".... 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.... "
Columbus Avenue is just one block west of Central Park, and the neighborhood between Lincoln Center and the Park is just lovely. The streets are lined with big old trees and contain many old brownstones and town houses built around the turn of the century. Although these used to be single family homes, most of them have since been converted into expensive apartments and condominiums. They are all immaculately kept and many are really quite elegant. Almost all of them have a flight of steps that leads up from the street to the front door.
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.
I came to in the ambulance and immediately panicked. First of all I was completely strapped down, and my head felt like it was in some kind of cast. The paramedic who was with me stroked my cheek gently, and tried to soothe me.
"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.
Winter can come early in New York and it certainly did for me that year. Michael and I were attacked the first weekend in November, when there were still a few leaves on the trees. I arrived back home at our apartment two and a half weeks later and winter was already settling in for a long stay. Everything was gray: dull, lifeless, boring, and just depressingly gray. Unfortunately, my mood matched the weather.
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.
The big affair at Trump Tower was rapidly approaching. Michael and I hadn’t even discussed it, but I decided that I wanted to go. "Listen buster, I told him, when he questioned my decision, claiming he would be too tired, "do you think I went through all this," I waved at myself, "just to stay home on the big night? Not a chance."
"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.
Comments
Wonderful.....
Yet again you cease to astound me with your writing prowess. Superb job with the character devlopment, I can't wait to read more of the further adventures of Lilly, Michael and Cynthia.
Jayme Ann
The answers to all of life's questions can be found in true friendship
The answers to all of life's questions can be found in the face of a true friend
I am going to need to get real !
This chapter dealt with some issues that I do not have fully resolved in my own mind. As far as I am concerned, I am a heterosexual woman. Some trans people are quite uncomfortable with having relations with a Man. Myself, I think they are HOT!
Of course, I would not turn down some lesbo action either. Giggle.
Actually, the story is quite well organized and thought out. The writing is impecable.
Thank you
Gwen Brown
The price of Fame!
Most celebrities have secrets, why should Lilly be any different?
Great read, thank you Kelly!
LoL
Rita
Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)
LoL
Rita
Love triangle!
It definitely looks as though we've now got a Type 7 triangle (the "Everyone knows" subtype). Plus the added fun that party attendees who do business with North Rock probably know not only about Michael and Lilly (formerly Brad) but Cynthia as well - and most of New York probably knows about Michael and Lilly (formerly Brad).
This story reminds me of the pseudo Chinese curse: "May you live in more interesting times."
(Pseudo as no authentic Chinese source has ever been found)
And there are two more parts to follow - no doubt with much more excitement for Lilly!
Speculation:
Almost certainly: Return to work, getting even with The Boss.
Possibly: Establishing M&M as a sideline
Unlikely: Formal expressions of the relationships with Cynthia / Michael, Cynthia promoted to head of section, full SRS, Type 8 triangle.
As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!