The holidays suck major league AND big time. It’s always the same thing; I’m alone. True, it is mostly my own doing. I have this little intimacy problem with people; I’m scared to the point of panic whenever I’m in a one on one with someone and it’s NOT in a professional situation.

I’m a G.A. student at a northeastern university. I live in the Married Student and G.A. dorm; a high rise structure of one bedroom…small one bedroom…apartments. As the campus empties out for the midterm recess, those who live too far away from home have the luxury, or agony, of solitude.

I made sure I was as far from home as possible. There was nothing for me back ‘home’ anyway. A call to ‘mommy’ once every so often sufficed and she usually went to her sister’s for various events. Though not totally unwelcome, I wasn’t exactly flavor of the week in their households anyway.

You see, I have this…peculiarity of sorts. I am not exactly a transvestite and I’m not exactly a transsexual. I languish somewhere in between and the solitude does give me the opportunity to express that part of me for longer than a day or two. My family knew of my particular leaning and they were, at best, in a strange sort of denial. I was expected too outgrow it, even at the age of twenty two. Everyone else simply assumed I was gay and affected.

Anyway, I had taken my shower and shaved my legs; the rest of my body was permanently hairless thanks to electrolysis and smoother living through chemistry. My shoulder length chestnut colored hair was wrapped up in a towel and I was draped in my wonderfully fluffy pink terry bathrobe.

After slipping my feet into my pink slippers, I made my way toward what past as a kitchen when I heard a knocking at my door. My entire being froze in place! ‘Who could that be? What could they possibly want?’ I thought. I hoped and prayed that whoever it was would simply think that I wasn’t home and go away.

Another knock…oh my God!

“Hello?” A woman’s voice? “I’m your neighbor from down the wall? Can I speak with you for a moment?”

My neighbor from down the hall? She wants so speak with me??? Oh my God! That was her in the laundry room last night! There was a plaintive quality to her voice. Oh my God! I have to change out of my robe!

“Just a moment…I just got out of the shower.”

I rushed into my bedroom as I pulled the towel from my head. Shedding my robe, I searched quickly for a small tee shirt to flatten my boobs. Donning the one I wore yesterday, I quickly looked for my grey sweat pants and bottoms. I didn’t think pink would maintain my secret very long. I put on a pair of heavy wool athletic socks to hide my polished toes and quickly went to the door. Looking through the peep hole to verify my visitor, I unlocked and opened the door a bit.

“Hi.” I was breathless. I stared up into the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

“Hi.” Her smile was…gorgeous…and warm, open. “I was wondering…” She looked away as if what she was about to say was some great and burdensome revelation. She looked back down into my eyes and started again. “I was wondering if perhaps you might like to join me this evening. You know…like for company?” She quickly added; “That is if you’re not doing anything.”

I was somewhat stunned at the invitation. I mean…here was this beautiful woman, tall, blond, blue eyed, athletic, and obviously bright, with nobody to spend Christmas Eve with. I was frozen; complete with mouth agape and eyes wide.

“I guess you’re busy.” She blushed and turned her face away.

“NO! No…not at all. I really had no plans.” Yeah…other than dressing up and seeking yet another solitary evening in wine driven oblivion. I opened the door a bit wider still captivated by her presence.

“Yeah…but I smell you cooking something…which…by the way…smells delicious.”

“I’m cooking a duck. I was going to have that for my meal. Would you like to join me?”

Oh my God! Did I just say that? Did I actually ask her over for dinner? I was trembling like a leaf. She had to notice. But her smile answered before she did.

“I would love to!” Her voice was warm enough to heat the entire building. It was a deep, almost alto that resonated throughout my being. “Oh…by the way…” she glanced both ways down the hall, and then back toward me before continuing. “…I think these might be yours? They really should be hand washed you know.”

She giggled and held up a pair of my rose colored, lace trimmed, bikini briefs! I turned white as a ghost as the color left my face just prior to my fore head hitting the door with a clunk. Caught…again! I felt the world swiftly close in on me. My vision narrowed and I felt my stomach begin to revolt against me. Panic attack time again! She gently took my chin in her hand and turned my face toward hers.

“Look at me.” I was not there. I couldn’t focus on anything. She leaned in and down to my ear. “Look at me.” She whispered again softly. Tears were welling up from deep within me as I slowly tried to focus my vision. “I am not here to embarrass or humiliate you. I am simply returning these lovely panties…of which I am somewhat envious …to you. I don’t care whether you are my host…or my hostess.” Now I could see tears form within her eyes.

“I only wish to have company this evening. I don’t want to be alone again on this night.”
I nodded my head. She still held my chin in her hand. It was a firm grip, yet gentle. Her skin was a bit rough but I could smell the scent of some hand lotion lingering. Her touch was warm.

“I only ask one thing of you, and I will promise the same.”

I nodded, still a bit choked up but recovering from the shock of being revealed. She looked deeply into my eyes and smiled.

“You must be completely open and honest with me. No games and no pretenses. Can you do that for me?” I nodded my head and was able to crack a smile. “Good…” She crooned in that rich warm voice of hers. She then took my hand and gently placed the panties on my palm. “…and you might consider wearing these and whatever else you think might go along with it. See you around…six?”

I nodded and again smiled.

“Great! And I’ll bring dessert!” She giggled as she left my doorway and headed back to her apartment down the hall.

Oh my God! She was like a tornado hitting my little barn! She was gone and I still held the door open a bit letting what had only just occurred sink in. I had company for the evening. How totally novel! And she wanted to see the ‘real’ me…no lies…no pretenses…no games…and dressed! And I didn’t even know her name.

I suddenly shut the door and screamed! Well…maybe more of a yelp? I had little more than a few hours to prepare for her coming. Oh my God…whatever will I wear? This put a whole new complexion on my evening. I would need to ‘entertain’ and try to be ‘charming’ if nothing else.

I would need to look good; kind of holiday like. Hmmm… I ran to my closet and opened the door to a mere six feet of hanging room. Almost all of my ‘boy’ things were double or triple hung. That left barely enough room for my collection of dresses, skirts, and blouses.

What did jump out at me was this white knee length merino wool dress with a back zip. The collar was faux turtle neck. Though it was somewhat form fitting, there was enough roominess to allow me comfort. Certainly it would go well with the rose colored thigh-highs I bought to match my bra and panties. I had the perfect pair of white leather pumps with a two and one half inch heel; just enough additional height and I could wear them for a long period of time with ease.

I stripped off the sweats and the damned confining tee shirt and put my robe back on. I only had a few hours to ready myself and the apartment for the first guest ever and I did want to go all out; at least as much as I could for this guest. Oh my God…I didn’t even know her name.

I ran to the bathroom to start with my hair. I quickly combed it out and styled it with my dryer set on cool. I didn’t want to have to deal with split ends. A few sprays of conditioner and my way too long pixie combed out beautifully just kissing my shoulders. I used my fav fragrance, Calendre, putting a touch on my neck, wrists, cleavage, behind the knees and, well…you know where else.

I ran back into my room to begin to dress. Hunting up the bra to match the panties wasn’t much of a chore. Never having very much in life, I tended to be almost manic about keeping my things in order and in good condition.

I shed my robe on the bed and took the bra in hand. I fastened it around me and carefully pulled it around my body till the padded cups were in front. I slid my arms through the straps and careful raised it up till my boobs nestled comfortably in the cups. One quick lift and the alignment between my nipples and the soft lace covered satin was perfect.

I next slid my panties up my smooth legs. I don’t have much height but thankfully I had long legs. I then very carefully slid the thigh highs up my legs. They were reasonably sheer yet they still had a bit of stretch to them. With my rose polished toes nestled snuggly in the sandal foot the material slid sensually up my leg until my thigh thickened enough to have the lace topped rubber strips take hold.

I stood and examined myself in the full length mirror attached to the inside of the closet door. The lovely rose color made a sharp statement against my porcelain skin. I half twisted my body to see how the bikini bottom caressed my butt. I was proportioned in the manner that I had envisioned since I was fourteen; just enough curves and boobs to make me feel, well…femme.

I slipped the dress carefully over my head letting the sleeves and the length to the hem carry it down my body. A slip would have been in order but I did so love the feel of the material. I accessorized with an antique looking garnet necklace and matching bracelet, another thrift shop find. I finished myself with a pair of garnet drop earrings.

I slipped into my pumps and again took a look. Hmmm… Maybe a tasseled cord for belting would make me look a bit svelter? Anyway, I had time to consider this as I rushed into the main room. My kitchen table was situated under a cheap small three drop lighted fixture.

The light was okay but I wanted to affect something a bit more intimate.

Though this was definitely not a date sort of thing but I wanted intimacy…a spiritual closeness that the table’s present location couldn’t provide. I looked toward the window where two arm chairs and a reading table placed. That would be perfect! Maybe a candle or two and a view of the snow covered commons would be just the thing.

I rearranged the furniture as quickly as I could. Moving the table was a real hassle and I definitely didn’t want to ruin my outfit or, God forbid, perspire. Once that was done, between scrambling to the counter top roaster to spoon the droppings mixed with water over the bird to brown and crisp the skin, I began to set the table.

I owned nothing of real fine quality in terms of dinner ware but I did have enough porcelain china purchased at the local thrift shop to set out two places. I set out three stemmed glasses; water, wine, and champagne. I never thought I would ever have the chance to use these things in one setting. My silver flatware was, once again, thrift shop specials. I had enough for four complete settings, so I set out two. My fine linen napkins completed the look.

All of this sat upon a white laced table cloth spread over a gold linen cloth. I set two slender brass candle stick holders in the center to complete the table. I wished I had some sort of holly center piece but who would’ve known I would have a guest.

I pulled back the window curtains, also lace, and held them arched with the curtain ties to frame the entire setting. With the kitchen lights off and the drop lights dimmed there would be just enough light to serve, eat and converse. It would be intimate, spiritual and simply perfect.

The aroma of the duck filling the room brought me out of my stupor. I cracked open the windows by the table and in my bedroom. I hastily tidied up my bedroom, hanging up my robe and tossing the sweats onto the shelf in the closet. I glanced quickly around, shut the light, and partially closed the door.

I had enough time left to put on my face, slice the duck, which I already had boned when I bought it, and throw together a salad. I turned off the cooker to let the duck cool a bit and went to the bathroom to do my make-up. The light would be dim and I was in a dramatic mood. I wanted to be bold and smoldering.

I don’t know what was going through my mind but I felt I had something to prove. I wanted to show her, whoever she was, the image I had of myself. It first appeared in my mind years ago and had refined itself many times. I was now able to place that image into the real world for my guest.

I didn’t want her to think I was merely some over grown boy playing in mommy’s wardrobe or with his older sister’s clothing and cosmetics. And, since we’re in this honest and unpretentious thing, I wanted her to like me, maybe even to want me as a friend. I sensed something about her…hmmm.

I always kept a pretty good supply of veggies because…well…I liked to eat them; usually raw. So I had those little red, yellow, and orange peppers, craisons, a personal fav, sugar roasted pecans, cherry tomatoes, baby carrots, and celery. I had several bottled dressings, one of which might entice her.

After covering the bowl and placing it in the fridge, I went into the bathroom. I looked into the mirror as I blew a strand of hair out of my face. I am a sucker for earth colors so my palette of color was full of browns, greys, greens, and such. I didn’t find that the metallic colors were as complimentary to me as the muted.

Praise God I was born, and still am in procession of, a flawless complexion. And I never enjoyed the feeling of a foundation or concealer on my skin and fortunately I could get away without it.

I wanted to look enticing without that teeny slut look, or the overdone thing of too much color. I started with a deep dark brown, wetting the cake to make a fine line above and below my eye lashes. I hated liner and always had a problem using it. But fine sable brushes always seemed to do the trick. I used a slightly lighter brown on my upper lid and another thin line below. I heavily brushed on that shade so that I could blend a lighter area above the lid with the non-metallic gold below my brow. I blended the shades with my finger both above and below the eye.

After sharpening the edges of the colors, I put on two coats of dark brown mascara. I always had long thick lashes and the mascara really brought the length out even more. I brushed a touch of brick colored blush across my cheeks and stood back to examine the picture. What I saw in the mirror matched the mental image of what I wanted. I finished off with a long lasting burgundy shade of lipstick.

I looked good. Truth to tell, I really was getting myself dressed up for my guest. Maybe, just maybe… But that would be too good to be true; kind of like a dream coming true. And on Christmas Eve no less! Hmmm… Who was I kidding? So…for the occasion it is then. I ran my brush through my hair one last time and shut the light as I exited on my way to the kitchen.

The duck smelled scrumious. I concocted the glazing myself using plenty of fresh garlic and other ‘secret’ ingredients. I made sure the roaster was turned off and placed my serving platters on the counter. I had also made a spaghetti squash which was also mouth watering. I took one last quick look around and dimmed the lighting a bit.

Music!!! Oh my God…I almost forgot in my haste to accommodate a guest. I’m in love with the sound of the G-string harp which is commonly called the Celt harp. I prefer the mellow sound of the neo-harp version as opposed to the brilliance of steel strings. I went to my ‘puter’ and summoned up a few cds by Derrick Bell, my favorite harpist. I backed that up with some Boccerini.

Just then there was a knock on my door. My heart literally leapt to my throat. I began to tremble like a leaf in a gust of wind. It was her. Suppose it wasn’t her? Who else could it be? One thousand such thoughts ran through my mind as I slowly and deliberately made my way toward the door.

“Hello? It’s me.”

It was her! I relished the sound of her voice again. It was warm and friendly. I reached the door after what seemed to be a week and slowly turned the knob. I took a deep breath and opened it. The moment she saw me her smile disappeared and she looked startled.

“I’m sorry. I must have the wrong apartment.” She backed up to look around, her apology sounding very sincere. My smile turned to surprise and then disappointment. I must have shocked her somehow.

“No…” I blushed and said very meekly. “I decided to be the hostess tonight.”

She looked back at me with the same startled expression seemingly frozen on her face. I took her visage in one quick moment. She looked…preppy…delightfully preppy. She wore a camel hair jacket of the highest quality; of course styled for a woman. Her skirt, knee length, was a fine grey flannel and her blouse was a poet’s shirt in a pearl pink silk opened enough to show modest cleavage. She wore a woman’s styled pair of cordovan penny loafers that matched her belt and knee high grey woolen socks. She wore no jewelry other than an expensive gold sports woman’s Rolex.

“Please…come in.” I pled though I did manage to smile. For a very brief moment I thought that the invitation may have been a bad idea…a very bad idea. She moved closer.

“Is that you???”

I nodded and smiled.

“Jesus Christ! You look…gorgeous!” She sputtered and suddenly beamed a smile that could thaw the frozen ground outside. I blushed profusely and lowered my eyes. “Surely it can’t be you! I don’t believe it!”

“It is me. And don’t call me Shirley.* My name is Drew.” I giggled with delight. I took her arm gently and pulled her into my apartment, her face still in shock and trying to take me all in.

“Like in Barrymore?” She laughed. It was an open and almost melodic laugh that came from deep within her body. “My name is Martina. But everyone calls me Marti.”
I held out my hand and she gently took it in hers.

“It’s very good to meet you Marti.” I noticed that she wore no cosmetics but I did recognize her fragrance; Chanel Number 18. I sometimes wore that scent.

“Oh…I brought a few things.” She tried to hand me a large tote but we both realized that our hands were still locked in a grip. That elicited a mutual giggle.

I drew her in and closed the door. Then I took the bag and brought it into the kitchen as Marti looked around the apartment.

“You know… I can’t believe I’m still in a dorm! I love what you’ve done in here. It’s like a bit of a country home.”

“I knew I would be here for some time and I wanted to make it less…institutional?” I turned to look at her as I spoke. “Anyway, I can’t stand all the walls being the same color.”

I emptied the contents of the tote as Marti looked around very slowly…and at everything. She had brought a bottle or port wine and a container of cut fresh fruit.

“These are nice.” Marti was looking at a small grouping of prints that hung on the wall where my love seat was placed. “Are you going for a fine arts degree? You have a wonderful eye.”

“I’m finishing up my dissertation and paper in English literature. I’ll be out in the spring. Finally…praise God.” I blushed and giggled. I would need to watch the giggling. Hmmm… “What can I give you to drink? We have champagne for the meal. I would love to save the port for the dessert, which looks wonderful. Where did you ever get fresh fruit this time of year?”

Marti looked at me and smiled. She was partially bent over looking at a photograph on a stand.

“The fruit? I get a half dozen of those things in the mail every month. And the boxes also have nuts and cheeses and the like.”

“Care packages from home?”

“No.” She looked away for a moment. “You might say those come from admirers.” Marti giggled. “Acquaintances of my dad and business people I need to deal with from time to time.”

I brought our salads to the table and set them down. This drew Marti’s attention toward the table which was not quite noticeable where it was placed.

“Any particular dressing you like? I have a few in bottles. I didn’t have time to whip one up.”

“Wow, you are really into this, aren’t you?” I blushed and shrugged my shoulders. “This is almost like a dinner date.” She giggled…I blushed.

“You are really my first dinner guest.” I smiled at her. Marti has such beautiful blond hair. I only just really noticed this. “I love your pixie. I need to have mine majorly cut. Anyway, I wanted to also keep with the spirit of the evening. I only wish I had better dinner ware.”

“Wait! I’ll run and get my plastic plates and forks.” She laughed. I was beginning to understand Marti’s sense of humor and I needed to remember that she was a bit older than me and worldlier perhaps?

“I also don’t have any bread.” I frowned. I should have prepared a bit better for myself.

“Listen…you don’t have to worry on my account. I’ll run to my place a get a dressing I love…and maybe one or two other things.”

Marti quickly walked out the door. I left the door unlocked for her and went about lighting the candles. She was so full of energy and life that I felt myself catching her excitement. I don’t know why we never managed to get past a fleeting hello in the laundry room or the rare meeting in the elevator. It was probably more my fear then anything I suppose.

I was lost in my thoughts when Marti returned with another tote. She knocked and then burst through the door in excitement. She was all aglow and smiling broadly.

“I’ve just the things we need to make this perfect.” She quickly came to me in the kitchen area and began to hand the items to me, naming them as she brought them out. “I love this stuff. It’s a Maytag blue cheese dressing you must try. Oh…and I have a box of bread sticks for empty carbs. And…” She really chuckled as she handed me a blue box. “…Baci chocolates! These are definitely an orgasm for the mouth!”

I giggled as I thought of what that must be like. Oh my God! Marti certainly could turn a phrase. An orgasm for any part of me would certainly be novel. I decanted the dressing and the bread sticks and hurriedly placed them on the table.

“Are you sure I can’t help?” Marti’s voice was almost plaintive again. Then the thought occurred to me.

“Yes! You can open the champers!” Indeed I didn’t want to struggle with the cork. “I can never open the bottle properly. I always wind up having to try and pry the cork off with a knife.” I chuckled as I told her my sad tale. “Then the stupid top usually breaks off and I have to push the cork down into the bottle. I always wind up with pieces of cork in the glass.” I handed the bottle to Marti.

“Nice wine. I am sooo glad you know a decent champers. I like this one in particular. It’s a bit over priced…but good”

I felt so relieved that Marti approved. She probably could have said okay to anything but the pleasure in her voice couldn’t mask the truth. She unwound the wire and smoothly, and not to quickly popped the cork; no mess or overflow. She poured a wee bit into her glass, tasted it, and then filled mine and refilled hers.

She held her glass thoughtfully for a moment before sitting down.

“Why don’t you make the toast.” Marti looked directly into my eyes and smiled. “After all…you’re the hostess.” She giggled. I smiled as I raised my glass to hers.

“To the season and to new friends?” I looked at her and she nodded her approval. We sipped and sat down to begin our first meal together.

Marti looked beautiful as the candle light flickered and danced in her eyes. She delicately speared several pieces of the salad and dipped them into the creamy looking dressing. She suddenly sat upright.

“Oh! I am so sorry. I should really be putting the dressing on the salad. But I am so accustomed to eating alone that my manners have forsaken me.” There was an honest look of dread in her face. “I really wanted you to try it too.”

I giggled as I speared a few small pieces as she had done and followed suit in dipping my fork into the bowl.

“I really don’t mind sharing so don’t give it another thought.” I truly didn’t. Not that I shared food every day but I do have other people that I have lunch with in the department.

Marti began to ‘fish’ around in the dressing bowl with her fork and brought it up with a piece of cheese on it. She quickly put it in her mouth, closed her eyes, and smiled as she savored the morsel. She once again dripped her fork and retrieved another piece. Holding the fork out toward my mouth she enticed me.

“You simply must taste this. It really melts in your mouth.”
Marti’s eyes gazed into mine as I leaned slightly forward with my mouth agape. She placed the fork upon my tongue band I closed my lips around it. She withdrew her fork and I savored the wonderfully creamy bit as it melted. When I opened my eyes, Marti was staring at me and smiling.

“You had the most beautiful expression on your face.” Marti laughed as she spoke. Then she placed the same fork on her tongue and slowly licked it. “Now you know what an orgasm of the mouth is.”

I chuckled and nodded in true understanding. But I saw a certain…gleam, in Marti’s eyes? That gleam I didn’t quite understand, and my not understanding disturbed me a bit. I was very curious about my guest and, feeling a little braver with a bit of champagne in me, I began to ask her questions about herself.

“Alright…I’ll tell you the entire story. My full name is Martina Howard Adams.” Her smile was dazzling as she spoke. “My family has lived in and around the Boston area for several hundred years.”

Somehow I knew that was coming. Marti had a certain grace, poise and bearing that came from a place that my family has never, at least to my limited knowledge, known. Marti was a child of great privilege. She wasn’t born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth; hers was solid gold.

“Our family was into banking and investments for several generations. Each following one received a good deal in inheritance but each one also built upon it; my father being the most successful. We had homes in the Beacon Hill section of Boston, the cape, Newport, Pinehurst in North Carolina, and Fort Lauderdale Beach.”

I got up to clear the salad bowls whilst insisting Marti stay seated. She did request that I leave the dressing, which I thought was a super idea. I returned to the table with the covered platter of duck and served her half. Asking whether she preferred the top or bottom, she responded immediately the bottom. So I served myself the top quarter.

“I never eat more than a quarter anyway and I do so love the wings.” She had noticed I left the extra quarter should she want more. I then retrieved the squash from the kitchen and held the bowl as she helped herself.

“You ARE really into this, aren’t you?” She smiled slyly and what she said was more a statement than a question. As I sat down, I smiled and thought for a minute about what she said.

“Yes…I am into it.” There was a bit of pride in my voice. “I find this all strangely fulfilling and…very comfortable…to do these things Is that weird?”

“No. Not at all.” She looked out the window for a moment. “To serve is a blessing. To be focused enough on another’s wants and needs is…a gift.” She sounded as though she was reciting a mantra.

“I never thought of it in that manner.” I smiled at Marti as she turned back toward me.
Marti continued her story saying that when she was young, she was the consummate tomboy. She loved to ski, play tennis and, most of all, to swim. So schools were chosen around a group of her peers and a swimming pool. Marti attended private schools where she excelled in both academics and sports.

But truly, swimming was her forte. Ever summer she would attend two camps. One was for tennis and the other for swimming. Marti learned at the Swimming Hall of Fame, a very competitive environment for the sport. So every year through high school she would go and train for several weeks in Florida.

Marti became so accomplished at her sport that a number of colleges sought her out. Of course she had little choice in the matter. She attended Harvard University just as her father, his father, and his father, and so on, had done. She was equipped both mentally and physically to be in that high pressured environment.

Marti even competed for the national swimming team and had made the final cut. Then she had a dreadful accident while skiing and tore up her right knee. Though it was rebuilt as best as possible, she no longer could swim in the manner she had. Marti remained on the school team but her hopes of going to the Olympics remained on the floor of the operating room at Massachusetts General Hospital.

“When I graduated from Harvard, the only thing on my mind was to help my father at work. So I got a job as a junior executive and began to learn what the family business was all about. I loved it! I had found a new way of competing. And so it went for two years or so. Then I met this jerk and wound up getting married.”

“What??? No!!!” I was genuinely shocked.

“Yeah…I know…” Marti nodded and frowned. “But he was so beautiful and big and such a consummate boy toy that I couldn’t resist.” She dipped a bread stick into the gravy for the duck and reached over to let me have the first bite. “Anyway, there was a lot of pressure from cousins and my ‘mother’…” There was more than a bit of sarcasm in her voice.

“’You graduated school. Find someone with a name and get married. It’s time you lived your life!’ It wasn’t me but I did it anyway. The marriage lasted a little over two years. You see…” Marti leaned in closely as if divulging a sacred secret. “…he was a good fuck but when it came to what I liked best, a nice tongue bath, he was nowhere to be found. And, to be completely honest, I think he really preferred other boys.”

I was shocked. Here was this totally capable woman and she succumbed to the social pressures around her to fall into this terrible marriage. But who was I to talk about succumbing to social pressures.

“And though he came from an old family, he was broke. He also had little interest in working. He thought himself to be the wife.” Marti laughed heartily but there was a bit of bitterness in the sound. “He was more like my mother than my father which probably accounted for their divorce as well. My father didn’t care for people who couldn’t make their own way through life. All ‘mommy’ did was attend meetings of various charities and whenever I was home her would drag me along; lunches and dinners and teas all day long. I swear she could give away more than he could earn and line her own pockets at the same time.”

I noticed, during this very sad part of Marti’s life, that she had finished her duck. I scooped the remaining quarter off the serving platter and put it on her plate. She didn’t notice. Her focus was somewhere outside the window. I stared outside for a moment and saw that it started to snow.

“It’s snowing!” I giggled. I love the snow…at least from inside. I love watching it fall. My announcement brought Marti back to the present. She smiled as she watched the flakes fall. Then she turned back toward me.

“Oh my God…are you sure you don’t want this?”

“It’s for you…really.”

“You are such a delight!” Marti laughed as she filled both our glasses with more champagne.

“By the time my folks got divorced, I was fifteen, I had turned into a real little bitch; snobbish and haughty to the max! It was my defense against being taken around and shown off like a fresh piece of meat. I made sure that nobody, especially their sons, would even come near me.”

Even though our back grounds were so different, we had so many things in common. After eating a piece of duck, Marti continued.

“Except for this one woman. Everybody called her Mrs. Howe and seemed to fear her. She was treated with such reverence. Well, one day she came up to me and took me by the hand into a private area.”

Again Marti leaned across the table as if imparting the secrets of the universe. Her eyes were gleaming with an inner joy. When we were no more than inches apart she continued.

“She said to me; ‘I see you’ve become quite the little witch.’ I was stunned. ‘I fully understand why. I was one myself. I still am.’ She said with pride. ‘They think that simply because we are women we are weak and need the protection of a man.’ Well…I burst into tears…”

I could see Marti’s eyes well up as she spoke. She took her linen napkin and gently blotted her eyes. Oddly enough, her smile never withered.

“’Why do they do this to me?’ I said to her. She told me that they wanted me to grow up and be them! This was how they sought affirmation for their broken dreams and lost hopes.”
Marti’s eyes were alive with spirit as she spoke. I was fascinated by her compelling tale. It almost sounded like one of those English novels by Jane Austin or something.

“That old woman…old…she was in her mid fifties at the time, went on to tell me something I’ve never forgotten. She said that I must never forget what was truly important; my hopes and dreams. And she said that all things of real importance had no tangibility and I must never quit anything I start.”

Marti sat back with a very satisfied look on her face. I could feel her energy and excitement as she told me of Mrs. Howe and their conversation.

“The last thing she told me that afternoon was that her name was Rose and if I ever saw her at any of those functions I should immediately join her. She would introduce me to the people who were truly worth knowing.”

“Is she still alive?” I had to ask.

“I see her as often as I can. And I still call her Rose.” Marti laughed. “She was the one who suggested I attend school up here. She said: ‘Go to the country’ for a year or two and ‘sort things out’. So…I did!”

I giggled with wide eyed wonder at this marvelous creature that was not afraid to say what she was all about.

“When my father died two and one half years ago, she was the first one to come to me and help with all that needed doing.”

“Oh God! I am so sorry. You were close to him?”

“It was a great loss for me. In many ways he was my world.” I could see her tear up again. I was so very enthralled with her narration.

“Now his very dear friend who is running the company advises me. I trust him and Rose trusts him. Anyway, he already set his retirement age and it’s only a few years off so there’s no reason not to trust him. He suggested that I return to school to learn finance so that I could come back to work a bit more knowledgeable though he wanted me to school in Boston or New York.”

I sat resting my chin in my palms totally fascinated with Marti’s life thus far. Indeed I was totally captivated. I also noticed that she had eaten not only the duck but also all of the squash.

“Wow!” That’s all that came to mind. Marti laughed and poured the rest of the champagne. She then mimicked my pose.

“Wow? That’s it?”

“Your life sounds an awful lot like some sort of a Victorian tale…or even a fairy tale but I can’t decide whether you’re the princess, or the prince, in distress. But I don’t know that it really matters.”

“Do you think I’m in distress?”

“Yes…” I sat up. “…a sort of metaphysical distress.” I giggled.

“Oh dear Lord! You’re a romantic, aren’t you!”

I blushed as I gathered the dishes and platters and bowl. I smiled coyly as I got up to bring the dinnerware into the kitchen. I thought about what she said; an accusation more than a question really. I turned toward Marti as I spoke.

“Shall we have dessert at the loveseat? Would that be more comfortable?”
Marti got up and moved her chair from across the table to rest cattycorner from mine.

“No. I kind of enjoy this little nook and the view. I also love to watch the snow fall.”
That was fine with me. I really enjoyed the intimacy of the space. I put the desserts, and the port, on a serving tray and brought everything over to the table. Marti stood and helped settle everything in a manner that would give us both access to the goodies. She pulled the cork from the bottle and opened the chocolates as I sat down.

“Do you think you’ll ever marry again?” I had to ask. She stopped pouring and glanced out the window in thought.

“Marriage…it’s a very big word.” She looked back at me. “I think I have a soul mate out there somewhere. I don’t want a husband and I certainly don’t want to be a wife. I have a life to live and I would love to have someone to live it with. I would also like to share someone else’s life as well. Does that make sense?”

I nodded in agreement as she finished pouring the port.

“This is a really nice port with a strong nutty flavor. I think you will like it.” She then speared a piece of the cut fruit and rather than use the dessert plates she held the fork to my mouth. I couldn’t resist!

“Another mouth orgasm?” I asked. Marti laughed at that.

“After that dinner you have the nerve to ask if I can provide another one? I must tell you that your cooking is superb by anyone’s standards.”

I took the fork, and the slice of pear, into my mouth. I closed my eyes and savored the sweet delight.

“So…” Marti began. “Now it’s your turn.” Her eyes were ablaze with curiosity. I’m assuming that this…” She waved her hand across my body. “…is the real you.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I knew this was coming but that didn’t make my revelation any easier. I rested my fore head against my hands as I leaned on my elbows. Where do I begin? My life was not such an orderly one; planned by people truly interested in me. Marti clasped both my hands in her left hand.

“You must remember what I told you earlier. I am not here to embarrass or humiliate you. And to be totally honest, I can’t even remember what you looked like when you opened the door. And the door must have been very difficult for you do have done.”
I nodded my head as a tear rolled down my cheek. I picked up my linen and blotted my eyes carefully. I didn’t want to look like a raccoon with smeared mascara.

”Why did you open the door anyway?”

“I wasn’t going to. I really relish my privacy so I can…be myself? But there was something in your voice…a quality I recognized. I also really didn’t want to be alone on this night…again.”

Still holding my hands Marti nodded. She speared another slice and fed it to me.

“I was always a bit of a freak of nature I guess…”

“You are NOT a freak!”

“Different then… My family name is Dovovan…”

“Irish???” Marti laughed.

“Yes.” I said meekly.

“My grandfather is probably rolling over again in his grave. And certainly my great grandfather. They were terrible bigots… toward the Irish…actually any Catholics and all ‘foreigners’. Rose hated my grandfather with a passion. She would call him ‘Adams’ as if he was a servant. He never said anything to her because she was one of his largest depositors.”

“And you?” I asked with some trepidation.

“I am truly my father’s daughter.” She laughed. “My father stopped speaking with his father long before the old bastard died. The only reason he left the company to my father is he loved money more than anything and he knew my father would take care of his only true love. So…you are different and Irish.” Marti giggled.

“I am originally from Tacoma…” I sipped a bit of the port.

“Near Seattle.”

I nodded. “My father was a draftsman and worked for the Navy at their shipyard. My mother tended the home in her own way. But she really was never that accessible to me. They didn’t have a great marriage.”

Was that ever the truth! He really wanted to study engineering in a university but I came along as an accident and they married. After a few years of hearing how he ruined my mother’s life, he began to drink. When I was six he left for work one day and never returned. He simply vanished.

My mother was both shocked and relieved. I think she never really took to her motherly or other matrimonial duties and his leaving relieved all the ill fortunes she felt she was dealt. She did what many women in her position did; she took a job as a waitress.
One of the first things she told me was that after waiting on people all day for tips, she certainly wasn’t going to wait on me for free. So I began to fend for myself. I began to learn how to cook and wash clothes and keep the place clean. When I began going to school, I even prepared my own lunch. She would give me fifty cents for milk and a drink during the day.

I remember sitting and watching her prepare herself for work. How she would dress and what she wore. And I watched her do her make up. She always looked very pretty I thought. She told me that the better she looked, the better her tips would be.

Marti speared another piece of fruit, a slice of apple, and fed it too me. She also refilled my glass, and hers. I looked up at her and I could see her frown. She knew my story would be very different from hers.

“So what about this?” She asked again waving her hand at me. I took another very deep breath.

“She and my father were small of stature. In fact at my present height I am taller than they were. I began to dress in her clothes after school when I knew she would be working the evening shift. It started with…of all things…her panties. I would don her prior day’s clothing, her uniform, and do the house work.”

Initially I got a real ‘charge’ out of wearing her clothes and on rare occasions would ‘make a mess’ in her panties and panty hose. But that kind of wore off and I found that I was actually developing an image of myself…a female image.

I experimented with her cosmetics. They were cheap dollar store off name brands and the colors were somewhat garish. To be blunt, they made her look kind of like a whore and me like a circus clown. I eventually became more proficient with the cosmetics as I grew older and began to read old women’s magazines that she would leave around the apartment.
When I turned twelve my life changed forever! I was caught dressed! And by our neighbor’s daughter no less. She came to the back door and began to knock on it. I was in a state of sheer terror. I definitely didn’t need her knowing about my ‘difference’.

“Oh dear Lord! What happened?” There was a real concern in Marti’s voice. She again took my hand in hers as I took another drink of the wonderfully heady port.

“She began to shout out my name and she said she had seen me inside and I had better open the door. I was on the verge of my very first panic attack. What could I do? She would tell everybody she knew, and I knew, of what she had seen. I opened the door.”

And thus it began. My first real experience with the ‘opposite’ sex and my first lessons in dressing began. She was fourteen years old at the time and when she saw me dressed up as a waitress in my mother’s clothes, she laughed.

“Your make up is all wrong and your clothing is…awful.” It was downhill, so to speak, from there. The first thing she did was she showed me how to properly remove my make-up. Then she gave me lessons in how to fix my face properly.

“Her name, by the way, was Lynn. Anyway, Lynn began to visit every day and every day she would bring me something that she no longer wanted to wear. I began to develop a wardrobe of sorts. Trainers, panties, hose, jeans, skirts, blouses…everything.”

“She almost sounds like she was sympathetic towards you.”

That would have seemed so. She would come over and watch me as I dressed and then sat down to do my make-up. She would have me try different looks with different styles of clothing. After a short time went on she became curious about our physical differences. So we played ‘you show me and I’ll show you’.

Of course she had me show first. I was dressed at the time so I pulled down my panty hose and slipped down my panties. At first she giggled. Evidently she had played this game before with someone a bit older than me. She found me to be physically lacking and didn’t bother to hide that fact. She reached over; we were sitting on my bed, and she actually examined me. She giggled and gawked the entire time. I felt so humiliated and ashamed of my apparent deficiencies that I verged on tears.

Lynn was far better prepared for this exercise than I. She neglected to wear panty hose so all she needed to do was slip off her panties. Lynn, much to my surprise, was completely denuded of hair. She not only shaved her legs, but also her pubic area making her vagina completely visible.

I was fascinated by what I could see. I reached over to touch her in the same manner as she did to me. She slapped my hand away and told me that I would never touch her there with anything other than my mouth.

“Dear Lord…and how old were you?”

“I was twelve and she was fourteen. A very advanced fourteen I must say.”

“So what happened?” Marti was all ears. And from the look on her face, I could feel that she was a bit appalled.

What happened? What could I do? Lynn said that if I licked her crack with my tongue, her vaginal would bloom just as a flower would. She swung her legs up onto my bed and I crouched down on my stomach and crawled between her legs and under her skirt which was tented on her knees.

Lynn had scented her crotch with a cheap perfume which, to me, seemed like the Elysian Fields complete with the fragrance of flowers. But there was another aroma I could sense; a sexually arousing aroma that I had only gotten second hand from my mother’s panties.
I felt so…encompassed…safe…secure...cocooned…aroused beneath her skirt. The light was very dim and I felt completely cut off from the reality of what I was doing and where we were. Even with my eyes shut I knew I was merely a hair’s breath away from her vagina. My breathe caused her to giggle.

I could feel the heat emanating from Lynn’s groin and thighs as I stuck out my tongue as one would do if making a sarcastic face at another. I gently licked from as low down her lips as I could reach to the top of this mysterious and wonderfully fleshy crevasse. I heard her sigh.

“Flatten your tongue as if you’re licking a lollypop!”

I obeyed Lynn’s command and licked again and again. My efforts were met with a moan and a hissing ‘yes’. Lynn hooked her foot beneath my thigh and attempted to move her toes up to my crotch. I remember lifting my hip so she could achieve her desired target. Her toes finally reached my scrotal sack and the top of her foot hugged my penis.

As I continued to lick her, she tapped my scrotum. I could feel her open up just as she said she would. Then I tasted Lynn’s fluid. She was so moist and fragrant. I became erect. That was something that rarely happened. I was definitely having a delayed puberty.

“Dear Lord! How long had you two known each other?” Marti fed me a slice of the sweetest melon I had ever tasted.

“About one or so months. I was spending nearly every school day with her and usually one full day on weekends. She made me feel comfortable about myself. Although I felt something was intrinsically wrong about everything we were doing, I couldn’t stop…nor would she let me.”

Once her vagina blossomed open, with her instructions I found her clitoris. Just one mere swipe with my tongue nearly sent her flying off the bed. Meanwhile I was leaking all over her foot from the slightest contact on my penis and the steady tapping of Lynn’s toes on my sack.

After a bit more of my tongue attacking her clit, Lynn suddenly tensed, groaned, and undulated like a snake as she orgasmed and wet my face with a discharge from her vagina. Once she calmed from her orgasm, Lynn stopped tapping me and she removed her foot entirely from beneath me. I hadn’t yet climaxed.

I came out from under her skirt to see an angry expression on her face. I couldn’t fathom what I might have possibly done wrong to displease her.

“Look at what you did to my foot! You left your nasty boy stuff on me! You must lick it off immediately or we will never do this ever again!”

“Dear Lord!” Marti was frozen in mid action. Her fork was half way to my mouth with another piece of fruit and her right hand covered her mouth in shock. There were tears in my eyes again. “And you did it. You cleaned her foot.”

“Yes.”

I hung my head and let the tears fall upon the table. I was so embarrassed to be discussing this with…a stranger. I had never talked about any of this with anyone before. Marti put down the fork as she reached out to touch my cheek. She dabbed at my tears with her linen because mine was twisted around my fingers.

“And I enjoyed our little games!” I bawled. “I would do anything and everything she asked me to.”

I put my palms up bidding Marti to stop touching me for at least a moment or two. I needed to compose myself. The dam had burst and the poisonous waters flowed out of me. Marti, bless her heart, understood and took no offense. She sat and waited.

When I looked up at her through my tear fogged eyes, I could see her sympathetically smiling at me; tacitly letting me know that it was alright to unburden myself.

“I’ve never told this to anyone before.” I sniffled as control finally returned. I took another sip of the port.

“You really don’t have to go on if you’re not up to this.” Marti reached out and clasped my hand. “I had no idea…” A tear fell from her eye. But I needed to finish this so I continued.

“Then she started giving me pills.”

“Pills???”

“She told me they were vitamins that all girls took.”

“Oh my God! She was giving you birth control pills?”

For nearly two years Lynn fed me the pills. I never knew where she got them from. I knew she had her own so she either had taken them or maybe stole them. I stopped getting hard during our games after less then half a year though I still leaked a clear fluid and I started developing breasts. This only intensified our games.

She purchased a vibrator and used it on me. Lynn stopped touching my penis completely but would give me orgasms of sorts by pushing the vibrator up my butt and turning it on. She told me that this was how ‘real’ women got their climaxes. She taught me to keep clean every day and got me the equipment to do so.

I found myself becoming more feminine day by day. I also found it harder and harder to keep my secret from my class mates. I was being called names in school and became the favorite target of a punch or a shove. Every day brought another indignity and insult. And my wild mood swings made every day a challenge.

But Lynn steadfastly maintained our friendship, secret as it was. I would sneak over to her house or she to mine. My tasks became stranger and stranger. I sucked her toes. I licked and kissed her butt and butt hole. She had me stick my tongue up her butt. She made me swallow her monthly discharge claiming that I would become more of a woman faster.

“There wasn’t anything I would do, or let her do to me. I was hooked on our games and she certainly got excited by how seriously she could humiliate and degrade me.”

“So what happened with you two?” Marti had this expression on her face like she accidentally stepped on a crunchy bug.

What happened indeed! I was nearly fifteen and Lynn was nearly seventeen. I hadn’t developed physically as a male and always remained slight. I would transform into my femme self immediately upon coming home and stayed that way until my mother returned from where ever she was.

In the meantime Lynn had developed a reputation as being rather easy with her favors and I know now that I was the recipient of the left overs. There was definitely a new taste to her which she dismissed as being part of her ‘hormonal’ changes. In fact I was cleaning up the ejaculation of whomever she decided to favor before our afternoon meetings.

One day she told me that in order to become ‘complete’ I had to take a male’s penis in my mouth and make him come. Then I had to swallow it. She declared that since I was accustomed to my own an ejaculation, swallowing someone else’s wasn’t that big a leap. Lynn also said that she would do the same alongside me.

“I agreed. I always agreed.” I didn’t even try to hide the bitterness and anger as my tears continued to flow. Marti continued to hold my hand and dab my tears.

It was agreed that I would come to her house one Friday night when her parents were out. She would have two boys she knew meet us in the back yard. Lynn didn’t want them in the house because she was afraid they might leave something incriminating behind. I knew how dark it was back there and I preferred that to the light in the house.

We met that night. I followed her out her back door into the darkness. I could see the forms of the two boys by a picnic table. They were sitting on one of the benches. Lynn took my hand and led me to this one boy I had never seen before. The other I knew because I would see him occasionally in the neighborhood but I knew he didn’t live around there.
As we walked up to them, they both dropped their pants. I felt my body become overtaken by trembling and my sight began to narrow. I was beginning to pant and felt slightly ill in my stomach. Lynn reassured me that this was quite normal and knelt down on the grass pulling me with her. I was staring directly at a boy’s penis.

It look huge in comparison to mine, which also had shrunk somewhat. I suppose that was due to the estrogen I was taking every day. Lynn pushed my head forward until my lips touch the crown. She told me to kiss it. I did. I did everything she ever asked me to do.

Then she told me to suck the head into my mouth. I did. I always did everything she asked me to do.

The other boy was watching and caressing his penis as I sucked and licked and stroke on the penis in front of me. Then Lynn took my hand and brought it to the other boy’s penis and she started me stroking on it as I continued my oral ministrations.

The boy I was sucking on finally came after Lynn had me gently caress his balls. The other boy finally started to rapidly stroke himself after knocking my hand away. He came all over my face, hair and clothes. At that very moment the lights in the backyard came on and I found myself kneeling on the lawn with not just a mouth full of sperm, but with a crowd of kids that were friends of Lynn’s.

Flashes went off as pictures were taken of me on my knees covered with sperm. Everyone was laughing and calling me all shades of horrid names. I came completely unglued and burst into hysterical tears and wails of anguish. My soul had been stripped bare for all to see and laugh at as they trampled my spirit.

I don’t remember how I got back to the apartment or how I got undressed and cleaned up. I do remember that the rest of that year was a living hell. I had to change schools but still what I had done followed me. Lynn stopped visiting me. She never even inquired how I was. The most shattering thing was when I encountered her one day outside her house. I asked her why she had done such a horrid thing to me. She laughed at me; right into my face.

“Because I could.”

“That’s all she said and she walked away leaving me completely shattered. I was so in love with her…”

I looked at Marti. One hand was on her chest over her heart and the other was over her mouth; lips so tightly pressed that they appeared white. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

“That is the most horrendous, pathetically wicked thing I ever heard. How could one human being do that to another; especially to one who loved another so deeply.”

“I am so sorry I told you. I didn’t mean to upset you like this.” I grasped her hand and kissed it.

Marti then did what I expected the least after telling her that part of my tale. Her moved her chair right next to mine and pulled me into her arms.

“Don’t you ever be sorry for telling me anything! I want to know everything about you; everything. Do you understand?”

I nodded as I buried my face into her neck and shoulder. Then I remembered her fine camel hair jacket and broke away. I didn’t want my tears to stain it. She held my arms and pulled me to her and kissed my fore head.

“I wish someone would love me as deeply and completely as you loved Lynn. What ever happened to her?”

“I don’t know. Several months later she came to my back door knowing I was home and dressed. I refused to answer. She went away but returned again the following day. This time she was in tears and begged for me to open the door. I refused, of course. As much as I might have hated her, I knew that if I opened the door my soul would be lost. That was the last time I ever saw her. She moved out of the house shortly after that.”

“How did you wind up here?”

“Well…needless to say…that was the very last time I got involved with anyone on a personal level. I concentrated on my school work and achieved excellent grades. I scored very high on my SATs and got a full scholarship here. I wrote a lot and several of my short stories that were published in national high school journals.”

“What do you write about?”

“True love and romance.” I laughed. “If I had my wish…I would write fluffly stories about love; novels…chick books. Evidently I have some ability. I finished not only my undergraduate studies, but I also am on the verge of a Doctorate degree.”

“Good God…how old are you?”

“Twenty two.”

“You are more mature then simply being twenty two. I suppose your younger life took its toll and mentally aged you. And you never told a single soul about your…misadventure.”

“No. Not a single soul…except for you.” I smiled. I was too tired to cry any longer.
Indeed I felt light and…somehow…freed. It was as though this enormous burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

“And will you remain a woman? Or do you intend to hide for the rest of your life.”
Marti was challenging me.

“This, what you see, is who I really am. When I leave here in the spring, I will continue life as a woman. I never stopped taking the hormones. I just found other sources and recently I began to see an endocrinologist.”

Marti continued to hold me by my arms. Frankly, I enjoyed the physical connection. We had both shared our personal tragedies, and triumphs. We shared in a common experience and it had bonded us somehow; magically. Marti poured us both another glass of port. I glanced out the window.

“Oh my God! Look how beautiful it is outside.”

The snow was falling heavily, but with little wind it fell almost straight down.

“Let’s go out for a little walk.”

A walk? In the snow?

“I have to change my shoes.” I thought for a moment. “And I only have my down jacket. I’ll freeze dressed like this.”

“Don’t worry.” Marti laughed. “I have just the coat for this and I promise we’ll both fit in it. I’ll get it whilst you change out of your shoes.”

She her port with one swallow and quickly left for her room. I went into my bedroom, opened my closet door, and pulled out my snow boots. I kicked off my heels letting them fly freely and land where they might. I felt so good, so free, and so alive.

Marti returned with a mid-calve length camel hair coat; what else. She took my arm and pulled me out the door as I held her back a moment to lock it. She held my hand in the elevator and out into the lobby. When we got to the front door of the building, she opened the left side of her coat.

“Get under my arm and put your arm around me.”

My shoulder fit snuggly under her arm; especially without her jacket on. She then pulled the coat around and tied the belt.

“This is an exercise in coordination.” Marti giggled. “We need to keep pace with each other. Do you think you can do that?” She smiled at me wickly.

“If you can keep pace with me.” I challenged and giggled.

And out into the snow we walked; my face barely peeking out through her coat’s lapels. I put my other arm around her as well and I could feel the gentle pressure of her arm hugging me back. We walked through the beautiful snow and around the commons. Marti’s other arm came to grasp the wrist of the arm I was under and the feeling was absolutely divine.

Neither one of us uttered a word. We luxuriated in the warmth of each other and the feeling of security that two people have when they…feel for one another. We met the odd soul also out for the air and wished them a Merry Christmas. They, in turn, would smile and wish us a season’s greeting.

We heard the church bells chime. It was midnight! And what a night it was. The air was filled with magic. Marti stopped and wished me a Merry Christmas. Then she craned her head down as I looked up into her eyes and our lips met. We kissed; just a simple mere touching. Such tremendous electricity shot through my body!

She continued to walk while still looking into my eyes. Her fingers gently swept my hair away from my face. We finally arrived back from where we started. Though she opened her coat once inside the door, I remained in my safe haven beneath her arm.

Marti only let go of me when we entered my apartment. I stepped in front of her and looked up into her beautiful eyes. There was an awkward moment of silence as we both stood there smiling at one another. We both began to speak at the same time.

“You go.” Marti said with a chuckle.

“No…you first.” I giggled.

“You’re the hostess. You should go first.”

“You are my guest and I will accede.” I took a deep breath and swallowed. I looked down at the floor and took Marti’s hands in mine. “I don’t want this night to end.”

“I don’t either.” She replied as she cleared her throat and looked away for a moment. When she turned back toward me, there were tears in her eyes.

“Which side do you prefer?” I asked.

“I sleep on the left. Will you let me use your tooth brush?”

“I will let you use whatever you wish.”

“Will you lick my toes?” She said with a wicked smile on her face. “That is so delicious!”

“I will lick whatever you wish.”

“I sleep in the nude.”

“I can try.”

Marti shrugged off her coat and let it fall on the floor. She went and corked the port. I grabbed the remainder of the fruit and we both walked into the bedroom. We both shed our clothes and together went into the bathroom. I was still in my panties. Marti had opened the box of Bacis and unwrapped one.

“There are three ways I’ve seen these eaten. One way is to pop the entire thing into the mouth and enjoy. The second way is to nibble a bit at a time.”

“And the third?” I asked with a big smile.

“The third is the Italian way. You only eat half at a time. Want to try it?”

“Yes! Absolutely!”

Marti took the piece of chocolate and placed half of it between her teeth. She smiled and bent her head down and to the side beckoning me to place my teeth on the other half. And I did! Me met in the sweetest kiss of the evening yet. Our lips locked as the chocolate melted in our mouths and the chopped nuts played across our tongues. We both giggled as we shared the flavors and textures with our tongues till the piece was gone. Then we walked off to the bathroom.

Marti couldn’t take her eyes off of me. I could see the admiration in them. She peed as I washed my face quickly and bushed my teeth. I peed as she brushed and washed. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. We rushed back to the bedroom hand in hand.

I turned down the covers, left side first. She hopped in. I went around to my side. Just as I was getting in she held up her hand.

“STOP!!!” I looked questioningly at her. “The panties…they have to go…now!”

Oh my God!!! I turned my back and removed them. I quickly hopped onto the bed.

“Oh no you don’t.”

She grabbed me and flipped my over as I yelped and giggled. She held me in her arms and looked down into my eyes.

“No secrets. No pretenses.”

Marti kissed me again only this time I could really feel her passion. She broke the kiss and looked into my eyes. Then she looked down the length of my body until she came to my crotch. She reached down with her left hand and felt through the trimmed growth of pubic hair until she came to my penis; the entire time staring into my eyes.

Marti then bent down until she could look directly at it; IT…or at least what little there was of it. She took me into her mouth. Briefly and swirled her tongue around. I felt as though I died and had gone into heaven. Nothing had ever come that close to a divine event in my life. She then returned to hold me with both her arms.

“That’s just for openers. Want to work on the main event?”

“Oh my God! Do I ever…”

I broke loose of her and scrambled down the length of her body inhaling her fragrance and licking a path. I finally reached her feet and immediately grabbed her foot and licked her toes. Marti squealed in delight and moaned when I sucked them into my mouth. She did the same to me, another delightfully new experience.

“I need to speak to you for a moment.” Marti said as she let go of my foot. “I need to go to Boston for a few days. I want you to come with me.”

“I’ll go where ever you want me to.”

“This could be very dangerous you know.”

“I feel safe with you.” My eyes filled with tears. “Very safe.”

“By the way…I’m thirty years old.”

In the morning I awoke to a large warm body next to mine. It was a new sensation in my life. I was resting spooning up behind Marti. I put my nose to her skin and inhaled her essence deeply. It was just as intoxicating as last evening; maybe even a bit more. I hugged her as heartily as I could short of waking her.

“So you’re ready for another round of delight, are you.” She said. “This is the best Christmas I have ever had.” I had to agree with her.

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Epilogue:

We were standing in the greeting room of the largest home I had ever been in. The room was to the left of a large main entrance hall. The marble floors were covered with large Persia rugs and the few bits of furniture were antiques of the highest quality. The entrance faced curtained glass double doors that led to a grand ballroom and were framed by two wide stairways that curved around the walls. They were marble as well.

The greeting room was wall papered in striped green, white, and gold gilt. There were lovely prints and lithographs covering the walls. There were several arm chairs and two love seat scattered about each with a end table. Fresh cut flowers adorned each table.

Marti and I stood side by side with my hand in hers. She was somewhat nervous. She impatiently tapped her foot on the rug. I virtually trembled with excitement. Marti only told me we were to have lunch with an old friend I needed to meet.

Suddenly, a well-disguised door opened. It nearly perfectly matched the wall. Through it strode and elderly woman. She seemed to gracefully glide across the rug. Her hair was silver and pulled up in a braid atop her head. Her skin was translucent and though she looked quite thin and fragile, she stood straight with her shoulders back.

She was clothed in silver and black stripped corded pants and a simple white silk long sleeved blouse adorned her torso. On her feet were low heeled black ballet flats. She wore no make up other than a bit of crimson lipstick.

Marti let go my hand and rushed to meet her. They threw their arms around each other and hugged. Marti kissed her cheeks and her forehead. Both grinned broadly and there were tears forming in their eyes.

“My dear child!” The older woman’s voice was quite strong and without hesitation. She pushed away from Marti and took both Marti’s hands in her own thin ones. “Let me look at you.” She inspected Marti from head to toe and back again. “You look marvelous; strong and quite fit. The country agrees with you my dear.”

“It is so good to see you. I miss our get togethers; I truly do.” There were tears flowing down Marti’s face even though she smiled.

“As do I. Now my Christmas is complete.” The woman handed Marti a tissue from her pocket and kept one to dab her own eyes and turned to look at me. “And who have you brought me today? Who is this little one?”

“This is my…friend…Drew Donovan. Drew, this is Rose Howe.”

I was completely surprised and stunned that I should be meeting Mrs. Howe so quickly in our newly born…friendship. I blushed and lowered my eyes. For some reason I dipped slightly at the knees in a curtsy. Mrs. Howe laughed and, looking down at the floor, shouted.

“Here that Adams you wretched man, she’s Irish!” Looking back at me she spoke. “Well Drew Donovan…you are absolutely charming.” She took my hand in hers. It was warm to the touch.

“And you are most welcomed here. But I must tell you that Marti has never brought any of her friends to my home so you must be very special.”

I looked at Marti and reached out to take her hand.

“Oh dear…I see.” The old woman said. “Well…then this is a very special occasion.”

“Marti had spoken of you with great affection Mrs. Howe.”

“Yes. And I do of her as well. She is the closest to have a child I have come and I jealously cherish our relationship. You know, she never brought that…fop…she married to meet me.” Looking at a blushing Marti she continued. “Therefore I assume she must be looking for my approval of your friendship.”

Marti nodded. Mrs. Howe let go my hand and I drew myself to Marti’s side, my arm now around her waist and hers around mine.

“Well then… Come…let us sit whilst our meal is prepared.” Mrs. Howe waved us to the chairs. “Perhaps you two should take the loveseat?” She smiled coyly. As we sat, my hand in Marti’s, Mrs. Howe spoke, a broad grin on her face. “And what is it you are learning in school Drew?”

“I am finishing my Doctorate in English literature Ma’am.”

“And you will be a woman of letters I take it? Perhaps teach…or write a bit?” I blushed.

“Yes Ma’am.” I responded. Then she looked at me quite seriously, smile gone and blue eyes suddenly piercing.

“And what do you wish to do with your life?”

It was more a command than a question. I blushed and looked down for a moment. Then I looked up into Marti’s face and smiled. Marti, her eyes bright and shining looked back into mine and I read the love and affection in them. I turned to look at Mrs. Howe again.

“I wish to serve Marti and share her life Mrs. Howe.”

Mrs. Howe laughed till there were nearly tears in her eyes. I felt my world coming to an end. I trembled and began to feel that shortness of breath preceding a panic attack. Mrs. Howe ceased laughing as quickly as she began. She looked at Marti with a very sly smile on her face.

“Does this child know what she is saying?”

“She is almost annoyingly attentive.” Marti laughed. “She knows exactly what she is saying as you and I will never know.”

“Then you are a blessing to my Marti, dear.” Mrs. Howe arose from her chair and came to kneel facing me. “You are offering the greatest of gifts…to serve without thought for one self.” She leaned in and kissed my fore head. Then she stood and placed a hand on my cheek and Marti’s. “May you both know only love and peace. You not only have my approval and blessing, but my signature when the time comes.”

Marti stood and hugged Mrs. Howe, thanking and kissing her. I stood and did the same. As I hugged her and stood on my toes I whispered into her ear with tears of joy in my eyes.

“Thank you so very much Mrs. Howe.” I kissed her cheek.

“Rose, sweetheart. My name is Rose.”

* In Memorium: Leslie Nielsen (Feb. 11, 1926-Nov. 28, 2010) He made me laugh when I most needed to. May his name be known forever.