michael for approval. He looked back at me like I was totally lame, so I mentally shrugged my shoulders and off we went.
I discovered that his name was William, and he didn’t like to be called Bill. He was a pretty good dancer himself and I enjoyed the foxtrot we did together when we first got on the floor. During a break in the music he pulled us off the dance floor and offered me another glass of champagne. I guess I didn’t respond fast enough, because before I could make up my mind, he was offering me a flute with that wonderful bubbly liquid. He had led me far from our table, but at one point I was sure I could see Michael talking to his wife.
"So," he began. I was pretty sure where this was going. "I know you work at North State, and you look familiar, but I just can’t place you. Who do you work for."
"Bob Thornton," I responded without hesitating.
"Thornton," he wondered out loud, I know one of his analysts is Cynthia Morrison, very solid analyst, you can’t go wrong listening to her. I’m surprised she hasn’t set up her own business yet." I nodded my agreement and he went on, "But I thought the other was a young guy, Brad Miller isn’t it? I remember he developed some really creative analytical approaches for us. I couldn’t quite get it though, too much math for me." He shook his head ruefully.
I was delighted to hear that compliment, so I said "Uh, huh," and shook my head enthusiastically to confirm his "guess."
"But Thornton only had two analysts, didn’t he?"
"Yes, that’s true," I confirmed again. Well, the moment of truth was at hand and I hoped this guy didn’t freak out when he heard it. "I’m Brad Miller, or at least I was."
Watching his face was priceless. His expression kept its professional calmness for just a moment or so before it started to dissolve. First his pupils seemed to dilate and then his eyes opened wide. Soon, his mouth opened as well, but he only gaped at me for a moment before his hand shot up to his face to hide his mouth.
"But, you’re gorgeous," He began to blurt out looking at my face. Then he dropped his eyes to my chest and grabbing me gently by the shoulders, he turned me to the side so he could see my waist, hips, and butt. "And that’s all real isn’t it? No padding…"
Before he could say anything else I lifted his hand from my shoulder and pulled my body in towards his. When I was pretty sure no one could see I whispered to him, "Touch me," and gently rubbed his hand in a circular motion over my nipple. Within a few moments, it started to respond to his touch and we could both feel it grow against his palm. I looked up into his eyes and quietly asked, "Padding?"
Even though my question was gentle, he was startled by it and quickly pulled his hand away from me. "No, no, of course not, I knew that, I just danced with you…"
"Just wanted to be sure," I giggled again.
He went on as if I wasn’t even there, "You can’t be a guy. You’ve got the body of a woman. You’re too feminine..."
I looked at him with the most grateful expression I could put on my face. Then I grabbed is upper arms and drew him to me for a quick kiss on the lips. "Oh, William, you say the nicest things! First you compliment my work and then my looks."
His hand shot up to his mouth like he had just been stung by a bee. He was really struggling now to reconcile what he was looking at with what he had just learned. "You’re not kidding, are you?" He said with some gravity in his voice.
I got serious too. "No, William, I’m not. I’ve been in transition for many months. When I go back to work it will be looking like this." I gracefully extended my arms away from my sides, turned my palms up, and pointed my fingers like a ballerina. Once I had fully extended my arms, I gave him a slight curtsey. Then I looked down modestly, raised my head while smiling demurely, and added, "Of course, I won’t look exactly like this," I paused for effect, "I’ll wear a skirt and jacket instead of a ball gown," and I giggled.
He was still too startled by what he had just learned to get my little joke. He couldn’t contain his own curiosity. "You were dancing with your head on Michael’s chest. You were snuggled into each others’ bodies like you’re in love." Then, a light bulb must have gone off in his addled brain. You’re both gay, aren’t you?"
I swiveled my head around trying to spot Michael, put we were all the way across the dance floor from our table and it was too crowded to see that far. I turned backed to William and looked him right in the eye.
"William, you are prying into personal business that has nothing to do with you. How would you feel if I asked you who you were sleeping with besides your wife?" He went rigid for a moment. Gotcha, I thought. "Anyway, that question reveals a remarkable degree of ignorance about sexuality and gender." I pursed my lips to show my displeasure. Everyone here but you and Michael think I’m a woman, and 99% of the men would love to have my head resting on their chests, does that make them gay?"
I wanted to be righteously angry, but just couldn’t get it up. Instead, I felt more like giggling at the stupidity of the whole thing.
"I hardly knew Michael before we were attacked. Since then we have spent many hours together recovering from our injuries, and have become very close to each other. We both feel a strong sense of gratitude and loyalty to each other. We almost died together in the same foxhole you know." Then I grabbed his arm pulled myself close to him and asked, "walk me back to the table please, I’m really getting tired."
What was he going to do? He couldn’t refuse me, even though he would be escorting a transsexual. So he stuck his arm out like a gentleman, I took it like a lady, and we turned to leave our spot. As we turned, I could see that more than a few people had overheard our conversation. You could tell by the open mouths, especially on the older women. Then I heard, "What chutzpah! Coming in here like that!" What did that mean?
When we got to the table Michael was still chatting with Holly, William’s wife. I caught his eye and he knew immediately that William now knew at least part of our secret. "Michael, it looks like we need to have a chat with William here. He seems rather concerned about our relationship and what it means."
"Oh?" he replied with mock concern. "Holly and I were just discussing the same thing. Why don’t you join us?
So we sat down and began to talk. Within 5 minutes, we let them know that Michael was gay, and that I didn’t know what in the world I was, if I was anything at all. They needed a little bit of education on sex and gender before they started to understand what was going on, but they seemed to get it by the end. Then, during a pause in the conversation, Holly turned to me and said, "I have to go to the powder room, would you like to come with me?"
Wow? I thought to myself, is this female bonding? So we stood up, she grabbed my arm and pulled me close to her, and off we went. On the way there, she pumped me for information about myself, and just before we went in, she pulled over next to the door and looked down at my breasts.
"You have gorgeous breasts are they real?
I almost choked I was so surprised at her brazen question. But I knew just what to do. I took her hand and rubbed her palm over my nipple just as I had done for her husband. Needless to say, the result was the same and she gasped in surprise as my little nipple poked its way into her palm. She was much less inhibited than her husband, however, and instead of pulling her hand away, she pushed it forward, grabbing what she could. When I didn’t pull away, she started to caress me. I closed my eyes for a second enjoying the feel of her hand. But then we heard voices and pulled apart from each other quickly, each of us slightly embarrassed by what we had been doing.
But no one had seen anything so we looked at each other, giggled, and made our way into the powder room. It was both incredibly spacious and beautifully appointed, this was after all Trump Tower. There were even two attendants on duty to keep things clean. We did what we had to in silence, but on the way back to the table, she asked me out on a date. "What?" I whispered, trying again not to choke on my surprise.
"You’re gorgeous," she whispered back, her voice a little ragged, "and it makes me incredibly hot to think you have a cock under there." With that she placed her palm right on my groin. I froze and she freaked. She jerked her hand off of me while turning her head away. She threw both hands over her mouth, as if to keep it shut. I could easily see the crimson of her blush as it covered her neck and upper back as well as her face.
"I’m so sorry," she said turning back to me, still wearing a full blush. "I don’t know what came over me." She waved one hand in front of her face, like a fan. "Forget what I said. Can I call you some time?"
I don’t know what came over me either. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it, at the same time my other hand came up to my mouth and I giggled into it. That’s all the reply she needed.
We had been gone from the table for about 15 minutes and when we got back Michael was engaged in a lively discussion with about eight people. "Come here, sweetie," he reached out his hand for me as I approached. As soon as I was by his side he said, "These folks don’t believe you used to be a guy."
I stood there stunned for a second. What could I say to that? But Michael had already figured out how to handle this. He pulled me onto his lap and wrapped a big arm around my waist. "You can be sure she’s a guy because I’m gay and I would never go out with a real girl."
It was strange, here we were in this giant ballroom with all literally hundreds of conversations going on around us, yet it seemed as though our little corner of the room had grown completely silent. The only sound I could make out was the muffled clicks of jaws dropping open. I looked at Michael with questioning eyes. He smiled back at me like he had just won the lottery. Then he pulled my head down to his and whispered in my ear, "let’s get out of here, the questioning’s gonna get a little intense if we stay."
I nodded vigorously in reply and stoop up from his lap, giving him my hand to help him up. Then he turned to our still startled audience and said, "we’re both really tired now, I think we had better leave. Enjoy the rest of the party."
"But it’s so early, someone blurted out, and I have so many questions."
"Well, Michael said, you aren’t recovering from a gunshot wound, are you? Come on Sam," he really emphasized the Sam to make sure no one missed it, "put me to bed."
I was speechless at the whole, thing but I just waved briefly at Holly and then dutifully followed Michael as he led me across the room to the lobby.
On the way, he grabbed his cell phone and paged our driver, then we headed across the lobby to reclaim my coat.
Again, the conversations swirled about us, and I caught one quite clearly, "that’s them," uttered in a most accusatory female voice as we stepped into the lobby.
We desperately wanted to talk to each other but the lobby, elevator, and downstairs lobby were all filled with party goers, so we kept our mouths shut. I didn’t really mind, because I took the opportunity to snuggle up into Michael’s side and he looped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him.
Once we were in the privacy of our limo we just looked at each other and started to laugh. "Wow," Michael said, "they were really impressed with us. I thought New Yorkers were a little cooler than that."
"What in the world are you talking about? What did you do up there while I was off with Holly?
He grew quiet for a moment and pulled me tighter. "I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing." He turned to face me. "I suddenly got so tired of living a lie. I told that group you saw at the table that I was gay and you were a guy. I think we’re gonna to be in the papers tomorrow. First we let them discover that we were the ones who took on those muggers and then that we’re perverts. I wonder if I’ll get fired? By the way, you look lovely when you’re startled." And he kissed me gently on the nose.
"Oh, Michael, earlier today it seemed so clear that letting the world know about us was the right thing to do, but now I’m scared. Do you really think you’ll get fired?"
"No, they can’t fire me, not with all the notoriety this is going to bring, it would be too obvious. The real question is whether I’ll keep getting work, and if I do, whether they’ll ever make me partner. It will take a few years for that to sort itself out."
I shook my head to clear the hair from my face and stretched up to kiss him. We really were joined together now, and lots of people would be watching us. I didn’t like to be highly visible in anything, now it looked like I had no place to hide.
We were so tired when we got back to my apartment that all we wanted to do was lie down. Cynthia had left a note saying she wouldn’t be home, so we got into my bed and quickly fell asleep spooned together. Here it was, many weeks after the attack, and we still couldn’t get through a whole day without being totally exhausted. I felt so childish and dependent.
We hadn’t set an alarm, and it was Cynthia who finally woke us up. She came bursting into the bedroom, waving an arm full of newspapers and carrying coffee and bagels. "You have got to see this," she said, her cheeks flushed from the cold New York morning, "You two are all over the society pages." The fact that we were in bed together didn’t even seem to enter her consciousness. She just had to show us the papers.
Sure enough, we were out, even the New York Times had a picture of us dancing together. The stories were kind of garbled because the poor confused reporters didn’t know whether to emphasize our sexuality or the fact that we were the mysterious couple who had beaten up a group of muggers on their way to the opera. They couldn’t figure out whether to paint us as heroes or perverts. I didn’t want to deal with it, so I dove back under the covers and tried to pretend I was asleep.
But Michael and Cynthia were having none of it. In just a moment they were all over me, tickling and prodding. Once they had gotten me out from under the covers, squealing breathlessly, Michael held me down and Cynthia began to attack my breasts with her lips and tongue. That settled me down pretty quickly, so Michael covered my lips with his. The next couple of hours were spent in a languorous tangle of warm comforting bodies. It was really hard to be worried about abstract stuff like how the world sees you when your two favorite people are making love to you. Once we got smart enough to unhook the phone, we spent a wonderful Sunday together ignoring everything but us.
... Usually shooting stars come and go so quickly, you don’t even get to focus your eyes on them. This one took it’s time, however, and we all saw it. A moment after our oohs and aaahs had stopped Hannah said, "A shooting star, that’s what I’ll be. When I die I’ll become a shooting star and everyone will know I was here." Cynthia and I looked at each other behind her back and just smiled knowingly at each other. Then we put our arms around Hannah and the three of us stood there silently watching the sky until we were so cold we had to go in....
This was a decisive realization for me. As much as my lovely new face and breasts defined my femininity in a way everyone could clearly see, being weak defined it in an entirely different dimension. Being weak was a pervasive quality of who I was. When someone asked, "can I help you with that?" I had to answer, "please, would you?" I found it humiliating at first, then, I was even more appalled when I discovered that I was using little feminine tricks, like smiling in a certain way and looking at someone with my head cocked in a slightly flirty manner, to get things done.
I practiced on the boy who delivered the groceries. He came almost every day now because Cynthia demanded fresh food, and when he got to the door, I had to ask if he would ‘please’ carry them into the kitchen for me. I became attuned to his moods because I believed I needed to keep him happy so he would carry things that were now a burden for me to lift. Once I realized this, I started to pay close attention to all the service people I encountered. I needed them to like me because I needed them to help me. I found this profoundly demoralizing because I was no longer a free agent and I really needed a support system to function. My surgeon assured me I would get my strength back eventually, but that it might take as long as six months. I began to view myself as a disabled person.
I was thinking like this when I stopped on the crowded sidewalk in front of the office, and with the early morning crowd swirling around me on its way to work, gazed upon the large revolving door to my office building, trying to get up the courage to go inside. I stood there in my dark gray suit, dark hose, and slate gray three inch pumps wondering if I could push the revolving door hard enough to move it. I was so anxious about that door that I began to think that having root canal might be preferable to going through it.
Of course, moving the door, which turned out to be much easier than I feared, was only part of my anxiety. Even though I had already come out as a TS to my boss and coworkers, I looked like a new person now. I’d legally adopted a woman’s name and would live and present myself like one from then on. I knew lots of people would stare at me and talk behind my back about my breasts, lips, nose and the guy I had killed. I was ready to get back to work so I could finally take care of Thornton, but I was nervous about being accepted by everyone too. What kind of woman would I make? How would I be treated?
I had purposely arrived early so I wouldn’t have to run a gauntlet of stares on my way to my office, but even so, a group of regular early birds were already there. So, as I walked down the corridor to my office, there were a few people who glanced curiously my way. Some didn’t recognize me at all, and some others only figured out who I was after I’d passed them by. But a few did figure out who I was right away. I was surprised to discover that they were all nice to me.
"Hi Lillian, feeling better I see!" said one.
"Oh Lillian you look wonderful," said another.
Things are going pretty well I thought, and then I encountered the inevitable idiot. It figures that he was one of the people that I liked.
"Brad is that you?"
"Bill Pullman, what is the matter with you," I said planting my feet slightly apart and placing my open hands onto my hips, "do I look like a Brad to you?"
"Uh…, uh.., no." He replied shaking his head.
"My name’s Lillian now and I hope you can figure out why." I smiled at him flirtatiously and thrust out my hip while turning to the side so he could get a good view of my figure. He blanched, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"Bill," I giggled, "you’re so cute when you’re confused. Maybe we can have lunch some time."
I finally made it to the safety of our little office, where all the girls had already seen me and knew what had happened. When I opened the door, I was immediately struck by the fragrance and color of the many bunches of flowers that seemed to have sprouted from every surface.
"They’re all for you," smiled Marci, who was the only one there besides me, "and there were so many we couldn’t fit them all in your office. "
"Oh my God, what’s all this?" I muttered as I started to examine the cards that came with each bouquet.
Most were from former or current clients but some were from colleagues in other offices. It seems that everyone had heard about my transition, the attack and it seemed that I was much more of a celebrity than I’d thought possible.
"Oh, Marci, what are we going to do with all these flowers?" I asked her pointing at the flowers," I’m a little embarrassed by this."
"Well," she said, obviously having had time to figure this out already, "we can spread them among the girls in the office first and then give some to our friends in the other offices."
"OK, that’s good," I sighed. "Let everyone here take what they want and then you pick who else should get some, would you please? But please have Kathleen make a list where they all came from so I can send thank you notes."
She gave me her biggest smile and handed me an already prepared list. "Here you go Sissy," she said surprising me both by calling me Sissy and by handing me a handwritten list. Then as she stepped forward we hugged spontaneously, as women do, and she whispered in my ear, "welcome back to work. I guess I have to call you Lilly now."
"Yes you do," I said, "Sissy doesn’t work here." I kissed her on the cheek in thanks and feeling slightly stupid, I went to sit at my desk to figure out why women liked to get flowers so much, but men didn’t care about them. Needless to say, I got nowhere with that line of thought, so I idly flipped on my computer and opened my email. If the flowers had been a surprise, my inbox was an even bigger one, with hundreds of messages waiting to be read. It would take me days just to read them and who knows how long to respond. I was already feeling overwhelmed and I hadn’t been in the office 10 minutes.
As if to make sure that I would stay that way, our CEO had arranged a brief welcoming party of coffee and donuts. His assistant came to fetch me and the rest of our office. It was intended to introduce the new me to all the staff and take some credit by association for my bravery against the muggers. I got the feeling that most of the people in our company were kind of embarrassed about the notoriety. However the public relations flacks figured that if the company played it up instead or trying to hide it, the whole thing would make them look really politically correct, or something. Who knows how those people think? More importantly, who cares?
For my part, I smiled indulgently and accepted a little peck on the cheek from the CEO, and a big hug, from Jennifer Hairston, the VP for Human Resources. I was more than eager to get back to my office and out of the public eye, and could barely wait for this little event to end.
As I sat at my desk, I thought about how I would get even with Thornton. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him. He didn’t know it yet, but the son of a bitch was about to embark on a roller coaster ride to hell, and I was going to be the driver. I don’t know what happened to me in the hospital, but I now felt ruthless in my need for revenge upon him. I had never had feelings like this before, but was willing to indulge them to meet my goal.
The first ten days after I had returned to work turned out to be a much needed return to routine, and I really needed that. After our appearance at the party at Trump Tower, Michael and I became rather visible mini-celebrities and the object of much gossip, especially on radio talk shows. We were heroes in the gay and lesbian community, but objects of hatred among right wing commentators and religious fundamentalists. We got especially brutal treatment on Rush Limbaugh’s show and Dr. Laura Shlessinger saw us both as completely immoral. I guess the good news was that we didn’t listen to these shows, and only heard about this stuff second hand.
But immorality helps to sell newspapers, and we never knew when a photographer would take a picture of either of us, or when would we end up on the pages of the National Enquirer, or an even sleazier imitator. It’s not like Michael and I had intended to hang out together that much. Frankly we were still too tired at the end of the working day to do more than go home and relax, but each time we did go out, it seemed some paparazzi was there to snap a shot of us. So everyone knew our business and I felt like I was on display all the time.
I felt bad for Cynthia because she too was caught up in this ridiculous storm. The press soon learned where I lived, and we couldn’t leave the building without being followed. But Cynthia took all this with ease and good grace.
"You wanted to play dress-up, "she teased, "now I don’t want you to leave the apartment or the office unless you look like an immaculate young lady. Maybe I’ll get you a pair of white gloves."
"But now I can’t make out with you on the street anymore," I pouted.
"Well, we’ll see about that, but for now, it’s probably just as well if you don’t."
"But Cynthia, aren’t you worried about being labeled a lesbian, or child molester, or something when you’re seen with me?"
She just sighed at that. "I’d prefer not to deal with all this, but I’m certainly not going to play the coward with you and Michael taking all this heat." She smiled at me comfortingly. "This is not going to wreck my life one way or the other. It’s you two I’m worried about. Now, fix your lipstick, I want to go out for dinner."
So we just weathered the media blitz without fighting it. After a while, as everyone had predicted, they got bored with us and just disappeared.
The best part about the return to work was that Cynthia and I were working together again and the atmosphere in the office was much like it had been before Thornton arrived. I was really beginning to enjoy myself, basking in the friendship of the other girls. I wasn’t really thinking about Thornton until he opened the door of opportunity himself.
He called me to his office one afternoon shortly after lunch. He greeted me pleasantly and we settled into his comfortable sitting area. I carefully arranged my long skirt over my knees, crossed my legs, and arranged my hands demurely in my lap. I looked up at him, expectantly, flipping my hair out of my eyes. He engaged me in meaningless small talk for a few minutes and made sure I had a cup of coffee. Then he sat in a big soft armchair across from me and explained his problem.
"Lillian…, may I call you Lillian instead of Ms. Miller?" he asked, "it’s funny because I always used to call you Brad." I nodded my assent, which was besides the point because he had forged ahead without hesitating. "I have to downsize my division because my costs are too high. That’s why I let Tammy go."
‘Sure, dick-head, whatever you say,’ I thought getting angry already.
The word in the hallways was that she fled as soon as she got an outside job offer, even though it paid less than she had been earning here. He drove her away by repeatedly humiliating her and berating her work. I just smiled at him mildly and nodded my head before I looked down to sip some coffee. I was distracted from my angry feelings by the lovely imprint of my plumy lipstick on his china cup.
"You know, of course, that I had to pull Kathy from your office to take her place."
‘Damn right I know, everyone’s really pissed off about it,’ I thought ‘We didn’t have enough staff to begin with.’ I just nodded, however, again, giving him a small, sweet smile, for no reason I could fathom, except it felt like the right thing to do.
"Well, the way things are going, I don’t think we can afford to carry two analysts, along with their staffs."
I looked up at that, a little startled but didn’t say anything. I knew we were profitable, so surely that couldn’t be true.
"I’ve decided that I can get by with one analyst and her staff, as long as I have a secretary, researcher and personal assistant."
Well, this was simple, either Cynthia or I had to go, and since she had seniority, I, along with half the office staff were to be chopped. He saw the growing awareness on my face, and figured it was time to make his offer.
"I think I have a solution." He smiled at me ingratiatingly. "I think you might really like it." Now he looked really proud of himself. "How would you like to become my personal assistant?" He smiled as if he had just presented me with a free trip to Hawaii.
I couldn’t keep my face completely impassive, I was never good at that, but I did manage to keep my mouth shut. I wonder if he saw the momentary flash of disgust I felt when he finished.
"If you do that, I think we can treat it as a promotion, and I can protect your staff. I can bring two here to work directly, for me, well, for us actually. I want Kathleen to be our receptionist, and Heather to be our research assistant."
‘Our,’ I thought, ‘what kind of bullshit was this? When he was involved the only pronoun that mattered was I.
Well, since becoming Lillian I had become quite attractive, but without doubt, Kathleen and Heather had to be the two most attractive women in the entire division. His motives were clear, he was creating an office full of eye candy.
"Cynthia can keep Marci and the others." He said, hesitating for a moment before looking down to check his calendar, as if there were actually something in it that mattered. Then he looked right back at me. "I really have to make a decision right away. What do you say?"
Trying not to change my expression, I looked at him carefully for a moment. As personally offensive as I found him, this was the opportunity I needed. I didn’t have a plan, but this would permit me to get close to him, into his calendar even.
Then, as if to be helpful he added, "I don’t know if I can keep you and the others on if we can’t work this out."
"No, I understand how that would be difficult for you." I said, a little too quickly. I knew he was simply blackmailing me with the fate of two of my best friends, and two other women as well. I had already decided what to do, but I had to make him think he was forcing me to do it. I didn’t like the idea of working with him so closely, and I knew that he was out to get me and I was walking right into his trap, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I could only hope that with Cynthia to help me figure out what was going on, I would get the son of a bitch.
"Oh, Bob, that is so thoughtful of you to give me and the other girls this opportunity. I know you are taking a risk reorganizing like this, but I know that we’ll do our best to help make the new arrangements work." I said saying what I knew he wanted to hear.
He smiled at me. It was the greasiest, most disgusting smile I had ever seen. Then he spent a few minutes chatting about the logistics of our impending reorganization, as if my opinion really mattered. Finally, he called a halt when he had to go meet a client.
As I was about to leave his office, he said, "oh, by the way, Lilly, I really like blondes."
I thought I was going to faint. I’m sure my mouth fell open and my eyes widened, but I just kept silent.
He continued on undaunted. "I’m sure we’ll make a great team. I look forward to working with you even more closely than in the past. And when we’re at work, please call me Mr. Thornton, OK Lilly?"
I was so startled by his words that it was all I could do to keep from shouting at him. The little prick was wasting no time at all arranging the playing field to his advantage.
Cynthia was nowhere to be found when I got back to the office, so I made a quick call to Shelly. I had never really thought about bleaching my hair, but I was kind of curious to see how I would look. I remembered that old commercial, "if I have but one life to live, let me live it as a blonde." As I smiled at that thought, I hoped that becoming a blonde wouldn’t end my life prematurely.
I got home at about 6:30. I had been a bad girl and turned off my cell phone and pager so that no one could find me. I knew for sure that Cynthia would try once she read my note, but I needed to be alone to create another new me.
Shelly was shocked when I told her what I wanted to do to my hair, but threw herself into the effort when I told her why. Is there a woman out there who hasn’t been hurt by a guy and isn’t ready to help out another woman who has a plan for revenge? By the time I left, I had new hair, new nails, and another new makeover. After all, if I was going to be an office slut for some powerful guy, I had to look the part didn’t I?
With my new hair and makeup taken care of, I did a little clothes shopping too. I especially needed tops, tops that would show my nice new cleavage. By the time I got home to Cynthia, I was a somewhat different girl than the one who had kissed her goodbye in the morning. When I walked in the door and she rose to greet me, she did more than one double take as I posed for her in the foyer. Then, while she sat frozen in her seat holding her wine glass. I swayed over to her sexily, pivoting my hips as sinuously as I could. Without hesitating, I stripped her of the glass and attached my mouth to hers like my very life force was somewhere inside of it.
She resisted, going rigid when I first grabbed her, gave in for a few moments, and then pushed me away, shouting, "hold it. Just what do you think you’re doing?"
"What’s the problem, baby," I crooned back at her, "not hot enough for you."
"You look like a slut. What the fuck has gotten into you?"
"You don’t like the new me?" I pouted, pulling my shoulders together to push my cleavage even further into her face, and then flipping my new blonde hair over to one side as I turned away and wiggled my way over to the couch. I sat down, my back as straight as if I were wearing a corset, twisted my butt into the cushion, looked up at Cynthia and gave her my brightest smile.
"I’ve been promoted." Her eyes widened. "I’m now Thornton’s personal assistant."
Then I pursed my lips, scrunched my entire face into a questioning knot, looked back up, and said, as if I were deeply confused, "Or did I just get demoted?"
After a second, I couldn’t take the tension and burst out laughing, falling back into the cushions. When I opened my eyes, Cynthia was staring down at me with a look I hadn’t seen since my first few weeks of training.
I immediately fell back into my submissive role. "Mistress, please." I cowered in front of her, now trying to figure out a way to get under the cushions.
"What have you done to yourself? You look…ridiculous. I’m not sure I’d want to be seen with you in public."
"Mistress, it’s true. Thornton has made me his personal assistant." I said and then explained to her what had happened. Her look got more and more grim as I went on.
"He wants to destroy you. He’s set things up so he has every advantage over you. Do you really think you can defeat him at his own game? Are you crazy?" Her voice had gotten shrill, rising sharply on "crazy."
I turned serious in a heartbeat. "Cynthia, he’s inviting me inside his defenses. This look," I flipped my hair aside and batted my eyelashes at her, "is my Trojan horse."
I was proud of myself for thinking of that comparison and smiled for a moment, but then I got back to business again quickly. "Yes, he’s going to do his best to demean and humiliate me, and I’m sure that he’ll make me suffer. But this is too good a chance to pass up." I looked at her with pleading eyes. "You told me what’s going to happen and he’s already started. He did everything but order me to become a blonde."
I could feel my anger rising at the way he had treated me earlier. My voice got hard, "I don’t care what the risks or costs may be. He’s hurt too many people, and North State sure as hell isn’t going to do anything about it."
Cynthia just sighed and looked at me as if she were trying to figure out who I was. I ran my fingers through my hair, lifting it away from the side of my head and letting it fall back. Then I shook it out. It was still cut in a page boy, with the part on the left, but now it was layered around my face, starting above my jaw and feathering back gently to its longest point just in front of my ears, creating a long frame for my face. And I now had bangs, long bangs that touched the tops of my eyelashes when I opened my eyes all the way. It was actually kind of annoying, but I would have to brush them out of my eyes repeatedly, and I intended to do that as seductively as I could whenever Thornton was looking at me.
The most striking change, however, was the color. I was now a pale straw-colored blonde, with even lighter highlights in the strands layered around my face. It was a pretty sexy package, something a young secretary might wear, but way too provocative and not nearly sophisticated enough for a serious professional.
"I’ll do anything it takes to get him. You’ll help me won’t you?" I asked her trying to show that this was my real motive.
"Oh baby." She sank down beside me on the couch and pulled me into a tight embrace. "You know I will. I just hope you’re strong enough."
I sighed deeply and looked into her eyes, hoping she could see my soul through them. "Cynthia, just six weeks ago, some guy stuck a knife in my face and then tried to kill me but I killed him instead. Then the press harassed me mercilessly, so I’m not the same person I was. I’m not a kid any more and I’m going to get this motherfucker. He’s not just nasty, he’s cruel; he’s a true psychopath."
"Yes, Lilly, he is, and you’re not. You have a sweet, gentle heart. You have lots of empathy for people who are in pain. Those are not good weapons for someone out to right wrongs done to others."
I nodded my head, she was right.
She stroked my hair and went on. "Sweet and gentle don’t match up very well against cruel and psychopathic. And I’m not at all sure that you’ll be able to finish him off if you get an advantage. Once you see he’s in pain, you might just back off. He’d never do that and once he’s got you down, he’ll finish you off at the first opportunity. Then he’ll just extract what he wants from you. That’s what makes him such successful negotiator."
Yes, she was right. I wasn’t a finisher. I was at best a set up guy (well, girl)
"Well, if worse comes to worse, I can always show that he’s been embezzling," I replied "I don’t want to do that because I want to give that money to the girls who’ve earned it. But if I have to, I can use it against him."
She smiled.
"And," I added holding up my right hand, "I have this magic ring. I’m never really in trouble as long as I have this. "
Cynthia smiled at me wanly and let out another long sigh, pulling my head protectively to her shoulder. We sat there snuggling for a while, and then she took charge again. "OK, enough of this for now. We have time to plan. I want dinner, and then I want you."
She rose up over me, leaned down, gently grabbing one breast in each hand, kissed me hard, and then hauled me off the couch and over to the kitchen. I guess she was hungry. But after she had her main course, she had me for dessert.
He grinned, indicating that he understood I had turned the tables on him. "It’s just fine, Lilly, just fine. You keep this up and we’re going to get along really well. Bring my coffee, we have some business to discuss."
Thornton had redesigned his office suite while I had been recovering. He kept his large corner office, with its comfortable sitting area, but had turned his small conference room into an adjoining office for me. It had windows and was really rather nice. It also had two doors, one that connected to the outer reception area and one that opened directly into his office. Kathleen and Heather had adjacent desks in our big reception area. Kathleen was in front of Thornton’s office and Heather was in front of mine, although it was clear from the way the desks were arranged that Kathleen was the receptionist. Coffee was always kept brewing at a small station just outside my office. That made it real easy for Thornton to ask me to grab him a cup before we would get together to talk.
As I filled our cups, both Heather and Kathleen accosted me.
"What did you do to yourself?" Kathleen nudged me in the ribs.
"Stop," I whispered, "you’ll make me spill the coffee. Do you like my hair?" I turned back and forth to give them a full view.
"Why did you change it?" Kathleen asked.
I nodded towards Thornton’s office as I said, "Don’t you just love it? I think it’s so cute." Then I rolled my eyes. They both got the message.
Heather whispered, "You look like a slut."
"She’s right," Kathleen added, licking her lips seductively. "My panties are getting wet just looking at you."
"It’s my new makeup," I said brightly, "doesn’t it just bring out my eyes?" I batted them at Heather, glanced over at Kathleen and whispered conspiratorially, "Don’t mind her, she’s just a sex-crazed nympho."
We all giggled and I headed for Thornton’s office. At the last moment I turned and mouthed to them, "Lunch?" We all nodded.
The plans he gave me were simple.
"You’ll keep doing the financial analyses you’ve been doing. With you so close, we can work more one on one so you’ll know what I need and can keep things moving."
What he intended, however, was for me to become his personal slave. Right from that moment, he asked me to do everything that came to mind, except hold his dick when he took a leak. Get this, do that, follow-up on the other thing, check the pastries, fetch my airline tickets, call me a cab, get my coat, and so on. I never did have lunch with the girls that day, and there were only a very few other days after that when we actually got out together. No, Thornton had me working through lunch just about everyday, and late on many evenings.
And he managed to turn the time we spent together into little torture sessions. Nothing I did was correct. Even though I knew he was trying to undermine my confidence, there were days he truly did have me confused and grasping to understand what he wanted. My problem was that I instinctively wanted to do my job well and had to stop and reflect for a moment to realize that he was only playing mind games with me.
"Lilly, how many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want the financials to come after the narrative. The narrative should be a final summary. And my God girl, we don’t need these projections for years five to ten in here at all. They only clutter up the presentation."
"Yes, sir." I just sighed. We had always put the financials after the narrative and every single client wanted to see those out year projections. But I went back and changed the presentation anyway. Then, when we did a dry run with our Chief Financial Officer several days later, he asked me, "Why did you put the narrative last and where the hell are the damn out year projections?"
Thornton looked at me coldly and said, "Ms. Miller, I told you not to change the way we always do things. Why didn’t you tell me before you did this?"
I had to do everything I could just to keep my mouth from falling open. "B…But, Mr. Thornton, I thought……."
"How many times have I told you not to think. Just do what I say."
I thought the look in his eyes would literally pierce my brain. Obviously he wanted to ensure that I kept my mouth shut. I got the message and looked down, slightly shamefaced, though I wasn’t quite sure why I felt that way. In the meantime Everett White was looking at me like I was retarded. That God-damned Thornton had set me up and made me look incompetent in front of one of the company’s most important men. I was so frustrated I almost had tears in my eyes. And there was nothing I could do. Then Thornton delivered the day’s coup de grace.
"Lilly, go get us some coffee would you. Everett and I really have to work on this presentation to fix it up now."
As I left the office, I heard White say, "Is she alright?"
Thornton replied in a stage whisper, obviously designed for me to hear, "You know Everett, some women have brains and some have tits, but I’ve never yet met one who has both. Did you see the size of her tits?" They both laughed.
I left the office feeling totally defeated. First he had undermined me and made me look like I was incompetent, then he’d demeaned me by asking me to fetch coffee for them, and then, as if the first two weren’t bad enough, he had made fun of my tits, just like a classic sexist pig. I had gone from respected analyst to fool, to big-titted office girl in the course of three minutes, and my breasts weren’t even that big!
And you know what was worse? When I was out fetching the coffee I told Kathleen what they had said about my breasts. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes part way, looking at me through the slits of her lids, as if she was trying to make an important decision. I was expecting sympathy, but that’s not what I got. No, I got nailed by Kathleen as well.
"Did you ever make jokes about women when you were with other men?"
"NO! Kathleen, you know me better than that."
"Well then, did you ever laugh at a joke that some other man made about the way a woman looked?"
At this I had to look away. Of course I had. How could you hang around with other men and not laugh at their jokes about women? Because I had no faith in my "manhood" to begin with, I went to great lengths to try to be one of the guys, so they wouldn’t find out about me. Of course I had laughed at their jokes. Sometimes I even threw in my own one-liners. But I never actually told jokes about women and never started one of those conversations meant to demean them either. When I looked up a moment later, Kathleen was smiling in victory. She knew she had me.
She proceeded to finish me off. "So, my dear girl, you had so little respect for women, that you allowed other men to make fun of us, and you did nothing? And now that you know exactly how it feels, you want me to feel sorry for you?"
I was in anguish. Not only had I just been demeaned by my male superiors because I was now presenting myself to the world as a woman, but I had demeaned women myself all along. I guess Kathy could see the pain in my eyes, because a moment later she hugged me and started to console me a little.
"I’m sorry, Lilly honey, I didn’t mean to beat up on you. You really were a nice man, and I know how you felt back there, all women do…, it’s happened to all of us."
She grabbed me by the shoulders and held me at arms length, examining me carefully.
"I’m sorry you had to learn that particular lesson in such a hard way."
She stroked my hair with one hand for a few moments and then pulled me into an embrace. We stood there for a few moments, hugging each other silently. Then she said laughing, "come on let’s get that coffee before they make fun of your serving skills as well. I’m sure Sissy would be very disappointed in you if you let that happen."
But you know what, she was on to something. I knew I had to think of some way to deal with this, and because of Kathleen’s little joke, Sissy, bless her heart, would come to my rescue. She knew how to serve. More importantly, she could do it without feeling demeaned. In fact, she kind of reveled in being a servant. So as I headed back to the meeting, I tried to put a little Sissy into my attitude. You could dump on her, but you couldn’t get her down. Lilly may not be her own girl yet, but Sissy certainly was. I don’t know why, but thinking of myself as Sissy when I went back into that room really did seem to help some.
You know what else helped? It was my ring. I had developed the habit of fiddling with it when I got anxious or depressed. It usually took a few moments for me to realize what I was doing, but once I had, I would look at it purposefully and kiss it. This somehow gave me the strength to face all kinds of different problems, including Thornton’s shit. As far as I was concerned, it really was a magic ring.
This day set a pattern that became depressingly common. Thornton was systematically shredding my reputation in front of all the company’s senior personnel. He had two approaches. Either he would get me do something he wanted to see if it would work, or he would purposely tell me to do something he knew would fail. If whatever it was worked, he took the credit; if it didn’t, I got the blame. I could just see my credibility crumbling with every passing day.
Of course, by now I had complete access to his computer and was spreading his bonus money liberally to the office staff. I had now fixed it so that these accounts wouldn’t look illegal to the auditors; it would just look like he was setting aside bonuses for the staff from his own expected income. In fact, people would admire him for doing that. But I also set up another account just for him. I started to take a tenth of a percent of every deal we made stuck that money into a private account that would appear to be hidden to anyone who happened to find it. Because of the way it was "hidden," any auditor immediately conclude that he was stealing from the company. Considering the size of some of our deals, a quarter percent was a chunk of change.
Dealing both with Thornton and the fallout from his behavior was hard work for me and still weak from my injury, I was always exhausted when I got home. I had almost no social life and things with Cynthia were getting a little testy. She was still taking care of the apartment and mothering me, and I knew she was getting a little impatient with my prolonged convalescence. But I couldn’t really do anything about that, and I knew she would take care of me as long as I needed it. Still, this didn’t prevent a few blowups when her patience ran short and my needs were working over time. In a way, we were falling into a destructive pattern, starting to act like an old married couple. We both worked too hard, had too much stress, and not enough affection. Sex between us was almost nonexistent, mostly because I didn’t have the strength most nights to do anything but fall asleep.
She was becoming shorter with me in general, and sometimes didn’t want to go out with me even on the weekend, when I was strong enough to do it. One evening she finally admitted that she was really embarrassed to be seen with me because of my new sluttier look. "You just don’t look like my type of girl any more," she told me.
Frankly, I thought that was really very shallow and not at all like Cynthia. I just couldn’t believe that was really what was bothering her, especially because it was a problem that was easily fixed. All I had to do was put my hair up and tone my makeup down. So I tried it, but as I suspected doing that didn’t really fix anything.
Finally, she admitted that my behavior and my lack of attentiveness were what really bothered her. She hadn’t wanted to say anything because she thought it was selfish of her to complain while I was still recovering.
Then one evening I finally figured it out. Since starting work again, I had put a lot of effort into meeting Thornton’s needs during the day, but I was ignoring Cynthia’s in the evening. She was supposed to be the love of my life and I was treating her like a hired housekeeper and she resented that, especially while Thornton got all my energy. Once I understood this, I couldn’t blame her for being resentful. And then I realized that maybe she was a little jealous too! And once I realized that, I knew just what to do.
So the next evening I told Thornton I had to go to the doctor and Ieft work early to go home to get ready to greet Cynthia. When she arrived, I met her at the door wearing my black and white maid’s uniform, the one that Marci and Kathleen had gotten me the first weekend of my transition. I had chilled martinis in the freezer and dinner ready to be served.
"Mistress, welcome home. I’ve missed you." I gave her my deepest curtsy. Queen Elizabeth would have been impressed, I’m sure.
"Sissy!" she shouted, thrilled at my appearance. She seemed so pleased that for a moment I thought she was going to throw her arms around me. But like a good mistress, she restrained herself and I could just see her self-control assert itself as her eyebrows started to come together and her lips grew thin.
"Where have you been you thoughtless girl? I spent all that time training you and you just up and disappear without even a so much as a goodbye."
"I’m sorry mistress," I curtseyed again, deeply, with my head down. "I was indisposed and I’m afraid a little bit selfish. I’m sure I need to be punished for my thoughtless behavior. May I get you a martini mistress?" I bobbed yet another curtsy and looked at her expectantly.
"In a minute dear. Let me look at you first. "
She walked around me eyeing me up and down while I stood still, my eyes cast down and my hands clasped primly in front of my frilly white apron. The first time I had worn this dress I couldn’t get it zipped up because I was too fat. Now, it was actually loose in the waist. The bust, however, was overflowing. It would have been tight with just my own breasts filling it out, but I had added a set of enhancers to my bra, so my breasts were literally bursting out, like two baby birds eager to fly from their nest. I had also put my hair up, which made me look much more professional than the hairdo I had adopted to please Thornton.
When she had finished her inspection, Cynthia stopped right in front of me and told me to look up at her. Once our eyes had met and held each other for a moment, she grabbed me in a fierce hug and whispered hoarsely into my ear, "oh Sissy I’ve missed you so. Thank you for coming back." Then she stood back from me, smiled slightly, and turned to go into her bedroom. "Get me one of those martinis you lazy slut and then get into my bedroom to help me get undressed. You have neglected your mistress for far too long."
Well I have to tell you, I was pretty proud of myself. I’d actually figured out what Cynthia needed and had managed to take the initiative to give it to her. This was a very important step for me, and a huge boost for our relationship. Strange isn’t it, I had to get into my role as a maid to take the independent action needed to give the dearest person in my life a gesture of affection she sorely needed.
After that, I worked to give to Cynthia what I could, and it really made a difference. It turned out that overcoming her objections to the way I looked was really easy to do. All I had to do was wear my hair up and tone my makeup down and Cynthia liked the way I looked again. I didn’t like to wear my hair up because I just loved to have it flow around my face, but since it made Cynthia happy I did it when I wasn’t at work. At least I learned a new set of skills in creating different kinds of pinned-up styles. Both of us liked French rolls, so I wore a lot of those. Could I help it if some of my hair kept slipping out and falling sexily next to my face? Cynthia thought so, but I always claimed innocence and pinned the offending strands right back into place, I guess I just wasn’t very good at it though, because they always seemed to slip right out again.
Despite the improvement in my relationship with Cynthia, the emotional effort required to deal with Thornton was forcing me into a depressed, anxious state like the one I’d been in before Cynthia took over my life. For a while, however, there was one saving grace. After a bad day, I could go home and immediately dress as Sissy. When Cynthia got home I would serve her and then beg her to punish me.
At first, our little spanking ritual was just what I needed to banish a bad day. I found this both relaxing and a release. But after a few days we both knew something had happened to me. I had escalated my requests to hard spankings as if the physical pain could somehow relieve my psychic pain. But our spanking sessions were never designed to do that and the whole scene collapsed in less than two weeks.
One evening I found myself passively draped across Cynthia’s lap. I was dressed in one of Sissy’s uniforms and my skirt and petticoat had been pulled up above my waist to reveal my ruffled panties. Cynthia had given me three of four swats with my hairbrush, but then stopped.
"No!" she shouted. "I won’t do this. It’s not fun for me and you’re just lying there like a dead fish. What happened to all the playful squirming around and kicking? What the hell’s going on with you? Get off me."
She pushed me onto the floor and stood over me looking very angry. I stood up dumbly and she threw my hairbrush at me and said, "get out! Change your clothes. I want to speak to Lilly in the living room in 15 minutes."
So 15 minutes later Lilly sat across from Cynthia on the big couch. She didn’t waste a moment, "Tell me what’s going on. I’m getting very worried about you."
So I told her how Thornton had been treating me and what he was doing.
"We can’t let this go on very much longer, I don’t think you can take it," she said to me with tears in her eyes. "I know I can’t."
"I know," I said, with tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes as well, "but I don’t know how to get control back from him. Every time I think I’ve figured out what’s going on, he changes the rules on me. You know what he did today?"
She shook her head no.
"He asked me out."
"What?" she shouted at me, jumping up from her seat. "Why that shit….."
"It’s OK, Cynthia. It’s a business affair. It’ll all be in public."
She got even more agitated. "Lilly!" She sounded exasperated, "you are so naíve!" She paced around for a moment and then spun on me. "Don’t you see, once people see you out with him, your credibility will be undermined even more. He’s got you so turned around, people already think your brains must have melted and turned into tits."
I hung my head. I never dreamed that having breasts, even pretty ones like mine, could be such a problem.
"First you become a girl, then you go blonde and get this sex-kitten hair style and look, and now you’re totally confused." He’s really scoring points against you."
"No, Cynthia, I have to keep going. I know I look really bad, and I certainly feel bad, but things have to turn around at some point." I let out a big sigh, "and besides, I’ve been using his computer to embezzle money for him. He’s putting it into his own accounts on a regular basis. In a few weeks he’ll have stolen enough for a class A felony."
"Sure," she said sarcastically, "by then he’ll have convinced everyone that you can’t function at a level higher than office girl. So what if you destroy him if he destroys you at the same time."
I had nothing more to say. I sat there for a moment thinking and then decided what to do. I took a long drink of wine and gracefully put the empty glass onto the table. I sat straight up, thrusting my chest out and then reached behind my head to pull out the pins that were holding my hair up. Once it was down, I combed through it with my fingers and shook it out as provocatively as I could, stretching like a cat at the same time. I swiveled up off the couch and grabbed Cynthia and kissed her.
"Enough of Thornton, can I be your office girl right now?" I whispered. She understood my need immediately, but frowned for a moment because I had changed the subject on her so effectively. But then she smiled to herself and nodded at me lasciviously. She grabbed me by the hand, and led me to bed. I spent the rest of the evening kissing and licking and caressing her body. I needed a strong dose of feminine love and I needed to show Cynthia how important she was to me.
On this morning we were working on hip tosses and I had pulled off a beauty. I had thrown a 175-pound man onto his back just by shifting my weight, jutting out my hip, and using the force of his charge against him. As I stood there over him, I knew, without a doubt, how I could defeat Thornton.
I had to convince Thornton that he had me totally under his control. I had to make him so full of himself that he would rush ahead to crush me without ever imagining he might be in danger. Then I was going to shift my weight, jut out my hip and throw him.
That was such an attractive metaphor. Before I could do anything else, however, I had to figure out how to make it real. Scientists have a word for it, I had to operationalize my plan. Over the course of the morning, I had a hard time thinking about anything else. I couldn’t see the whole thing, but I could just sense parts starting to jell. I was going to be his little air-headed office slut. He was going to abuse me and I was going to behave as if I blamed myself for being abused. We would have the classic American relationship! I just knew that this was the way for me to get him. I was going to use his own momentum to throw him. That’s what I had just learned to do in my martial arts course.
At this point I knew I had to really start playing his game. I knew that if I was to set him up to fall hard enough to destroy him, then I had to keep him thinking that I was doing my best so he would continue to trust me. But at the same time, I had to screw up on occasion. My own failures would give him opportunities to dump on me and come to believe that I really was becoming less and less competent.
So, I tried to be perfect for the small or easy projects, and for most of the important ones. Every so often, however, I’d leave out something he’d need, mostly to see if he missed it. He rarely did. But when he did, he always took the opportunity to abuse me for it.
"Lilly!"
Ah hah, I thought, he had found one of my "mistakes." Let’s see which one. I got up from my desk and went through the open doorway into his office. As soon as I entered his presence, I lit up and I plastered a smile on my face and a wiggle in my walk.
"What the hell is this?" He held up a balance sheet that didn’t meet his needs.
I took it tentatively and looked at it carefully, although I knew what I would see. I guess I wasn’t quite as clever hiding those overstated real estate assets as I thought. "Oh!" I said as sincerely as I could, my eyes going wide. "This is the wrong sheet. It’s out of date." I looked up questioningly.
"I know that you airhead. Why is it in my presentation material?"
I wanted to say,'To see if you would find it, you arrogant boob.’ Instead, I stuttered out, "I…I don’t know Mr. Thornton. I’m sorry sir."
"I’m not very happy with this. What am I going to do with you young lady?"
And then, it was as if a flashbulb went off in my mind. And without taking the time to consciously analyze the scene it had illuminated, I responded immediately, saying querulously, "Spank me sir?"
Once I had heard what I had said I freaked. Holy shit! What did I say? Only then did I take the time to review the dark memory that flashbulb had revealed to me. I had been back with my mother. She liked to say that same thing that Thornton had just said to make fun of me. I could hear it in my head, "what are we going to do with you, young lady?". Then she would spank me. I had just let that memory slip out. My eyes went wide and my hand went to my mouth.
Thornton looked at me appraisingly, to see if I was mocking him. His look made me so uptight that I started to giggle. A moment later he laughed. Then we both laughed. The moment passed.
When I got home later that night I could hear Cynthia sobbing the moment I walked in the door. I ran to her room immediately.
"Cynthia, what’s wrong?" She looked terrible, like she had been crying for hours. Worse, there were two partially packed suitcases on the bed next to her. She was going to leave!
"Oh Lilly," she half wailed, "come here, please, give me a hug."
As soon as I saw the suitcase I started to get anxious. The fact that Cynthia clung to me like she would never see me again didn’t make me feel any better. Even so, I forced myself to remain calm, just stroking her hair and back until she calmed down. It was obviously time for me to be strong for at least a few moments.
When she had regained control of herself, she sat up and looked at me.
"You look stunning." she said it through a tear-stained crooked smile that was terribly endearing, but a little scary. Then, without even hesitating, she went on. "My sister, Hannah has breast cancer. She probably doesn’t have long to live. I have to go stay with her. I might be gone for a few weeks or a few months. I don’t know."
"Oh Cynthia," I replied and we fell into each other’s arms again, now both of us were crying. She shared the details with me over the next couple of hours as she packed and I got ready for bed. Hannah was her oldest sister, but only in her forties. She had known about the cancer for a year, had a mastectomy, and a round of chemotherapy without telling anyone in her family. She had always been so full of life that she simply decided to believe she would be cured. Having decided that, there was no need to worry anyone else.
But she hadn’t been cured, and the cancer had overcome her a couple of weeks ago and was now progressing rapidly. She didn’t have the heart for heroic measures and was preparing to die. She and Cynthia had always kept in close contact, and in the end it was Cynthia she had turned to for care. Of course Cynthia would go to her side. She would be flying out tomorrow.
We both got into comfortable nighties and snuggled up with each other in my big soft bed. Then Cynthia dropped another bomb on me. "Lilly I need to ask you a big favor."
"Anything Cynthia, anything, please what can I do?"
She turned to look me directly in the face. "Hannah has asked to wear Grandma Lillian’s ring. She doesn’t know I gave it to you." Then she turned away, obviously embarrassed by what he had just asked me.
In the meantime, my mind was exploding.
The ring!
My ring!
My protector!
Cynthia was asking me to give up my ring! She was going to leave and take my ring! My heart seemed to stop beating for a few moments, and then it fluttered wildly out of control. I was hyperventilating. But the reality of the situation couldn’t have been clearer. I consciously slowed my breathing. I couldn’t let her see my turmoil. I took a deep breath.
I had to do it. How could I not? I had to let Hannah wear her own mother’s ring. So that was that. Without a word, I sat up, turned on the light, and smiled at Cynthia. Reaching over her I grabbed the Oil of Olay, which she usually wouldn’t let me touch, saying I was so young it was wasted on me, and put some on my finger so I could slide the ring off. Then I gently wiped it with a tissue, kissed it, and handed it to Cynthia, who was sobbing again.
I looked at her as gently as I could and said, "please don’t tell Hannah that you had to get it back from me to give it to her. I don’t want her to spend even a nanosecond feeling bad about wearing it." I choked back a sob. "I’ve never owned anything that was as dear to my heart as this ring, but if it gives her even one second of comfort, I want her to have it." I couldn’t possibly keep it from her. Cynthia leapt up at me and pulled me into a full body hug, and yet again, we both started to cry.
After I had gotten control of myself again, I said, "Oh God Cynthia, I’m so sorry for you. I’m so sorry for Hannah." I choked back more tears. "I feel like such a fool, making such a big deal out of my stupid struggle with Thornton, when Hannah was going through such an awful thing by herself." Cynthia just kept sobbing.
A few minutes later I got out of bed and went to get us both a glass of wine. As we sat there sipping it, Cynthia turned to me. "Will you be alright without the ring? I know how much it meant to you. I was scared to death to ask for it, but I had to after Hannah asked me about it."
I gave her a rueful smile and then giggled gently for a moment. "You know what," I said, "Dumbo learned to fly without his magic feather and he was only a baby. I think it’s about time this big girl learned how to fly by herself too."
"Oh, I loved Dumbo," Cynthia sighed as she threw her arms around me. "Then she drew back and looked at me seriously. "You really have been flying, you know, and I love you dearly. I just know you’ll be fine."
I let it go at that. I wasn’t so sure, but after all she had done for me, the least I could do for her at this point was let her leave without having to worry about me, even if I was scared to death. Now I had to face Thornton on my own. I had been counting on Cynthia’s advice and support to deal with him. Now all I could get from her was one more night of sleeping cuddled together.
Cynthia and I had a tearful send off at the front door of the apartment building as she got in a cab for La Guardia airport. From there it was on to Colorado Springs where Hannah lived. I was numb as I went back upstairs and got back into bed. At least it was the weekend and I didn’t have to go to work.
That night I had a terrible dream. I had breast cancer. I woke up, panicked, from a scene in a hospital operating room. The surgeon was standing over me holding up my bloody breast, which he had just sliced from my chest with a big knife. Somehow I was awake and gaping at him in total shock and horror. As I looked, the surgeon morphed into the person I had killed after he and his buddies had attacked Michael and me.
"You bitch," he screamed at me, "I got it now, you bitch!" And he waved the bloody breast over his head as I tried to stop the bleeding from my chest with my hands.
I was in a total state of panic when I awoke. I was gasping for air, my heart was beating wildly in my chest, and I was soaked in sweat. As the level of adrenaline in my blood stream fell and the immediate sensation of panic receded, it was replaced by a deeper feeling of dread. What had I done to myself? I had breasts now and I could get breast cancer, something that didn’t normally happen to men. I was such a fool.
I couldn’t fall back asleep for hours, as I beat myself up for my stupid decision to become a woman. Here I was, all alone, with a boss who was trying to destroy me, and I was soon to die of breast cancer. It was a really shitty night.
Sunday wasn’t a great day either, but at least I was smart enough to go to the gym. I was getting some of my strength back and was thrilled with the progress I was making in my marital arts course. I ended up staying for several hours, reveling in the physical sensations of exercise and sweat and tired muscles. Of course, I still couldn’t shower there, or use the sauna, but working out did have a remarkably calming effect on me.
Monday morning came along all to soon. Now it was really time to see what I was made of. I had to tell Thornton about Cynthia and although she had arranged a leave with HR, he was not a happy camper. Now I was the only analyst and if he wanted to get his work done, he would have to stop wasting my time with stupid dominance games. We sat in his office and talked about how to arrange things, and it soon became clear that I would have to supervise all of Cynthia’s staff and use them to try to keep up with her work and mine. Once we had that settled we moved on to the next topic. I descended into a period of intense work and little life aside from that.
There was no way Thornton could hide my contributions now, and everyone in the company again became aware of them. All the work Thornton had put into undermining my reputation was going down the tubes, and bad opinions of me were dissipating as fast as dew in the morning sunshine. Miller, the ace analyst was back, only this time it was that cute Ms. Miller, not that old withdrawn Mr. Miller.
But then just a little more than three weeks after Cynthia’s departure, the roof fell in. Thornton proved himself to be even bigger scum bag than I had realized. He took a relatively small contract away from a bright new start-up firm, which would almost certainly fail as a result. He actually came back to the office and bragged about putting them out of business.
He stood in the outer office facing Kathleen, Heather, and me and puffed himself up like some kind of exotic bird at mating time. "That was so easy, it almost wasn’t fun." Then he turned to me. "I really don’t want to do this project, so we’ll have to subcontract it out. Get on that right away Lilly."
I was stunned. I didn’t understand what was going on. I couldn’t keep myself from blurting out, "but why? If you didn’t want to do the work, why did you bid on it? We won’t make any profit if we have to sub it out, and…, and… they’ll go out of business." My voice rose in surprise and frustration as I finished.
He turned on me. "It’s none of your damn business, you little bimbo. If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it." Then he turned towards his office chuckling to himself. After two steps he turned back to me. "Call them Lilly. See if they want to take on the work. If they want to stay in business, they can work for me." He laughed and started to saunter towards his office again.
I was staggered. I had never heard of anyone doing anything so patently malicious. Instinctively, I started to protest, "Bob, you can’t do tha.."
"What did you say"? He turned on me in an instant, but I had decided not to back down.
"That’s inappro….."
"Shut the fuck up, pansy!" With two quick steps he was right in my face, glaring into my eyes. I started to fold, looking down in fear and shame. "I say what I want around here. I don’t need any fake pussy boy telling me what to do! If anyone’s inappropriate around here, it’s you. You’re not a real woman, and you’re certainly not a man, you’re a pitiful mistake, a sissy faggot!"
He kept advancing on me as he spoke and I was so intimidated I backed away until we reached the closed door to my office. I couldn’t go any further and he stopped with his face only inches from mine.
"Listen you fucking sissy. You work for me. If I ever hear another complaint out of you, you and your girlfriends," he turned and glared at Kathleen and Heather, "will all be looking for jobs by the next morning. You do what I say, when I say it, and how I say it. You smile and say yes sir. Do you understand me?" His voice seemed like thunder in my ears.
I nodded my head.
"Do YOU understand?" He asked turning again on Kathleen and Heather, who were afraid even to look up. He was shouting now. I was really scared, thinking that I was so weak that he could do whatever he wanted to me. I had always been afraid of bullies, even when I had been a guy.
Then, curiously, I felt myself trying to fiddle with my ring. The ring I didn’t have anymore. And in one seamless moment, I both panicked and recovered. Everything seemed to slow down and I understood what I should have known all along. I didn’t have to worry about him hurting me. I could handle that. Hell, I’d handled worse already. What I really needed to do was protect the two other girls, who had just been caught in the crossfire of a battle I had started. By turning on the other two girls, he ignited some heretofore hidden protective instinct within me. Now it was blazing to life.
"It’s alright sir, Mr. Thornton." I suddenly said. I tried to make my voice purr. And instead of straightening up and facing off with him as a man might have, I turned slightly to the side, twisting my torso to show off my curves. I tilted my head and put my hand on his arm, looking up into his eyes. "They understand. We all do."
He turned on me again. "And if I hear anything from HR or anyone else, you’ll regret it forever. Now get your faggot ass out of here and do your damn work, if you can figure out how." He sneered the words out.
But he had calmed down enough, and the crisis passed. He turned and stalked into his office. I leaned against the wall, my breath ragged and my heart racing. I was furious, I could feel bile rising up in my stomach and I began to feel like I was going to retch. How dare he? How dare he treat me like that, like I’m just an object! How dare he threaten Heather and Kathleen! How dare he..…
Sweat started to form on my forehead and my whole body felt weak. I stood there, my breasts rising and falling hard, and as I looked down at them, I suddenly felt like they belonged to someone else. All of a sudden I felt like a man in a woman’s body. This couldn’t be me could it? What had I done to myself? I started to hyperventilate, and I could feel the anxiety rising within me.
Again, I started fiddling with the ring. And as soon as I realized it wasn’t there, I was able to get control of myself. I slowed my breathing intentionally, my heart rate started to subside, and my racing mind came under control as well. When I next looked down, I was me, Lilly, not some man caught in a woman’s body. Then it was time to take care of the girls.
"Come on girls. Let’s get some coffee. We need to talk."
At that, Heather burst into tears. I hugged her for a second and said, "you’re right, we need alcohol, not caffeine, let’s get some margaritas. Get your bag and fix your face, I’ll be right back." I grabbed a cup of coffee for Thornton and went back to my desk and pulled my purse from the bottom desk drawer. I quickly brushed my hair, freshened my lipstick and spritzed a little more perfume on my throat. Then, visualizing my ring for just a moment, I knocked on Thornton’s door.
"Mr. Thornton, sir, may I come in?"
He looked up as I peeked my head through the door. "What do you want, Lilly?" He enunciated the words clearly, to indicate he was still angry.
"I brought you some coffee sir, I came to apologize." I slinked into the room trying to be sexy and subtle at the same time. I brought him the coffee and handed it to him with two hands, and bowed slightly, the way I thought a Geisha might. Then I gave him a tentative smile.
"You were right sir, I had no right to question you. I won’t let it happen again." I hung my head for a moment in a submissive posture Cynthia had taught Sissy. Then I raised my eyes without raising my head, and in a tentative voice asked, "will we still be going to the Patterson affair sir?"
He looked at me for a moment with questioning eyes, smiled, and said "of course."
I let out a big theatrical sigh of relief. "If you don’t mind sir, I’m going to take the girls out for a drink. They’re a little shaken. I want to make sure they understand how to handle this.
"Oh, all right," and he waved me out dismissively.
I turned to leave and when I got to the door I stopped and leaned back in. "I think you’ll like the dress I bought for Friday night." I smiled at him brightly and then spun on my toes and left, flipping my hair as I did. I just hoped he appreciated my effort to flirt because it made me want to puke.
This event marked another watershed for me. I now knew I was tougher than I had ever imagined. My self confidence began to grow by leaps and bounds. Unfortunately, it apparently marked a watershed for Thornton too; he must have realized that he was letting me recover from his attempt to destroy me. After that little episode, he again made demeaning me one of his top priorities.
So when he came to get me that evening not only did I get a new dress just for this occasion, but I had also been to see Shelly to get my hair and makeup done. The dress was hot. It was a wine red slip dress of some kind of slinky bias cut synthetic fabric. Like my shawl, it had metallic threads running through it to catch the light when I moved. Better, it really clung to my body. It didn’t show a lot of skin, in fact it had long sleeves because the scar on my arm was still rather ugly and I wanted to hide it, but it did show the outline of everything that was underneath, including the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. It ran all the way to my ankles and had only the smallest slit in the back. The result was that I had mince a little when I walked. I knew Thornton would love it. Hell, I loved it. There was still enough Brad left in me so that I got turned on just looking at myself in the mirror.
I knew I looked great, and he wore me on his arm like I was a prize, which was really kind of strange because he was a well-known homophobe. Here he was though, escorting a known transsexual like she was his girlfriend.. I guess he just wanted to collect some chips for being politically correct before he destroyed me. Then when he was done with me he could claim that it had nothing to do with my gender or sexual orientation.
As the evening wore on, I learned just how right I had been about his motives. At one point before dinner we became engaged in a conversation about a technical matter with Thomas Mackey, one of the other VPs.
"Bob, when you were working on the Chicago finance deal, didn’t you have Brad…, er…" He turned bright red with embarrassment when he realized what he had said. I immediately moved to put him at ease.
"It’s OK Tom, even I still think of myself as Brad when I remember the past. But it’s Lillian now and it always will be."
He recovered right away and just nodded his thanks at me. "Right, didn’t you have Miller here," he looked at me and grinned, obviously proud of how he had avoided dealing with my gender by using only my last name, "develop a new analysis algorithm to evaluate the depreciation values on their portfolio?
I had indeed done that when I was Brad, and it gave us an insight into their holdings that even they didn’t understand. I jumped into the conversation, ready to explain what I had done.
"That’s right, Tom, I…."
"Lilly," Thornton cut me off. "Go get us something to drink, will you sweetheart? I don’t think Tom needs to hear your little stories."
I started to object, "I…"
"Lilly?" The way he said it was mild, but his look was ferocious. I swallowed my pride and started to get up.
"Sure B…." His eyebrow went up. "…M…Mr. Thornton, what would you like? Mr. Mackey can I get you something?"
I left the table trying to calm myself down. I knew this was going to happen, yet I couldn’t help but feel humiliated by his behavior. And just like he had done many times before, he started to joke about me before I got out of earshot.
"Look at that ass Tom, have you ever seen anything so hot? Look at it swivel in that dress. I’m telling you…." And then the buzz of conversation in the room drowned him out.
By the time I reached the bar I had calmed down again. I intentionally put my ultimate goal in the forefront of my mind to cushion the beating my ego was taking from Thornton. But as I waited in the short line, I realized that I was the only unescorted woman there to fetch drinks. The men in line were either alone and fetching drinks for their dates, or with their dates. I was the only woman getting a drink for her date! Thornton was putting me down in front of the whole room. I knew it and so did they; my face flushed with embarrassment as I realized what was going on.
Then, later in the evening, things got even more confusing. As the band played after dinner, Thornton actually asked me to dance. At first the thought appalled me, but I knew I couldn’t say no. So I took the hand he offered me and minced after him to the dance floor.
You know what? He was a fabulous dancer. He led me around the floor like a pro and I actually started to enjoy it, thankful to Cynthia for forcing me take dancing lessons. A few dances later, the music slowed down and he pulled me close to him. Again I was hesitant, but couldn’t resist.
"You know, Lilly," he whispered to me, "I’m really doing you quite a favor by bringing you here and treating you like a real woman, even dancing with you." He turned me away from him and under his left arm and when I had spun back to face him, he pulled me back into his body with his right on my shoulder blade and shoulder. I teetered slightly on my heels as he pulled me, but caught my balance against he chest. I’m sure that gave him a real good impression of the size and heft of my breasts. "Are you a real woman Lilly?"
I knew instantly what he meant because I could feel his erection pressing into my groin, just above my own tucked-back penis. Before I had a chance to react though, he spun me away again, twice in succession this time, so that when we came back together again, I was a little dizzy for a moment. This time he pulled me back into his erection by putting his right hand in the small of my back, rather than on my shoulder blade, where it belonged. At the same time he held my right hand up and a little behind me. The net effect was to arch my body so that my tummy was pressed directly on his erection, but little else of me was touching him.
I looked up at him, a little startled to be man-handled like that, but even more surprised at the size of his penis. It was big…, really big…, way bigger than mine or Michael’s. Right then, I knew where all his self-confidence came from, and I couldn’t keep myself from squeaking out, "Mr. Thornton you’re so big." My voice had real wonder in it.
He chuckled confidently and replied, "women usually can’t resist my cock once they discover it. Would you like to check it out, my dear?"
I giggled, which surprised me. But it seemed giggling had become my new response to anxiety. At this thought, I frowned momentarily, thinking that my ditzy act was maybe getting a little too good. Thornton, of course, misinterpreted my response. Like most other men, self-centered assholes that they are, he assumed I was answering yes. So he dropped his left hand to my butt and pulled more of me tightly against him. At the same time, he bent his knees slightly and then straightened up rubbing that giant cock into my belly yet one more time. It was a very erotic move and it had its desired effect, I was surprised yet again to discover that I was getting a little turned on, even though I quickly got angry at his arrogance.
But before I could say anything else, he did. "If you’re going to keep working for me Lilly, and you want things to go smoothly, you need to be a woman for me." Then he lifted my right arm, separated his body from mine, and turned spun me away three more quick spins.
Did you ever try to understand something really complicated and then plan how to deal with it while you were spinning on your toes in tight circles under someone else’s direction? I don’t think it can be done. At least I couldn’t do it because I had to concentrate real hard on my footing just to be sure I didn’t lose my balance in my lovely, but dangerously high heels and overly tight skirt. I did, however, figure out why he was repeatedly leading me into spins; he knew that if he kept me dizzy I wouldn’t be able to keep up with him mentally. To everyone else, we probably just looked like good dancers showing off their moves, but in fact we were dueling with each other for control. By the time he pulled me back into the standard dance position, this time slightly separated from him, I knew only one thing; it was crunch time.
Cynthia had predicted this would happen. He’s told me how to look, abused me verbally, done his best to discredit me as a professional, and now it was time for sexual harassment. Intellectually I had known this was coming, but you never know how you’re going to react emotionally to stressful situations until you’re actually in them.
As the reality of what was going on asserted itself, the mild feeling of physical arousal that had been elicited when he rubbed is penis on my belly, was obliterated by a more intense feeling of anger. He was, after all, a total sleaze ball and was trying to coerce me into having sex with him. I pulled back even further from his body and looked at him. "Mr. Thornton, this is so unexpected, I don’t think we should go there."
"Are you sure Lilly? This could be quite an experience for you, and a real advantage." He looked at me with one eyebrow cocked.
"I’m sorry Mr. Thornton, I’m not prepared to enter into a personal relationship with you right now. And I’m certainly not prepared to have casual sex with anyone. I just don’t do that."
"Well, perhaps it is a little soon, but let’s give it some time. You never know how you’ll feel as time goes on." He smiled at me in a way that made me cringe inside.
After that, Thornton grew increasingly aggressive in his treatment of me. He got back on track with his program to discredit me, started to put pressure on me to get even more work out of the staff, and even tried to get me to wear shorter skirts, promising to give me a bonus check to pay for the alterations.
And he started to comment on how I looked. He would wonder casually how a tighter top, or one that showed more cleavage might look with a certain suit, or whether a bolder shade of lipstick would make me look "hotter." He was clever enough to keep this kind of talk private, but if he could do it unseen, he couldn’t resist putting his hand on my butt or thigh even when other people were present. My job, of course was to not react, so as not to give the game away. I had, he pointed out, danced with him, so I can’t say that I didn’t want him to touch me.
I knew that if I did react and act offended that he had his hand on me, he would get in trouble with senior management and the board of directors. But I also knew that he wouldn’t be fired for doing something like that, and that in turn he would make life a living hell, before he got rid of me, that is. No, that wasn’t the way to go; Machiavelli was very clear about it, you have to kill the king, not just injure him. So l let his little game continue.
I wasn’t totally stupid, however, I did check in with Jennifer Hairston, the VP for Human Resources. I asked on behalf of "a friend" what would happen if certain kinds of behavior took place and how a woman might protect herself from a vindictive boss should she decide to reveal what was going on. Of course Jennifer saw through my little ploy right away, and although we both pretended to be talking hypothetically, we both understood that I was asking about how to handle Thornton.
She warned me that I was already on thin ice because Thornton was doing his best to undermine me and people were beginning to question my ability.
"But don’t people understand what he’s doing," I asked plaintively, "can’t they see?"
"It’s strange," she told me, "everyone knows how smart you are and that Thornton’s just trying to make you look bad, but his little scenarios actually work. They create a strong impression that stick in people’s minds. It’s just easier for people to believe what they see than to try to reconcile that with what they know. And of course, everyone is still pretty wigged out about you changing genders. Most think you must be nuts."
I sat silently for a moment, considering what she had said. "They’re right you know," I was barely whispering now, "I am nuts." My voice was rising. "But it’s not because I was confused about my gender, it’s because I believed that this company wouldn’t put up with Thornton’s despicable behavior. We’ve been so liberal and accepting of different kinds of people here for so long, we’ve always nurtured people and helped them grow. Thornton hates people and drives them out for no good reason. He’s just too much." I had almost begun to shout, but stopped myself.
Jennifer just sighed. "I know what you mean, I don’t understand it either. The old man and his buddies just seem to have a blind spot when it comes to his treatment of other people. I guess his balance sheets speak very loudly for him."
"Well they should, " I interrupted, "We’re always understaffed and he doesn’t give any bonuses to those of us who do work there. That’s got to help."
We both just sat there quietly for a few moments and then Jennifer said, "you need to be careful Lilly, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to protect you if he wants you fired."
I was disconsolate by the time I got back to my office. What was I going to do? I was beginning to wonder if even embezzling would be enough to bring him down. No, he would have to be publicly exposed as the fraud and beast that he was. I didn’t know whether I could do it.
The last thing I needed right now was to lose my self-confidence, because more problems popped up every time I turned around. In addition to the crap Thornton was dishing out, I started to get some nasty comments in the lady’s room and hallways from women who thought my dress and behavior were…, shall we say, inappropriate? And I hadn’t changed anything! I got shit from some of the men too, most of them the same ones who had harassed me before.
"What a slut you turned out to be, you’re worse than a fag, putting out for your boss to get ahead."
That got my attention, and I couldn’t let it pass. Even though the asshole who had muttered it had passed me, I turned and grabbed his arm. He turned around to see what was going on. "What did you say?" I challenged him.
He looked around carefully and seeing no one in the hall, said, "fuck you faggot! Everyone knows you’re putting out for Thornton just to keep your job."
"I am not!" I said indignantly. "Who said that?"
He looked me up and down, like I was a street corner hooker. Then just before he turned to leave, he looked me in the eye and started to laughed at me.
I was furious. I went storming back to our office and knocked on Thornton’s door. I barged in before he could even answer.
"What do you mean telling people that I’m having sex with you?" I was almost shouting.
He looked at me mildly and a small smile crept onto his lips. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice as mild as his expression.
"There’s a rumor going around the halls that I’m, putting out for you. We both know that’s not true."
"Well, Ms. Miller, I can’t control office gossip you know, but you wouldn’t be the first babe who’s wanted to work for me to get at my dick, and most people know that. It’s an obvious conclusion that a faggot like you would be after it."
I was flabbergasted. I had no idea what to say or do. I just stood there glaring at him until he got bored with me.
"What people say about you is your problem, not mine," he said. "Where’s the Boston Federated report? Don’t come back in here until you have it."
I started to leave his office feeling totally confused. Just as I got to my door he called me back. "Oh, by the way," he said as I turned to face him, "I’m thinking of hiring another analyst to pick up some of the load. I’ve got some candidates lined up; we’ll start interviewing in ten days."
I didn’t even bother to reply. I just turned and went into my office. The handwriting had been spray-painted on the wall in three foot high fluorescent letters. If I didn’t put out for him, he was going to get rid of me. I’m sure the only questions in Thornton’s mind was how to get my lips around his dick and how much he could humiliate me before throwing me out on my ass.
That just sent my stress level through the roof. Even as I juggled multiple projects for him, I had now obviously become Thornton’s designated whipping girl, just as others before me had been. As the pressure built, I started to get really short with the other girls, who, along with me, were having a hard time keeping up with the pace Thornton was setting. There was no denying his prodigious capacity for work.
The worst part was, I was starting to treat the people who worked for me with the same disregard that Thornton was showing us. I remembered how Tammy, who quit as Thornton’s secretary not so long ago, had started to act like Thornton, and realized that I was doing the same thing. Instead of looking to the staff for support and help, I was alienating myself from them by being overly demanding and unforgiving.
This made me very unhappy with myself, but I didn’t seem to be able to get myself under control. There was more and more grumbling about me at the office, and I was getting more and more down because of it. So, just as I had done before when I was Brad, I came up with precisely the wrong solution again as Lilly. I started to withdraw from Marci, Kathleen, Heather and the others. In retrospect, I can see how stupid that was, but at the time, it just happened, speeded along by Thornton’s demands. One day, as I was struggling to keep up, he warned me, with sarcasm dripping from his words like blood from an open wound, that if I was going to play, "Mr. Nice guy," but fail to meet his needs, that I and the others could easily be replaced.
"Listen, you little pansy, it doesn’t matter whether they like you or not, only that my work gets done. I want to see you more in control, giving orders, not making namby-pamby requests and backing down every time one of your little girlfriends has to blow her nose."
I didn’t see any way around. I had to do what he said. The result was that my status changed yet again. Since my transition, I had been one of the girls, even if I was becoming a rather bitchy one, and we were all in it together, with Thornton as the enemy. Now, I was Thornton’s right hand girl, and it was the rest of the girls against the two of us. I just hated the whole thing, but he was holding me hostage by threatening to fire my friends, something I just couldn’t let happen. Work became a living hell.
My time outside of work wasn’t that much better. Cynthia called every few days, but I tried to hide my problems from her because she had a dying sister to care for. My problems seemed so trivial by comparison, I just didn’t want to bother her. I did leave hints about what was happening every now and again because I really couldn’t hide my feelings all that well, but she already knew things were stressful, and it wasn’t hard to convince her that’s where my emotional raggedness was coming from.
And I isolated myself from my other friends as well. I avoided Beverly Wells, finding trumped up reasons to skip my sessions. When I did see her, the appointments were brief and I did my best to assure her that I loved my new life. Really, there was no question now about my gender because my identity as Lilly was quite solid, but I didn’t want her probing into the rest of my life. So I talked a lot about Cynthia, about fashion, and anything else but me. Because I had been doing so well, there really wasn’t any reason for her to worry about me and I was able to fool her, although I didn’t know how long I could continue to pull that off.
My relationship with Michael suffered too. He tried to keep up with me, he had promised Cynthia he would, and we did see each other several mornings each week in our martial arts class. More than that, he made sure we spent occasional evenings together but I was having conflicts. I really wanted to spend time with him, but I didn’t want him to know what was going on at work. So I made him take me to clubs with loud music so we couldn’t really talk, and I made him dance all night long and I drank. I partied as hard as I could when we were together because it allowed me to blow off steam and because it kept Michael at a safe psychological distance.
He was still in my heart, deeply in my heart, and I adored him now for all the reasons that had attracted me to him in the first place. He was such a sweet guy and he genuinely liked me and was able to show that. It was very gratifying. Being with him allowed me to feel safe, and truth be told, he still excited me sexually. But I felt like I was stealing his affection under false pretenses. I was lying about myself and that’s no basis for any relationship. I longed to go to bed with him, but something was keeping me away from him.
At first I didn’t understand why I didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, but I eventually realized that I felt guilty about what was going on with Thornton. It was almost like I was somehow cheating on Michael, even though I had no sexual contact with Thornton whatsoever. But I felt so debased by what I was doing that I came to believe I didn’t deserve someone as sweet as Michael. Now that I was Thornton’s whipping girl, I reasoned, I was too contemptible to be allowed to have a close relationship with someone as nice as Michael.
Then, as if to fulfill my own terrible image of myself, I started going out to clubs and picking up guys just for sex. Don’t say a thing. I know how dangerous it was, but I was punishing myself, feeding off the debased self-image I had developed because of what was going on with Thornton and the office. In my perverted logical scheme, I was so contemptible at work that I deserved to be giving blowjobs in the back seats of cars. I hated myself for how I was behaving and really needed to punish myself. So I did!
In a way, I guess I got lucky when I met Charles. I was sitting on a stool in a trendy bar in the west village, wearing a short black leather skirt, tight red sweater and a cropped black leather jacket. I had on fuck-me heels, dark hose, and no bra. I had only been there about 15 minutes when he sauntered over and offered to buy me a drink. I looked him up and down as if he were on sale, and finding him acceptable, in a dark craggy kind of way, accepted his offer.
It didn’t take too long before our conversation got around to sex. He blandly asked, "so what are you doing here, out so late on a work day."
I slowly raised my eyes, then my head, and finally my torso, so I was sitting perfectly straight and looking him right in the eye, "I’m looking for a man."
I shocked myself a little by that the brazen way I said that, but he was a cool customer, showing not even the barest hint of surprise. "Well," he chuckled, "you’re a shy one aren’t you?"
"Listen, Chuck, I’m a busy girl, are you game or not?"
He bristled at that. "The names is Charles, missy, and I’m plenty game. The question is can you handle me? "
I let my eyes widen in response, and then softened my body language. "Well, Charles," I purred, "I’m sorry for being so abrupt, it’s been a tough week and I’m tired and pissed off at my boss. But that’s no reason to take that out on you." I placed my hand on his to show my sincerity. I might have been self-destructive, but I wasn’t totally stupid. I didn’t want this guy mad at me if there was a chance I might leave with him. I reached around his waist and pulled him towards me. "Let’s stay here a little while OK, I want another drink or two and I want the other girls to see me with a hunk like you."
That seemed to mollify him, and he put his arm around my shoulder. I didn’t really want to get to know him that well, he was, after all, just a one night stand, but I wanted to draw him out for a while to see if he was safe to leave with. Actually, he was interesting, and I liked the possessive posture he took with me. In turn I warmed up to him and treated him with respect and a little awe. He seemed OK, so we went to get his car so he could take me home.
It was a big black Lexus, which he had parked a couple of blocks away, and as we walked down the street, I hung on his arm and tried to behave like his girlfriend. But things turned sour as soon as we were in the car. I was putting on my seat belt as he slid into the drivers seat.
"Forget that thing sweetie and slide over here." He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to him kissing me hard on the lips.
"Hey," I squealed, "that hurts."
"Listen you little tramp, anyone who behaves like you did in that bar better know what to expect. You’ll just do what I say, won’t you?" And he kissed me hard again, and started rubbing my breast, just as hard. Then he pulled back to the driver’s seat and started the car.
"We’re going to my place, baby. You’re spending the night."
"No, I can’t." I spluttered out.
He grabbed my left wrist hard and twisted my arm down and towards my back, forcing my head down towards the dashboard. "You’ll do what ever I say you’ll do. After that blow job you promised me, I’m gonna teach you how a real man fucks." Then he threw me back against the passenger side door.
For a moment, I started to panic, just like I always had in the past when I had been physically threatened. But then, unconsciously, I started to control my breathing, like I had been taught in my martial arts class. You know what, the panic subsided; I felt lucid again. A moment later we were at a stoplight turning right to head up town on 6th Avenue. It only took me a few blocks to see my way out. Traffic was heavy. His car was hemmed in on all sides and we weren’t going too fast. If I could get out the door, he’d never be able to chase me. As heavy as traffic was, we would have to stop at several red lights over the next 20 blocks or so, so I would have a few opportunities to get out of the car.
But, I knew that getting out of the car wouldn’t be that easy and that my only real chance was to distract him and catch him off guard. "Would you really?" I asked responding to his offer to teach me about fucking?
He just laughed and moved out with traffic when the light changed. Deliberately retracting my seatbelt to get it out of the way, I slid over towards him and started to come on to him gently. I wanted to put him at ease so I would have every extra moment when I made my move.
"You’re so strong," I purred, caressing his bicep. "I like strong men." I could feel him relax and I kept up my attentions for the next few minutes. All of a sudden he flicked on his left turn indicator and I realized he was heading for the Lincoln Tunnel, which connected Manhattan to New Jersey under the Hudson River. The area on the West Side near the tunnel was one of the city’s real bad neighborhoods, but at least I had a chance to catch a cab there. The last thing I wanted was to end up in New Jersey. I knew I had to distract him quickly if I was going to get out of his car before it was too late.
In another moment we stopped for another red light. As the light flashed red, it gave me an idea. I sat back up, grabbed my purse, and pulled out some lipstick. Then, carefully tucking my purse next to the door, I lowered the passenger side visor, which had a lighted mirror on it and redid my lips. Then I recapped the lipstick and turned towards Charles.
"How do I look?" I gave him my biggest smile, licking my lips with the tip of my tongue, trying to look sexy. Before he could do anything, I "dropped" my lipstick in front of his seat so it would roll under the pedals. "Oh," I squealed, "can you get that for me?"
"Fucking clumsy broad," he growled, but reached down with his right arm to try to find my lipstick. As big as he was, he really had to shift in his seat to get his arm to the floor. For the few moments he spent fishing around for my lipstick, his back was to me. That was the break I was hoping for.
So I spun my butt in the seat at the same time I was throwing the door open. He sat up quickly when he heard the door, but by the time he got his hand out from under the steering wheel, I was just about out. Only the hand I had put my hand on dashboard to propel myself from the car was within his reach and he threw himself across the front seat to grab it.
"Where do you fucking think you’re going, bitch?" I turned to see his enraged face glaring at me. It was the second time in not too many months that someone had grabbed my wrist just before I could get away from him. But I had learned something during that time and I looked him right in the eye for a moment and then twisted my arm towards his thumb, the weakest part of his grip, jerking it as viciously as I could. That was just enough to break his grip, and even though I fell into the gutter as I got free, I was able to slam the car door shut, scramble to my feet, and scurry away through traffic, dragging my bag behind me.
He wasn’t giving up yet though. He started to get out of his car to chase me. But before he could get away from his car, the light turned green. Everyone around started to honk and shout. So as I tripped onto the sidewalk on the far side of 10th Avenue in my totally non-functional heels, I heard him yell, "fuck you bitch," before he disappeared back into his car and drove away, escorted inescapably by all the cars that surrounded his.
I knew I wasn’t out of the woods yet because he could easily circle the block and come back to find me. Worse, this was a terrible neighborhood, especially for a sexily clad girl. Fortunately, there was a bar halfway down the block and I ran towards it as fast as my stupid heels would allow. I hid myself as well as I could in the bar’s doorway watching the corner for a few minutes to see if Charles would come back. If he did I would simply slide into the bar. But I didn’t want to rush because I had no idea what I might find once inside. But, when he didn’t appear after the light had cycled a few of times, I figured he was gone. Now, if I found the bar too dangerous, at least I could run back out onto the street knowing a big black Lexus wouldn’t be waiting for me.
As soon as I ducked into the bar, every one of the 12 pairs of eyes in the place bored right in on me. They were all grizzled older men, longshoremen, maybe. I knew I had to be cool, so I ignored them and walked right up to the bar, sitting carefully on a stool, as I tried to catch my breath. The bartender was a big fat old man with a white beard hanging over the top of his dirty white apron.
"We don’t want no hookers in here."
"Oh, no, you’ve got it wrong, I’m not a hooker."
"Then what are you doing in this neighborhood dressed like that?" He nodded dismissively at my clothes.
It wasn’t until that moment that I looked at myself. My stockings were torn and my skirt full of grime. My beautiful leather jacket was scuffed from where I had fallen on the street, and my bag didn’t look any better. I was sure my hair was a mess. I tried to brush off my skirt and looked back at him with a wan smile.
"I let myself get picked up by the wrong guy. I had to jump from his car on the corner of 10th Avenue before he could take me to Jersey." I nodded towards the river. He mumbled agreement. Every New Yorker can empathize with someone who doesn’t want to end up in New Jersey, whatever the reason. We’re all snobs that way. Then I rummaged through my purse and pulled out my wallet. It, at least, looked expensive, and I could see him take that in. I put a crisp twenty dollar bill on the bar. "Would you call me a cab please, and pour me a big glass of Dewar’s?"
"OK, honey, I don’t know whether I believe you or not, but I’ve got daughters of my own. I’d want people to help them too. You’ll be safe here until your cab comes. It’ll be a while though, cabs don’t like to come to this part of town so late."
I nodded and went to the women’s room to clean myself up as best I could. Then I sat, sipping on my scotch, waiting for my heart rate to subside and for the cab to arrive. I left all the change from the twenty on the counter and thanked the bartender as I got up to leave. That was the last time I tried to pick anyone up in a bar or anywhere else.
As I huddled in my bed later that night trying to fall asleep, I berated myself for having been so stupid. I really was in a downward spiral. I did stupid things because I felt bad about myself and those stupid things made me feel worse. Shit, did I ever have a self-destructive streak. I felt unconsciously for my ring, and when I became aware of what I was doing, and realized the ring was gone, I started to cry quietly. I missed Cynthia deeply, but I knew that if she were here, she would have my head for the way I was behaving. I might end up permanently as Sissy. I had to get myself under control.
After a little while, as I reran the events of the evening in my mind, I realized another thing. I had been remarkably resourceful in getting myself out of trouble, and in a little corner of my mind, I started to feel really proud of myself.
I grabbed a glass of wine and an apple and sat down in my girly sitting room to read Cynthia’s letter.
My Dearest Lilly,
It is very quiet here right now because Hannah is asleep. Snow is falling silently, but steadily and the trees around the deck look like they’ve been topped with fairy dust as they reflect back the lights of the house. Hannah looks so peaceful, it’s hard to believe she’s so sick. But the truth is she has continued to worsen since I arrived. Thank God she has good doctors. The cancer has spread all over her body but the docs have supplied her with all the pain medication she needs and taught me how to give it so she is almost never in pain. It’s quite amazing really, she takes huge doses but she’s never sedated.
Instead she’s up and around doing all the things she loves to do. We ride horses almost every morning, no matter how cold it is. "I just love the cold," she says, "I can feel it so clearly." There’s a beautiful meadow with a frozen lake about a mile from here and we hack through the icy woods to get there, linger for just a little while and then come back by a different route. Then she takes a nap because she really has no stamina at all. Sixty to ninety minutes is as much as she can stand.
In the afternoon I drive her around to visit a pair of older couples she has befriended. She visits them so they don’t get too lonely, and then she frets terribly about what will happen to them after she dies. Then it’s time for another nap. Three days each week we visit the local hospital, where she plays with kids who have cancer. She is some sight, gaunt and terribly skinny but beautifully dressed and perfectly made up, and… bald! The kids are just blown away, but they love her. The doctors and nurses rave about how she helps these kids keep their spirits up and their parents thinks she must be an angel. I have tears in my eyes every time I see her encouraging these devastated families.
Some evenings we cook together, which is so glorious because it brings back such wonderful memories of our childhood. We cooked together then too. And we talk constantly about our Grandma.. The ring really must be magical, just as you’ve claimed. It seems to have opened up a treasure chest full of special memories for both of us and we just sit on the couch together and bask in their warmth. There’s no way I could possibly thank you enough for allowing Hannah to have it. So that’s one reason I’m writing. Even though it seems so insufficient, I just have to say, thank you.
By this time I was crying openly and dripping mascara stained tears onto the letter itself. I had to stop to get some tissues. Well armed with a box of Kleenex and another glass of wine, I continued.
But I’m writing for another reason too. I have learned so much about life from Hannah over the past month. I was scared to death to come out here, afraid that I’d have to watch Hannah wither away and die in front of my eyes, not sure if I was strong enough to take it. But that hasn’t happened. Oh, she’s withering away all right, and I doubt she’ll be able to stay active much longer, but she’s living in front of my eyes, not dying. She is so intensely in every moment of her life that she almost glows with the pleasure of it. Everyone who meets her can see it. It’s just amazing.
So one day I just had to ask her how she does it. I want you to hear her explanation. There were two things she said, the first was the simple one. Once she understood that she was going to die, she wanted to experience as much of life as she could. She just refuses to be bed ridden or hide herself away. The second was that she somehow realized that she had a choice. She could be a victim of her cancer or she could take charge of her own life, at least what was left of it.
She explained that a victim blames the fates for the horrible things that were happening and just gives up. Hannah refuses to do this and she somehow figured out that she could use her misfortune as an opportunity to learn and do new things.
"I don’t have to be depressed about this," she told me, "even though it’s depressing. My illness has taken away my strength and it’s taking away my life, but I refuse to let it take away my joy. It may destroy my body, but it will not defeat me."
Sure enough, here she is, visiting her old friends and sick kids in the hospital and bringing her joy into all their lives. And when she gets home and has to lie down because she’s too weak to stay upright any longer, she tells me how sweet her life is. I don’t know how to respond and I realize that I’m in awe of her. I came out here to take care of her, and she’s giving me the greatest lesson in life I could ever imagine. I don’t have to be strong at all. We’re flying on her wings and it’s totally exhilarating. .
I know that by now you are probably wondering why I’m telling you all this. The answer is simple. It occurred to me, my dear sweet Lilly, my love, that you have lived all your life as a victim. Your parents made you a victim, Kyle made you a victim, Rachael made you a victim, Thornton made you a victim, and even I did it. Some things in life can’t be helped, and we can’t go back and undo what’s been done. But we do have some control over the future. The choice is yours, my dearest love. Learn from Hannah. You don’t have to be a victim.
All my love,
Cynthia
I don’t know how long I sat there, stunned, startled, boggled, paralyzed, weightless; I don’t know. But eventually, I started to become aware of the world again. Cynthia’s letter staggered me to the very bottom of my soul. It hit me so hard, my molecules were dispersed into the atmosphere and they were just beginning to coalesce again. First, I am introduced to the most remarkable person I’d ever heard of, and then, before I could even begin to understand what that meant, I am clobbered with the most insightful analysis of myself I had ever heard. To top it all off, Cynthia had just given me the key to solving my personal problems as well. It was just too much. I couldn’t deal with it. I wanted to grab the phone and call Cynthia, but I had no idea what I might say. I wasn’t even sure if I could speak! Nothing made any sense, but everything was perfectly clear. I sat there on the couch holding the letter in my hand for a long time. I think I was thinking, but I’m not sure. I may have just been existing on some preconscious level of awareness.
I finally got up and had a bite to eat. I was moving like a zombie, my mind still struggling to understand the lesson Cynthia was trying to teach me. Part of it seemed to be taking because the phrase ‘I have a choice’ kept bouncing around in my brain.
After dinner I took a long, hot shower, got into a soft nighty and warm slippers, and sat down at my computer and started typing. I had plans to make.
Before I went to bed I called Cynthia. I usually didn’t call there because I didn’t want to risk waking Hannah, but tonight I just had to speak with Cynthia. The phone rang once and I heard a whispered, "hello."
"Cynthia, it’s me, Lilly."
"Lilly!" I could just hear the thrill in her voice, but it immediately turned to concern. "Are you OK?"
"Yes Cynthia, I am, in fact I feel great. I just wanted to thank you for your letter." There was silence for a few moments, so I jumped back in before Cynthia could say anything. "No, really, it was the most amazing, the best letter I’ve ever gotten. And you’re right, I do have a choice."
"Oh, thank god." I could hear the relief in her voice. "I was so worried about how you would react. Are you really OK?"
"Yes! I really am. I’m great. How’s Hannah?"
"Well, not so great really. She fell off her horse yesterday. She didn’t break anything, but she’s kind of bruised and sore. I think she’s gotten too weak to ride and she’s going to hate me when I stop her the next time she tries. She’s losing weight steadily and the doctor doesn’t think she’ll make it to the end of the month. Any number of things could do her in at this point and she’s insisted she not be put on any machines just to keep her alive for a few more days. She made me swear to enforce it."
"Oh Cynthia, I’m so sorry." I could feel tears forming at the corners of my eyes.
"Well we all knew this was going to happen. I’m only grateful that she’s been able to do so much for so long. And you know what, her heart is still full of joy. It’s impossible to be sad around her."
I had an idea. "Listen, I’m flying out this weekend. I’ll leave Friday morning. I’ll help you out for a couple of days."
"Oh, I can hear her, I have to go. Yes, please do fly out. I miss you so. Bye."
So I got on the web and started to look for a ticket. Then I went to bed.
In the morning I felt buoyant, like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was almost whistling as I got ready for work. Once I got there, I called Shelly to get my hair done, then I called Michael, who agreed to meet me for lunch. I called Holly Wainwright, the woman from Boston Federated Investments who had embarrassed herself by asking me for a date when we were at the Trump Tower affair, and when I was done with all that I called Marcie.
When she got to my office she was pretty angry. I barely had the door closed before she lit into me, rapid fire, like a semiautomatic. "What do you want? I don’t care. As long as I have to be here, you’re going to hear what I have to say. You’re acting like an asshole again. When it happened last time, we all thought you were a son of a bitch, now you’re just a bitch." She bit that line off like she had been practicing it. "Cynthia wouldn’t let you get away with shit like this and neither will I!"
Her eyes had fire in them, but it seemed to me as if they sparkled. I had forgotten how attractive she was and how much I liked her even when she was mad at me. More than that, in some strange way I was proud of her for stepping up and protecting the other girls in the office. I admired her courage.
"Can I get you some coffee Marcie?" That threw her off course, but she just narrowed her eyes and stared at me. I pointed to the seat opposite my desk and sat down myself. "If you want to yell at me, I’d like to sit down."
She sat, but that didn’t stop her. She continued to harangue me and I just sat there and listened. When she realized I wasn’t going to rise to her bait, she stopped talking for a moment, but glared at me from where she sat. "So, are you going to talk to me, or have you again become the enemy?"
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. After a couple of deep, centering breaths, I opened them again and gazed at her softly. She had hated me once, but then became my friend. She never took advantage of me when I was being punished in the office and she had really been working hard to make up for Cynthia’s absence. I guess it was time to trust someone. I needed to reach the end game with Thornton soon, or he was going to destroy me. I reached out to her across my desk with both my hands.
"Give me your hands please Marci." She looked surprised and smiled quizzically, tilting her head as if to get a better look at me, then she reached out to me. Once I had her hands in mine, I looked up into her eyes. "I need your help Marci, but I’m scared. I’ve been afraid to trust anybody. Can I trust you?"
The expression on her face changed three times in a matter of seconds. First, she got angry, then sad, and finally she looked at me like I was a lost baby. "Oh Lilly, you poor thing, come here."
I almost flew around the desk and launched myself into her hug. I started to cry at the same time. It was like a dam bursting. I hadn’t realized how much I had been holding inside until Marci gave me permission to let it out. Fueled, I guess, by all the estrogen that was now dominating my brain, I must have cried for a good couple of minutes before easing off into sobs. At that point, she got up and got me some long overdue tissues and we sat down again on the small love seat across from my desk.
When I had quieted down, she said, "want to talk about it?"
So I told her everything. She was alternatively amazed and appalled by my story, but finally became disgusted with me.
"Why do you continue on like this? Don’t you realize you could have nailed him for sexual abuse long ago?"
"I just wasn’t sure Marci, I was afraid he would say that I wanted it. Plus, he’s given me two promotions since I’ve been back. That has to look funny to people. In fact it does, rumors that I’m sleeping with him are already circulating. Who would you believe, a slutty little TS like me, I shook my hair at her and batted my eyelashes, or the most successful VP in the company?"
"Girl, you are so thick! They would have had him out of here in a heartbeat if you had said something right away. I guess you have a harder case to prove now that it’s gone on for so long, but we have to end it. I won’t let you go on with this. I’m calling Michael."
"I already did." Then I told her about Cynthia’s letter and my idea getting rid of Thornton once and for all and what I’d done so far to get my plan into action.
"OK," she said, "I coming to lunch with you. We’ll work this thing out. I should take you over my knee for letting things go this far, but I think I’ll give you a big hug instead for trusting your friends and asking for help." And she did. And it felt wonderful, kinda like going home after a long absence.
My heart leapt when Michael showed up at the restaurant and I jumped into his arms like I hadn’t seen him in months. He was a little confused because we had in fact seen each other only a few nights before. But after Marcie had collected her own kiss and hug, she told him that I had something I wanted to tell him.
He looked at me quizzically and then blurted out, in a surprisingly loud voice, "you’re not pregnant, are you?"
Every head in the restaurant swiveled around to see who I was, and for a moment, I was speechless. Marcie’s mouth dropped opened so quickly I cringed for a moment waiting for her to scream in pain.
Then I figured it out and bleated back in mock anger, "No, you jerk. You lucked out this time." And as everyone looked on in total confusion Marcie, Michael, and I burst into laughter.
Needless to say, everyone else in the restaurant kept checking us out the entire time we were there. I guess they were trying figure out whether we were totally insane or not. Once we got settled, Marcie looked at me and nodded. Then she said to Michael, "little bright eyes here has something to tell you."
I turned to face Michael and took a deep breath. "Michael, I’ve been misleading you. I was so confused I didn’t know who to trust…, so I didn’t trust anybody…, even you…, and I should have known better…, and…, and, I’m sorry." I hung my head and felt tears start to well up in the corners of my eyes. I felt so stupid. How could I not trust Michael. My God, he almost died trying to protect me. We had spent so much time together recovering that I felt we knew each other’s souls. I’m such a schmuck.
I looked up at him again and went on before I lost my courage. "Michael," I hated the sound of my voice, I was whining, " I feel truly terrible and very small for behaving so stupidly." I took another breath to go on , but he put his finger over my lips.
He looked at me gently and said, "so? No big deal. I knew you were holding out on me, but I figured you needed some space and when the time was right you would tell me what you needed. Besides, I always thought that if push came to shove, I could just barge in and rescue you." With that he gave me one of his big endearing smiles. He was such a guy, dealing with my emotions by brushing them off and making jokes.
That really did make me feel much better, so much better in fact that I decided no to let him get away with being so coolly arrogant.
"Well, what were you waiting for Superman? I was drowning and you were catching rays on the beach." Oh! It felt so good to tease with Michael again. I grabbed his hand and kissed it. Then I held the palm next to my face for a few moments before letting it go. I was feeling all squishy inside and would have snuggled into his lap had we not been in a restaurant.
At that point Marcie cleared her throat rather obviously. "Come on you two, we have work to do. Tell him what you told me Lilly." So I filled Michael in on my plan, finally getting to his part.
"…so I figure if he’s behaving like this with me, and he’s been at so many different companies, then there’s a good chance he’s done this to others, right?" Michael nodded his head. "So how can we find out?" I asked him.
"Well, he replied slowly, "there’s lots of ways, but probably the best would be to hire an investigator. Let me look into it. We’d want to be sure it couldn’t be traced back to you. And if we use an investigator and he finds anything, he can interview the people involved."
"Well, let him start with Tammy then," Marcie jumped in, "you know, Thornton’s former secretary? She left under very difficult circumstances."
"I’m not sure I would start with her; she’s a little too close to home but if we get any other hits, we’ll definitely talk with her." We continued to plan Thornton’s undoing for the rest of the meal and as the plan took shape, the food started to taste better and better. We each left with specific tasks to accomplish..
I left lunch feeling really very happy, and I had extracted a promise from Michael to take me someplace romantic for dinner, where we could talk and hold hands. My mood was so upbeat at that point that I got a little carried away and said in a too loud voice, "maybe you’ll get another shot at making me pregnant." This time when everyone looked around, Michael actually blushed. Hmmm, pregnant with Michael’s baby, what a dreamy idea.
My next stop was the salon because there was no way I was going to a blonde for even one more day. A few hours later, I returned to the office with my hair a deep brown, complete with subtle auburn highlights. The sexy layers around my face were gone and I now had a much shorter, stylish bob that fell almost to my jaw in the front, but angled up somewhat towards the back, where it was very full. I left my bangs rather long, but now they were feathered and much more whispy. The whole thing really did look very sophisticated. In fact I thought as I turned from side to side admiring myself in the mirror, I looked like a grownup! I hated to lose my long hair, but Shelly convinced me it would grow back. In the meantime, I didn’t look like the office slut any more. In fact, all the girls in the office were quite impressed and very complimentary when they saw me.
It’s more you," Betsy said, I didn’t know who that other girl was." When Thornton saw me, he just pursed his lips together, but didn’t say a word.
The following morning I was still feeling buoyant. I had spent a wonderful evening with Michael, and although I hadn’t planned on sleeping with him, once he started kissing me, I kind of lost control of myself and essentially jumped him. I spent some glorious time with his mouth on my breasts and had a wonderful orgasm as we sucked on each other together. I again felt connected to him, and slept soundly. Because we had slept at his apartment, I had to get up early and run home to get ready for work. This was my first experience as a woman leaving a man’s bed, and while I wished I had some clean clothes, especially pantyhose, mine were too baggy to put back on, I felt somehow very grown up to be doing this.
Once I got home, I had a wonderful time getting dressed for work because I felt I was doing it for myself for a change. Over the past several months, I had tried a number of styles and had learned some things about myself, even though I had been dressing primarily to please Thornton. I was really kind of conservative, which I guess wasn’t too surprising because I had dressed conservatively as a guy. I liked to fit in, not stand out.
So I was happiest in corporately correct suits that weren’t at all flamboyant. Still, I did have a thing about my breasts. I just loved to show them off. So I favored slightly tight sweaters which made them obvious or soft fabrics that draped over them and presented them in a much more subtle, though still appealing way. I could wear these under my suit jackets and that’s what I intended to do this morning.
I picked one of my favorite suits, a lightweight, navy blue flannel with a pleated skirt and fitted jacket. The skirt was a little on the short side, and the jacket covered my butt, giving me a nice long line, and showing some leg. The jacket was designed to be worn with something underneath and I had a wonderful fitted, white rayon blouse with a wide collar that was just perfect. After Thornton had seen the outfit once, he "suggested" I wear the suit without the blouse next time. When I did, with a lacy camisole showing above the jacket, he virtually drooled down into my cleavage. That really was a little too sexy for the office.
But I was in control this time, and I put the rayon blouse on. Then I looked at myself briefly in the mirror, turning from side to side to examine the way the fabric draped over the tops of my breasts. I loved the way it clung to their roundness on the sides, and then almost revealed their entire shape because of the darts that drew the fabric in around my rib cage and abdomen. I couldn’t resist, I caressed myself for a few moments before shaking my head to rid myself of the lewd thoughts that were quickly trying to take over my consciousness. I was turning myself on and all I was doing was dressing for work!
So I quickly added the jacket, which made the whole thing look professional rather than sexy, and I was delighted with how I looked. I think there was bounce in my step when I left my apartment, at least as much of a bounce as you get in heels. I may be conservative, but that includes conservatively stylish 3" heels. I was still so infatuated with dressing as a woman that I thought it was better to look good than to feel good. So I endured long days in heels with a perverse sense of pride.
I was to meet Holly Wainwright from Boston Federated for breakfast, and when she saw me, her face just lit up with a gigantic smile. "I thought you were gorgeous when I saw you at the party," she said in a rather husky voice, "but this is even better." Well, that made me feel just great. I gave her a heartfelt air kiss and a very big hug in thanks.
Then after we had eaten, I got down to business. Basically, I needed someone from Boston Federated to ask some specific questions when we met to negotiate a deal we were both working on as partners. Like just about everyone else in the world it seemed, neither Holly, nor anyone else at Boston Federated felt anything but contempt for Thornton, and she agreed readily to her part of the plan, even going so far as to suggest some additional questions she and her colleagues could ask to assure it worked.
The trick for me was to get Thornton into trouble without putting North State at too great a disadvantage; they were still my employers after all, and they had made it easy for me to stay in my rather well paid position during my transition. Everyone’s not that lucky. But as I sat there thinking about it, I had to admit that if I had to, I would put North State’s interest last in this case. The truth is, they had abandoned too many of their personnel, along with their policies, and practices to Thornton’s bullying tactics just because he was making lots of money for them. I would just have to see how things went. But with Holly’s agreement, I knew that I was well on my way to putting Bob Thornton in the place he had earned.
Two days later I left for Colorado and Thornton was livid; he just hated not being able to control me. He ranted and raved about work and I promised to take mine with me and be ready to meet with him first thing Monday morning. Then, in a moment of either extreme clarity or total confusion, I’m still not clear which, I reached up and kissed him on the cheek, saying, "be a good boy now. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone."
He was stunned. Hell, I was stunned but I let that nervous giggle I had somehow acquired slip from my lips, and he just laughed and waved me out of his office. What was I thinking?
After buying my ticket over the web, everything else about this trip was amazing to me. I had never before traveled as a woman. As a guy, I would have grabbed pair of chinos, a couple of shirts and a sweater, and thrown them in a duffle bag along with my toothbrush, razor, and hairbrush. It would take maybe 15 minutes.
But now, I was lost. First, I filled a small duffle bag with just my cosmetics, hair care essentials, and other toiletries. I mean, who knew what kind of shampoo and conditioner Hannah used and I certainly had to have my own deodorant. Then, I had to think of how the weekend would go and pick out an outfit for each activity. The way I saw it, I had to wear something comfortable to fly in, even pants, maybe, and then have something informal to change into once we got to Hannah’s house. I had to have something to hike in and I needed at least one nice outfit in case we went out to dinner on Saturday. Then, something nice for church and maybe brunch on Sunday and finally clothes to fly home in, at least. By the time I was done, I was embarrassed at the amount of clothing and accessories I had accumulated.
So I began to edit. I did manage to eliminate a good deal of stuff, and ended up with a pair of jeans and my favorite black wool pants, a few tops, and just two skirts that would go with the tops, a couple of sweaters, plus an outfit for church. Then I threw in a silk nightgown, lingerie, pantyhose, and socks, Of course, I still had four pairs of shoes to pack, so I found myself with three bags to check in.
Next, I had to decide what to wear on the flight. My first thought was loose pants and a top, just like I would have worn when I was a guy. Since I would be wearing my fur coat, which I absolutely adored, I would look dressed not matter what was underneath. That would have been the logical thing, and I had the clothes all laid out.
But then, when I was blow drying my hair, with both hands raised above my head and my chest thrusting my breasts out proudly, I suddenly remembered a scene from my last trip, months earlier when I was still a man. A nicely dressed woman came rushing past. Her long, shiny brown hair was swishing back and forth behind her head, her ample breasts were swinging heavily from her chest with every step she took, and her slim thighs were flashing through the slit of her skirt as she rushed… somewhere.
Yes, there actually was one nice thing about flying; you got to watch all the nicely turned out women as they hurried around the airport unaware of how sexy rushing made them look. I lowered my arms and looked at my breasts in the mirror. Then I swung my shoulders back forth rapidly to set them in motion. I could be one of those women now. Did I want to be? Did I want to be the one who was going to give the guys a cheap thrill at the airport today?
Yes! I did and the prospect of strutting my stuff at the airport just delighted me. So I after I finished my hair, I put on a one of my sheer stretchy bras. It would make sure my breasts didn’t fall off… Fall off? Where did that come from? I giggled. That’s a problem from my previous life, when I needed breast forms to look like a woman. Now that I’ve got real breasts and no one could mistake me for anything but a girl, it’s not a problem any more. Anyway, this bra was going to give me some support, but not hold my breasts too still, and that’s what I wanted. Bounce and jiggle were the order of the day. I wanted people to wonder whether I was wearing a bra or not. I added a stretchy red turtleneck sweater that molded itself nicely to my body, but wasn’t going to do much more than my bra to restrain the movement of my breasts. Come to think of it, my bra and top weren’t going to do a very good job of concealing my nipples either, should they decide to nuzzle themselves into view.
I paired the top with a mid calf length, soft blue rayon wrap skirt that flowed nicely and fell open at the slightest provocation. Dark blue panty hose and mid calf length black boots with slim, 2 ½ inch heels looked very sexy. The final touch was a heavy pendant that hung down between my breasts. It indented the sweater between them, defining them just a little more. My booted feet would click on the floor to draw attention and my long legs would flash out of that slit with every step. I would leave the guys drooling all along the concourse. . I just hoped my feet didn’t swell too much on the plane, those boots were a little tight.
The flight went fairly smoothly after the now standard two-hour delay, which I actually enjoyed because it gave me ample opportunity to strut around the terminal. I had so much fun catching guys looking at me. I smiled at some and pointedly turned away from others. I paid special attention to the young teenage boys, who would just freak out when I flirted with them. I was really shameless.
Once on board, I simply lost myself in the work I promised Thornton I would do. It really was a fascinating analytical problem, and tackling a problem like that helped the hours speed by despite the cramped cabin and too tight boots. My feet did swell! I’ll never wear tight shoes on an airplane again. But my mind was totally focused on this problem until I was in the jet way in Colorado Springs. I was thrilled to see Cynthia jumping and waving as soon as I got into the terminal and we ran into each other’s arms and luxuriated in our hugs and kisses (chaste, sisterly kisses, this was in public after all) while the rest of the departing passengers swirled around us.
When I finally leaned back from her, l saw a frighteningly thin woman sitting off to the side in a wheel chair, watching us with great interest. What a sight she was. She was wearing a beautiful black leather jacket embossed with some abstract design, black jeans, and sleek, black, high heeled boots much like mine. Under her jacket, which was open, was stunning gold lurex top set off by a multicolored silk scarf tied at the neck. . It was a striking outfit, but what really drew everyone’s attention, was the obviously well-worn Denver Bronco’s baseball cap on her very bald head. She was wearing it backwards, like a teenage kid! I barely stifled a delighted laugh at her outrageousness. This woman obviously knew how to dress, and how to shock as well.
Cynthia dragged me over to her and said, "Hannah, this is my love, Lilly. Lilly, this is my sister Hannah." I was thrown totally off balance, first because Cynthia had called me her love, and next because I had assumed that Hannah would be too sick to be here. I wanted to fling myself again into Cynthia’s arms to seriously kiss her, but I knew I had to greet Hannah first. Unfortunately, I was clueless about how to break the ice. I mean how do you hug someone who’s sitting in a wheel chair. I started to panic a little inside, but before I could figure out what to do, she took the problem right out of my hands by simply standing up and giving me a big hug. It was easy to feel how frail she was as I reached around her back to return her embrace. She couldn’t be much more than skin and bones.
Her hug was warm and it made me feel like she really was glad to meet me, and after she broke it, she held me at arm’s length and said, "let me look at this woman who’s captured my sister’s heart."
She looked me over critically, with her dark, piercing eyes, as if I was a valuable piece of art she might consider buying. As she looked at me, I glanced over at Cynthia with a questioning look in my eyes. Cynthia just shrugged and smiled back at me benignly, not giving me any clues.
Then Hannah broke back into my consciousness, "you really are rather lovely, aren’t you?" I blushed, flushed with pride, but looked down in embarrassment that this dying woman might even care how I looked. "I guess it might be OK for Cynthia to let you use grandma’s name."
Whoa, where did that come from? Wherever it was, there was more, because she narrowed her eyes at me and said with some finality, "we’ll see." With that she sat back down in the wheel chair. As she folded her hands in her lap, I noticed my ring on her right hand. She wore it on the same finger I did. I didn’t know what to think, but didn’t have to because Cynthia hurried us off to get my bags, which, much to my relief, were actually waiting for me.
I was surprised when Hannah fell asleep in the back seat of her Ford Explorer while Cynthia and I just chatted away on the way home. Once I realized what had happened, I showed Cynthia by glancing over my shoulder. She said to me without even lowering her voice, "oh, she does that every time we get into the car." In fact, the last week or so she has fallen asleep as soon as she is no longer engaged in what is happening around her. She has only a little energy and focuses it all when she’s awake, but then has none left." Cynthia let out a long sigh. "I don’t know how much longer she can keep going, but she refuses to let up. She’s going to ring every last experience out of whatever time is left to her."
Sure enough, as soon as we pulled into Hannah’s garage and she heard the garage door open and close, she was awake and simply couldn’t wait to get me inside to find out more about me.
She gave me just a few moments to clean up and hang up my good clothes, and then demanded I meet her in the living room in front of the fireplace so she could start questioning me about everything. It was a warm room, much to my liking. The walls were had a pale wood wainscot on the bottom, with deeply colored gray, burgundy and blue wallpaper above. The couch and armchairs had thick cushions with lots of pillows thrown all around, and there was art hanging, standing, or propped up on just about every available surface. It all reflected western themes, and much of it was Native American.
Once she started in on me, I quickly realized that her withered body held a stunningly sharp mind. She was just like her sister. She asked about everything, missed nothing, and several times had Cynthia paying close attention as she discovered things that Cynthia and I had never discussed. Cynthia stood staring at me wide-eyed as I described the details of my relationship with Kyle. I had actually come to enjoy going out with Kyle, even though he was rarely nice to me. Hannah realized right away that it was a classic abusive relationship and that Kyle dominated me by constantly putting me down, but kept me bound to him with occasional kindness and effusive apologies for his really egregious behavior. What a lawyer she would have made! After about 45 minutes, she began to tire, so Cynthia just covered her with a quilt, and she quickly fell asleep on the couch. It was actually kind of scary, because neither her eyes nor her mouth closed completely, and she looked more like she was more dead than alive. As I was looking at her face, I felt Cynthia grab my hand and pull me out of the room.
She led me to her bedroom, which had a big comfortable Queen size bed in a big wooden frame. She literally hauled me up onto the bed and threw me onto my back quickly clambering on top of me. She sat for a moment with her knees astride my waist, just looking down at me and smiling sweetly. Then she fell on me and started kissing me all over the face.
I was so happy to be in her arms, that I reached around her and pulled her tightly to my body returning her kisses.
"Oh, Lilly," she whispered, "I’ve missed you so much."
Then she attacked my mouth with hers, probing deeply with her tongue. I was ecstatic to be able to taste her again and tried as best I could to wrap my tongue around hers from every possible angle. I would have been perfectly content to let her do this to me forever. I just caressed her hair and back and savored her kisses.
Suddenly, she sat up and said, "what did you do to your hair, I love it."
"Oh, I’m so glad," I answered, running my fingers through the sides and fluffing it out from my face. "I hated to cut it so short, but I just had to get rid of that stupid style and awful color. I learned one thing for sure; I don’t want to be a dumb blonde." We both laughed.
Then Cynthia lay down beside me and we held each other close and talked, bringing each other up to date on our respective lives, and punctuating our conversation with caresses, hugs, and kisses. Actually, we caressed, hugged, and kissed each other most of the time, and occasionally interrupted that with brief bits of conversation. I don’t think we actually learned much about each other, but neither one of us cared, we were so happy to be together again, being able to touch each other and be touched. This was so heartening to me, I almost felt like I was getting a transfusion of some life-sustaining substance.
Later, Cynthia and Hannah cooked dinner together, and I was forced by the two of them to be an observer and occasional gofer. They set me up on a stool by the kitchen counter and gave me a glass of wine. Hannah insisted that for at least one meal, I had to be the "guest." Although I felt uncomfortable not helping, especially because there was a dying woman doing the work, I was secretly glad I got to watch the two of them. There was such joy and warmth in the way they did things, and an almost telepathic communication between them.
For a moment, after I had realized how well the two of them meshed, I actually felt jealous. But I quickly realized how pitifully petty and downright stupid it was to feel jealous of a dying woman, and berated myself roundly for be so self-centered. After that, I was able to bask in their wonderful relationship. It was like mixing sunshine and honey.
And by the time dinner was ready, I was actually glowing warmly myself at being able to be in the presence of these two loving sisters. I was especially proud of myself for being able to first pick up on and then be able to appreciate the love I was seeing. Frankly, it was unique in my experience. I had no siblings and love was a feeling that was never abundant in my house. As I thought about it, I realized that I had never really spent any time at all with people who were sharing love with each other, whether it was sisterly love or any other kind. I wondered whether I looked like this when I was with Cynthia. I hoped so.
Hannah had to go to bed soon after dinner and I gladly volunteered to clean up the kitchen so Cynthia could help her. I was done long before Cynthia, so I went to my bedroom and changed into my long cream-colored silk nightgown and started to get ready for bed.. Even though the clock said it was 9:30, I was a couple of time zones away from New York and quite tired. But by the time I had cleaned the make-up from my face, I had changed my mind about going to sleep. There was no way I was going to do that until I could spend some more time with Cynthia, and perhaps make love with her. So I carefully applied a minimal amount of blusher, did my eyes in the most subtle way I could while still making them smolder, and put on a faintly red lip gloss that I thought made my lips look ripe. I wanted to look pretty but not made up. Then I dabbed some Opium on the key points of my body, adding in my cleavage and groin, and tied a ribbon that matched my nightgown into my hair. Then I went to Cynthia’s bedroom to wait for her.
She didn’t make me wait long. When I heard her coming I posed myself so that my legs were bent up off the bed at the knee and one hand was draped over them. I turned my head to face the door and tried to put a pretty smile on my face. I guess it worked, because a big grin lit up Cynthia’s face as soon as she saw me.
She mouthed the word "wait" at me and went into the bathroom so I got under the covers. It was after all winter and Colorado Springs wasn’t Jamaica. Cynthia emerged less than ten minutes later, wearing a long flannel gown. Seeing me in bed, sitting propped up on the pillows, she just got into the bed and sat next to me. I smiled at her shyly, feeling a little uncertain. Then, without a word, she swiveled her body so she was in front of me, put her hand behind my head, and pulling me towards her, kissed me tenderly on the lips. I simply allowed myself to melt into her. It was the most marvelous feeling to be in her arms again and to feel her lips on mine. In one way it was like we had never been apart, this was so familiar and comforting. In another way though, I felt like I was getting something I really needed and hadn’t had in a long time. I really hadn’t understood how much I missed her until that moment.
We made love very gently for almost an hour. I remember one moment very clearly. We had been kissing and caressing each other for quite a few minutes when Cynthia sat back on her heels and slithered her nightgown up her body and over her head to get it off. I just stared, first at her taught tummy and then her lovely breasts as she stretched her arms up to pull the soft white flannel over her head. She lingered for more than a few seconds to display her straining body to me. Once the gown was off, she closed her eyes and shook her head gently to throw her hair off her face. It was longer now than it had ever been. Then she looked at me shyly. That look had so much love and such surprising vulnerability in it that it just melted my heart. I couldn’t help but take a big breath and let out a long sigh.
Then Cynthia took my hands, sat me up, and started to pull my gown off as well. She did it slowly and took every opportunity to caress my body with it as she slid the hem up over my hips and then gathered the rest, first pulling it up and then letting it slide slowly down, until she eventually passed it over my head. For just a few seconds, I couldn’t see anything and lowered my eyes. When I could see again, I was looking down at our breasts which were now only a few inches apart, both our nipples erect and hard. What a beautiful sight. Two sets of pale breasts, the skin on mine a little flushed and hers so white it was almost translucent. They curved gently from the shoulders and then bulged gently out to the base to form flawless orbs. This was the most erotically feminine sight I had ever beheld.
Cynthia’s nipples were bigger and much darker than mine, although my breasts were now actually larger than hers. A powerful urge to grab them and rub them began to grow within me. I resisted, and instead carefully tilted my upper body forward and gently rubbed the tips of my nipples against hers. The feeling was absolutely electric. I could see Cynthia’s body twitch and stiffen in response. I tried to keep my movements gentle, but I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t last a minute before I lost it and threw my arms around her back and pulled her to me as tightly as I could, mashing our breasts tightly together as my body surged against hers. Cynthia let this go on for only a few moments before she grabbed my head in both her hands and began to kiss me again. While she did this, she twisted our bodies so that we ended up lying on our sides.
Eventually, inevitably, we ended up with our heads in each other’s crotches. She made love to my penis while I returned the favor to her clitoris, which she had thoughtfully perfumed for me. She was remarkably sensuous as she slid her hands, lips, and tongue all around my erection. But she was clever enough not to let me cum even though I thought I would explode about two seconds after she first touched me. I tried to mimic her approach, but was relentless in my licking and kissing so that she came before I did. After I came, I just couldn’t stay awake any longer and fell asleep cuddled into her arms.
I awoke too early the next morning because my body was a couple of time zones ahead of the rising sun. I got out of bed quietly so as not to wake Cynthia, and put on a pair of warm socks and the robe she had left for me. Then, after washing off my makeup and quickly brushing my teeth and hair, I went to the kitchen to make coffee. I wrapped myself in a big patchwork quilt and sat on a window seat that looked out into the woods behind Hannah’s house to sip my coffee. I felt very peaceful and tried to let the still, cold calmness of the early morning light enter my soul. I don’t know how long I sat there, but I had become so caught up in the sunlight slowly brightening the shadows in the surrounding woods that I literally jumped when I heard a sound from Hannah’s room. I rushed to her door, hoping that Cynthia hadn’t heard her and could sleep some more. I knocked gently and peeked my head tentatively into the room.
"Hi Hannah, Cynthia’s still asleep can I help you?" Hannah sat propped up by her pillows with her blankets drawn tightly up to her neck. Her face and hands were so thin she almost looked like a skeleton. But I was delighted when I saw her smile at me.
"Yeah," she said, "let’s get dressed and go for a walk. I want to talk to you." Then she tilted her head a little to the side and studied me for a moment. "You really are a cute little thing, aren’t you?" I just lowered my eyes, but I could tell I was blushing because I could feel my cheeks get warm.
I walked fully into her room and asked, "can I help you with anything?" But by the time I had gotten it out, Hannah had turned her legs to the side of the bed and was getting up on her own, although she needed to use her arms to help her stand. I started towards her, afraid she might fall, but she stopped me.
"No, you really don’t need to help me. I’m strongest in the morning. You go get dressed. If you take as long as my sister, I’ll be done way before you are." And with that she headed for the bathroom.
"Hey, that’s not fair," I whined. "Not only are you getting a head start, but you don’t have to fix your hair." I was appalled as soon as I heard what I’d said. I thought I was making a light-hearted joke, but once I heard it, it sounded cruel. I threw my hands up to cover my mouth and started to redden with embarrassment yet again, but then I heard Hannah’s crystalline laugh as she turned back to face me.
"Oh, thank you," she said surprising me completely. "Everyone is always so careful around me, like their walking on egg shells or something. It’s nice to have someone around here who has a sense of humor…" She hesitated for a couple of beats to make sure I was paying attention, and then added, "…especially one that’s soooo completely tasteless." Then she crinkled her nose at me, smiled, and said, "hurry," and headed back to the bathroom.
Cynthia looked up at me questioningly when I got back to her room. "Go back to sleep," I said, "I’m going for a walk with Hannah."
"Well, be sure to hold her arm, she can’t afford to fall, and don’t stay out more than 30 minutes or she’ll be a basket case for the rest of the day."
"Yes mooottther," I replied rolling my eyes at her. By that time I was standing next to the bed so I reached down and kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "just go back to sleep. This looks like it’ll be the only morning you get off for a while." So as I hurried off for the bathroom, Cynthia snuggled happily back under the warm down comforter.
My first thought when we stepped away from the house was that it was bitter cold. And a very light mist of icy snow, or maybe it was snowy sleet, was falling. ‘Yuck!’ I thought. Then I turned Hannah, "are you OK in this cold?" I asked Hannah, whose bald head was covered in a fleece watch cap.
She laughed gently and said, "yes I love it. It makes me feel so alive." After only one minute of crunching along slowly on the frozen snow, I was already sure I was frost bitten, but I could tell by her smile and body language that Hannah had been telling the absolute truth about how she felt. We walked down a trail into the woods and she said wistfully, "I used to ride my horse here, but after I fell off, the doctor forbade me from riding again. They’re chipping away at me piece by piece."
Then she turned to me and gave me the biggest smile and said, "but you’re here and I want to talk to you, and that’s a new thing and that’s great!" So she linked her arm through mine and led me into the woods as she asked me about myself and my relationship with Cynthia. It was a pretty weird discussion, I mean, I had to tell her how Cynthia became my mistress and lover and then my love and my mentor as I slowly developed as a woman.
"Well, she concluded, at least you and Cyn are telling the same story. That’s a good sign."
"A good sign for what?" I asked.
"Cyn told you about our sister, Lillian, didn’t she?"
I nodded.
"Well, Cyn was just devastated. I’m sure she told you that, but what I bet she hasn’t told you is that she hasn’t permitted herself to have a real, loving relationship since then. Oh, she has lots of friends, and they do love her, and she them, but she surrounds herself with so many precisely to make sure she doesn’t get too close to any one of them."
By this point we weren’t walking anymore, but had stopped and taken a seat on a fallen log. Hannah stopped talking and was making aimless designs in the snow with her finger. I watched the tiny snowflakes land on the now cold fur of my coat, and sit there for a moment before melting, as I waited silently for her to start speaking again. Without looking up she went on, "she’s just too afraid of getting hurt."
Then Hannah looked right at me. "Cynthia’s afraid that if she allows herself to love someone and something happens to her…," she stopped and looked at me quizzically, "I guess she has abandoned men entirely by now hasn’t she? All her lovers are women?"
I nodded to Hannah, forgetting for the moment that I was still part man.
She in turn nodded to herself, as if she was filing that observation in some mental cubby hole, and then went on, "…if something happens to her that Cyn…, well she’s just too afraid of the pain it would cause."
I sat for a moment swinging my leg back and forth to make a furrow in the snow, trying to understand what Hannah was telling me. But I didn’t have to figure it out; in the next breath she told me. "And then you came along. She loves you, you know that, don’t you?"
My heart soared. I had hoped and prayed that Cynthia loved me, but she had made everything so conditional. She said I had to find myself and then we’d see what we’d see. I had just let myself go over the past few months, risking my own deep disappointment if things didn’t work out, but I was too much in her thrall to care. I figured Cynthia was more in control of her feelings than I was. This was too good to be true.
I grabbed Hannah and hugged her to me, but then let go afraid I might crush her. "Are you sure? She told you this?" I sounded like a six year old girl who had just been told that Santa was going to bring her a new Barbie doll.
Hannah shook her head yes, but then said, "not in so many words, but it’s obvious. She gets all dreamy and stupid when she talks about you. My God…," Hannah said, scrunching up her face in mock disgust, "…she’s like a teenager."
"When you were a boy, she thought you were pretty adorable, but given her dominant nature and your age, she didn’t think it would be right to approach you then. You were just too immature. But when she discovered that you were a girl too, and named Lilly, well,…" she just tailed off and left the rest unsaid. Then she turned serious and said, "Lilly, it’s absolutely wonderful. She’s so happy - you’ve opened up her heart again."
I was feeling too overwhelmed to even think at this point, I started to tear up instead. "Oh Hannah," was all I could get out before my throat closed up on me.
"There, there, my dear," she said as if she were the school nurse and I was that six year old girl again, "don’t cry, your face will freeze and fall right off."
That, of course, made me laugh. So there I was laughing and crying about the same thing, and my heart was so full I thought it might burst. Hannah gently wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of her soft wool mitten, smiling at me indulgently and, I suspect, enjoying my joy. We sat there for a few moments holding hands and saying nothing.
When I looked over at her I saw a strange sight. She had taken off her cap and tilted her face up to the sky, eyes closed. She had the most wonderful smile on her face even though the tiny little snowflakes were landing on it and her bald head. I watched for a few seconds and then had to ask, "Hannah? What are you doing?" I tried to say it as gently as possible.
"Being alive," she responded without opening her eyes or moving her head. Then she looked down towards me and said, "just try it, it’s wonderful."
"Huh?" was my clever response. I looked at her like she was crazy. She just smiled at me like she knew something I didn’t and how could I be so ignorant.
"Go ahead," she went on, "close your eyes, tilt your head up and feel every single one of those little snowflakes as it hits your face. Pay attention to every one."
So I did what she said, and there we sat, the two of us with our faces lifted up into the gently falling, icy mist. As I got into it, I found I was able to focus my attention on each little cold spot that appeared out of nowhere on my face. One hit right between two eye lashes and I almost blinked my eye open, but I managed to stay relaxed and feel others hit my nose, lips, chin and cheeks. It seemed to me that the skin just next to my nose and under my eyes was the most sensitive, but overall I felt more aware of my skin and my face than I ever had. I too began to smile.
We didn’t stay like that for too long, and when Hannah touched my hand, and I lowered my head and opened my eyes, I could only whisper, "thank you" to her.
"That’s how I’ve tried to live my life over the past couple of months," she said. "I want to be aware of even the tiniest things around me. I try to pay attention to everything. It’s hard work, I don’t think I could do it if I didn’t know I didn’t have much time left, but this has really been such a rich time for me. We’re so stupid, you know, we waste so much precious time."
She looked down at the cap in her hand and reached up and slid it back easily onto her head. Then she said, "come on, we need to go back. If we stay out too long, Cyn will kill both of us. That wouldn’t mean that much to me, but I think you’ve still got a lot of living left to do."
What did she say? I spun towards her trying to get a look at her face. She had to be kidding, right? I was so relieved when I saw that she was. I let out the big breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. And she said my sense of humor was tasteless?
She turned the walk back to the house into a lecture about my responsibilities to her and Cynthia. "Listen, you already knew how badly she reacted when our little sister was murdered. I tried to tell her she wasn’t responsible, but she just wrapped herself up in her grief and her guilt and wouldn’t listen to anyone." I could hear that her breathing was getting labored, so I took her elbow to support her.
"Don’t you dare fall," I lectured her back, "you may not be afraid of Cynthia, but I get terrified when she gets mad at me. I’m so afraid she’ll just get fed up and leave."
I snapped my mouth shut as I realized what I had said. I hadn’t intended my little joke to turn so serious, but in that instant I revealed something about myself that I had forgotten. I don’t know why, but I felt so comfortable with Hannah that I told her what I had just learned.
"All my life, all the love I had received has been conditional. To the extent that anyone loved me, they only loved me for what I did, not who I was." Then I fell silent, reflecting sadly on that truth.
But Hannah broke into my thoughts before they could go very far down that road. "You know that’s not the case with Cyn, don’t you?" She asked staring at me without wavering. I couldn’t take her stare and had to look away and nod. "At this point, you would really have to fuck up to make her not love you, I mean really fuck up."
We walked a few more yards without speaking and the sound of the frozen snow crunching under our feet was the only sound there was. Then she went on. "You’re both damaged goods, which is too bad, because you’ve both got really good hearts. But now you both have a real chance to heal, and to help someone you love heal as well. Just take it."
That request was so plaintive, so tender, and so full of love and concern that I started to tear up again. Hannah hugged me to her breast and I just loved the feeling of being held. Those hormones had really done a job on me, I thought ruefully. I had cried more in the last few months than in the previous ten years. But you know what? I didn’t care. No, it was more than not caring, I was happy. My emotional range had expanded by light years and more people and events had touched my heart in those few months than in the whole of my life until then. The truth was that those hormones, if they were in fact responsible, had done a wonderful job on me, amplifying all kinds of feelings I would have suppressed, making them real and accessible.
And right then I felt a wave of love for Hannah, so I reached up and kissed her on the cheek and folded my arms around her for another hug, our cheeks touching. Of course I wet her with my tears, so I pulled away after a few seconds and gently dried her face. Then I smiled at her and said, "we don’t want this freezing and falling off, do we?" She gave me a smile in return.
Once I had recovered and we were heading back to the house, Hannah continued her lecture. "Being in love brings real responsibility," she stopped walking for a moment and turned to look into my face, "and now that you know how vulnerable Cynthia is, you have an even greater responsibility not to take advantage of that. If you ever do, I’ll make you regret it." I raised my eyebrows at that, and she just shrugged in an embarrassed way. "Well, just don’t," she said with finality.
She went on, "I want you to make me a promise." I raised only one arched eyebrow this time, indicating I wanted to hear what she had to say. I want you to promise that you’ll make a commitment to this relationship. That you won’t just give up if things start to get a little difficult. I want you to hang on to Cyn unless she makes it impossible for you to ...," and for the first time, Hannah showed some of her vulnerability. Her tone was almost pleading when she finished, "…please?"
It didn’t take me a heartbeat to respond. "Oh Hannah, of course I will. I owe her so much already. I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave her. I’m only worried she’ll get bored with me and move on to someone else."
"That’s a risk, but just remember, if she seems to want to leave, it’s because of her own fear of being too close to someone. She’s done it so many times by now that it’s like a reflex. Her response to feeling love is to pull away. She’s never tried to overcome her dread that she might have to face another loss like the loss of Lillian."
I had been looking down at my feet as we walked, but now looked up and nodded to indicate I understood.
Hannah was resolute, "don’t let her go, be there for her. Fight for your love."
What Hannah said made sense on one level, but on another I was clueless. How do you fight for someone’s love? I had no idea.
By then we were back at the house and standing by the back door. Hannah had one hand on the knob, but didn’t turn it. She looked at me instead, she studied me carefully for quite awhile. I became uncomfortable under her stare, but tried not to look away. I gave her a quick, nervous smile and shook my head, as if I was flicking hair out of my eyes. Then she gave that little nod of her head again and took off her gloves, sticking them in her coat pocket. Then she took the ring, I used to think it was my ring but didn’t feel that way anymore, off her finger.
"Give me your hand," she said.
I did, without thinking about it, but at the same time, I said, rather plaintively, as if she was going to hurt me, "what are you doing?"
She took my right hand and rubbed the pale area of skin on my ring finger. It was pale because the ring had protected it from the sunlight during the summer while everything around it was getting tan. Then she slipped the ring onto my finger. "I’m giving you your ring back."
"What did you say?" I snapped out. I was stunned by what she had just said.
"I said, I’m giving you your ring back. Thank you for letting me borrow it. It really meant a lot to me."
"But…, but it’s not.."
"Oh hush," she said. "I don’t have time for lies. When Cyn gave it to me after she arrived here, it was in beautiful condition, like someone was taking care of it." She gave me a knowing look. "I know that Cyn would never have done that. To her it was an artifact of a past time, something to be preserved just as it was when granny died. When I asked her why it looked so nice she hesitated and then came up with a really lame explanation. I let it drop, but when I saw the pale ring of skin around your finger while you were holding your wine glass last night, I put two and two together. Then when she was putting me to bed, I asked her and she confirmed it."
I was shocked into total stupidity. "But why…, but I don’t…. but you shouldn’t."
"Are you trying to say something dear?" There was gentle amusement in her voice. "Take a deep breath and let it out."
"But why are you giving it to me now. Why don’t you keep it until…" Oh shit, I am such an idiot, until when, until you die? Thankfully, Hannah took over.
"I wanted to be the one who gave it to you because I wanted to thank you. I don’t think you could possibly know how much it’s meant to me to be able to wear this. I could feel my grandmother here with me." She paused for a second and her eyes lost their focus. Then she pursed her lips and went on. "And when Cynthia told me what you said when you gave it to her, I just had to thank you. The more I learn about you, the better I like you. If it had been me, I’m not sure I would have given it up. "
I was crying again. I was so overcome I didn’t even have room in my mind to feel stupid about it. But Hannah just kept on.
"I don’t need it any more. I did, but now I don’t. But I want you to know something. This ring will bind the two of us together. Don’t take it if you’re not sure you really love Cyn. Don’t take it if you’re not sure you have the courage to grow into the kind of person she can love." She hesitated and took a big breath. I could see the little snow flakes hitting her cheeks and disappearing in their warmth. "Don’t take it if you’re not willing to accept the responsibility that loving her brings. I wasn’t just blowing hot air back there on the trail, you know."
So I stood there, looking at Hannah, fiddling with the ring just like I used to, sobbing, and trying to think. All of a sudden I was scared. Could I do all those things? I knew for sure that if Hannah had asked me those questions a year ago the answer would have been no. But I had learned so much during the past year, and I felt so much stronger and more confident, and most of all I was so in love with Cynthia. And as quickly as it had appeared, my fear vanished. Of course I could do all those things. I hadn’t yet stopped sobbing, and I still couldn’t speak, but I looked up at Hannah and vigorously shook my head yes.
She enveloped me in a hug and patted me on the back and said, "I believe you. Now lets get you into the house. I’m sure you need something to drink by now. What with all the tears you’ve shed in the last half hour, you must be frightfully dehydrated now." She smiled at me indulgently. "But don’t you dare tell Cyn what I told you. We don’t want to ruin everything."
When we got inside we found Cynthia sitting on the couch. I turned away and looked into the closet to take off my coat so she couldn’t see my face. Hannah looked like nothing at all had happened and started chatting away cheerily about our wonderful walk. But that little lie fell apart as soon as I turned into the room. As soon as Cynthia saw my face, she jumped up and hurried over, "Something happened. What’s wrong?"
As I looked up, I could see Hannah standing behind her staring straight at me. So I pulled Cynthia into a hug and said, "I just met your sister and I’ll never have time to become her friend, and she’s wonderful." Then I looked up into Cynthia’s eyes and said, "she may even be nicer than you and I love you!"
I saw Hannah nod her approval at me just before Cynthia pulled me back to her chest and I started to sob softly yet again. Cynthia had of course spotted the ring on my finger right away, so the next order of business was for Hannah to explain why.
"Well," she said, "I just decided to give it back to Lilly. I certainly won’t be needing it too much longer, and I wanted the privilege of putting it on her finger. Plus," she went on, seeming rather proud of herself, "I figured she should have it to remind her to take good care of my none-to-bright sister. Someone will have to do that when I’m gone."
"You know Cynthia," she went on, sounding somewhat like a Queen making a pronouncement to a feebleminded subject, "I had really begun to despair for you. You had armor plated your heart and refused to let anyone in. You seem to have lost the good sense you were born with. But then you find this lovely flower here," she put her arm around me and gave me a one-shoulder hug, "and my faith is kind of restored. It is my will that the two of you heal each other."
Cynthia and I looked at each other and shook our heads, assuring each other that Hannah was the daffy one. Then we all laughed and had a group hug. We spent the rest of the day together, being a family. We went through old family photos and Hannah made a list of who should get what after she died. She was so matter of fact about it that I could almost believe we were simply talking about who would get what present at Christmas.
It was a marvelous weekend and I let myself bask in the love that Cynthia and Hannah had for each other and were now sharing with me. Even though I’d not yet been there for 24 hours, I’d never felt such a sense of belonging. I decided that I wouldn’t think about Hannah’s death until I was back home in New York. So we all cooked together, walked together, and Cynthia and I catered to Hannah together, and she seemed to glow with contentment at how things were.
In the late afternoon, the part of the day filmmakers call the "golden hour," we got dressed up and made up and went outside to take pictures of ourselves. I set Hannah’s camera on a stepladder and used the timer to take pictures of us by the light of the setting sun. We were full of smiles and giggles even though we were freezing just so we could take the pictures with our coats off. Then we ran back into the house and huddled by the fireplace to warm up. Hannah fell asleep almost immediately, so Cynthia and I covered her and went to make dinner. We spoke little, but I felt loved.
Later that night, we all stood on Hannah’s deck so she could show me the constellations and tell me their stories. As we looked up into the sky, a shooting star burned a long arc through the blackness just below what I had just learned was Orion. Usually shooting stars come and go so quickly, you don’t even get to focus your eyes on them. This one took it’s time, however, and we all saw it. A moment after our oohs and aaahs had stopped Hannah said, "a shooting star, that’s what I’ll be. When I die I’ll become a shooting star and everyone will know I was here." Cynthia and I looked at each other behind her back and just smiled knowingly at each other. Then we put our arms around Hannah and the three of us stood there silently watching the sky until we were so cold we had to go in.
Unlike Romeo’s parting from Juliet, my parting from Hannah was not "sweet sorrow." It was bleak and utter sorrow. I mean, how do you say goodbye to someone you’ve just met, come quickly to love, and who will die before you see her again? There were no words, or touches, or anything else that could comfort me even though Hannah swore up and down that the last couple of days were an immeasurable joy for her and thanked me repeatedly and gratefully for giving her the gift of my visit. Didn’t she get it? That only made things worse! In the end, she was the strong one, and that too made me feel lousy. I was just a mess by the time I got on the plane and grateful to be able to bury myself in my spreadsheets during the fight home.
"You’re one too, aren’t you?" her mother suddenly spat at her. Then she turned to me. "And you too, aren’t you? You’re both lesbians. Everyone here is a lesbian." She was almost screaming she was so frantic.
Before Cynthia could say anything in return, I jumped in. "I am not a lesbian," I said proudly, pausing a moment for emphasis. "I’m a man, so that makes Cynthia heterosexual, doesn’t it? Don’t you just feel better already?" And I smiled at Katherine stupidly as her eyes got even wider while she tried to understand what I had just said.
Thornton had partially laid out his plan to me more than a month ago. He had called me into his office, where he stood behind his desk, with a set of documents and analyses spread out in front of him. "Lilly, shut the door and come over here I want to show you something."
I knew that when I got to his desk, he would look down into my suit jacket. At his constant urging, I rarely wore tops under my jackets and he was always trying to look down into my cleavage. I probably shouldn’t admit this; it makes me feel stupid and sluttish, not to mention totally politically incorrect, but I enjoyed playing this game of hide and seek with him. I just loved my still new breasts and was unaccountably proud of them, as if I had anything to do with how they turned out. On this day I had even worn a lacy, low cut Wonderbra, anticipating just this scenario.
You see, I had figured out that he wasn’t very good at controlling himself and by letting him get a real good view occasionally in private, I was encouraging him to peer down my top in public as well. He never realized what was going on, so lots of people got to see him do it. While he was working to make me look stupid, I was working to make him look like a pig, and, truth be told, to get my cheap little thrill by letting him ogle me.
So I approached his desk and bent over to see what he had there. This was part of the game, because as soon as I did, he took a peek down into my jacket. I took a big breath so my expanding chest would lift my breasts. Let him look. I loved it, even though he WAS a total pig. Then it was time for work, although he would continue to try to check me out for the rest of the meeting. That was his problem, not mine. I had never known I had so much exhibitionist in me.
He didn’t tell me exactly what he was working on, but he had the outline of a presentation that hid some of the analyses I had done. The result would be that Boston Federated wouldn’t know everything we knew. That of course, wouldn’t be kosher. When you team up with someone, you’re really supposed to work for the benefit of the team, aren’t you? Oh well, if nothing else, he was consistent. He tried to take advantage of everyone. He even cheated his new business partners to make a few more bucks. I didn’t understand the securities code well enough to know for sure, but I knew that if what he planned wasn’t illegal, it had to at least be unethical.
If he got caught, he risked not only embarrassment, but possibly a lawsuit as well. And I knew that he could get caught because he had not interpreted my analyses correctly. This led him to incorrect conclusions about eventual payoff dates and amounts. At first I simply hoped that the folks from Boston Federated would pick up on his mistake. They weren’t stupid, and I figured there was a good chance they would catch his bogus figures. Then, when they asked him how he did his calculations, he would be stuck. He wouldn’t be able to explain it. He just didn’t understand how the analysis worked, and didn’t think he had to. He had repeatedly brushed me off in the past when I tried to explain it to him.
It was a pretty nifty set of equations that used a multilevel, nested array of integral equations to estimate not only ultimate investment values with far more accuracy than the standard algebraic analyses could handle, but my approach estimated rates of change in value as well. No one else had that. We could take more factors into account, play with parameters and vary contingencies, and be a couple of steps ahead of our competitors in accuracy and confidence. We could determine whether it was better to take profits early or late, or not at all while our competitors were just looking at the ultimate outcome. You could do all that, that is, if you understood the equations.
Thornton was okay as long as I interpreted the data for him, but he had done it himself this time and blown it. Not surprisingly, he had seen what he wanted to see. Once I understood this, it had been easy to imagine a way to bring him down. All I had told Holly that morning at breakfast was to be sure to understand the numbers year by year, and if they didn’t seem right, to ask about them.
It turned out that Boston Federal anticipated that Thornton might try to cheat them, and was double-checking everything already. That’s why Holly had been able to suggest some additional questions for Thornton. They were laying a trap for him as well. Now, I didn’t have to hope they would catch him, I could be sure it would happen. It also lessened my burden of guilt. Boston Federated had gained nothing from my discussion with Holly because they already knew what to expect.
So I did the best I could to keep Thornton energized and focused on his approach as we prepared for the negotiation with Boston Federated. I agreed with everything he said and only embellished things he had already begun. It really was going to be an impressive presentation.
Still, he dumped on me repeatedly, renewing his effort to crush my ego, even as I tried to look like I was helping him. But I was immune to him now, although I did my best not to let on. In fact, I was the perfect administrative assistant and yes woman, working to convince him that he was going to run away with this contract before the folks from Boston Federated even knew what hit them.
But as those couple of weeks passed, things got more and more strange for me. Once it became clear to me that Thornton couldn’t really hurt me any more, and that he was in fact the one who was about to get clobbered, I started to get a little depressed and to feel guilty about what I was doing, just as Cynthia predicted might happen.
So as the date for the meeting drew near, I updated my own figures and even asked Thornton if he wanted to review them. Once he got caught cheating, he was sure to accuse me of setting him up, and I wanted to be sure I had the proper numbers in my computer and could say that I offered to review things with him. I wanted solid evidence that I hadn’t tried to cheat Boston Federated. Of course I had to be careful about how I offered him my help, and picked a moment after he had just tried to make me look stupid again at a staff meeting.
"Lilly, how many times do I have to tell you that your opinion is not worth the hot air that carries it out of your empty head." Well, I had certainly heard that one before, so had everyone else. Marcie groaned quietly.
I saw my opening. "Does that mean you don’t want me to review the presentation figures with you once more before we meet with Boston Federated?"
"What good would that do?" he snapped back. "When’s the last time you showed me anything I didn’t already know?"
To myself I murmured, when’s the last time you actually let yourself see anything you didn’t want to see. But I plastered a smile on my face and simply said, "Yes sir. It’s hard for me to imagine why you even keep me around, Mr. Thornton."
"Just watch your tongue, missy," he shot back, "We don’t need your sarcasm. You’re expendable, you know." Then he scowled down at me. I just hung my head submissively, but smiled inwardly. I wasn’t sure, but I thought that I had just used his own momentum to help send him where I wanted him to go.
I had a dinner date with Michael, that evening, so I hurried home to change out of my work clothes. I replaced them with a long, crinkled broomstick skirt that swirled nicely around my ankles when I walked, a soft, loosely fitted, long rayon top that hung to my hips, and a sleeveless, collarless jacket that wasn’t as long as the top. I had figured out that I was tall and thin enough to look good in long, layered clothes and I liked them because they were feminine without being overtly sexy. After my thankfully brief stint picking up guys in bars, I was kind of leery about looking too sexy.
Besides, every time I wore a long skirt it reminded me of the first weekend I had spent under Cynthia’s control. I adored those memories. Tallish clunky heels and a silk scarf hanging loosely around my neck completed the look. I was pretty enough to turn heads, but dressed like this, I wasn’t telling the world that I was ready to jump into bed with the first guy who said hello to me.
Of course, I thought to myself as I did a final check in the mirror, smoothing an eyebrow with a wetted pinky, I could always take off my bra and allow my breasts to bob free. Draped by such soft fabrics, they would give anyone clever enough to notice a real good show. But using my better judgment, I decided to leave my bra on even while wondering if I would ever get over the instinct to show off my wonderful breasts.
As soon as I saw Michael, I pressed him to tell me what his investigator had discovered, but he put me off. He was being very cryptic about it, saying it was better if I didn’t know and he would handle everything. "Besides," he said, "it’s taking longer than I expected. I’m not sure when we’ll get this done."
I was disappointed. Despite all my plotting, I had been hoping that perhaps Michael would be able to nail Thornton for me and get me off the hook. But since that wasn’t going to happen, I started to tell him about how things were going at work and how I had tricked Thornton into skipping the review I had prepared to salve my conscience.
"You did what?" he almost shouted. "You could have blown the whole thing. What is the matter with you?"
"I couldn’t help it," I mumbled, "I was feeling bad for him; he’s going to destroy himself. I just had to be sure I gave him the chance to get out of it… if he was smart enough to take it."
Michael was unconvinced. "You are absolutely nuts." He enunciated every word as clearly and slowly as he could, as if talking to a dimwit. Maybe he was. Then he went on in a rapid staccato. "I should’ve known. You should’ve known." His voice rose as he said it. "Cynthia predicted this. She said you were too nice to finish him off when you had him down and she was right. The first time you get an advantage over him, you offer him a way out. What were you thinking?"
I started to tear up under his attack, but then got angry instead. "Well, he didn’t take it, but I did the right thing. How dare you attack me for that."
Michael just sighed and I could see his whole body kind of sink into itself as he calmed down. Then he put both his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. "Look," he said softly, "This guy’s been trying to destroy you. And you’re not the first. Even if you’re willing to sacrifice your own revenge, there are others who were driven from their jobs by Thornton or have been hurt much more than you and who don’t feel as generous."
He stroked my cheek lightly. I grabbed his hand before he could move it away and pressed it into my cheek. I liked it there. He went on, "Thornton truly is a son of bitch. I will not allow you to let him escape. Don’t do anything like that again. OK?"
I closed my eyes and felt Michael’s hand against my cheek. I leaned my head into it and sighed, partly from the nice feeling and partly because I had reached a cross roads in my own mind. Why had I almost let Thornton off the hook? I knew the answer but didn’t want to admit it. I was scared. I had always been scared of bullies like Thornton. I had made a huge step forward in overcoming my fear when I dove from Charles’s car on 10th Avenue before he could take me to New Jersey. But in that case I didn’t have to do anything but flee. Now I was preparing to strike out.
I let Michael’s hand drop and felt tears come to my eyes. A moment later I started to laugh. Going after Thornton took more courage than anything I had ever done in my entire life, and I was doing it as a woman, not a man. The irony was just too much for me.
I could see the confusion on Michael’s face. Here I was laughing and crying at the same time. I lowered my eyes and said to him, "Michael, I’m scared. I’m afraid to do this. He’s going to try to kill me when this deal blows up on him. I don’t know what to do."
Michael took hold of both my shoulders, but when I didn’t look up, he took one hand and put it under my chin, lifting my eyes to meet his. They weren’t full of compassion, as I had hoped. Instead, they were kind of hard, though not angry. "Lilly, you don’t have any choice," he said. "If you don’t do this, Thornton will destroy you for sure. This is your only opportunity. You’ve got to do it and it has to be now."
What could I say? Of course he was right. I had to do it. I’d known that all along. I sighed and nodded my head. He had let go of my chin and I had let my head drop again so that I didn’t have to look at him. But he wasn’t yet ready to let me off the hook. Do you remember Tammy, he asked, lifting my chin again. "Do you remember Melissa, and Helen Marks before her? You know what Thornton did to all of them don’t you? And you hated it didn’t you? And what’s he doing to you now? You hate that too don’t you?"
"Yes!" I hissed out. "I hate him for all those things. He’s despicable." I just about spit the word out.
"And you’re not going to back off on him are you? He still hadn’t let go of my chin, so I shook my head away from him. I had been hoping for moral support, instead I got a lecture. Oh well, what could I expect. After all, he was a man. He was aggressive, and thought in terms of winning and losing, something I had never been able to do.
But he was a rather sweet man, and for reasons I still don’t understand, I found him attractive. I decided it was time to end this conversation and start one that might lead to a little of the affection I needed. "Michael," I said forthrightly, "I’ll do it. Don’t worry. Just understand that I need a little support. This is not exactly my strong suit."
Once he had nodded his assent, I turned flirtatious. "You know what would really help?" He raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘what?’ At the same time, he tilted his head slightly to let me know he was teasingly suspicious as well. "A kiss," I said, "you have to kiss me." I don’t know why, but I said it kind of loud, so the people around us could hear. We seemed to have a habit of embarrassing each other in public by doing that.
With that his eyebrows shot up even further, and he looked at me for a second like I had grown another head. Then he broke out laughing. "You are too much." He said that as he stood up and leaned over me. He stood in front of me and grabbed the back of my chair for balance while leaning down to my face. I leaned into the back of the chair as his face closed in on mine. I fluttered my eyelashes to try to look innocent and naíve. But as he hesitated just for a moment to look into my eyes, I tilted my head slightly to the side inviting him to my lips.
He took the invitation with a sweet smile and kissed me squarely on the lips right in the middle of the restaurant. We held it for quite a while, seriously entangling our tongues and pressing our lips hard together. We didn’t stop when the people around us started to applaud, but drew apart with a little embarrassment when we also heard some laughter.
Then Michael stood straight up, grabbed my hand and lifted me to my feet, holding our hands above our heads. Then he bowed, and because he pulled my hand down with him, I had to follow his lead. Now, the whole restaurant cracked up. Everyone, including us, had a great meal, chattering to the people around us, like we were all old friends.
I took Michael home with me after dinner and we talked and drank wine until bedtime. For some reason I had no desire to make love to him, and he didn’t push the matter. I was content just to be in his strong arms. I felt so protected. So he agreed to stay the night, "Just to keep my spirits up," and once we were spooned together in bed, he fondled my breasts for a little while, claiming that he rarely got to fondle anyone’s breasts, and that was the least I could do for him. I gratefully accepted his attention, and purred contentedly while he gently caressed me from behind. Then I spooned my butt into his groin, ignoring his modestly hard penis, and grabbed his hands, pressing them more tightly to my chest. I was too tired to think about much, but for a moment or two before I fell asleep, I knew what it meant to be a woman. Who wouldn’t, snuggled up with a guy like Michael, who was both so strong and so gentle. Why didn’t I do this every night?
In other words, I was to do my best to look like a hot little secretary and flaunt my body to try to distract the negotiators from Boston Federated. Where DID this guy come from?
Well, I got dressed up, but not to his specs. I wore a black suit with a straight skirt that ended just above the knee. The fitted double-breasted jacket just covered my tush and came up high enough to completely hide my cleavage. It made me look tall and thin. Black patent heels, black hose and gold and emerald jewelry that matched the ring made me look a little more mature than I felt. Just for me, and because I knew it would make people wonder, I wore a pale gray silk camisole with a blush of charcoal gray lace at the top, instead of a bra. No one would see the camisole, but some would wonder whether I was wearing a bra or not.
The meeting was called for 9:30 and there was a good deal of palpable anxiety in the office as Heather, Kathleen and I buzzed around getting ready. Needless to say, Thornton had put me in charge of the secretaries who were going to be the major gofers and he sat with Carl Weathers, our CEO, and a couple of other VPs who had come just to watch the presentation.
By the time the nearly two dozen people had assembled in the conference room and said their hellos and gotten settled it was after 10:00. Thornton sat in the middle of our long conference table and his counterpart from Boston Federated, Bill Watson, sat opposite him.
"Bill," Thornton began, "we have a wonderful opportunity to make lots of money together. And if we can pull this off, I believe it will mark the beginning of a very lucrative partnership for our two firms. As we agreed, I’ve undertaken the financial analysis of the deal. I’ve prepared a presentation outlining the important parameters and the expected outcomes under several sets of contingencies. Each of you has a copy at your seat, so feel free to make notes on it as I go through this. Then, we’ll have plenty of time to discuss our analysis. Lilly, would you get the lights please?"
Why was he asking me? I was running the computer to free him to focus on his presentation. There were four secretaries spread around the room just to handle such things. But I got up demurely and walked over to the light switch being as careful as I could not to walk provocatively. Then as I approached the light switch, I saw Thornton’s face reflected in the smoked glass wall. He was frowning.
I understood immediately. I, of course, was supposed to wiggle my way over to the light switch, swaying like a stripper on the make to distract the team from Boston Federated. Too bad Bob, I thought to myself, if this is your biggest disappointment today, you’ll be a very lucky guy.
As I dimmed the lights, I turned towards Thornton and asked, "Is it dark enough for you Bob?"
I could see the flames dance in his eyes for just a moment before he said, "That’s perfect Ms. Miller. Thank you. You may sit down."
I was supposed to call him Mr. Thornton, and he knew that my use of Bob was an intentional snub. He was getting even by calling me Ms. Miller, with a big emphasis on the Miz, and then telling me to sit down. From that moment on, every North State employee in the room knew something was up. They just didn’t know what. But I intended to make Thornton as angry at me as possible. We’d see who I would distract on this day. By its end all the cards would be on the table and only one of us would still be working at North State.
The presentation went along without any hitches. I had prepared some very sophisticated material, making maximal use of the animation, fancy transitions, and other features of PowerPoint. This permitted Thornton to fly through the figures. He had planned to do that so no one would get a good look at them. Why he thought that would make a difference is beyond me because we had already supplied the entire package to Boston Federated so they could review it in detail.
After 15 minutes I started to worry because no one had yet raised a single question. Worse, I could see no concern on their faces. In fact, everyone seemed quite relaxed. I tried to catch Holly’s eye, but she wouldn’t look at me. Instead she followed Thornton’s presentation with rapt attention. My heart sank when she nodded her head in agreement as Thornton danced around one of the special conditions he had hidden to earn him some extra money. I could see him respond to her encouragement by puffing up a little.
When he was done, I was again asked to get the lights, and when they came on, Bill Watson said, "Bob that was very Informative. You gave us a very enlightening picture of what’s going to happen. Why don’t we take a break and then I think we can sit down and get this contract ironed out. It’s pretty clear to us where we need to go."
What? I thought to myself, they’re going to let him get away with it? They can’t. What happened? Does Thornton have a buddy inside Boston Federated? I sat glumly in my seat, turning off the computer as everyone else left the room. Then, Thornton called to me, "Lilly, can I see you in the office please?"
Sure asshole, whatever you want. My mind was in torment. How could everything go so wrong? Why had Holly led me to believe she would help, only to sit silently while Thornton presented plans to swindle them. I just didn’t get it.
When I got back to the office, he was euphoric. "Did you see that?" he said laughing, "They bought the whole thing. By this afternoon, we’ll have a signed contract, and then they’re stuck." He was strutting around again with his chest puffed so far out I thought it might burst. Charlie Watson, Tom White and a few others stopped in to offer congratulations. They, of course, had no idea what he was up to. And, not at all surprisingly, while they were in the room, Thornton completely forgot that I existed.
Once they left, Thornton turned back to me and said, "Alright, let’s get this wrapped up. Then we can come back and celebrate. I’ve got some really good champagne in the refrigerator. Get it ready in my office. I’m gonna love this."
So I went into his office and opened his bar. I started to lay out everything he wanted, but when I opened the refrigerator, I had to laugh. His really good Champagne was Korbel. Hell, every store in the city that sold wine had six or eight different varieties that were better than Korbel. What an asshole. I shook my head in wonder at his lack of taste.
But I couldn’t stay amused for long. My mind quickly snapped back to our meeting. I just had to turn this around somehow. I couldn’t let Thornton get away with it. But how? I had made sure that Boston Federated would know that Thornton was going to try to cheat them, and had assumed they would skewer him when he presented his "cooked" numbers. But they hadn’t. They seemed to have swallowed his whole presentation, hook, line, and sinker.
I would have to make an opportunity to say something, but unless someone addressed a question to me, I would have little opportunity to talk. Even worse, if I criticized Thornton now, it would be obvious to everyone that I was out to get him.
I was so distracted by this line of thought that I broke a glass. "Oh shit!" I didn’t have time to clean it up. I pressed Thornton’s intercom and buzzed Kathleen. "Kathy, would you come in here please, I need you."
"OK, I’ll be right in." And then, strangely, I could hear Kathy put something down on her desk and push her chair back to get up. The intercom was still on. I had pressed the hold button by mistake. As I was standing there staring at it, Kathy came in the door and asked, "What’s wrong?"
"Huh? Oh, I broke a glass, could you be a dear and clean it up so I can get back to the conference room? I think I got all the big pieces."
She gave me a half frown, the kind a mother uses on her misbehaving toddler, but then smiled and said, "Sure, you go ahead I’ll take care of this. By the way, I love your suit."
But I wasn’t paying attention to her, and didn’t move for a second. "Hey," Kathy whispered, "you okay?" I turned to her slowly.
"Kathy, I need a really big favor." She looked at me expectantly. "I’m going to leave Thornton’s intercom on. I want you to leave yours on as well. I may need someone to listen in on our conversation when we get back. I’m a little worried about what might happen. If you turn the volume down on your microphone, you’ll be able to hear us, but we won’t be able to hear you. Okay?"
She looked at me strangely. "Are you sure? We’re not supposed to do that, you know."
"Don’t worry, you won’t get in trouble, just make sure you have someone else in the office with you, Marcie or Heather or someone. I may need help."
Her look didn’t change, but I was already late. I turned to leave; I had to hurry.
I ran down the hallway to the sound of my heels clicking on the polished floor. I quickly became aware that I wasn’t wearing a bra and had to laugh at myself because I couldn’t figure out why I had decided not to wear it. I should have worn one that was well constructed and had full coverage. You don’t go into battle without your armor on. How did men ever fight in loincloths?
By the time I got back to the conference room, a little out of breath, everyone was seated, and Thornton said, "Oh there you are, Lilly would you fetch us the contracts please."
Fetch the contracts? What was I a dog? But after brushing imaginary hairs off my face, I responded in my sweetest secretary’s voice. "Oh, I’m sorry Bob, did you forget, they’re in the folder by your seat."
"Ah, here they are," he glared at me for accusing him of forgetting, even though he had. Without breaking eye contact, he said, "Would you pass them out please?"
"Sure Bob, I countered, "I sure do hope I’m up for such a difficult task."
I couldn’t believe I had said that and stood there paralyzed! And for a moment, there was an ominous silence, and then a giggle from somewhere behind me, and after another brief pause, laughter took over the room. Thornton stared at me for a second and started laughing himself. He had to, or else look small-minded. Score one for Lilly!
The Boston Federated folks were obviously enjoying our silly little game, but were ready to get down to business. So was Thornton. He had every intention of getting their signature on an agreement today.
"Bill," he began, "you’ve had our proposal and contract for two weeks and my presentation simply summarized things for everybody. What say we sign this thing and get on with it?"
Bill Watson began slowly. "Well Bob," he drawled out, "we want to do this deal as much as you do, and the figures you presented are very enticing. There are, however, a few things we need to straighten out first." He put on his reading glasses and looked down at his notes for a moment. Then, with his head still down, he looked back up over the glasses into Thornton’s face and smiled weakly. "Let me see if I got this straight."
He launched into a detailed summary of the numbers, but curiously left out the one area of the agreement from which Thornton had withheld data. I was really starting to panic now. I would have to bring it up myself, and I couldn’t figure out how to do that safely. I was so distracted by my own thoughts, that I didn’t even hear Watson finish, until he said, "…all that we could sign off on today."
"That’s great Bill," Thornton lunged into the opening. "Let’s do it."
"So this contract represents your best projections of the profit and loss potential? Thornton nodded his agreement, "And the time line?"
"You bet Bill, we’ve been over this thing nine different ways. I did the numbers myself and I’m as sure of them as I’ve ever been of anything. We’ll both profit equally and these numbers prove it."
Watson hesitated, looked down at his notes again and simply said, "Hmmmph." Then he looked at me and said, " Ms. Miller would you call in your lawyers. And give Carl a buzz; I think he should be here too."
I cast a questioning glance over at Thornton because this was not typically the way we did things. He shrugged and I leaned over to Kathleen and told her to make the calls.
"Bob," Watson said, I’m really glad we’ve come to this agreement. It’s now perfectly clear just how good this deal is going to be and I can’t wait to get our signatures down on paper."
My heart was leaden. Thornton had gotten away with it and his victory would be sealed in the presence of our CEO. I would either have to resign or submit to Thornton’s domination. But if I resigned, would I ever get a job like this again? I couldn’t imagine anyone who would hire a transsexual analyst, and certainly not for the kind of salary I was earning. What would I do? I felt like crying.
"Lilly." I was lost in my own thoughts again and even though he didn’t speak sharply, Thornton startled me. "Go get some champagne for everyone. This is going to call for a real celebration, the biggest deal ever for either company." I started to send one of the other secretaries, but Thornton wouldn’t have it. "No, Lilly, you go, I think that would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?"
Those last two words were like daggers. He was wasting no time, starting to humiliate me in public as soon as he felt his victory was at hand. He was making it clear I was going to be his gofer, and probably little more. I left the room without even looking up and had all I could do not to cry on my way back to our office. Fortunately, one of the other girls followed me, loaded everything onto the cart and wheeled it back to the conference room. I tried to take it from her at the door to push it into the room myself, but she wouldn’t let me. "I’m not letting that scum bag embarrass you. Besides, it’s my job."
I put my hand on her arm and said, "Thank you," before smiling weakly. Then I held the door for her and let her push the cart into the room and unload it to the service area. By the time she had finished, Carl Weathers and Paul Altieri, our chief counsel were both in the room.
Watson started, "Carl, I wanted you here because I wanted to be sure you get to see just what kind of deal Bob here is trying to cut."
Something was wrong! That’s not how you start a celebration. I suddenly perked up.
"I happen to be just one of a very large number of people who hate Bob Thornton because he sullies the reputation of all of us with his underhanded way of doing business. I warned you about him, but you chose not to believe me. Now he’s tried to cheat us and we’re going to make you pay for it."
The room went berserk. Everyone was shouting at once. Out of the corner of my eye I spied Holly, who winked at me, and then sat back in her chair to watch the show with a big smile on her face.
Finally Weathers took control. "Those are mighty big words, Bill, you better be able to back ‘em up or there won’t be enough words of apology in the English language to save your position in this industry."
"Sit down Carl, I have a presentation of my own to make. Then our lawyers will describe the basis of our lawsuit to your lawyers.
Watson proceeded to gut Thornton’s analysis of the key section Bob had purposefully left out of his presentation. He showed very clearly how the timing of interim payouts had been scheduled in our favor, and how that would bleed profits from Boston Federated, despite Thornton’s repeated assertions that profits would be split evenly. Thornton just sat there and fumed. Carl Weathers got progressively more upset.
"The only thing I don’t understand is this," Watson went on, addressing Weathers directly, "is that the analysis we performed was derived from the paradigm that your own Ms. Miller here developed." He nodded at me. "In fact I happen to remember you bragging about it. You told me you had given him, er…her" he rolled his eyes as if to say why do I have to deal with this, "a bonus for it."
He looked down at his notes and shook his head. Yet you used it improperly. That’s how we know this is a case of attempted fraud. It’s not easy to spot, but anyone who understands the analysis at all would see right away that these numbers are not only wrong, but coming from the company that developed the analysis, they must be intentionally wrong."
He shook his head sadly. "I should also add that we have every intention of notifying the SEC of the fraudulent business practices North State employs."
"Lilly," Thornton pounced on me. I told you you’d never be able to hide that. I told you not to try it. You set me up!"
"What?" I was caught off guard. I never expected this. Of course I knew he would try to blame me somehow, but so blatantly?
"You fucking bitch, trying to get me in trouble. You set me up. I’ll see your ass in jail." He was shouting with the voice of moral indignation.
"That’s not true!" I shouted back, my voice rising in fury and frustration. "Ask anyone in the office. You prepared those numbers yourself. I offered to review…"
"That’s enough!" Weathers roared. He certainly didn’t want us arguing in public. "Both of you shut up and get out of here. I’ll see you in your office." He glared at both of us. "Tony, he motioned to his deputy, Anthony Morrell, "Escort these two back to their offices and keep them out of trouble until I get there."
As we left, I could hear Weathers beginning to try to mollify Bill Watson. If we got sued or accused of fraud, his ass was on the line as much as anyone else’s.
In the hallway, Thornton lit into me again, accusing me of setting him up and lying to him and just generally trying to make it look like he was the injured party. I stayed silent. The whole office had seen Thornton turn down my offer to review the numbers with him and I had been keeping a daily journal of my conversations with him as well. Still I was scared. I had everything I could do to control my panic. Only the breathing exercises I learned in karate class kept me under control.
When we got back to our suite, Thornton turned on me again and motioning to his office said, "Get in here."
"I’m going with you," said Tony, "I’m not letting either of you out of my sight."
Thornton turned on him. "The hell you are. You get into my office when I say so." Then he turned on me. "Get in here you bitch." His glare was frightening.
I motioned silently to Tony that it would be OK and I preceded Thornton into his office. He slammed the door behind us. I just prayed that the intercom was still on.
Thornton went and poured himself a drink. I stayed as far away as possible, taking up a position near a big brown leather armchair that was next to the door to my office. He took a big hit of his drink and turned towards me scowling. Despite my breathing exercises, I was starting to get scared. But I knew I had to get him to admit that he had done this himself.
"Listen, you little bitch. You set me up."
"Oh, spare me Bob." I put as much venom into my voice as I could. "We’re alone in here and we both know you did this and that you spurned my help. You didn’t understand how the analysis worked or you wouldn’t have tried something so stupid in the first place."
"Well, you little faggot, you may be right, but I’m bringing you down anyway. No one will believe a pansy like you. It’s your word against mine, and I can’t wait to visit you in prison. Your ass’ll be stuffed so full of cock that you’ll never get to sit down!"
"Fuck you Bob!" I was livid. You’ve spent your entire life beating up on people who didn’t have the strength or resources to stand up to you. Well buddy, game’s over. You just let your own stupidity and arrogance bring you down. The only one going to prison here is you!"
All of sudden, the door burst open and Tony and Carl Weathers exploded into the room. Heather and Kathleen were right behind them. "Thornton, you fucking moron," shouted Weathers, "you just hung yourself. The intercom was on!"
"What?" He turned on me like a laser.
Weathers was in his face, "Shut up Bob! I put my neck on the line for you, and there’s no way I’m going to let you do anything that it’ll get it cut off. So don’t say another goddamn word. This office goes under lock and key until we get a chance to investigate. Then we’ll see who set up who."
Weathers turned to his deputy and barked, "Tony, get security. I could see that Thornton could barely contain his rage. He turned on me again, shouting at me over Weather’s shoulder. "I knew you would betray me, you bitch. Just like every other God damned fucking cunt in my life. You were always out to get me."
He was so angry his face was turning red. He slammed his glass onto his desk and the ice and scotch went flying all over it. He started to stalk towards the office door, but had only gone two steps when he turned on me yet again. "All cunts try to screw guys, I should have known that a faggot half-cunt like you would do a particularly good job."
I couldn’t let him get away with that. "Betray you? Betray you? You son-of a bitch! First there was Helen Marks, then Melissa, and then Tammy. You abused them and drove them away and they were defenseless against you. I wish I had set you up. But I didn’t have to, did I? You did it yourself, you arrogant ass!"
"You fucking faggot, I’ll kill you," and he spun away from the door towards where I was standing. I have no doubt that he would have attacked me, but I got lucky. Carl Weathers was standing directly in his path and simply because he was there, he cut Thornton off.
"Come with me Bob," he said. And then turning to me, added, "You go home. You’re on paid leave until we sort this out. I don’t want to see you around here unless I call you in." He stalked out of the office with Thorton and Tony Morrell on his heels.
So I went into the big closet in my girly bedroom to find some old clothes to wear. As I reached to the back of the closet for some jeans, my hand brushed the petticoats of my first maid’s uniform. All of a sudden I got an idea. I pulled the uniform out and laid it on the bed. I was going to wear it to clean the apartment!
First, I donned the appropriate lingerie, including a lacy black garter belt, sheer black stockings, and a wonderfully lacy black Wonderbra that created amazing cleavage. Then I pulled the petticoats up to my waist and slipped the dress over my head, first straightening it over the petticoats and then zipping it up. It wasn’t in the least bit tight, and I let go a big, involuntary sigh of relief. Cynthia said she would put me in corsets again if I gained any weight while she was gone, but if this dress still fit, I was as slim as I had ever been. Thank goodness I had been going to the gym almost every day. I fixed my make up, adding a bright red lipstick, put my hair up quickly, and finally pinned the lacy cap on my head.
I looked at myself in the mirror, admiring my reflection. The short skirt and high black heels made my legs look long and sexy, and the low cut neckline literally overflowed with the lushness of my breasts. I curtsied slightly to the mirror and a feeling of familiarity and comfort rose up within me.
I was transported back to the time Cynthia had first taken over my life. Back then I was scared of her, and she dominated me thoroughly. As intense as those times had been, however, they really hadn’t lasted very long, and Cynthia and I had already begun to drift into a more normal and wonderfully loving relationship before the mugging, which had cemented that relationship into place. I sighed contentedly thinking about it.
This brief interlude of reminiscing had really helped me calm down, but I knew I had a lot of work ahead of me if I was going to get the apartment clean. So I spent the next four hours thoroughly cleaning each room, all the while walking in the sexiest mince I could manage, bending from the waist with my knees straight, and talking to myself as if I was Cynthia giving me orders. I even curtsied to myself in response. This was all so silly, that my afternoon was spent among many giggles, and by the time I had to stop to get ready to meet Michael, my spirits were pretty buoyant.
Michael and I had dinner at a small café on Columbus Avenue. We reviewed the events of my day, but couldn’t come to any conclusions about how things were going to work out. Even so, Michael was surprisingly upbeat about things and kept reassuring me that things would be just fine.
By the time we were having coffee, I had pretty much used up his patience with my anxious worrying. As I was prattling on, describing yet another imaginary disaster that might befall me, he finally interrupted, grabbing my hands.
"Look," he said emphatically, "you saved my life, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? Things will be fine." He paused for a moment and sat there musing. Then he smiled slightly to himself and went on, "Better than fine actually."
I had heard his words, but it was like they were in another language. I just couldn’t understand. But I shut up, even though I couldn’t really relax. How could he be so confident?
After dinner, we took a walk, eventually wandering down into Riverside Park to stand by the water. We didn’t talk; we just ambled along with his arm around my shoulder and mine around his waist. It all felt so nice and comforting and it really helped to calm my anxiety. This reinforced the growing feeling within me that playing a woman’s role was really good for me and that the only question that mattered any more was whether or not I should get SRS and complete my transition.
Before long we were leaning against the old iron railing watching a rather large, brightly lit yacht quietly make its way down the pitch-black Hudson River. I was feeling quite relaxed when all of a sudden a terrible chill knifed through my body. I had never felt so suddenly cold in my entire life, and since I was wearing my fur coat, it wasn’t the wind that had done it. No, the chill had begun as apprehension in my soul and I had gotten cold from the inside out. The coldness subsided as suddenly as it had appeared, and before I could even wonder about it, Michael shouted, "Look," pointing up over the George Washington Bridge, whose crown of two parallel arcs of sparkling lights stood out clearly against the dark sky. I looked up just in time to see a shooting star blink out.
That was the longest shooting star I’ve ever seen," said Michael, wonder in his voice, "and the brightest too."
In that instant, I knew, and shivered again. "Michael, we have to go," I urged, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the river.
He pulled back stopping me. "Why? What’s wrong? We were having such a nice time. I thought I had finally calmed you down." Then he looked at me. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you okay?"
"Hannah’s dead," I said, as sure of it as I would have been had I been standing in her room when she died. "Cynthia needs me."
He looked at me like I was crazy, but only for a second. I guess he figured there was no point arguing with a crazy woman. "Okay, let’s grab a cab," he agreed.
When we on our way back downtown to my apartment, Michael finally got up the nerve to ask what he had been polite enough to avoid by the river. "How do you know?"
"She told me that when she died she would become a shooting star, and…"
"You’re kidding, right?" he interrupted. "Surely, just because we saw a shooting star, you can’t know she’s dead."
I don’t know why I felt compelled to explain it to him, but I did. "I felt a terrible chill just before you pointed. It was the worst chill I had ever felt, and it came from inside me. I know I’m right."
For a second he looked at me like I was nuts, but that look was replaced by a much warmer, more compassionate one almost immediately. "Okay, we’ll see. Come here, let me hold you." He put his arm around me, pulling me close, and I rested my head on his shoulder for the rest of the ride.
Once we got back to my apartment, I raced upstairs to the phone. The light on the answering machine was blinking, but I ignored it, punching in Hannah’s number as quickly as I could and cursing myself for never having entered it into the speed dial.
The phone only rang twice before someone answered. "Cynthia," I almost shouted, "is…"
"No, this is the Darlene, who’s calling please?"
"This is Lilly, is Hannah…."
She cut me off, "Lilly, let me get Cynthia for you. She knew you’d call. She wants to talk to you."
"Lilly," I could hear the tears in Cynthia’s voice as soon as she said my name. "Hannah’s dead." and she began to sob.
"I know Cyn." I had never called her that, before, it was Hannah’s pet name for her, not mine, and I wasn’t quite sure how it had popped out. "I saw the shooting star," I said through the beginnings of my own tears. I looked up at Michael and just nodded. He knew just what I meant, and I could see his body sag at the news.
But before I could say anything else, Cynthia was pleading with me, "Oh, Lilly, will you come out here? Please? I need you."
"Of course I will Cyn, of course I will. Right away. I’ll make reservations as soon as I hang up."
We talked for a while longer, but I wanted to get off the phone because Cynthia sounded so tired and because I wanted to make reservations. By the time we said goodbye, and I had hung up the phone, Michael was sitting next to me on the couch, and I threw myself into his arms, tears running down my cheeks and sobs heaving out of my lungs. He held me until I had calmed down, and then asked, "Do you want me to make reservations for you?"
I just nodded my head, and looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. We had all known Hannah would die, so I didn’t expect the actual event to hit me so hard. I was very grateful that Michael was here with me, and squeezed his hand in thanks. Then totally losing it, I threw my arms around him and cried into his chest for several minutes more.
"I’ll get you a drink," I said, sitting up finally, "then I’m going to wash and change." You can’t go home tonight. I need you here."
"Thanks for asking," he replied, his voice tinged with playful sarcasm. And he added an endearing grin to show he was happy to do it. "There’s no way I’d let you throw me out after the day you’ve had. Go get cleaned up. I’ll get my own drink and find you a flight." He kissed me on the cheek and went to the kitchen for a glass with ice.
I arrived in Colorado Springs late the next afternoon. I knew Cynthia wouldn’t be able to meet me at the airport, but I was still disappointed that she wasn’t there. I didn’t even know the person who picked me up, and we had little to say to each other on the ride to Hannah’s house. I was nearly bursting with my need to be with Cynthia when the plane landed, and my anticipation only increased on the ride from the airport.
So when we got to the house I ran from the car in that funny stiff legged gait that high heels impose on you. I was so eager to throw myself into Cynthia’s arms I just couldn’t stop myself. And then, and then…,I didn’t know what. I just knew that I needed to be with her and that her embrace would make everything better.
But she was cold and stiff when she met me just outside the door. Before I could do anything she hugged me and whispered into my ear, "Take the ring off before anyone sees it. It’s important."
I was stunned. What kind of greeting was that? But I took off my glove and then the ring just as she wanted. Once I had the ring safely tucked into my purse, she relaxed visibly but her demeanor stayed business-like. She bundled me into the house and to the closet by the front door, where she carefully lifted my fur coat off my shoulders and hung it in the closet. Then she turned me back into the room, guiding me by the elbow.
There were about a dozen people spread around the room, but Cynthia led me to the couch where two older people were sitting stiffly, obviously ill at ease. "Mom, dad, this is Lillian Miller, my coworker and good friend."
Her parents? I never expected to see them, although I don’t know why. They had, after all, just lost a daughter, even if they hadn’t come to see her while she was sick. I was so surprised I was speechless. But before I could say anything stupid, Cynthia went on with the introductions. "Lillian, these are my parents, Jacob and Katherine."
We shook hands guardedly. I could only think the worst of them because that’s all Cynthia had ever told me about them. Who knows what they were thinking about me. Did they know Cynthia was a lesbian? Did they know I was a...?
God what was I thinking? They had just lost their daughter. They were here were here to bury a second child. I couldn’t believe how shallow I was, thinking about myself. Guilt bubbled up inside me like a bad heartburn, burning the edge of my consciousness and causing me to blush with shame. When would I ever grow up?
"I’m so sorry for your loss," I blurted out, immediately wishing I hadn’t said it because it sounded so impersonal. I tried to recover, "Hannah was such a warm perso…,"
I stopped because Cynthia had pinched my arm, and although I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, I knew a warning when I felt one. When she didn’t let go of the little flap of skin she had grabbed, I understood that I was on dangerous territory. I back-peddled as fast as I could. " Cynthia always described her with such warmth."
Cynthia broke in before I could do any more damage. As I listened to her I understood that she was doing her best to make sure they didn’t have a clue we were lovers, telling them what a great person I was to work with and how supportive I’d been during Hannah’s illness, taking care of her apartment and all.
Then, she dragged me away and introduced me to her two brothers. Carlton, the oldest of all the children, and Billy, the second youngest, were seated side by side at the dining room table. Billy seemed reticent and withdrawn, and although he stared at my chest when he said hello, his eyes dropped to his feet as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
Carlton, by contrast, looked me up and down as if I was a side of beef at an auction. I had dressed in black, because that seemed appropriate, but I immediately regretted choosing my favorite black cashmere sweater. Even though it had a wonderfully soft cowl neck, it clung to me tightly, showing my breasts to great advantage. Maybe one day I would learn that being proud of my breasts and wanting to show them off was not necessarily the way to go for every social situation. I looked at Cynthia and she just rolled her eyes at me. I couldn’t tell whether that was because of what I was wearing or the way her brothers were appraising me. I decided to believe it was because of the latter.
Finally, after several more introductions, Cynthia dragged me out to the deck so we could talk privately. I tried to throw my arms around her but she stopped me. "Lilly, I thank God that you’re here, but we have to be careful. My family can’t know, at least not now. You’re a friend and colleague, but nothing more. You’ll be staying with Darlene Martin." She was one of Hannah’s friends who had welcomed me warmly.
"At least you have to stay there until my parents leave," Cynthia went on. "This has to be for my family. You’re an outsider, please help me and don’t ask anything of me. Be strong for me. That’s what I need."
I thought I might cry; I know that my lips trembled for a few moments and that tears started to form, but I managed to contain myself. On the flight out I had built up such hopes of connecting again with Cynthia and now they were all being dashed. In my mind there had only been me and Cynthia, but now I was discovering that I didn’t even count. I swallowed hard, several times, the tears clinging to the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t even talk. I just nodded my head up and down and waved my hand at Cynthia, indicating she should go back to her family.
Once she had, after carefully wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes and giving me a wistful look, I sagged back against the railing. In the last day, both Cynthia and I had lost something big, but here, only Cynthia would be able to mourn, and there wouldn’t be anyone at all to comfort me. I didn’t know how I would deal with it all. I didn’t know how to be "the strong one."
I stood there thinking about that for a few minutes, feeling more and more sorry for myself as the time passed. Then, the sliding door to the deck opened and Carlton came out. "Aren’t you cold out here?" he asked, wrapping his own arms around himself to show he was.
"Yeah, I guess I am," I said, becoming aware of the winter chill for the first time. By the time he had come out, I had my hands behind me on the top bar of the deck railing and one of my over-the-calf boots hooked onto the lower rail. This threw my stockinged leg out through the front slit of my calf length skirt, turning what had been a modest cover for my legs into a sexy show of thigh. With my chest thrown forward by my stance at the railing, I had to look provocative. I quickly put both feet down and together and crossed my own arms under my breasts, trying to minimize them. I shook my hair back and looked up.
My adjustments were obviously too late. Carlton wasn’t looking back at my face; he was fixated instead on my breasts. I glanced down to see my nipples poking blatantly through my sweater. Now, I was embarrassed. "I think I better get back inside," I said, trying to sound urgent, "I didn’t realize how cold I was. I’m really getting chilled."
"I could help you with that, little lady," he replied, finally looking into my eyes. And he shifted so that he was right in front of me, cutting me off from the door to the house.
I closed my eyes for a moment and then looked up into his. He was a good head taller than me and probably outweighed my by fifty pounds. Physically, he was in control. I wondered if real women even thought that way. Do they evaluate the possible physical conflict the way men always do? Or do they jump instantly to other strategies, knowing instinctively that force is not an option.
But It didn’t take me long to figure out a strategy that might work. "Would you get the door for me please?" I started to step around him, hoping he would follow my lead. But he didn’t budge. As a result, I bumped into him trying to get away from the railing and fell back slightly. He instantly reached around me, as if to keep me from falling over the rail, and pulled me into a close hug.
"It looks like it’s gonna be a long couple a days, maybe you and I could keep each other company."
"I don’t think so," I said tartly. "Now please let me go. I don’t like being manhandled."
"Aw, come on, honey, what else you got to do?"
"Well one thing’s, for sure, I’m not doing it with you! Now let go of me." This, I thought, is just the kind of situation where women stamp their feet for emphasis. Hey, I realized, that might work. When he hadn’t let go of me a second later, I did stamp my foot. I stamped the narrow heel of my boot right onto the instep of his shoe. That got his attention.
"Hey!" he shouted, now almost forcing me over the railing as he pushed away from me. "Whadid you do that for?"
"You know damn well why I did it." I kept my voice cold, but even. Now are you going to get the door for me or not?"
"Get it yourself, bitch, and don’t expect any more favors from me."
"I looked him in the eye and said, "I intend to hold you to that, so see that you remember it too. I don’t know what kind of…man," I said the word with as much disdain as I could muster, "tries to force himself on a woman at a time like this." I hesitated for emphasis, then added, "But he’s not the kind I want to spend any time at all with." And I stepped past him and into the house, closing the sliding door way too hard.
Hearing the door rock shut, everyone looked up. Of course, I felt terribly embarrassed, but there was nothing I could do at that point but say, "Excuse me, I didn’t realize it moved so easily," to try to cover myself.
Cynthia gave me a look of concern, but didn’t move from her spot next to her mother. Our looks lingered longingly on each other for too long, I guess, because Darlene Martin cut in, "You look cold, how ‘bout some coffee?"
I gratefully accepted, so she linked her arm in mine and led me to the kitchen. Darlene was a friend of Hannah’s and must have been almost fifty, although you couldn’t tell because her hair was thick, dark, and shiny, her skin translucent, and her body trim. Right now she had a slight blush on her cheeks, which made her look almost like a little girl. "Are you alright Lilly?" she asked as soon as we got there. You look a little shook up."
"I can’t believe it," I tried to whisper to her, but failed because I was still upset. "Carlton, came on to me on the deck. No, that’s not true. He tried to force himself on me. He trapped me by the railing." My voice had started to rise so Darlene put her finger to my lips to quiet me down, flicking her eyes towards the other room at the same time to be sure I got the message.
I went back to a stage whisper. "I had to stamp my heel on his toe just to get away from him!" She giggled lightly, now putting her hand to her own mouth to keep herself quiet. Her dark eyes sparkled and the laugh lines that radiated from their corners looked more like rays from a friendly sun than any sign of her age.
"Isn’t he just an asshole?" Her hands fluttered and the dark, curly hair that framed her face bounced around on her shoulders as she talked. She was just a bundle of energy. "He’s tried that with just about every woman here, including me, and I’m old enough to be, …well, I’m not quite that old!" Her eyes sparkled.
Then she leaned close as if we were planning something illegal, and said, "If he tries it one more time, I’m going to get a tranquilizer gun from the zoo and use it on him." Then she started giggling again. Caught up in her mood, I giggled along with her.
I was already feeling better and leaned down to give Darlene a thank you kiss on the cheek. This was something that I really enjoyed about being a woman. As a man I hardly ever touched anyone. I was afraid of what people might think of me if I did. As a woman, however, I kissed, and hugged, and touched hands at the least excuse. I really enjoyed the intimacy that touching created. "I think I’m going to like staying with you," I said.
"Oh, you will," she replied, "I’ve got a treat for you later. Cynthia set it up because she felt so bad that you couldn’t stay with her. But c’mon, I’ll introduce you the people you haven’t met yet.
I passed the rest of the afternoon and evening talking with people about Hannah and wishing I were sitting next to Cynthia. We did get to share a few moments together, once holding hands surreptitiously for a few minutes. She let me know what she had told her parents about me, just to be sure we were on the same page with that. It was a good thing too, because at one point Cynthia’s mom did come over to interrogate me. She was a very suspicious woman, although I don’t know what she had to be suspicious of, so I only talked about Cynthia at work.
I started to fade by 8:30 and was glad Darlene noticed and hustled me to her apartment, which was about twenty minutes away. Cynthia gave me an open and heartfelt hug on the way out the door, and while we were close, she whispered to me, "You be a good girl with Darlene, now, she knows just how to take care of you." I left feeling better than I had all day.
Darlene did know how to take care of me. She got my bags settled into her small guest room, and then hustled me into her tub. "I put some bath oils in for you. Use this scented gel," she insisted, forcing a flowery tube into my hand, "and the shampoo and conditioner."
When I came out of the bathroom, I had one towel wrapped around my chest and another around my hair and I smelled of lavender and peaches. Darlene turned to face me from the ornately carved white bench in front of her vanity. Black lace graced the hem and scalloped neckline of the gorgeous gray silk chemise that flowed over her body. She had belted a matching robe on top of that, and was barefoot, her dark red toenails standing out clearly against the pale carpeting of the bedroom floor.
She smiled at me and got up, grabbing the long gown and I had laid on her bed on the way into the bathroom. At only about five feet tall she looked to me at that moment, like a beautiful fairy godmother.
"C’mere, Lilly. Cynthia told me to take good care of you, and that’s just what I intend to do. Let’s get you dressed and then I’ll blow out your hair. Did you know I own a spa?"
I stood there passively as she walked over and undid the towel on my head and gently dried my hair with it for a moment. Then she turned me away from her so she was facing my back and carefully opened the towel that hid my body. I knew she knew about me, but I was feeling very shy anyway and appreciated her sensitivity. "Oh, don’t you feel just lovely," she purred with delight as ran her hand along the side of my naked back. "And you smell just delicious."
What could I do? I blushed.
She went on. "Here, let me slip your gown on you before you catch a chill."
So I let her slide my gown over my wet hair and quickly slip it down onto my body. She held my robe as I dropped first one shoulder and then the other to allow her to ease it on to my arms. Her hands lingered on my shoulders, adjusting the seams far more carefully than necessary. Then, her hand came up to caress my cheek. It lingered only for a moment before she said, "C’mon’, I’ll dry your hair."
There were two glasses of a deep red wine at her vanity and Darlene grabbed them, handing one to me. She raised hers and said, "to a sweet visit." I raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, but couldn’t help but feel charmed by her warmth. So we clinked glasses and I took a mouthful, closing my eyes to savor the bouquet and swirl the smooth dry wine in my mouth for a few moments before swallowing. Mmmm, I could taste plums in the aftertaste.
When I opened my eyes again, Darlene was looking at my feet. "Oh, your nails are a mess. Let me fix them while you finish your wine. Then they can dry while I blow out your hair.
I objected, but she was having none of it, turning me around on my seat and pulling up an ottoman to sit on herself. "Cynthia told me to pamper you and that’s just what I intend to do. So just sit back and enjoy it."
She flashed her big smile at me again and after staring at her for a moment to be sure she meant what she said, I gave in gratefully. Sitting and sipping wine was all I was good for at that point. So she gave me a perfect pedicure and regaled me with stories about Hannah and their friends.
Then, she turned me around and scooted behind me so she could dry my hair. I caught her eyes in the mirror as I resettled myself, being careful not to smudge my now jewel-like toenails, and she tilted her head a little, sort of raised her shoulders and gave me an adoring look that utterly captivated me.
I had always thought that having your hair dried was just a chore. I had never realized just how luxurious it could be in the hands of the right person. I now knew for sure that my hairdresser was rather harsh in her approach, pulling too hard, combing too roughly and burning my head with the drier. But not Darlene, she handled my hair as if it were made of spun gold, using her comb, brush and fingers to manipulate it carefully, tenderly, and sensuously. It almost felt as if she was worshipping my hair rather than simply drying it. By the time she was done, my hair looked perfect, as sleek and shiny as it could be, and I was purring with contentment.
"Such beautiful hair," she said, running her fingers through it and shaping it gently, "I bet it reflects the rest of you."
Again I blushed. "Darlene, my hair looks just gorgeous, I can’t go to bed; I’ll ruin it."
"Silly girl," she whispered gently over my right shoulder as she ran her fingers up the back of my neck, pulling the hair away from my head and letting it go in a smooth cascade, "if you muss it up, I’ll just fix it for you in the morning." Her dark eyes flashed and a smile lit up her face, crinkling the skin at the corners of her eyes, making them look warm and welcoming. She gave me another warm smile, and then said, "Ready for bed?"
"Oh God yes, Darlene, "I replied, I’m tired and relaxed and feel just wonderful. Thank you."
She reached out her hand and when I put mine in it, she pulled me gently to my feet and led me to my room. Once there, she turned down my bed, helped me off with my robe and settled me under the covers.
She was treating me like a princess. She had bathed me and, done my hair, and toenails. Now she was putting me to bed. After I had gotten comfortable, she turned out the little bedside lamp and sat on the side of the bed for a few moments, stroking my hair and whispering comforting sounds. I felt totally relaxed and delicious under her ministrations. Maybe this is what heaven is like.
I was a little surprised that I couldn’t feel Darlene at all a moment later, and even more surprised to realize that the room wasn’t dark "Huh?" I wondered, sitting up quickly. It was morning and I could hear Darlene moving about. I must have fallen asleep even before she left the room.
So I got up, put on my robe and brushed my teeth and hair, and wandered out to the kitchen.
"Hi sweetie, sleep well?" Darlene was sitting at the counter, fully dressed and holding a cup of coffee.
"What happened?" I asked, still a little confused.
"You fell asleep." She had gotten up and walked over to me to brush the hair off the side of my face. "I guess I was a little too tender."
"Oh, Darlene, I’m so embarrassed." I can’t believe I fell asleep. That’s so rude." I was starting to get a little hyper in my anxiety.
"No, no sweetie. I was trying to help you fall asleep." And she kissed me on the cheek. "But now that you’re up, we need to get on over to Hannah’s house. She turned back to the counter and reached for a cup by the coffee machine. "The funeral’s tomorrow and there’s lots to do. You’ll help. Ever been a hostess before?"
Had I ever been a hostess? Not quite, although I had certainly done some serving. A laugh sputtered from my lips at the thought of me at a funeral in my maid’s uniform.
"What?" she asked, handing me a cup of coffee. "Was that a funny question?"
"Darlene," I said, tearing open a packet of equal to dump into my coffee, "exactly what has Cynthia told you about me?"
"Well, a lot about some things, like how much she loves you..." That made my heart swell, and my left hand came up involuntarily to rest between my breasts, as I took a sharp breath. "…but not so much about others."
"Did she ever tell you that I was her maid?" For some reason it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to tell her this, but when I actually heard myself say the words, I got embarrassed and looked away, pouring some cream into my coffee so I didn’t have to look into her eyes.
When I looked up, I saw that her face had lit up in a huge grin and that she was starting to giggle. "No, but I can just see it. Maybe I can get you to do that for me some day."
"Wellllll," I said, drawing it out as long as I could, before throwing my hair off my face and tilting my head to flirt with her, "maybe you can…Mistress." And I gave her a full curtsey, holding the hem of my gown in an exaggeratedly dainty way and dipping as deeply as I dared, my eyes cast down.
"Yesss," she hissed, "maybe I can." And she rolled her eyes lasciviously before she burst out laughing. "But whether I do or not, I expect to put your serving skills to work today. The house will be mobbed and a professional touch will help, I’m sure." And we both laughed. "Now lets get you dressed."
"Yes mistress." I curtseyed again and floated off to the bathroom with my coffee. This was a fun game!
By dinner time I wasn’t feeling quite so cheerful, having spent a long day, mostly on my feet, running in and out of the kitchen, bringing food out and dirty dishes in. I had to admit, however, that having a purpose made the day pass as easily as it could have. Most of all, it saved me from having to engage in forced conversations with people I didn’t know. I was never very good at small talk and knew almost nothing about Hannah. Even though I knew it was immature, I was content to run around like a good little maid to avoid talking to people.
When we were in private, I flirted harmlessly with Darlene. At one point I even went so far as to stick my tongue in her ear as I stood behind her, my arm wrapped around the front of her shoulders as we took a break, me leaning back against the counter and Darlene leaning back into me.
"Oh, you!" she squealed. "You’ll pay for that!" I let her go and stood quietly as she spun around to stare at me in mock anger. I was surprised to find myself hoping that she was right. All she could do right then, however, was reach up and stroke my cheek with the back of her hand. I pressed my cheek into her caress and stared deeply into her eyes.
"Thank you for taking care of me Darlene. I don’t know, how I would have gotten through the day otherwise."
"But you would have," she replied softly, "you’ve dealt with worse." I nodded my head in acknowledgement. Did she know about Thornton?
The worst part of the day came at dinnertime. Because I had worked so hard up until then, the others forced me to sit while they served. That meant I actually had to talk to people. Worse, I ended up sitting next to Katherine. Her demeanor was so severe and she was so lacking in warmth that she was almost like an emotional black hole, sucking all the good feelings near her into her own vortex of gloom.
I tried to draw her out about Hannah, figuring that she must have some wonderful memories of such a lustrous, joyful woman. But I discovered that she was bitter that Hannah had left home when she had, had never married, and worst of all, had never had children, as if this was some kind of intentional slight designed just to make her mother feel bad.
"But Hannah was a wonderful person," I argued. "Look at how many friends she has, and they all have such wonderful memories of the great things that she did for other people."
"They’re all lesbians," she spat acidly, "their very presence here is an insult to Jacob and me."
I was aghast! How could she? I looked at her, my mouth agape. I was ready to pounce on her and put her in her place. But all of a sudden a fork clanked loudly on a nearby plate. I looked up and saw that it had been Cynthia and she was looking at me so hard I was afraid she would melt my forehead.
But I got the message and just smiled at her blandly before turning back to her mother. "Are you sure," I whispered, leaning in close. "How can you tell?"
She looked at me piercingly for a moment, trying to figure out if I was making fun of her or not. But I managed to keep a sincere look on my face, and essentially stared her down. Thornton had taught me a few things. When I had to, I could lie with the best of them, and I was certainly not about to let this fundamentalist harpy from the sticks read me. God, they would never let me back into Manhattan if I did.
"Well," she said, swallowing my bait whole, "I can just tell." She was obviously sure of herself. "A good looking young girl like you had better be careful, they might get you too."
"Get me?" I asked, trying to sound puzzled.
"Yes," she said, "you know, have sex with you, although for the life of me I can’t figure out just what it is they actually do."
This had gone on far enough. I had to get back to Hannah. "But Mrs. Morrison," I protested gently, Hannah has done more to help other people than anyone I ever met…errr, heard of. She’s a hero in this community. She was even taking care of two older couples and cheering up young people at the hospital a month before she died. You must be so proud of her." I think I might have said ‘must’ a little too emphatically.
"No. We told Hannah years ago we would have nothing to do with her if she continued to consort with these Godless perverts, but she was too foolish and too proud to behave like a Christian woman. She just didn’t care about what she was doing to us."
I almost choked. What kind of mother was this? She was here to bury her rather young daughter and all she could think of was herself and how Hannah’s lesbianism had affected her? My God, no wonder all her children left home as soon as they could.
"So that’s why you didn’t visit her while she was sick," I asked, stunned at where her logic was taking us.
"Yes," she said with asperity. "She chose her own path against our wishes and against her lord, so she had to face the consequences on her own. We wouldn’t be here now if Cynthia hadn’t begged us to come and paid our way. We are not in the habit of attending the funerals of Godless perverts."
I sat there, my thoughts totally scattered. I knew I had to keep total control or I might lose control totally and tell her how sick she was. And as I sat there clenching my fists under the table to dig my nails into my hands, my heart pounded so hard, I began to fear it would explode. I could tell I was going to have a panic attack. I had never heard anything like this. I looked for Cynthia, but she was talking to someone else. I felt lost and adrift. Then without saying another word, I got up from the table and left the room.
Before I knew it, I was outside on the trail Hannah and I had walked into the woods. It was already dark out, but the path was easy to follow because the snow had been compacted by many pairs of feet. I had no goal or destination, but I just knew I had to get out of that house. I walked on.
Within a minute, I started to cry. Was I feeling Hannah’s death again, or mourning for something else? What had I lost? Well, my job, almost certainly. I had fully expected to see Thornton fired after the big blowout over the Boston Federated deal, but that hadn’t happened. Instead I was locked out of my office and placed on leave. Was I mourning the loss of my job?
I should have been, I guess, but I didn’t think that was what had caused me to get so upset by what Katherine had said. So I looked more deeply. My parents were of no more good to me than Hannah’s were to her. They were both self-centered and viewed me as more of a hassle than anything else. I hated myself for believing it, but I was sure that I had been lucky that my father died when I was so young. If he hadn’t, he certainly would have made my life hell once I started crossdressing.
My mother? Well, what could I say about my mother? She did her best to crush me. I suppose I should thank her for "forcing" me to dress up - that was the best thing she ever did for me, although she did it to hurt me. But she didn’t deserve any more thanks from me than my abusive father. First she had accused me of killing him and then she forced me to go out with Kyle, who used me repeatedly for sex.
I guess, to be fair, I had to admit that I quickly became Kyle’s sexual coconspirator, and for some strange reason I didn’t hate him. He had kind of grown in our relationship and by the time I left for college, we had become rather fond of each other. He had learned how to give a little and actually treated me like I was valuable. I could forgive Kyle. My mother, on the other hand, was another story.
No, at that moment, I felt nothing for my parents. Maybe that’s what I was mourning. Like Hannah, and Cynthia for that matter, my parents were a toxic burden on my life, and it improved immeasurably once they were out of it. And maybe that’s why Katherine’s little tirade had affected me so. Had I seen my mother in her? My mother telling someone how much she hated me, and what a curse I was on her because I was a crossdresser, as if that said everything anyone would ever need to know about me.
Yes, that had to be it. I could see it clearly now. I had been sitting next to my own mother and she was telling me what she thought of me. But you know what? She was wrong, the bitch. My gender shift didn’t label me as a bad person anymore than Hannah’s lesbianism labeled her as one. How could people be so narrow-minded? How could your own mother be that way?
This train of thought had actually calmed me down and cheered me up some. I knew that I wasn’t by any means a Hannah, who gave so much to other people, but I could be. I would start with Cynthia, who in her generosity of spirit was a lot like her sister, and see where we could go from there. Maybe we could even have children…
"Lilly, Lilllllly."
I looked up. I couldn’t see anyone, so I started back down the path. "I’m coming," I shouted back.
It was Darlene. I had been gone for almost a half an hour and Cynthia had started to get worried. "You’ll freeze to death out here," she said as soon as she saw me. "Let’s get back to the house." I let her lead me, but I didn’t say anything. I was wondering how I was going to fall asleep tonight.
"Would you take me home?" I said just before we got to the house. "I’ve had enough of Cynthia’s family for today." She nodded in agreement.
I actually fell asleep without too much trouble that night. I guess there are some advantages to jet lag.
Darlene and I left her apartment on the way to the funeral home at 9:30 the next morning, which broke sunny, but cold. I had only been to three funerals in my life, and none as a woman, so I wasn’t quite sure what to wear. I figured it was half way between going to work and out to dinner. I wore a long black wool dress. It was plain, with a small round collar and very form fitting on top. The skirt was quite full, however, so I could walk easily without need for a slit, which somehow seemed inappropriate. I set the dress off with a broad black leather belt that had a big silver buckle. I again wore my boots, so the only parts of my body you could see were my face and hands. I carried a big black bag, with plenty of tissues and much of my make up because I knew I was going to need both. There was no way I would get through this day without lots of tears.
Even though we arrived at the funeral home early, the parking lot was already quite full and it took quite a while to get to our seats because Darlene had to stop and say hello about every two steps. I was introduced to everyone as Cynthia’s friend from work, and I would have chafed at being described that way except that a lot of the women, and the crowd was almost all women, said something like, "Oh, you’re Lilly, I’ve heard such wonderful things about you."
After the first couple of comments like that I whispered to Darlene, "Just what did they hear about me?"
"Lilly, don’t be silly," she whispered back, leaning in close to me so she could keep her voice down, "Cynthia adores you, she’s told everyone who would listen how wonderful she thinks you are."
"Oh," I squeaked, my heart filling with joy. "Do they know all about me?"
"Some do, but not many. Only a few, the ones who spent enough time at Hannah’s for Cynthia to learn to really trust them."
Inexplicably, I started to feel a little paranoid, like I was some kind of freak on display for the amusement of the locals, who had all turned out to laugh at me. "Like you?" I asked, archly, quickly giving away my unease.
"Yes, hon, like me," she said warmly, putting her still-gloved hand on my arm and patting it gently to comfort me. She wasn’t going to rise to my bait, instead kissing me quickly on the cheek. "Just relax. You’re among friends here."
I looked at her for a second as if to gauge her trustworthiness, and then felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me, followed by warmth rising into my cheeks. Once again I had made myself ashamed by putting me in the center of something that wasn’t about me at all. Hell, I was no one as far as most of these people were concerned, why did I keep making things about me? I pursed my lips in a small frown and pressed forward, finally sitting right behind Cynthia and her family.
This was not an emotionally expressive group, and with the exception of the warm interaction between Cynthia and her younger sister Janice, who had arrived last night, there was none of the touching or intimate gestures one might expect to see among family members. Her parents sat next to the middle aisle, as stiff as boards, as though each was there alone. The two brothers, who had offended virtually every woman who had visited the house, were fidgeting uncomfortably next to them, with Cynthia and Janet next to them. How sad, I thought, forgetting about my own, equally unhappy family.
I leaned forward and put my hand on Cynthia’s shoulder. "Hi Cyn," I whispered, trying to be unobtrusive.
"Oh, Lilly, you’re here, thank goodness." She turned to face me and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, causing me to blush, although I had no idea why.
"Are you okay," I asked, praying she would say no and ask me to sit with her to keep her company.
Instead, she took a deep breath and said, "Sure," her eyes telling a different story than her mouth. "At least I have Janice here."
I caressed her cheek with my hand and looked into her eyes, concerned by what I was seeing. I guess Cynthia could read my concern, because she turned fully around and pulled my head close to hers. "Lilly, I really wish I could have you here next to me, but I just can’t." I nodded my head in understanding. "When this is over, we’re going to spend a month alone together. I’ll make it up to you."
"You have nothing to make up to me," I whispered back, slightly appalled that she might think she did. "I’m just worried about you."
We looked at each other for a few seconds, but then someone came up to offer condolences to the family and Cynthia had to turn back around. I gave a quiet sigh, and started to shrug my fur coat from my shoulders. I knew we would all get through it.
The funeral home sanctuary was large and a couple of hundred people filled it to overflowing. And the room was drenched in estrogen; there couldn’t have been more than 15 men among the throng of women, and most of them looked lost, clinging uneasily to their wives or girlfriends. I began to wonder if the women could smell that I didn’t have a pussy. At least I knew I smelled like estrogen, whatever it smelled like.
The whole thing was kind of strange because the women who were Hannah’s friends didn’t know her family and visa versa. But at least the service started on time and the chaplain who led it, a middle aged woman, gave a very moving memorial speech before three more women gave their own eulogies. It was obvious that the little bit I had observed of Hannah was a real reflection of her. She gave to many parts of the community, and her visits to the hospital that Cynthia had written me about were only the latest manifestations of her warm and giving nature. Indeed the service was more of a celebration of her too-brief life than it was a heart-wrenching expression of loss.
Not that people didn’t express their feelings of loss, because they did, and we all cried repeatedly as they told stories of the wonderful things that Hannah had done and then mourned aloud that her passing had taken those things from us. I guess it wasn’t as bad as I feared, however, because I still had a few tissues left when the service ended.
We followed solemnly as the casket was wheeled from the room and then congregated in the large foyer of the funeral home. There would be no trip to the cemetery because Hannah wanted to be cremated. So people were just milled around, not knowing quite what to do.
Then everything exploded. A woman came up to the family to express her condolences, and for some reason Katherine just lost it. The woman, who was beautifully made up and dressed like a very successful business executive, simply said, "You must be very proud of your daughter, look at all she did, even while she was sick."
"She was a Godless lesbian," Katherine spit back at her, her eyes on fire.
"Excuse me?" said the obviously very startled woman. .
"Her immoral life was a waste, a shame on her family, and an abomination to God!" Watching Katherine, I finally understood where the phrase "fire and brimstone" came from.
"You’re her mother?" the other woman said, her voice getting louder and rising in pitch with every syllable. She was doing all she could to contain herself. Finally she couldn’t hold back any longer. "Do you think all these people are here because Hannah wasted her life? She gave more of herself to others than almost any other person I’ve ever known. My God, she was wonderful. She’s left a huge hole in this community and I’m not sure how we’ll ever fill it! Any other mother in the world would be bursting with pride to have such a daughter. What is the matter with you?" She was almost shouting before Cynthia stepped between her and her mother to defuse things.
"Alexis," she said, "please, don’t. "You’ll never change her mind."
Alexis was breathing hard and Cynthia clasped her arm, keeping her close. Then Alexis just burst into tears and Cynthia pulled her into a close hug and held her while Alexis cried for a few moments. Once she had managed to get herself under a bit of control, Alexis went to sit down, so I went over and offered her my tissue reserve while six other women crowded round to comfort her.
"Why don’t you just go home," Cynthia said to her mother. "There are people here who love Hannah and your venom isn’t welcome. You were right; I shouldn’t have forced you to come." Now Cynthia’s voice was rising, her anger and frustration getting the better of her.
Shit, I thought, watching Cynthia become increasingly upset. I’ve had enough pretending. I’m going to take care of her. Who cares what her family thinks. So I walked up behind her and put my right arm around her shoulder. I took her upper arm in my other hand. "Shhh, baby," I said, quietly, "let yourself relax."
Cynthia was breathing hard and her shoulders heaved and her nostrils flared with each breath. A tear had formed at the corner of one eye and she was opening and closing her mouth, first starting to say something and then managing to stop herself. It would have been funny if it weren’t so sad. The room had gotten quiet and almost everyone was watching. And as we both watched, her mother looked at me, then at Cynthia and her eyes widened.
"You’re one too, aren’t you?" her mother suddenly spat at her. Then she turned to me. "And you too, aren’t you? You’re both lesbians. Everyone here is a lesbian." She was almost screaming she was so frantic.
Before Cynthia could say anything in return, I jumped in. "I am not a lesbian," I said proudly, pausing a moment for emphasis. "I’m a man, so that makes Cynthia heterosexual, doesn’t it? Don’t you just feel better already?" And I smiled at Katherine stupidly as her eyes got even wider while she tried to understand what I had just said.
A moment later, I heard a laugh sputter out behind me, then a giggle from somewhere else, and then another. A few seconds later, a number of people were laughing and before too long it seemed that the room was filled with laughter.
As she looked around, like a ‘coon surrounded by hounds, Katherine started to get a look of sheer panic on her face. She turned red, and for a moment, I thought she was going to explode. But she just grabbed Jacob and said, let’s get out of here. Carlton, Tommy, Janice, let’s go. This is a Godless place."
"No mom, I’m staying," said Janice. "I like Hannah’s friends. They’re real people, they know how to love and care for each other. You’re the one who’s Godless, and your soul is barren. You couldn’t even love your own children. You drove Lilly away and got her killed."
"She was a whore!" Katherine shouted.
"She was not!" Janice shouted back. "She was raped and murdered! You want to believe she was a whore to relieve your own guilt. Well live with it. You drove her away and killed her..."
Now Cynthia turned to Janice and wrapped her up in a big hug.
"C’mon Katherine, we have to leave." Jacob grabbed her arm and led her to the door. The two boys looked around, obviously as panicked as their parents. A second later, they fled as well.
Now, everyone was talking. That had been quite a scene. I was looking around when Janice turned to me and said, "you’re not really a man, are you," things got real quiet, real quick.
I felt a little stupid. Why in the world had I said that? Would all these women hate me? I smiled weakly at Janice, but then I could see Cynthia smiling at me. She had a big warm grin and it lit up her face. I found it hugely encouraging, although I wasn’t quite sure what she was smiling at. So I said, "God I hope not! Everybody started laughing again, but I pressed on. "Well, I guess not, but I used to be. I still partly am."
By the time I had finished, I felt pretty deflated. Janice still looked confused, which wasn’t that surprising since I hadn’t given her a very clear answer. But before I could think of anything else to say, someone I didn’t know jumped in, "Well, whatever you are honey, you certainly shut that old bitch up." There was an immediate murmur of agreement, but the woman started to flush and said to Cynthia, "I’m sorry Cynthia, I should never have said that about your mother."
"No, it’s okay, Ellie. She is an old bitch, and a cold hearted one to boot. She drove all her children away from her and her performance today was entirely predictable. In my heart, I didn’t want them to come, but how could I keep them away?"
"Well it’s a good thing you brought some New York muscle with you, then." She winked at me. I felt my cheeks flush warmly. Your cute little hatchet man…, aaah…, I mean woman…, your hatchet woman here took care of her good." And the murmurs of agreement started up again.
I didn’t know whether to feel proud of myself or embarrassed by what I had done, but at least they weren’t turning on me. I knew that lots of lesbians were not real fond of Transsexuals, and the last thing I wanted was to be an outcast among Hannah’s friends.
"Yes," Cynthia broke in, "Hannah told Lilly that she had to take care of me and I guess Lilly took her seriously." As she was saying that Cynthia had moved towards me and then gave me a big hug. I hugged her back just as hard as I could for several seconds and then pulled my head back to kiss her. We looked at each other for about a microsecond before diving into each other’s mouths. I had waited two days for this, and I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. I didn’t care how many people were watching.
So we hugged and kissed for a minute or two, I guess, I don’t really know how long it was, I was concentrating on the feel of Cynthia’s lips and tongue, and of the taste of her lipstick and the inside of her mouth. It was wonderful to kiss her again. Somehow, we both decided to stop at about the same time. So after a few failed attempts at separating, we finally managed to pull apart, but remained holding hands as we looked back up at all the people surrounding us. And when we did, they were all smiling like proud aunts. We both blushed.
That changed the mood of the day entirely and we went back to Hannah’s house and greeted her friends and reminisced about her until dinner. We weren’t at all surprised that neither Cynthia’s parents nor her brothers showed up, and Cynthia made no attempt to contact them. Nobody wanted them around.
That night I slept with Cynthia. I was just thrilled to be back in her arms. I spent a good deal of time getting myself ready for bed, making sure my makeup was perfectly understated and my perfume was lightly applied in all the right places. I had plans for Cynthia.
Unfortunately, the best-laid plans don’t always work out and at some point, perhaps it was when I was stroking her hair, or maybe while I was kissing her shoulders, she fell asleep. What could I do?
The funeral home brought Hannah’s ashes over the next afternoon and just before the sunset I accompanied Cynthia, Janice, Darlene and a few other friends out to the lake in the woods. The lake was surrounded by Redwood trees, which Hannah had planted herself many years ago. We scattered Hannah’s ashes among them just like she had asked us to do.
I’ll never forget the orange tinge of the frozen lake surface as it reflected the very last of the day’s sunlight, and then the big stark shadows of the Redwoods as they stood like sentinels, solemnly observing our little ritual. Who knows, maybe next summer, some of those trees might be sporting leaves that contained molecules that had once been part of Hannah. Certainly in a few years, Hannah would be part of them, and with any luck, they would be her living monuments for centuries to come.
So I figured I would stay there with Cynthia and help her do the work. It would give us a good opportunity to spend some time alone together and allow her to mourn in her own way. I had no idea how I might help her do that, but at least I could be nearby.
Monday morning dawned gray, overcast, and windy, like some minor god was in a foul mood and wanted to let everyone see how he felt. Dark clouds hung low in the sky, being whisked along by a swirling wind that told us a cold front was coming through. The weather seemed to press in on both Cynthia and me, and we were so spooked by it that we headed back to the house after a very short morning walk.
We were both happy to get back inside and talked happily about lighting a fire in the fireplace later that afternoon. Then we started in on the cleaning. Not ten minutes later, Cynthia broke down in tears.
"Cyn, what’s wrong?" I asked, as gently as possible.
She looked up at me with real pain in her eyes and said, "I’m not sure I can do this. I don’t think I can clean up all of Hannah’s things just like that. It’s too soon. It’s too final."
So I brought her over to the window seat and we sat cuddled under one of the western style blankets. "It’s okay, Cyn, I’ll be here with you; we’ll get through this." So we sipped tea and watched the wind blow the leaves around outside. It was as if the weather was punctuating the bleakness of Cynthia’s mood.
Then, at about 10:00 the phone rang. It was the office "asking" me to come back for a meeting late Wednesday morning.
"Cynthia, they told me to come back. Will you be okay?"
"Oh! What does that mean?" she asked, suddenly concerned for me.
"I don’t know," I sighed, all of a sudden weary, "but I don’t think I’ll be working at North State on Thursday. I’d better call Michael."
But before I did that, I called Darlene. She was at work, so I told her quickly what was going on, and she promised to take care of things. There were any number of people who could help Cynthia with the house and even stay with her if needed. "Would you mind if I kept her company?" Darlene asked with a little teasing in her voice.
"Oh, that’s wonderful, Darlene. But you have to treat her as well as you treated me. She’s needs some pampering. And do her hair, will you. She’s really let it go since she’s been here. I’ll bet looking better will help her feel better too."
So Cynthia and I decided to put work on the house on hold, and just hang out together until I had to get back on a plane early Tuesday afternoon. It was a strange time, with very unsettled weather reflecting the combination of sadness and anxiety we both faced. She had lost Hannah, and I just knew I was about to lose my job. Thornton would win again. How stupid of me to think I could beat him.
We both now faced new chapters in our lives. Neither of us knew what was to come, but we swore our love and allegiance to each other, promising we would see each other through. As we sat in front of the fireplace, the wind making a real fuss outside, I started to get really scared. I don’t know why, but I felt like I was a soldier about to go off to war and that I wasn’t coming back.
"Hey, Cynthia said suddenly, "where’s your ring?"
"Oh!" I jumped up to get my purse, which is where I had stashed the ring when I first arrived. I fumbled through it as I walked back to our couch, and was only pulling open the little zippered compartment where I had put the ring when I sat down again. I pulled it out and held it up for Cynthia to see.
"Let me," she said taking the ring from my fingers. "Give me your hand." So I held out my right hand and Cynthia took it in her left, looking at it with her head cocked for a moment while she traced the pale band of skin on my ring finger with her nail.
"No," she said, "that’s the wrong one. I want to put this in its proper place."
I looked up into her face as she took my left hand and raised it between us. Her eyes were brimming over with tears but she was smiling. "I knew I made a good decision when I first gave this to you," she whispered, obviously working to keep her tears in check. "Nothing has happened since then to make me believe otherwise. I love you Lilly. I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?" As she slid the ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand, we both broke down in tears.
"Oh, Cynthia, are you sure?" I spluttered a few seconds later. Are you sure you want to do this now, when you are so distraught?"
"Yes, Lilly," she said, wiping the tears from my cheeks even as they streamed down her own. I’m quite sure. Besides, Hannah would never forgive me if I let you get away." And she smiled a small, crooked smile at me.
"That’s what she said to me too," I spluttered, tears now dripping down into my mouth. "I guess we’re doomed by her wishes." At that we both started to giggle, and then to laugh. Then, we fell into a hug we both desperately needed. We spent the rest of the day hugging each other and kissing and caressing tenderly. We didn’t feel any lust and we didn’t have sex, but we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We had been apart too long.
By bedtime, Cynthia had promised to find someone else to take care of the house and to follow me back to New York as soon as she could. She really did miss it and was eager to get back.
***
Michael and I had spent a good deal of time on the phone Tuesday morning, and he simply told me he was coming to the meeting with me. "It’ll be fun," he said. "I’ve got a neat surprise. You’ll love it."
"Sure," I replied, "this should be just about as much fun as root canal." But he was not to be daunted and we planned to meet for breakfast Wednesday morning and go together to my building.
So, there we were, riding up the elevator to the corporate offices of North State Financing. I felt almost like I was entering the building for the first time. It seemed strange and foreign to me. We weren’t headed to my old office, but rather to the administrative floor where senior management was located.
I had dressed in a very modest business suit, wore minimal makeup, but couldn’t resist four-inch heels. I wanted to be tall and to be able to look down at everyone, or at least look them in the eye.
When we got to the receptionist’s desk, we were sent to one of the small, but very luxurious conference rooms that looked out over the East Side. As I waited for the others to show up, wondering idly who they would be, I watched the planes taking off from LaGuardia airport. All those people headed all over the place. Really, what was the point? I didn’t know why I was feeling so down, but I was.
Then, after I had turned from the window and poured coffee for Michael and myself out of the lovely silver service at the back of the room, the door flew open and Carl Weathers, our CEO, Tina Brockworth, the VP for human resources and two lawyers charged in. The older one with short, dark curly hair and a bit of a paunch was our senior counsel, Paul Alteri. The younger, who had always struck me as a real hunk, was named Jason Riddle. I thought I saw Riddle glance strangely at Michael for a moment, but the look vanished from his face before I could figure out what it meant.
Maybe he knew Michael. No, he would have just said hello. Wait! Maybe he’s gay and he just read Michael. I looked again, deciding he was definitely the kind of guy Michael always said he liked. I tired to figure out if I should be jealous or not, but didn’t really have time to get into it.
After introductions we sat, Michael and I on one side of the table, the other four on the other. We got right down to business. Brockworth did the talking. "Well, Ms. Miller, you have caused us a world of trouble." I started to protest immediately, but Michael put his hand on my arm and I settled down. "But I am pleased to tell you that our investigation tends to support your story."
"Tends?…" I squeaked. I was nervous as hell. I had said only one word and my voice cracked.
Weathers and Brockworth frowned at me for interrupting yet another time, and Michael again patted my arm. "Please let them finish Lilly, we’ll have plenty of time to respond."
"Thank you Mr. Butler," Brockworth said, apparently trying to put me down with her tone of voice. I gave her a sour look, but she simply ignored it. "Your computer showed no evidence that you had helped to prepare the…aaah…, aaah, questionable portion of Mr. Thornton’s presentation. Moreover, interviews with the staff confirm that you did offer to go over the presentation with Mr. Thornton and that he respectfully declined your offer."
I laughed; I couldn’t help it. "If you interviewed the staff," I shot back, "you damn well know he wasn’t respectful to me. He was abusive and insulting."
Brockworth ignored me again and kept on. "We also found some strange things on Thornton’s computer, including a listing of bonus accounts for all the staff that he seemed to have a hard time explaining, and certainly never distributed."
I almost laughed out loud, but bit my lip. I wish I could have seen that conversation.
"You wouldn’t know anything about them, would you?"
"Me?" I yelped, coughing to get back control over my voice. "How would I? Bob certainly never gave me any indication he was planning to give out bonuses. Frankly, it doesn’t sound like something he’d do."
"Exactly Ms. Miller, that’s why we’re asking if you know anything about them." It was Alteri."
"I think I gave you my answer already," I said tartly. "Anything else?"
Brockworth shuffled her papers again, pretending to look at them for something, and then looked back at me. "Despite all that, Mr. Thornton made a compelling case that he did not try to intentionally mislead anyone and that any errors were unintentional, due to his unfamiliarity with the analysis."
"Well, he was certainly unfamiliar with it," I cut in. "Anyone could have told you that."
"Be that as it may, Ms. Miller," now Weathers was taking over, "Bob Thornton has made very important contributions to this company, and we see no reason not to believe him."
I just sat there staring at him. I clutched at Michael’s hand under the table. You didn’t have to be clairvoyant to figure out where this was going.
"And you and he don’t seem to be able to work together." Brockworth had picked up the thread again. "So, we’re going to have to let you go."
Bam! That was it! I had lost.
I was crushed. I wanted to cry and squeezed Michael’s hand as hard as I could to help control myself. "But…but… I’m the best analyst in the company. Everyone knows that."
"That’s not the point," Weathers cut in. "Either you failed entirely to give Bob the support you were hired to give, which is what we believe, or you knew he was about to do something that might harm the company and you failed to alert me. In either case, you demonstrated gross dereliction of your responsibilities and those are grounds for terminating you. You are not the kind of employee we want around here." He was snarling at me as he finished.
"What are you talking about?" I shot back, deeply insulted by Weathers accusations. Bob Thornton demeaned and insulted me when I offered him my help and he would have fired me himself if I had gone over his head to you. You wouldn’t even have let me into your office to complain about him, and you know it."
"Why you little…"
"Easy Carl," Paul Alteri put his hand on Weathers to calm him down. "There’s no need to fight. Let’s just finish our business."
I turned to Michael, panic growing in my heart, but he just sat there calmly, as if he was looking at statues in a wax museum. What the hell was going on with him?
"But," Brockworth broke in again, trying to assure that the obviously pissed off Weathers didn’t say anything inappropriate, "we do recognize that you have made significant contributions to our success over the past few years, so we’d like to offer you a settlement that we think is quite generous."
She slid two copies of a thin document across the table and asked Michael and I to examine them. We both read through them and at first it looked like a good deal. I was being given a one-year salary buyout and a bonus based on my division’s profits over the past three years that would add up to another year’s salary! They were offering me the bonuses Thornton had always held back for himself.
Brockworth broke in, "You will note the bonuses that are included in this offer. Mr. Thornton himself requested that we include those."
I couldn’t help but snigger, "Sure he did. How big was the gun you held to his head?" It was her turn to give me a sour look.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked a few minutes later. "It’s the nicest buyout package we’ve ever offered."
"And do you always include noncompete clauses in your buyout packages?" Michael had finally said something. "I’m more used to seeing them in initial contracts."
I could see Alteri and Riddle eye each other.
Michael went on, "This would be a nice money offer if it didn’t prevent my client from working in her chosen profession for five years."
My eyes flew back to the contract, I hadn’t finished reading it so hadn’t spotted that little poison pill. "No way," I muttered.
"Well it’s a take it or leave it deal," said Brockworth. "You want the money, you accept the no compete clause.”
"Looks like blackmail to me," replied Michael calmly. No one would do this to an analyst - a V.P. maybe - but never an analyst. It’s punitive and unacceptable."
"Well, how about three years?" asked Alteri.
"I don’t think so," said Michael. "Wwe’re not about to sign anything that would prevent my client from earning a living. In fact, I have a counter offer."
Their heads all shot up and their eyes all widened as Michael handed them two copies of some kind of legal document. He gave one to Weathers and one to Alteri. Riddle leaned over Alteri’s shoulder to read it.
"What the hell is this?" Weathers thundered a few minutes later. This isn’t a counter offer."
"Well, not exactly," said Michael, but it’s the basis for one. You’re being sued for sexual harassment, and since we have compelling evidence that you conspired to cover it up, we believe we will win treble damages when this goes to court. Frankly, I can’t wait to hang you out to dry."
Weathers turned on me. "You conniving little freak…" Alteri put a hand on his arm to stop him, but Weathers shook it off. "After all we did for you you’re suing us for sexual discrimination?"
"No, she’s not," said Michael, still utterly calm. "She’s not party to this suit, nor did she know about it, although I’m sure we can include her if you like."
"What?" Weathers was really losing it. He could barely sit still in his seat and his face was getting redder and redder. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so scary.
"Carl," said Paul Alteri, "just don’t say anything."
"Listen carefully," Michael said. "I want to work with you on this because you have a long history of progressive hiring and promotion practices and I would like to see those continue." With that, Michael looked directly at Jason Riddle and everyone understood that Michael knew Jason was gay, but that he was employed at North State anyway, and that Michael wanted to keep it that way.
"But if I have to take you to court and destroy your reputation I will. What do you think your board of directors will say to that, Carl?" Michael had been very calm until he got to the "Carl," which he said harshly and with real anger.
"We’ll listen," said Alteri. "Won’t we, Carl?" Weathers just took a big breath and settled back down. His face started to fade back to its normal pinkish cast.
Michael went on. "Bob Thornton harassed and drove away three women who used to work for you. Not only that, but he advertised both his goals and tactics widely. Everybody seemed to know what was going on, and as CEO, you should have too. There is no way we will lose this case. It’s a slam dunk."
You could see Weathers’ face fall. He must have known.
"But it gets better," Michael said with a cruel smile, one I had never seen before. "Bob Thornton has been accused of sexual harassment in three other firms in three different cities. That’s why he’s traveled so much. In each case, he was hustled out of town by the company before the employees could do anything."
"I discovered all this in two days of work. It will be easy to convince a jury that you should have been able to learn the same information as well if you had only done your due diligence in checking his background, which I happen to know you did. So, because you knowingly hired someone who had been accused of prior harassment, and because you allowed him to harass your own employees, you are guilty of conspiracy and hence, treble damages."
"And as you know, Thornton also owed his ex-wife, who he assaulted, a lot of alimony and child support."
"What?" I almost shouted. "Now I understand. He’s a wife-beater. It makes perfect sense. The pattern of his behavior and what he said fits that mold perfectly. When can I join that lawsuit? I want to nail his ass."
"We’ll talk about that later Lilly, but right now we have other business." He turned back to look across the table. "Let’s see, where was I? Right. You of course, knew about this because you were garnishing his salary. You had to after her lawyer found out he was working here."
At this point both lawyers looked at Weathers with some disdain. It looked like they hadn’t known this little detail. Michael had been right; this was fun. I was really starting to enjoy it.
"I also have seven women from Thornton’s three previous companies who are going to sue him personally. He’s about to become a huge liability for you, although you should have figured that out long ago. This little charade with Lilly," he gestured at their buyout offer, "and your pitiful attempt to convince us that Thornton didn’t purposefully mislead Boston Federated, puts you in a pretty indefensible position. Paul, Jason, don’t you agree?
He caught them both off guard and they both started to nod their heads before retreating back into the impassive lawyer mask. But Michael had made his point to Weathers, who now looked ill. Tina Brockworth seemed angry about something, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t me.
Michael still held the floor "You know guys, if I were you right now, I’d be working real hard to convince Lilly that you’re her best friend and want to do everything you can to assure her well being. So far, you’ve backed the wrong horse in this little race, but you still have a chance to place some smart bets. You can start by assuring her that she will remain on paid administrative leave until we work out her buyout package. No way you get to keep her."
He turned and gave me a warm smile. "Is that alright with you Lilly?" I just rolled my eyes and lifted my shoulders in a shrug. Why the hell not, I thought.
We looked across the table at four unhappy people. Michael had pretty much wiped them out and was clearly in control of the situation. I was bursting with pride that he was my friend and absolutely delighted that Thornton would finally get his just desserts. What a great day this was turning out to be. It may have still been winter outside, but it was spring in my heart.
"I know you have a lot to talk about," so we’ll leave you to yourselves. You know where to reach me. If I don’t hear from you by Friday, you’ll hear from me. It won’t be good news. So don’t be late.
Then Michael stood, up, offered me his hand and said, "C’mon, Lilly, you can buy me lunch. I think I earned it."
I managed to control myself until we got out on the street. But as soon as we hit the sidewalk I threw myself at Michael and hugged him and kissed him all over his face and told him how great and wonderful he was. He just stood there calmly with a big grin on his face, taking it like a man.
As soon as I had calmed down, he said, "I did do a pretty good job, didn’t I? I’m gonna nail Thornton’s hide to the wall, I’m going to assure that North State stays gay friendly, and I’m gonna get a lot of money for you and your friends on this."
"Just you watch," he went on. "We won’t even go to trial. They’ll lay an obscenely big settlement on us just to make us go away. Weathers knows, or at least his lawyers do, that if this goes to trial, it’ll cost a major fortune and the board of directors will throw Weathers and all his buddies out. Yes, they will make us very happy."
I could see that Michael was feeling very proud of himself, and I was feeling almost as good for him. I didn’t understand it, but it was almost like I was his mother or his wife (why do I keep thinking that?), and his success somehow reflected well on me.
"There’s just one thing, Michael," I said, trying to keep the euphoria growing within me out of my voice.
He looked at me with a touch of suspicion in eyes, like what does this crazy bitch want now? I had on my best pout.
"Oh?" he said archly, cocking one eyebrow at me, "I’m gonna just about make you rich and there’s just one little thing? Now just what could that be?" He was obviously challenging me with his tone of voice to come up with something really good.
"Michael, I half whined, putting as much fake anguish into my voice as I could. "Now I have to find a new job!"
Darlene had come to our wedding four months after Hannah had died, but Cynthia and I had not seen her in the ten months since then. She was here now for a hair stylist’s convention and to visit Cynthia, who was now officially pregnant.
Even before she said hello, Darlene asked, "So, how is she?"
"Oh, she’s just great," I replied, "She has that glow pregnant women get. She’s just bursting with joy - everyone who sees her comments on it."
"So I guess that little penis of yours wasn’t so useless after all, was it," she joked as we walked through the half empty terminal towards the escalator that would take us down to the baggage claim area. The couple in front of us obviously heard and turned around to gape. I gave them my best wide-eyed, "who me?" look, and Darlene laughed. They looked downward in confusion.
"Well," I replied after our audience had made a couple of quick moves to get through the sparse crowd and out of earshot. "I’ve been lucky to have a good doctor from the start, and my implants," I pulled my shoulders back and raised my chest to display my breasts, "allowed me to keep my estrogen and progesterone doses relatively low. But the fact is, I can’t really get hard anymore and my sperm count is close to zero."
"So," I went on as we got on the escalator, we timed everything to the minute. "Cynthia used every technological trick available, so she knew exactly when she ovulated, and she wouldn’t let me come for a week before that… and …my God, it was like launching the space shuttle, nothing was left to chance! The only thing we didn’t have was a countdown," I said shaking my head with mock exasperation.
At that Darlene broke out into giggles and grabbed my arm. "You must be kidding," she said.
"No," I went on, "She even lay on her back with her feet splayed up against the wall for a half hour afterwards to make sure all my sperm wriggled their way in the right direction!"
"And it worked," she exclaimed. "You did it!"
I blushed and started to giggle, but said nothing. So we were both giggling as we walked up to the baggage carousel, and settled in for the inevitable endless wait for her bags. After I moment, I finally told her the truth. "No, nothing happened. My sperm, if there were actually any left, were just a bunch of lazy onlookers. They might as well have been sunning themselves at the beach for all the good they did." I gave Darlene a nice pout. "We fertilized Cynthia’s next egg a month later with sperm I had banked before I went on hormones. Thank God my doctor made me save some."
"Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?" Darlene responded with one of her big smiles. "You’re going to have a baby and you’re both her parents."
"Yes," I said, my heart full of joy at the idea of it, I’m so excited I’m almost giddy."
Darlene reached up and ran her fingers through my hair. "Ummm," I purred, "if you keep that up, I may have to jump you right here, and I’m a married now, so that wouldn’t be right."
After smoothing it back in place, Darlene said. "You let it grow; it’s almost down to your shoulders. And you have a very nice cut." I now wore my hair in a long pageboy.
"It better be a nice cut," I said huffily, "Do you have any idea how much they charge to do hair in Manhattan? Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever cut it again. I’m letting it grow down to my ankles!"
Darlene laughed at my exaggeration, but she knew how much I adored long hair that swung and flowed around my head when I moved. She also knew how I really overdid the flirty head flips that threw it off my face. Cynthia said I practiced them like I was studying for a test. Hey, it was like learning a new language, and I was still too new a girl to not love it.
"Oh, this is great," I said once her bags had arrived, "You’ve got wheels. That means we can go right to the car. That’ll save us some time." Like every other New Yorker, I was nuts about time. We had no schedule and no deadline, but I was feeling the instinctive need to get back into the city and its frantic rhythm as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Our first obstacle was a long line to pay to get out of the multistoried garage. I could tell we would be there for at least fifteen minutes. After a few minutes with no visible progress, Darlene asked, "So how’s the business? You two are big-shot consultants now, aren’t you?"
"Well, I don’t know about being big shots," I said dubiously, "but we do have clients - more than we can handle in fact." Of course, I thought to myself, it hadn’t hurt that Michael had forced North State to take a three-year contract with us to retain access to my analytical techniques. I still couldn’t believe how well Michael had done for us. In addition to that contract, he negotiated a huge cash payment for me, a smaller one for Cynthia, and now we were doing almost the same thing we did when we worked there, but they pay us more, including percentages of their deals. "And best of all," I went on, "that asshole Thornton is gone for good."
Ummm, I loved the sound of that. It was definitely worth repeating. So I said it again, shaking my head to make it emphatic, "Yes, that asshole Thornton is gone for good."
"Oh," Darlene asked, "is it true, what I heard? He attacked you?"
We crept slowly towards the cashier, but having someone to talk to made it so much more pleasant. "Yeah, isn’t that unbelievable? He just went completely nuts. I guess all the pressure from Michael’s lawsuits and then from the shark his ex-wife hired to bleed him white just blew him away. He really lost it. In the end he behaved true to form, using physical violence against a woman."
"So, what happened? Details, girl, I want details. Is it true you were standing over him dripping blood onto his face?"
"You mean you didn’t see the picture? I thought everyone in the country had seen it by now?" She shook her head no. "Well, it’s true, I’m a little embarrassed about that part."
"He hit you. What do you have to be embarrassed about?"
"I don’t know," I said glumly, "I’m still trying to figure it out. It was a strange scene."
"I’ll bet. I wish I could have been there," Darlene chirped, "to see you standing over that asshole. What woman wouldn’t want to see that? You are a hero to every woman who was ever abused by a man."
"Oh stop, Darlene, it wasn’t like that. I was scared to death. My heart was going a mile a minute and I was breathing so hard, I thought my lungs would burst."
"Yeah, but you did what you had to do, and he was the one who got arrested."
"Mmmm, and I got to go to the emergency room, and I ruined my suit."
"Your suit? Your suit?" Her voice pitched up until it almost cracked. "Was that all you could think about?" I thought Darlene would explode up out of her seat she was so agitated. "Lillian Miller, You tell me the truth, or so help me, I’ll spank you."
"Will you really?" I replied, letting my eyes go wide and opening my face up to my best exaggerated questioning look. I looked at the cars around me while Darlene laughed. We weren’t doing as badly as I had feared, the line was actually moving, and wait, were they going to open another lane?
Yes! I turned my wheel as hard as I could and just managed to clear the rear bumper of the brand new Suburban in front of me so I could pull into the new lane. Of course, the people who had the best shot at it were the ones at the very back of the line and two of them had gotten in front of me. Why does it always work like that?
But what the hell, we saved a good six or seven minutes and before too long we were cruising over the Triborough Bridge to Manhattan. I always get a kick out of going over the big bridges that surround the city. They are just so amazing.
Traffic flowed smoothly on the bridge and down onto the FDR drive, but, like always, it came almost to a complete stop before we even got to the 96th street exit. So as soon as I could, I got off and we were soon driving through the Upper East Side.
Darlene wanted to hear more. "So come on girl. Let’s hear it," Darlene said, "I want to hear all the details of the attack. Don’t think you’re getting out of it just because traffic is heavy. Surely a New Yorker can drive and talk at the same time."
Since we were stopped waiting for a light to change, I turned to face her and stuck my tongue out. "How dare you insult the residents of my city," I said as if truly offended. Then we both burst out laughing.
After a moment, Darlene looked at me with an arched eyebrow, "I’m still waiting?"
"You know Darlene, I don’t really like to talk about it. I still get freaked out just thinking about it." She kept staring at me and it was clear there was no way I was getting out of this. So I took a deep breath and remembered back to that day.
"Cynthia and I were at and outdoor café on Columbus Avenue." I began, visualizing the scene in my mind. It wasn’t difficult, that day was etched in my memory with photographic clarity. "It was a beautiful, sunny October day. A light breeze was blowing the leaves around in a very gentle, almost lazy way. We were both floating on a cloud of joy because we had just left her obstetrician, the one who confirmed the pregnancy. We were celebrating with lattes. Hers was decaf." Darlene nodded her head knowingly.
"I guess it was just bad luck, but Thornton walked by not five minutes after we sat down. As soon as he saw us he stopped and said, ‘Well, what do we have here? The dyke bitch and her pansy boyfriend planning to screw some other poor schmuck, I bet.’"
"Cynthia looked at him calmly and said, ‘Go away, Bob. You’ll just get in trouble if you stay here.’"
"Oh, look!" Darlene squealed, pointing frantically to the far corner of the street and breaking me out of my partial trance. "Isn’t that Woody Allen?"
"Huh?" Yeah, it sure looks like him." I had decided to cross the park at 86th street, and Woody did live on the Upper East Side.
"Well you don’t seem very excited about it," said Darlene, as if I had somehow insulted her.
"Darlene," I replied, trying to sound exasperated, "lots of celebrities live in New York. If you live here, you see ‘em."
"Well, excuse me, Miss Blasé," she went on in a sing-song voice, "not everyone is as sophisticated as you are, you know." Darlene giggled and I again stuck my tongue out at her, making her giggle even more.
"So, do you want to hear my story or not?" I asked. She just rolled her eyes at me, and I took that for a yes.
"So he was standing there insulting us and people started to gather around. I don’t know why I did it, but I stood up to face him and said, ‘Bob, just get out of here before I call the cops.’"
"A woman from the crowd said, ‘I’ll do it,’ and Thornton got even more agitated. ‘You goddamn women,’ he shouted at the people crowding around us, ‘always ganging up on men.’"
"I again politely asked him to leave, telling him he already had enough problems. I was starting to feel sorry for him."
"Well, as I said it, I reached out to touch his forearm -- you know, the way women do?" I touched Darlene’s arm with my hand to illustrate. "But as soon as I did, he exploded. "Don’t you dare touch me, bitch," he shouted and then he just backhanded me right across the face. It was a full swing and he caught me flush on the side of mouth, splitting both my upper and lower lips." I pointed to the scars, which still had a long way to go before they began to disappear. "I went toppling backwards over my chair, landing on my left side on the sidewalk." I guess that was good ‘cause I landed on my shoulder instead of my head."
"As I was lying there, stunned, I heard Cynthia scream, and I heard Thornton yelling at her, and it was the strangest thing. There I was with blood in my mouth, and I was scared, and angry, and I felt so helpless. After all, he had knocked me flying with just one swing. I had experienced that combination -- the blood and the mixture of intense feelings -- before."
I stopped to catch my breath. Unbidden memories were suddenly rising up to choke me. They caught me completely by surprise and before I knew what was happening, tears welled up in my eyes.
Darlene put her hand on my arm to comfort me and I took a couple of deep breaths, blowing them out slowly to compose myself so I could continue, but now I was telling more than I had intended. "The first time I tasted blood was the day my father died. It was…" I choked back a sob, "his blood." I started to cry helplessly, blubbering and momentarily losing sight of the road. Darlene grabbed hold of the steering wheel, and with her help we pulled safely over to the curb, stopping by a fire hydrant, which was the only open spot on the block.
Once we had stopped, I just let go. I was sobbing openly. My body shook and I suddenly realized that I was crying over the loss of my father. I had never mourned for him before. I had hated him so much that I never realized that I had lost something when he died. Now, finally, at long last, I was truly mourning his death. Sure, he was a drunken shit at times. But he was my father! The only one I’d ever have, and I hardly had him for very long at all. And now, as Darlene wrapped me in her arms, I was at last able to weep for him. A strange sense of relief washed through me as I did.
"There, there, sweetie, are you sure you want to talk about this," Darlene asked.
"I think I have to talk about it. I finally can talk about it. My father was an alcoholic. He abused me, calling me a sissy or a pansy. But I convinced him to take me for an ice cream cone on my eleventh birthday. He was drunk. He crashed the car and killed himself. He bled to death all over me. As I lay trapped in the car, he kept asking me to help him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move at all. He accused me of purposely not helping him. I experienced the same feelings lying on the ground after Thornton hit me as I had in that car."
Darlene was looking at me with big, sad eyes. I could tell that my pain was hurting her as well. I looked at her ruefully. "Having blood in my mouth is a strong trigger for me."
"Oh you poor dear," Darlene was almost crying herself by now. "That’s just horrible. Let me hold you."
I did, for a few moments, and that really helped to calm me down. Then I sat back up. "But that’s not all," I started. She looked at me, horrified, shaking her head, as by doing that she could prevent the past from happening. But I continued on, "When I was in college, I was out on a date with a girl and we got robbed by three muggers. They beat me and stole my wallet and her purse. As I was lying on the ground, my head exploding with pain and my mouth full of blood, she began to accuse me of not protecting her."
"What do you mean?" Darlene broke in, "How could you have protected her from three muggers?"
"Well," I replied, still sniffling, "I did the best I could. I shoved her behind me and they didn’t touch her. But it didn’t matter. She was accusing me of failing her just as my father had. I started to think that she was right, that I hadn’t protected her. There was blood in my mouth again and I felt that same combination of feelings, the guilt, the helplessness, and the impotent anger that I had felt lying in my father’s wrecked car. These feelings haunt me. They invade my dreams."
"Oh, Lilly, that’s horrible," Darlene exclaimed. You didn’t do anything! There’s no reason to feel guilt or shame." She used a tissue to dab tears from my cheeks as she spoke.
"Well, logically you’re right of course, but people accused me of failing them, and I felt like I had. I don’t know, emotions aren’t logical, are they?"
Darlene just shook her head from side to side sadly. "No," she said, almost too softly to hear, "emotions aren’t logical, and the most inappropriate ones just stick to you sometimes with mindless intensity."
"Well, that’s not all," I went on, staring out of the window in front of me, "a couple of years ago, I was mugged again. I was with Michael. We were almost killed fighting them off. I was knocked unconscious, and when I awoke, my face in a pool of my own blood, the first thing I felt was that same loathsome combination of emotions. I was lying there in pain and feeling sorry for myself when I heard Michael moaning. He had been shot. But that time I was able to fight my fear and crawl over to Michael and apparently save his life."
"I know. Cynthia told us. You were wonderful." Darlene just lit up as she said that. She was bursting with pride for me.
"Yeah, I might have been," I replied morosely, but I killed one of the muggers. "I’m a decent person, a good person, aren’t I? Why did I have to kill someone, a real live person? Why did someone have to die for me to finally become a man?"
I was almost crying again, and I could again see the pain on Darlene’s face as she tried to figure out how to help me. I didn’t give her the chance, plunging ahead with my story. "Well, that’s not exactly right is it? I had to become a woman to act with the courage I never seemed to have as a man."
"Lillian Miller!" Darlene almost leapt at me she was so agitated. "You just stop that! That is the stupidest…, most self-destructive thing I have ever heard?" Her voice rose in both pitch and intensity, driving me back for a moment. She went on like a machine gun, drilling me with her words. "Cynthia told us that story one night about a month before Hannah died. You were a hero. You saved Michael’s life; you didn’t take one. That guy’s death was an accident, although every woman in the room, and there were a bunch of ‘em, thought he deserved to die. How can you beat yourself up over that?"
"I don’t know Darlene. I just didn’t know how to stop." I started sobbing again. "It’s just like after my father died. I eventually understood it wasn’t my fault, but the guilt didn’t go away, although this wasn’t nearly as bad as when my father killed himself. I still didn’t know how to get rid of it, but Cynthia’s and Michael’s love made it so much easier to deal with."
"But the story does get better," I said smiling slightly. "After Thornton decked me, I could have just lain there on the ground and no one would have faulted me. I wanted to. I was scared, really scared, but I knew I had to get up. He was threatening Cynthia and our baby. That changed everything. Despite my feelings, I knew I had to do something, anything really, to protect them, and I scrambled to my feet as fast as I could. At least I was wearing a loose skirt and my heels were chunky." I smiled a slightly crooked smile at her. I was starting to feel better.
"What about all those people?" Darlene asked, so appalled she reflexively put one hand up to cover her mouth while the other reached out for my arm. "Why didn’t they do anything? I mean the son of a bitch was attacking two women…you said there was crowd."
"Well, this was New York," I said, suddenly feeling embarrassed that I had to apologize for my city. I looked down to hide the silly sense of shame I was starting to feel. "At least it was New York before those bastards hit the World Trade Center, Darlene. People would back away when something like that happened. You never knew what kind of lunatic you might be facing or whether he had a knife or a gun. Everyone had the same instinct - just protect yourself - and that’s what everyone did. I think things are different now. But this all happened a million years ago — before we learned how thousands of people were willing to risk their lives for their fellow New Yorkers, people they didn’t know. It was just a different time."
I shook my head sadly and Darlene nodded to me in understanding, letting her hand slip from my arm to enclose my hand. Her touch was warm and comforting. I put my other hand over hers and we just sat there for a few moments as I lost myself in my own thoughts and Darlene waited for me to continue.
Then, I took another deep breath before going on. "Anyway, as I looked up, Thornton’s back was to me and he had grabbed our table and was trying to throw it aside, apparently to get at Cynthia, who was scrambling backwards trying to turn in her chair so she could get away. I still don’t know why he was mad at her."
‘Leave her alone, she’s pregnant,’ I shouted, as I got my feet under me. I grabbed a glass from the table next to me and threw it at his back. It hit him on the shoulder; he turned on me. We stood facing each other as I got my balance by resting one hand on the table. I was dripping blood all over the bright white linen tablecloth. He was so furious he looked like a steaming volcano ready to explode."
"When I tried to wipe the blood away from my mouth with my sleeve, he laughed at me. ‘You really are stupid, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You should have stayed down.’ He was only a couple of steps away and he started to cock his right arm to punch me as he lunged forward."
"I can’t believe it," Darlene gasped. This is 2001, I can’t believe a man would hit a woman — especially in front of people. I know there are lots of bastards who batter their wives in private. But in front of a crowd?"
"It was the most miraculous thing," I said as the scene coalesced again in my mind. "At that moment everything just slowed down. I could hear my heart pounding, but it sounded really slow and very distant. I could see the rage in his face, some spittle flying from the corner of his mouth, and most amazingly, flecks of black in his eyes. It was like my senses were sharpened and entirely focused. Nothing else in the world existed except for Thornton. I could tell exactly what he was going to do, and I instinctively knew exactly what I was going to do. I had practiced this so often in karate class."
"Ah karate! The great equalizer for us girls!"
"Yes, Michael signed me up right after we were mugged. He had his instructor visit the apartment as soon as I was strong enough. I’ve been taking classes ever since."
"Anyway, when he lurched towards me and swung his fist," I could see Darlene draw back and raise her hand, as if a punch was coming her way, "I simply stepped to the side, grabbed his wrist, and flipped him over my hip. It was as easy as putting a tray of food down on table. He had planned to really clobber me, so his weight was way forward and I used his momentum to throw him over hard. His side crashed against the side of a table, and then he hit the wrought iron leg of another table with the back of his head as he went down."
"His head hit an iron leg? That must have hurt!"
"I wish," I said, giving her an evil grin, "but it knocked him out, so I’m afraid he didn’t get to feel anything, except maybe when he woke up. Anyway, there I was, standing partly bent at the waist with my arm across my body like I was following through on a punch. I was directly over him and my face looked like an angry mask, although I don’t remember how I was feeling. And I was bleeding like crazy right down onto his face. As I stood there, watching my blood run into his mouth through his slackened lips, it was like magic. All those scenes in which I had been the one injured and helpless on the ground ran through my mind and the fear that they carried just seemed to run out of my mouth with my blood. I knew that I would never have those terrible dreams again. My demons were carried from my body with that blood."
"That’s when someone snapped that picture, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time. He was just one of those people who always carry a camera around and he ended up selling it to the Daily News for some ridiculous amount of money. The Daily News made me famous by publishing my picture right next to one of Muhammad Ali, who was in almost the same position, following through on a punch as he knocked out Sonny Liston in their second fight."
"Well, once the press figured out I was the same person who had killed a mugger, they went berserk. I became the high-heeled avenger. When they printed my picture in the Daily News, the caption was. "Make my Day. Dirty Harriet Defends New York." We couldn’t have bought that much media coverage for our new business with ten million bucks."
"Yeah, but what happened when they found out you were a transsexual?"
"They already knew and had covered that part of the story when Michael and I came out at that big party last Christmas. So it wasn’t such a big deal this time. I got hate letters and spiteful comments on radio talk shows, but at the same time just about every woman’s organization, gay and lesbian group and TG support group rallied on my behalf."
"Lilly you are just amazing. You have been involved in more violence than anyone I ever met, but you’re such a sweetheart. How do you do it?"
"Well I sure as hell don’t go looking for it," I said, rather appalled at the whole idea. "It scares me." After a brief pause as I considered what I had just said, I went on, "Well, it doesn’t scare me as much as it used to, and I know one thing for sure, no one’s going to bully me around any more." I said it emphatically, as if I meant it.
Darlene looked at me like I had just gone off the deep end.
"No, I’m serious," I said. For my entire life, I’ve been scared of anyone who would challenge me or even act the least bit dominant. All this shit with Thornton has taught me I don’t have to be scared any more. I’m more of a man now than I ever was when I was one. Isn’t that silly, I had to become a woman to become a man, but I’ll never be a man again. Maybe I’ll just become a tough old broad."
Darlene laughed out loud at that. When she recovered, she said, "You’ve got a long way to go before you’re an old anything, and I rather like the sweet, slightly shy Lilly. I’m not sure how tough I want you to get." And she laughed again. And as we pulled back out into traffic, I was laughing too.
When we got to the West Side, Darlene spoke up again. "So c’mon, you still haven’t told me anything about your business." All I know is that you’re a famous crime fighter and got ten million dollars in free publicity.
"I don’t know," I said. "What’s to tell." She just frowned at me, letting me know she wasn’t going to let me get away with not telling all.
"Okay, okay, let’s see. Basically, Michael negotiated great deals for Cynthia and me. We got an obscene amount of money not to go to court, and we invested it in our own financial consulting firm. We brought almost all the girls from the office with us, which worked out great for them since North State was going to purge Thornton’s division and start over. So we’ve got this great, experienced staff and we’re all friends."
"Right now were doing work for three large investment houses and a couple of mutual funds. We always thought that big companies would be our only source of income. But then, after the thing with Thornton hit the papers, we were inundated with requests from women to handle their finances."
"We had to hire three other analysts and accountants just to handle the load. And you know what, they’re all women. You should have seen the resumes we got! There are so many great women out there. So far we’re almost all female and that seems to have given us an edge with all the corporate women who are in a position to give us business."
"Almost, what do you mean almost?" Darlene asked.
"Oh, we have one guy working for us. He was a lawyer at North State, Jason Riddle. Michael insisted we hire him. They’re lovers now."
Darlene just rolled her eyes at me and got agitated again. You have Michael’s lover working for you? Aren’t you jealous? Isn’t Michael jealous? I thought you two were lovers?"
"Well," I said thoughtfully, "we never really made it that far. Oh we did make love a few times and we are crazy about each other, but we’re more like brother and sister now. In the end it became clear to both of us that we weren’t really sexually attracted to each other. He likes big buff guys, and I like gorgeous curvy women, one in particular."
"Jason isn’t the least bit femme, but he is a sweetheart and I’m just so happy that Michael has a steady boyfriend. You saw him at our wedding. You know how happy he is for me and Cyn."
We were just pulling into the garage under my building, and Darlene and I fell silent as we grabbed her bags and trundled them to the elevator. As we waited for it to come, Darlene grabbed my arms with both her hands and turned me towards her. "Lilly, you just told me most amazing story. I am so proud of you. You sound like a real grownup now and I’m so happy for you."
With that she grabbed my face in both her hands and gave me the sweetest kiss on the lips. Then she hugged me to her tightly and said, "Say you’ll always be my friend?"
I just nodded at her dumbly. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I was very moved by her generous show of affection. I almost started to tear up again, but the elevator arrived and saved me from embarrassing myself.
Cynthia grabbed Darlene into a big hug as soon as we were through the front door and they started chattering away while I stashed Darlene’s bags in the girly bedroom and went to wash the tears off my face. I decided to lay down for a few moments, and before I knew it, I heard Cynthia calling me from the other room. I had been asleep for almost two hours.
When I got back to the living room, Darlene had her hand on Cynthia’s belly, even though there was nothing to feel yet, and was just beaming at her. "Do you think she would do that for me?" I heard Cynthia say to Darlene.
"Do what?" I asked.
They both just turned to look at me, grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats. Then Darlene patted Cynthia on the arm, as if to say, don’t worry I’ll take care of this and turned to me. "How are you two going to care for the baby?"
"Well, I don’t know," I said, "We hadn’t talked about it. I suppose we’ll get a nanny." They both smiled at each other. "Wait a minute, what are you two up to?" I asked suspiciously, not really knowing yet where this was going.
"Well," Cynthia replied, trying to sound all sweet and innocent, "Darlene just pointed out to me that it would be easier for you to work from home than for me."
I nodded my head. That was true. She had to run the business and recruit clients; I mostly sat in a back room (albeit a very nice back room) and worked mathematical wonders. "Yeeeaah," I said slowly, trying to figure out how they were going to trap me, "but I still have to work. After all, I am the brains of this outfit." I flashed them a big grin to let them know I was kidding, even though I really wasn’t, altogether, that is.
"Well I think it would just be great if you took primary responsibility for the care of the baby," said Cynthia, suddenly.
"Me," I squeaked, not quit recovered from the sharp intake of breath I had taken in response to her suggestion. "But you’re the mother. I always thought the mother…."
Darlene broke in. "And what are you? From what I can see, this baby’ll have two mothers." She glanced first at Cynthia and then at me, "Right?"
Then she looked straight at me. "Lillian, don’t tell us you want to be the daddy? Don’t you think that your little baby will grow up rather confused if a hot babe like you claims to be her daddy? Lillian, you’re this baby’s mother every bit as much as Cynthia."
As I stood there, transfixed by their stares and my mouth gaping open in understanding, I realized that I would love to take care of the baby.
If we got a nanny, like we had planned anyway, I would still have time to work and even go to the office or outside meetings whenever necessary. Yes! I wanted to be the one who stayed home. In fact, I started to feel sorry for Cynthia. She’d have to go off to the office everyday while I got to experience the joy of hearing our baby say her first words and walk her first steps. What would her first words be? I wanted it to be Cyn. Babies can say "dada" and "mama". Can they say "Cyn-Cyn"? When she said mama, she would be saying it to me. I don’t know what Cynthia and Darlene were thinking as they watched me, but I tried to keep a straight face just to force their hands.
And as I stood there, waiting for one of them to make the next move, you know what else I finally allowed myself to accept, although I’d really known it for quite a while? In this relationship Cynthia was the "husband" and I was the "wife," if such words made any sense in our relationship. It was Cynthia, after all, who had first given me the ring (although I did later give her a fabulous diamond) and then asked me to marry her. And it was Cynthia who had dressed in the sexiest black satin tuxedo cut pants suit for the wedding, while I wore the gorgeous white gown. And she was certainly the one who was in charge of the relationship, while I nearly worshipped her and would do anything for her. Yes, I was the adoring wife. I liked that thought.
So I knew just what I was going to do, and I was delighted with my decision, but I kept that straight face plastered on to see if I could make them sweat for a while by not saying anything. It worked for just a few moments, but then I’m afraid I gave myself away by starting to smile. Then I started to giggle. Cynthia knew what that meant instantly and jumped up to hug me around the neck while she shouted, "You’ll do it, won’t you? You’ll do it!"
I just stood still and let her calm down. When she was done, I said, "Yes, I’d love to do it. I was beginning to worry you’d never ask. You can be the big time consultant. But I think being a stay-at-home mom for a while will be just fine for me. That’s the New Job I always wanted."