Nicole by Miss Jessica

It all started innocently enough.

Brian and I were lying in bed, after sex. We had been dating for four months. While we weren’t on dating behavior anymore, we hadn’t quite entered the relationship stage either. He made jokes whenever emotions came up and I was fine with that. Exploring my feelings was never my strong suit.

“So, what’s your fantasy?” I said, running my fingers up and down his chest. He wasn’t a hairy guy, which I liked.

“What?”

“What’s your fantasy?”

“A three way with Jessica Alba and Beyonce?”

“OK. How about a realistic fantasy?”

“Isn’t that an oxymoron?” This was Brian. Making jokes.

“Seriously.”

“Promise you won’t freak out?”

“Does it involve pee or crap or something?”

“Promise.”

“OK.”

He took a deep breath. “OK. I’ve always wanted to have sex, where the girl is completely dressed and I’m completely naked.”

This intrigued me. “Really?”

He pulled away, “Never mind.”

I smiled, “No, I’m game. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

He looked wary. “Really?”

“Really. What two consenting adults do in the bedroom is their own business. If I don’t want to do something, I don’t do it.”

“That’s fair. What’s your fantasy?”

I smiled. “I’ll let you know.”

“Come on, I told you.”

“No, I like the element of surprise,” I said, playing with his balls. “When I’m ready for it, I’ll let you know. But you have to agree now to do it.”

He smiled, “No pee or poop?”

“No,” I laughed. “No pee or poop.”

“No public humiliation?”

“Well…,” I said and he blanched. “Just kidding. No public humiliation. So do you agree?” I don’t know why I needed him to agree so much, but I did.

“I agree.”

“Shake on it,” I said, putting out my hand. He started quivering. “You said shake…” I laughed and I slapped him on the ass.

The next morning, he went out to the gym, and left me there to my thoughts. What did it mean that he wanted me fully clothed while he was naked? What was he telling me? That he wanted to be humiliated? That he didn’t like me naked? Something else? I was a little confused, a little worried and, to be honest, a little turned on. I liked the idea of being in control. A guy could just whip it out, screw and walk away. I could be the guy in this scenario, leaving the girl naked and watching. I decided to explore this.

I spent the next couple of weeks watching Brian. Or, more accurately, watching Brian watch women. I wanted to see if I could tell what would turn him on. Late spring in New York is great for women. As the weather warms up, we shed the bulky coats and sweaters and can dress however we want. I watched him closely. Some women can’t handle that. I know that guys look at women. Women look at guys. So long as you don’t do it all the time and just look, I don’t honestly care. What I noticed was he gave the longest looks to women in dresses. More than women in pants, which was normal. More than women in short skirts, which was not. He liked women in dresses. Especially, strappy dresses. He seemed especially fond of women in sleeveless dresses and sundresses, especially those that fell somewhere between a couple of inches above the knee to mid-calf. He also liked lacy dresses and dresses with delicate prints. I know that sounds ridiculously specific but, if I was going to play with his fantasy, I was going to go all in. Or at least what I thought was all in. Interestingly enough, when that happened, he became very touchy-feely with me. Not that he groped me. Just that he held my hand, rubbed my arm, touched my leg.

One day, we were going out to dinner. When he came to pick me up, I was wearing a blue sundress with little roses on it. It had spaghetti straps and fell below the knee. I never wore dresses like this. I mean, I wore dresses but they had sleeves and were usually black or red. This dress was a little too girly for me. I felt unprotected.

When I opened the door, his eyes widened and he said, “You look great. I’ve never seen this dress before.”

I smiled. “It’s new. Old Navy. $16.”

“Well, it looks great.” He took my arm and we went out. The whole night, he was more solicitous than he’d ever been. He always held the door open for me which, to me, was just common courtesy. But, he opened the cab door for me and held my chair. The whole dinner, he kept looking me in the eyes. He didn’t joke like he always did. He listened.

“What?” I said. “What’s up?”

“You just look really pretty tonight,” he said sheepishly.

“I don’t look pretty all the time? And be careful…”

“You always do. I just really like this dress.” Hmmmm.

I blushed. “Well, thank you. I have a secret…”

“What is it?”

I grinned. “I’m not wearing any underwear…” He frantically asked for the check.

The whole way home in the cab, we were making out and he was massaging my thighs. As much as I wanted it, when he got close to my clit, I said, “No. I’m in charge and I’ll tell you what to do. Understand?”

He kept my massaging my thigh, “Please….”

“I said I’ll tell you what we’re doing. Understood?”

“Yes…”

We went up to my apartment. I pulled him to me, kissing him hard, the way he usually kissed me. He started playing with my nipples through the material of the dress. It was funny. Usually, he was rough. Today, without me telling him what to do, he was rubbing them the way I would. Which was both extremely satisfying and somewhat weird. “Mmmm, I like that, Brian.” I started grabbing his ass and kissing his neck. He groaned with pleasure.

He started to unzip the dress. “No, Brian, it’s staying on. But, you strip NOW!”

It took him a second but his eyes widened.
“Yes, Brian…” I said, as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. I reached over and moved his hands away. “Let me,” and I started unbuttoning them, slowly, one by one. “I’m in charge,” I purred into his ear. After I took off his shirt, I said, “Put your hands over your head.”

“Is this a stick up?””

“No jokes, Brian. Hands up.”

He complied. I pulled down his pants slowly. He was standing in his underwear and was rock hard. I was getting wet. I pulled down his underwear and threw him on the bed.

“So, who’s on top?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“You. You’re on top. Fuck me. Fuck me please,” he moaned, in what I swore was a softer voice than I had ever heard him use. I was getting a little freaked, but a promise is a promise.

I pinned his wrists with mine and started grinding into him. “Do not come until I say so.” He smiled and started digging his nails into my thighs. “That’s going to leave a mark,” I thought.

I lifted myself up and started pistoning on his crotch. My skirt was spread over his stomach to just below his chest. He started playing with the material and rubbing it over his body and moaning. His eyes were closed and I don’t know if he realized what he was doing.

“Are you ready?” He just groaned. “Good! Just remember – you do what I say. And you can’t come until I say so. OK?” I could’ve asked him to kill his parents and he would have agreed.
He kept writhing under my skirt and grabbing the backs of my thighs. “Is this what you thought it would be, Brian?”

“Yes, yes…”

“Now, arch your back.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been on top. You know how the girl arches her back.”

“Uh…”

“I can climb off if you want…” He arched his back. “Remember, don’t come.”

He started bucking like a girl would. I kept pumping up and down. He started playing with my nipples, then moving to my thighs, then back to the nipples. I was shocked at how hot this was getting me. “Don’t come. Don’t come. COME!” We came at the same time and I climbed off of him. His stomach and my skirt were covered in it. Oh well, the dry cleaner has to eat.

I turned to him and said, “Was it everything you fantasized about?” We were spooning and I was the big spoon, which felt both weird and right.

“Oh g-d, yes.” and he paused.

“Why did you pause?”

“It was amazing. I just hope I wasn’t too weird.”

“You weren’t. Not at all.” I started rubbing the dress on his balls and then his chest. “Do you like the way this feels, Brian?”

“Uh…”

“It’s OK. It’s just you and me.”

“Brian, don’t be embarrassed about anything. Don’t you think I enjoyed myself?” He nodded. “Then, just say what you feel.”

“I like it. It feels soft.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes…”

“Then do what feels good,” I said, draping my leg over him. He looked cute naked and half-covered in my dress. It was like I pictured. Me the guy and the girl naked under a sheet, looking satisfied. “What two consenting adults do in the bedroom is their own business. If I don’t want to do something, I won’t. And I did this.”

“OK…”

“How come you wanted it this way?”

He looked sad. “I don’t know. It’s my fantasy. I just always thought it would be hot. I hope you’re not freaked out,” and he looked like he was going to cry. This was not the Brian I had been dating. The Brian I had been dating told jokes to avoid emotions. I was surprised.

I pulled him closer. “Don’t get upset. I am absolutely NOT freaked out. I just wondered. We’re adults, Brian. Everyone has fantasies. So long as they don’t involve pee or something, I’m good.”

He turned around and smiled, “OK, what’s your fantasy?”

I smiled and said, “I told you. You’ll find out…when it’s time.”

“Come on…I showed you mine.”

“Nope.”

“Did you enjoy this at least?”

“Surprisingly yes. There’s something, I don’t know, about you being naked and vulnerable while I’m dressed and in charge.” He looked like a kid at Christmas. “It doesn’t mean it’s this way all the time.”

He laughed, “I wouldn’t want that.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup, if you got what you wanted all the time, you’d stop wanting it. Wondering makes it fun.” I took off the dress, and put on my panties, a t-shirt and sweatpants. He went to put on his underwear. “Stop. Stay naked.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

He grinned. “You’re the boss.”

I smiled. “Yes, I am,” and we climbed back into bed.

The next morning, I woke up before he did and thought about everything that had happened. I looked over at his naked body, sleeping peacefully. On the one hand, it was a little weird. He willingly, almost too willingly, acceded to everything that I told him to do. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be with a guy who would do that. On the other hand, he opened himself up to me. We were at four months. This was the point when we were really beginning a full bore relationship. I decided that I would let things be. If it got too weird, one of us would stop it.

Ten minutes later, he woke up. “Hey, sleepy head,” I said. “Did you sleep well?”

“I woke up in the middle of the night for a little while.”

“Why?”

“I thought about what we did.”

“Not this again…” I said, with a smile, hoping to calm him down.

“Seriously. I like you and I acted weird and I just hope…”

I held his hands in mine. “I like you too, Brian. Stop thinking about it. We both liked it…a lot. Just let it be. There’s no one here but you and me and what we do is what we do. OK?”

“OK…”

I smiled, remembering him with the dress covering him. He looked so happy covered in little roses. I wanted to take this further. Then, I stopped myself. Instead, I grabbed his balls and squeezed them. “Now, I fucked you yesterday. Now it’s your turn.”

He grabbed me and kissed me hard. Harder than he ever had. And I liked it. He threw me backwards and pinned me with his wrists. “OK,” I thought, “this guy is working through some shit.” He leaned down again and kissed me again. I liked this. “Put your legs on my shoulders.” I did. He started fucking me, hard. He grabbed my hair. Normally, I liked it rough, although not this rough. It was over relatively quickly. He rolled off and spooned me – this time he was the big spoon. “Was it good for you?”

I laughed. “Ya think? Wow. You are quite a man there, Bri.”

“What?”

“What nothing. You are man of many talents is all.” I didn’t realize how neurotic he was. I guess most guys don’t go to these kinds of extremes though. We laid there for a while until I said, “I’m meeting some friends for lunch. I’ll call you later, OK?”

“OK,” he said, getting up and dressed. I always liked watching guys have to take the walk of shame. Although they didn’t have the messed up hair and makeup. Life is unfair.

I lay in bed and thought about everything some more. I liked Brian. He was a funny guy. Polite. Caring. Good in bed. On the other hand, he clearly needed to work out some issues and I didn’t know if I was ready or willing to do that. Then I remembered what my shrink said. She told me that I was always looking for fault so that I didn’t have to commit. I decided to give it a try.

Brian and I rarely saw each other during the week. Our work schedules were such that, by the time we got home, we agreed, after one bad date, that neither of us was good company on a work night. We spoke frequently though. This week, the conversations were better. He was more solicitous, asking me about how my day was and what was going on at work. It’s not that he didn’t care before. It’s’ just that previously it felt like he was waiting to talk. Now, he was listening.

On Wednesday, he called and said, “I was offered box seats to the Yankees Friday. Interested?”

I was not a big sports fan. I watched the Super Bowl every year because I liked the parties. I liked going to live events for the immediacy of it but I wouldn’t care if it was the Yankees, the Mets or anyone else. I decided, however, that there was something fun about sitting that close. “I’m in.”

“Great, the game’s at 7:00 PM. I’ll meet you by the clock in Grand Central at 6:15.”

When I got there Friday night, I saw him waiting by the clock. I surprised him by putting my hands over his eyes, “Guess who?”

“Hmmmm….Jessica Alba?”

I playfully swatted him. “Funny…”

He kissed me. “I don’t want her. I want you.”

I laughed, “You’re a terrible liar. Or crazy.” I was wearing a red knee length dress with short sleeves that showed a little cleavage.

“You look amazing.” He took my hand. “Let’s go. Thanks for coming. I know this isn’t your thing.”

“It’ll be fun. Plus, next time we’ll do my thing.”

We went to the game. It was uneventful. I think the Yankees won 5-3. While he was watching the game, I watched him. It was a warm night. There was a beautiful woman in a strappy dress in front of us. He kept looking at her but it was weird. He wasn’t just looking at her. He was looking at her dress. Every time he did, he’d touch my hand or my leg or lean over and kiss me. “You’re in a good mood tonight.”

He smiled. “Why wouldn’t I be? The Yankees are winning. We’re here,” he laughed. “On someone else’s dime. Are you having a good time?”

“Of course. I like people watching. I like seeing the players up close. It’s all good.”

After the game was over, we took the 4 train back. We got off at 86th Street and walked up to my apartment. He held my hand. We walked past H & M on Lex, and I watched him look in the window. Maybe he always did and I never noticed. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Just looking around.” When he said that, he was looking at a dress that came just below the knee. Pink with a delicate floral print. Interesting. He liked florals.

“Do you like that dress?”

“Huh?” he said, defensively, letting go of my hand. “What do you mean?”

I clearly hit a nerve. “I meant, do you think I’d look good in it?”

“You’d look good in anything,” he said, taking my hand again.

“Well, thank you. Would I look good not in anything?” I said, with a devilish grin.

It took him a second. “Even better,” and we walked home. I couldn’t get the dress out of mind though.

When we got back to my place, I excused myself. I undressed, wrapped myself in a towel. took a deep breath and came out, “It’s my turn.”

His eyes widened as he saw me in the towel. “Your turn?”

“Yes, my turn. You know what my fantasy is?” I said, dropping the towel. He gulped. I could’ve said anything. “I’ve always wanted a man to shave my legs for me?”

“Shave your legs?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” he said, looking confused. “It’s just the first time I’ve ever heard of that.”

“Are you willing?”

“I’ll try,” he said, putting his hands behind his back, like a shamed schoolboy. I liked it.

“Good, first things first, strip.” He immediately complied. He also got immediately hard.

I grabbed his penis and said, “come with me.”

Before I came in, I had turned on the tub and filled it with gel. I handed him my shaving gel. “First things first, lather me up.” He fumbled with the gel. When he had a handful of foam, he started clumsily rubbing it all over. I spanked his ass and sternly said, “No. Not like that.” I rinsed off my legs. “Rub it in gently, up and down my leg.” He got another handful of foam and rubbed it all the way up my leg to my crotch. I shuddered. “That’s it. That’s a good boy.”

He smiled shyly, which got me hot. “Thank you.” Thank you? Like I gave him his change at the store? Weird, but oddly sexy.

“Now, shave my legs,” I said, putting my right leg on his shoulder. “Long even strokes. It’s not your face. Can you do that? I’ll be very upset if I get any nicks,” I said, taking on a serious tone. “You won’t like if I get upset.”

He didn’t blink but looked seriously concerned. “I can do it.” I didn’t know who this was, but I found it extremely alluring. He started shaving my legs in one continuous stroke. When he got the blade near my crotch, he’d rinse it off and start fingering my clit. I moaned, gently slapped his hand and said, “finish the job you were given, please.” By the time he finished, I wanted him inside me, but decided to see how far he’d go. I was worried he’d run, but needed to see. “Good job, Brian. Before I let you enter me, suck my toes.” I had never had that done to me before and wasn’t sure I’d even like it, but I needed to see what he’d do.

“What?”

“I. Said. Suck. My. Toes.” He did. It turns out that I liked that. “Now, take me to bed.” He lifted me out of the tub and carried me there. He was on top. It was amazing. He was really into it. Again, I didn’t let him come until I did.

We were cuddling and he started playing with my toes. He had never done this before. “Whatcha doing, Bri?” I giggled.

“Does it bother you? I’ll stop.”

“No, keep going. Just you’ve never done it before.”

“Huh. I don’t know. I like your toes. They’re cute. I never noticed.”

“I need a pedicure.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

A thought came into my head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean that I need a pedicure and I want you to do it.” I liked the idea of him painting my toes.

“Um…I’m not Korean,” he joked. “They’ll come get me.”

“First, that’s racist. Second, my manicurist is Vietnamese. Now, was this not amazing?”

“It was…I just…”

“You just what?” I said, sounding annoyed.

“Nothing. I’ve just never done it before.”

“You’ll do fine,” I said, getting out of bed naked. I went to the drawer where I kept my nail polishes. I had too many. That was my vice. Nail polishes and make up. I purposely bent over naked while I looked. “Oh, where is it? Brian, can you come help me pick one out?”

He jumped up. He leaned over my shoulder, brushing my ass with his cock. “Which one do you like, Bri? This red one or this pink one?” I assumed he’d pick the red. He surprised me by picking up a baby blue one.

“This one. I like this one.”

“Really?”

“Yes…it’s…” and he looked sheepish.

“It’s what?” I really wanted to know.

“I just like the color. I think it’s pretty. I mean it would look pretty…nice on you.”

There was ‘pretty’ again. He liked pretty. Most guys, it would be sexy. Or hot. He liked pretty. It was cute. He was really showing me a vulnerable side that I found really erotic. Normally, like I said, I went for unavailable. I found myself attracted to his vulnerability. “OK, now are you ready to give me a pedicure?”

“I’ll do my best.” He looked like he really meant it. He went to put on his underwear. “No, naked, I want you to do it naked.” He immediately complied. I liked this new Brian.

I sat on the edge of the bed and handed him a bottle of acetone and some cotton balls. “Now, first remove the existing polish. Put some polish remover on the cotton balls.”

He started carefully removing the polish from each toe, like he was one of those people painting on a grain of rice. He tickled the balls of my feet as he did it. “Good boy, Brian,” I said, getting excited. He started blowing on my toes. “What are you doing,” I said.

He seemed surprised by the question. “Drying your toes so we can polish them. Should I stop?”

“Oh no. Keep going.” He blew on every toe. I shuddered with pleasure. By the time he was done blowing, it was all day I could do to keep from grabbing him. But I maintained my self-control. “Very good job. You did very well.” He smiled like a child who got a good grade. “Now let’s polish them. Are you sure you want the baby blue and not the red?”

“Yes. The baby blue is prettier. You don’t need red to turn me on.” Strappy dresses. Baby blue. Where was he going with this? He started polishing my toes, very carefully. He didn’t smile. He wasn’t upset, just very focused. When he finished, they looked better than they ever did.

“Did I do a good job?”

“You did a great job.” I spread my legs wide. His eyes went wider. “Do you think you can do another job for me while they dry?” I cooed, grabbing his head, pushing him down on me. Out of nowhere, I pictured him with a blond high ponytail in a scrunchy. He was wearing lip gloss. Pink lip gloss. I started to gulp.

When he finished, I patted the bed and said, “Sit down.” He looked embarrassed. “What now, Bri? That was incredibly hot. Wasn’t it?”

“Yes…”

“Again, it’s just you and me. And we’re both consenting adults. I didn’t force you, did I?”

“No…”

“And you certainly didn’t force me. So it’s all good.” I started nibbling on his neck. “You like this, don’t you?” His moan was enough. “Like I’ve said, I do for you and you do for me. That’s what makes it hot. No one else knows and no one else will know, OK?”

“OK.”

I wiggled my toes. “You like? I like.”

“I like.”

“You like pretty things, don’t you?” He looked defensive. I hit a nerve. Time for a quick save. “I mean, you like when I look pretty, don’t you?”

“Of course.” He looked relieved.

“So, you’re just helping me look pretty. Plus, I think guys should know the work that goes into it. It makes you appreciate it more. No?”

“I guess.”

“Good. Now, get dressed. I want to get something to eat. You shouldn’t be the only one who ate,” I said, kissing him.

I put on yoga pants and a t-shirt. His clothes were wrinkled. We went out to eat. He seemed distracted. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about everything.”

“I just…”

“You and me, Bri. We’ve been together almost five months. It’s real time. What’s the most important thing in a relationship?”

“Sex?” He joked. The old Brian was back. I needed to stop that.

“No,” I said, looking him in the eyes and holding his hands. “Trust.”

“I know.”

“You have to trust me and I have to trust you. If we don’t have that, let’s stop now.” I almost said, “though I’ll miss the pedicures.” That would have killed the mood. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“I’m just scared.” He looked like a baby deer. His newfound vulnerability was scaring me. Partly, because I had never been with a guy who was like that. And partly because I liked it. I liked being the strong one.

“There’s nothing to be scared of. I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, rubbing his palm. “No matter what, I wouldn’t hurt you. Because you wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

“Right. It’s just…”

“Brian, I like you. A lot. I like that you’ve opened yourself up. That means you trust me. Don’t be afraid. Say, ‘I won’t be afraid.’”

“I won’t be afraid.”

“I trust you.”

“I trust you.” The truth was I really was scared. He was opening up to me. I’d have to open up to him. I had been hurt too many times and wasn’t sure that I could.

“I trust you too. Promise you won’t hurt me.” There I said it.

He looked shocked. “I would never hurt you. Unless…” He smiled. I knew he wanted to say, “unless you asked” to lighten the mood. But he surprised me. “No. No jokes now. I would never hurt you,” and he leaned over and kissed me. It wasn’t a deep kiss or a hot kiss. But it was the most satisfying kiss that I’d had in a long time. We spent the rest of the afternoon walking and talking. We looked in store windows. We held hands. He made me laugh. He didn’t just tell jokes but noticed funny things in a funny way. In short, we acted like a couple. Not two people dating, but a couple. I wanted to let down my guard completely but something held me back.

We went back to my apartment around 5 PM. He followed me in, when I said, “I’m tired.”

“OK, take a nap. I’ll watch TV.”

“No. I’m tired. I don’t want company. Go back to your place,” I snapped.

“Did I do something?”

I wanted to tell him no and that I was afraid of becoming an “us.” But I didn’t. “No. It’s not all about you. I’m tired. I’ll call.”

He started to say something then stopped. He looked like a kicked dog. A kicked puppy, actually. He walked away, looking back at me. I felt like garbage. However, I didn’t call him. I was surprised, however, when he didn’t call me either.

I called him two days later. “Hey, Brian.”

“Hey.”

“I was just tired.”

“Sure,” he said. “We all get tired sometimes. What’s up?”

“I wanted to see what’s up. See what you’re doing tonight.”

“Relaxing. Stressful day from work.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“If you want.”

This hurt. I had hurt him. “Do you want me?”

“If you’re not too tired.”

“I’m sorry Brian. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Whatever. Come over if you want.”

“I am sorry.”

“Know what? Don’t worry about it. It’s only been four months. Let’s just play it by ear, OK?”

That stung. “Sure. Bri…”

“Come over. Let’s just watch Netflix.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. Life’s too short to be all serious.”

I came over and we ordered Mexican and watched “Orange is the New Black.” He kept making jokes the whole time and looking at me for a response. It was uncomfortable. I leaned over and kissed him and said, “what do you say we make our own entertainment,” which was cheesy as hell, but it was all I could come up with. We went into the bedroom and had sex. We didn’t make love. We had sex. Utterly disconnected, unsatisfying sex.

We rolled over. He turned to me and said, “Was it good for you?”

I took a deep breath. “No. You?”

“Not really. What’s up?”

“Nothing. You?”

“Nothing much either.”

“Want to suck my toes?”

“Not really,” he said flatly. “I’m full,” he said with an empty smile.

“Funny.”

“That’s me.”

“I think I should go home.”

“Probably a good idea. We both have work.”

I stopped to say something else, but left. I walked home the forty blocks. A homeless guy stopped me at one point and said, “nothing’s that bad.”

“Yeah, it is,” I said, giving him ten dollars.

“It’ll get better.” Great, now I was being counseled by a homeless guy.

“Let’s hope.”

He smiled, “Just did for me.”

A week passed without Brian calling. I didn’t call him ei I texted him, “Can we please talk?”

He wrote back. “I’d like that.” My heart leapt.

“Tonight? My place?”

“OK.”

He came over and looked suspicious. “What?” I said. I wore a little spaghetti strap dress that ended above the knee. My toes were pink. I wasn’t all made up. He said nothing.

Instead, he looked me in the eye. “I’m here. Let’s talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I scared you with my fantasy.”

“No, you didn’t. Actually, it turns me on.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I came.”

“Really?”

“Really? I liked being in control. I liked you lying there naked while I was clothed. It gets me hot.”

“What about the legs and the pedicure?”

“That was my fantasy. A naked man giving me a pedicure makes me short of breath.”

“Then what was it?”

“We had a good time that day.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yeah, it is. We were just us. We were talking and holding hands.”

“I see how that’s scary.” Out of nowhere, he said, “Tell me something secret.”

“What?” I was shocked.

“Tell me something about you that you don’t tell people. You talk about trust. Trust me.”

“My mom left when I was four.”

“But, you talk about talking to her.”

“That’s my stepmom.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s why it’s a secret. Duh.”

“I’m sorry,” he reached over to me. I pulled back a little.

“You didn’t do it.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno. She and my dad should never have been together in the first place. They shouldn’t have had me,” I said matter of factly.

“Then..then…” He was fumbling for words. “Then whose toes would I have painted?”

I was actually glad that he made that joke. I couldn’t deal with seriousness. I didn’t even want to tell him.

Then, he said, “Have you heard from her?”

“Every once in a while. Not in eight years.”

“So what happened?”

“My dad is not an easy guy. He’s kind of abrupt.”

“Abrupt?”

“He shuts down when he’s done talking. Even if you’re not. I imagine it pissed her off.”

“Still, I can’t imagine a mom leaving her kid.”

“And a dad? A dad could?” I snapped. I didn’t like where he was going with my mom.

“No, not at all. You don’t like your spouse, I get it. Your kid doesn’t ask to be born.”

“Sorry,” I said. For the first time in my life outside of therapy, I said, “It still hurts,” and I started to cry. I don’t cry.

I thought he’d run. But he didn’t. He just rubbed my back and held me, the way my stepmom did.

“My stepmom used to do this when I was little.”

“I’m your stepmom? Am I hot?” He joked.

“Stop joking. It feels nice. Warm.”

“OK,” he said, and he kept rubbing. I hated getting this close.

“Don’t hurt me, Bri…”

He looked shocked. “Why would you think I would?”

I cried some more. “Just don’t. Promise me that you won’t.”

“I won’t. Tell me about your stepmom.”

“Huh?”
“Tell me about her. What’s she like?”

“She’s great. She knows how to read my dad’s moods and he’s moody like me. Plus, it has to be weird raising another woman’s kid. I wasn’t easy.”

“How so?”

“Usual stuff. Smoking. Boys. You’re not my mom…”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She just took it and tried harder.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It’s become a joke between us. I sign every card ‘you’re my mom, even if you don’t want to be.’”

He looked surprised. “She doesn’t mind that?”

I laughed. “She signs it ‘you’re stuck with me.’ Now, you tell me a secret.”

“I told you my secret.”

“That’s not a secret. That’s a fantasy. I told you one.”

He looked serious. “You have to promise to never use this against me.”

“What is it?”

“Promise.”

“But…”

“I said promise!”

“OK, I promise.”

He took a deep breath. “My dad went to jail when I was fourteen.”

“For what?”

“Stealing. Embezzling, technically. It’s all the same.”

“What happened?”

“He was an accountant at this company and he stole $200,000.”

“Why?”

“Support his girlfriend. Party with his friends. Be a big shot. Didn’t use it for us..”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. All I know is we had a twelve year old car, lived in a shitty split-level and my grandparents were broke. Had to go somewhere.”

“Did you ever ask him about it?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since he went away.”

“You never went to visit? You never asked your mom?"

“No. To be honest, he was always one of the guys who held himself out as better than everyone. Like he was Mr. Moral. Well, Mr. Moral was a crook. I loved him and he screwed me. I didn’t want to hear it.”

“Do you think that’s why you tell jokes?”

“Oh, the Pagliacci thing….” He looked angry.

“What?”

“The clown laughing on the outside, crying on the inside. No, I was always funny.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Yup.”

“You haven’t seen him in all those years?”

“Nope. No need. Don’t want to.”

“Why did you ask me never to use it against you? Why would I?”

“Because my first real girlfriend did….” He started to tear up. “I told her and one day when we were fighting, she said that I was a piece of shit like my father except I was too stupid to steal. When I got upset, she said I was a loser.”

I started to tear up, then got angry. “What a cunt! How could she say that?”

“She did. Why, I don’t know. I can’t believe that I told you. If you’re going to use it against me, go ahead. I won’t hold you to the promise, not that I could.” He started to tear up. Now, it was my turn to hold him.

“Bri, I will never use this. That’s not the way I work. Boy, we are a pair,” I laughed.

He smiled. “That’s us. ‘You’re not my mom’ and ‘Son of Criminal.’”

“Brian, thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you? It sounds like getting a car detailed. ‘Thank you for trusting us with your car.’”

“I’m serious. Thank you.”

“You went first,” he said, taking my hand. “By the way, you look really pretty tonight. I really like the dress.” Hmm. Now I was back to wondering.

“Thank you. And my toes? Do you like them?” I needed to lighten the mood.

“That’s a really nice color.” Nice? Nice? Not what I was going for.

We ordered in and were sitting on the couch. I put my feet in his lap. He started playing with my toes. Out of nowhere, he started kissing my feet. I reflexively pulled them up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Just a reflex,” I said, “Keep going.” He moved up from there. He lifted my dress and played with my thighs. I moaned. I said, “do you like the dress?”

“Yes…” he said. He would’ve said yes to anything.

“Is it pretty?”

“It’s very pretty.”

“Do you like the way it feels?”

“Yes, it’s very smooth,” he said, playing with my nipples.

He went to take the dress off of me. “No,” I said. “Keep it on.”

“You don’t have to do this again.”

“I’m not. I want you on top. I just want you to feel it while we have..make love.”

And make love is what we did. Sweet, tender love. I noticed that, during foreplay, while he kissed my shoulders, he played with the straps. He rubbed his body on the fabric. He never pulled it up fully when we made love but involuntarily pulled it down if it rode up too far.

When we were lying next to each other, I said, “That was amazing.”

He smiled, “It was.”

“Are we good?”

“We’re good.”

“Do you like it when I’m pretty?”

“You’re always pretty.”

“I mean, do you like this dress?”

“I said that I did.”

“More than my other dresses?”

“It’s different?”

“It’s OK if you do.” I pulled it over my head.

“I like this better…”

“Seriously.” I started to rub in on his body. “Do you like the way it feels?”

“Huh?”

“Do you like the way it feels? I do. The silky fabric on my naked skin feels so good,” I lied. I didn’t mind it, but I could not wear this again and be fine.

“It feels good.”

I put the straps near his shoulders. “I like the way the straps feel on my shoulders. Like they’re these little strips holding up this dress. Do you like the way they feel?” I didn’t. I felt naked.

“Ummm.”

“Just say what you feel.”

“They feel nice. They’re so thin. Don’t you feel naked?” That threw me.

“I do. But sometimes that feels good. Just like,” and I rubbed the hem near his thighs. He started to get hard, “I like feeling the dress brush my thighs. Do you like when it brushes your thighs?”

“No.”

“No one is here, Brian. No one is making judgments. If you could wear this dress, would you?”

“That’s crazy. I’m a guy.”

“If a guy could wear this dress, would you?”

“I…”

“No judgments. Close your eyes. If you could walk down the street and no one would say anything, would you?” I rubbed the straps on his shoulders. “If you could feel these tiny little straps on your shoulders, would that feel good?”

“Uh, yes…”

“If you could feel this silky fabric on your body, would you like that?”

“Oooh…” I was getting turned on by this. I pictured him in the little pink dress.

“If you could feel the hem brush your naked thighs, how would that feel?” He could say whatever he wanted, but his penis gave him away.

“It would feel amazing.”

“Would you feel pretty? I think you’d be very pretty.”

“Stop,” he said. “This is getting weird.”

“Brian, we’re just playing,” I said, running my nails up his cock. “It doesn’t mean anything. I know you’re a guy.” And then I took him in my mouth.

Things were better after that. We started seeing each other during the week. We were having conversations. We talked about our feelings. He told me about his bitch girlfriend.

“I dunno. We were kids. I was 20.”

“You didn’t have a girlfriend until you were 20.”

“I had girlfriends before then. But a high school girlfriend is pretend. Like ‘we’re a couple’ and you kiss and hold hands and maybe have sex. But everyone knows it’s not real.”

“I didn’t. I thought we’d be together forever.”

“Really?”

“What does that mean?” I got annoyed.

“I didn’t mean something bad. You just strike me as someone who would’ve known that. Who knew the difference between a high school crush and reality.”

“That’s me at 34. At 16, I thought I found the guy who would save me.”

“From what?”

“Me.”

“You don’t need to be saved from you. I…” and he stopped.

“You what.”

“Nothing. I think you’re great the way you are.” That wasn’t what I expected. I expected ‘I love you,’ but was happy he didn’t say it because then I would have had to and I couldn’t. Not yet.

“So are you.” We kissed. We didn’t have sex though.

A month later it was my birthday. He came to my apartment. We were going to dinner.

I wore a low cut lace dress that came to 2” above my knee and a pair of black 3” Loboutins.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes bulging. Jackpot! “You look amazing. Do we have to go to dinner?”

I slapped him on the ass. I liked doing that. “Yes. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“I know what kind of girl you are…” he leered.

“Good, then buy me dinner so I don’t feel used.”

He took me to Gramercy Tavern. We finished a bottle of wine with dinner, then had some after dinner drinks. By the time we left, we were pretty drunk. We went back to my apartment.

I kicked off my shoes and we started kissing. “Hang on,” I said, “the wine is getting to me. I have to pee,” I giggled.

“I told you to go before we left,” he said, mock-sternly.

“I didn’t have to,” I whined. “Hold on.”

While I was in the bathroom, a thought came to me. “Can you come in here?”

“You’re a big girl. You can go by yourself.”

“Please come here. I have a surprise.”

When he came in, I was naked with the shower running. “Are you just going to stand there?”

He took off his clothes and we got in. We started soaping each other up and I picked up my razor.

He rubbed my leg. “It seems smooth to me.”

“It is. I shaved before you came over.” I smiled. “I want to shave your legs.”

“Ummm….”

I thought about giving an ultimatum but instead said, “Wasn’t it hot when you shaved my legs? Didn’t you get excited”

“Yes, but…”

“But what? Why would you deprive me of that? Especially, on my birthday…”

“But, what if someone sees my legs?”

“It’s fall. Who is seeing your naked legs but me?”

“No one. I mean, what about the gym?”

“Do you know anyone at the gym?”

“No…”

“Then you care about strangers more than me?” He fumbled his words. I had him.

“No…”

I took a handful of my scented shaving gel. It smelled like flowers. “Do you like the way this smells, Brian?”

“Yes.”

“How does it smell, Bri?”

“It smells pretty.”

I started rubbing it slowly up his legs. “You like pretty, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he moaned.

“Do you like when I rub this all the way up your legs, Bri?” I said, going all the way up to his crotch. I tickled his balls. He kept moaning.

“Keep going…”

“Put your leg on the tub, Brian,” I said, as I slowly ran the razor up one leg. After I was done with that leg, “oooh, you feel soooo smooth, Bri. I like the way it feels.” Without me asking, he put his other leg up. “Oooh, my pretty Bri likes this.”

He didn’t flinch. “Yes….”

“You are such a pretty thing, aren’t you?” I said, trimming his pubic hair.

“Uh huh…” Men in heat will say anything.

“Lift your arms.”

“Why?”

“Shhh,” I said, putting my fingers to his lips. “I want you to feel how sexy it is to be clean. To not have all that hair in the way..” I waved the gel under his nose again. “Don’t you like the pretty smell?”

His eyes were closed. “Yes…”

“You like when I smell pretty, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“It gets you excited, right?” I said rubbing my hands on his thighs and sticking my finger in his ass.

“Yes…oh g-d, yes.”

“Well, I like to smell pretty little things too. Fair?”

“Fair.”

When I was done, his legs and pits were smooth. I had trimmed his pubic hair like he was a girl going to the beach. I wanted him in the worst way.

I led him to the bedroom. I sprayed some “Daisy Dream,” by Marc Jacobs on the bed. I didn’t usually do that. In fact, someone had given me the perfume. It just fit the mood.

I threw him on the bed and we started kissing and pawing each other. I rubbed my legs on his. His bare legs on mine felt so amazing. I started tickling him under his armpits.

He started giggling. “Stop,” he said. “That tickles.”

“I know, silly. That’s the idea.”

“Yeah, but it really tickles now. No fair. You didn’t tell me it would tickle more.”

“I know,” I giggled, “I’m really mean…”

“You are,” he said, as I pinned him. It wasn’t fair. I had tickled him into submission.

I looked down at his newly hairless body and said, “You are making me sooo hot, Bri…”

“So are you.”

“No, I mean I love the way you look.”

Alll of sudden, he said, flirtatiously, “How do I look? Tell me again how I look….”

I was, to say the least shocked. He was pretty drunk but even still.

“Tell me,” he said, giggling. I was beyond excited.

“You look so pretty,” I said, leaning down. I sniffed him. The perfume had rubbed off on him. He smelled like daisies. “You smell really pretty too.”

He reached up and he kissed me. Then he started tickling me. “Gotcha,” he giggled, like a teenage girl.

“Oh, you are in such trouble, Missy…” Missy? He didn’t respond. I went to climb on top of him, then stopped. “No, I want you on top..” He looked surprised. I wrapped his thighs in my legs. I loved feeling his smooth skin on mine. It was electric.

When we finished, I rubbed my legs against his. “Wasn’t that hot?”

He said, “oooh,” and then passed out. Even shaved like a girl, he was a guy.

I kissed him gently on the lips. “Sleep tight, my pretty one.”

I woke up before him. He woke up and rolled over. “Good morning, Brian,” I said, kissing him.

“My head,” he mumbled. “I need coffee. I need to pee,” he groaned, standing up. He walked naked into the bathroom. I expected him to say something but he didn’t.

He walked towards the door. “I’m going to make coffee. Want some?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He came back in with two cups. “Here you go. That was some night…”

“Yes.”

“We were pretty bombed.”

He smiled, “Don’t remind me.”

“What do you remember?” What he said next shocked me.

“Everything,” he smiled.

“Everything?” I said nervously.

“Yup, everything…”

“And you’re not upset?”

“About what?”

“About…” I paused.

“My pretty Bri, for example,” he said, with a smile.

“Oh g-d….”

“I like the way it feels. Do you?” Now I was getting nervous. Not that he liked it, but that I did.

I gulped. “I do. You look so pretty.”

“And that doesn’t freak you out?”

“Does it freak you out?”

“I asked first.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What two consenting adults do….” He smiled.

“So long as there’s no pee or poop.” We both started laughing. “Can I spray some perfume on you?”

“OK,” he said. “But tell me why.”

“Because you’re pretty and should smell pretty.” I said, spraying him on his wrists and neck. After I did that, I kissed him on the neck and earlobes. I liked when guys did that to me. “Does my Bri like that?”

“Yes.”

“That’s because he’s pretty. A pretty, pretty girl.” He smiled but said nothing.

I played with his nipples. “Does Brian like that?”

“Mmmm, yes…” he said, licking his lips.

“Are you a good girl or a bad girl.”

“That depends.” I was getting excited.

“I want to play. Can we play?”

“Play what?”

“Do you trust me?”

“What game is that,” he said, in a flirty, girly voice. I wanted him in the worst way.

“It’s a question. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you. You won’t hurt me.”

“I won’t.” I went to my dresser and took some pink nail polish. “I want my Brian to look prettier. Do you want to?”

“It stays here, right?”

“Of course. Can I paint your toes?”

“I’d like that,” he said, licking his lips again.

I started painting his toes. “Do you like the color?”

“Why not red?”

“Red is sexy. Brian is pretty. Does Brian like being pretty?”

“Yes.” He was really playing along.

“Can I put on some lip gloss?”

“You’ll just kiss it off,” he said with a pout. Someone had paid attention to girls over the years.

“That’s my right. But, you have such pretty lips,” I said, kissing him first.

“You have such pretty eyes. Wasted on a boy,” I said. “You need eyeliner and mascara.” I don’t know what was coming over me.

He had delicate features. When I was done, he really looked like a girl.

“One last thing,” I said. “This is big. If you’re not comfortable, we can stop.”

“I trust you,” he said.

“Close your eyes.” I went to the closet and pulled out the dress from H &M. I took a deep breath. “Lift your arms.” He did and I pulled the dress down. I had guessed his size. “Now open your eyes.” It looked adorable. It ended a couple of inches above his knee, where it flared out a little.

He looked shocked. He checked himself out in the mirror. He looked to the left then the right, like I would. “Oh boy…”

“Brian, I…what are you thinking?” I was sure that I had made a mistake.

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“You look really pretty.”

“I do. Is that OK?”

I pinched his ass. “It’s making me hot. You know who you are?”

“Who am I?”

“You’re my pretty girlfriend. My girlfriend…” and then a name came to me. “Nicole.” I don’t know why. He looked like a Nicole.

“Nicole?”

“Nicole. Pretty Nicole. Let’s play a game. Tell me about pretty Nicole.”

“It’s not too weird?”

“We’re playing. It’s like acting. Just play.”

“OK, so long as this isn’t too weird or anything.”

“Trust. Two consenting adults.”

“Trust. No pee or poop.” One of us always had to say this.

What’s your name?

“Nicole.”

Nicole what?

“Nicole Ann Militch.” He winced.

“Why did you wince when you said that?” I was curious.

“I don’t like my middle name.”

“Why?”

“I always wanted it to be something pretty.”

“Like what?”

“I always liked Rose. I like the sound. Nicole Rose Militch,” he said, twirling from side to side, watching the dress move. My pretty Nicole Rose.

“Why don’t you change it?”

“First, it’s been my name my whole life. Second, it’s a middle name which no one really ever sees. Third…”

“What’s third?”

“It’s after my paternal great-grandmother and it meant a lot to my grandparents.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Why did you pause?” I wanted to know.

“It sounds silly,” he said, looking down.

“It doesn’t. It sounds nice. So tell me about Nicole Ann Militch. Are you Nicki or Nicole?”

“Nicole. My family calls me Nicki, which I don’t like, but I gave up trying to stop them. But I’m not a girl, I’m a woman and I want to be Nicole.”

“Well, Nicole it is. Where are you from?”

“Creve Couer, Missouri. It’s a suburb of St. Louis.” That was strange. Brian was from Hastings on Hudson, a suburb of New York. This was oddly specific.

“Ah, a nice Midwestern girl.”

He smiled. “Yes. A nice girl in the big city.” I was glad to see he was playing along.

“What color is your hair?”

“Chestnut brown.”

“Eyes?”

“Blue green.”

“Height?”

“5’4””

“Weight?”

“125 lbs?”

“You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?”

He smiled shyly. “Yes.”

“Favorite color?”

“Baby blue.”

“I would’ve guessed pink.”

“Nope, baby blue. Everyone thinks pink, but it’s too obvious. I always wear something baby blue every day, even if it’s just a scarf or something you can’t see,” he said, lifting the hem just slightly.

“Feet?”

“Two.”

“Ha ha. Size?”

“Six and a half. Seven in some shoes.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m number two at a speaker’s bureau,” he said proudly.

“Speaker’s bureau?”

“One of those agencies that gets people for speeches. They specialize in authors and newscasters.”

“How did you get into that?”

“I graduated college and got a job as an assistant at ABC News. An agent met me and told me the agency was hiring and that she’d make more. I left and now, ten plus years later, here I am,” he said proudly.

“What are your hobbies?”

“Reading. Biking. I like to dance. I’m also a volunteer tutor at the Children’s Aid Society in Harlem.” That was sweet. Not something Brian did.

“What’s your favorite thing about yourself?”

“My smile. Not to brag, but people always compliment me on it. They say it lights up the room.”

“That’s sweet.” It was. Strange coming from Brian. But sweet.

“What’s your least favorite thing about yourself?”

“It’s silly, but my ears.” Ears? I was shocked at how easily he was falling into this.

“Ears?”

“They’re too big. My sister used to call me Dumbo. That’s why I don’t like to pull my hair back.”

“Are they too big?”

“No, but I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“What do you do when you’re nervous?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I twirl my hair.”

“I rub the two knuckles on my left hand index and middle fingers.” He was really getting into this. I was worried about where we were going.

“So, you said that you have a sister. Tell me about your family.”

“My dad’s a doctor. He was an ENT at Barnes Jewish in St. Louis. He’s retired.”

“And your mother?”

“She stayed at home until I was in junior high. Then she became a real estate agent.” Brian rolled his eyes.

“Why are you rolling your eyes?”

“The job was a joke. Like something that bored doctor’s wives did when they got tired of playing tennis.”

“Ouch.” Seriously, that was cold.

“It’s not that. If I thought she really tried, I’d respect it. But I always felt like it was a part-time thing and she didn’t really try for her clients.” He crossed and uncrossed his arms.

“Does that mean a lot to you?” I don’t know why I needed to hear all of this, but every question made me think of five more.

“Yeah. These people trusted her and she’d rather be on vacation. She doesn’t need the money so it seems like she should just let someone else do the job.”

“Interesting.” It was. It made me realize how much he valued giving something your all. “So you have a sister. Is she older or younger?”

“Older, by three years. Her name’s Rachel”

“Any other siblings?”

“Yes, an older brother Jonathan, who’s six years older.”

“So you’re the baby. The pretty little baby.”

He smiled, “Yup.” Unbidden, he said, “I love Jonathan. He’s married and lives in New Jersey, with his wife Wendy and their two kids, Josh, who’s 8, and Liam, who’s 5.” I was thrown by how specific that was and how he used his hands while he talked.

“What about Rachel?”

He sighed. “I wish we were closer. We fought when we were younger. When I got older, and saw my friends become closer with their sisters, I thought Rachel and I would be friends. But we aren’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. We’re just different.”

“Different how?”

He stared at me and with an unexpected edge said “we’re just different.”

“What about Jonathan? Are you close?”

He smiled, “Always.” Interesting. Brian had two brothers and a sister. He didn’t talk about them much.

“That makes you happy?”

“Yes, he always took care of me. Took me places. Always made sure I was taken care of.” He had a gentle smile.

“How so? Give me an example.”

“When he was a junior at Columbia, he invited me to come for a weekend. Just us, no parents.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is. Not lots of 20 year-old guys would take care of their 14 year-old sisters for the weekend.” Interesting. 14. When his dad went away. “He took me all over. He took me to places he knew I’d like, like Ricky’s and museums and bookstores. We went to the Strand, which was just amazing to me. That was the first time I met Wendy. I met her before the rest of the family,” he grinned.

“That sounds fun. Did you like that?”

“I did. I felt special. And Wendy was really nice. Not lots of girls would let their boyfriend’s dorky little sister stay with them. But she did. And her friends were really nice. I’m sure Wendy told Jon what to do.”

“Are you and Wendy close?”

“Yes. Very. It’s important to me. I really try.” Other than telling me he had siblings, I never heard Brian mention his family. He hadn’t met mine and didn’t ever suggest I meet his.

“You try how?”

“I have a standing appointment to baby sit Josh and Liam, so Wendy and Jon can go out and not worry about the time. I go to New Jersey. Whenever Wendy wants to pamper herself, I tell her to bring in Joshy and Liam so she can.”

“Joshy?” That was so girly and cute.

“He hates that, but that’s my right as an aunt.” He was really getting into it.

“You like to please people, huh?”

“Sue me. I like when people are happy. It makes me happy.”

Alrighty then. That wasn’t me. Or Brian. “So, what were you like as a little girl? Was she a tomboy?”

“Absolutely not.” Absolutely not? That’s definitive. He pulled down on the hem of the dress, which I found so flirty. “I was a girly girl. Gymnastics. I was in dance for eight years, from 4 to 12…” The pause intrigued me.

“Why did you quit?”

“That’s when it stopped being fun. I always worked hard and loved the recitals. But, at 12, it became a chore. I saw how unhappy the older girls looked and I stopped. I still like it. That’s why I take dance classes at the gym.”

“What else did you like to do when you were little besides dance?”

“Sing. Play with Barbies. I loved dressing up.” Interesting how he used “loved.”

“You loved it. Why?”

“I liked being pretty.” There was pretty again. “I liked the attention. It’s hard as the youngest.” Brian was the third of four. I was surprised how he said that about being the youngest. “I remember crying when my mother wouldn’t let her wear my synagogue dress to school.”

“What was high school like? Cheerleader, I bet?”

“Ick.” Ick? He was getting a little too into this. “No. I had my friends. I wasn’t a popular kid, but I had my friends.”

“Who were they?”

“The kind of kids who read for pleasure. Some theater kids. The artsy types.”

“You did dance. Were you in shows?”

“I was a drama queen,” he giggled. “Seriously, I tried out. I was usually in the chorus. However, I won accolades as Chava in ‘Fiddler on the Roof,” he laughed.

“What did you want to be when you were a little girl?”

He didn’t blink at that. “It’s silly.”

“It was a childhood dream. It can be silly. I wanted to ride horses in the Olympics. A girl from Little Neck. It can’t be sillier than that.” I had never told a guy that before. I felt somehow vulnerable and free.

I took a deep breath. “I wanted to be like Lois Lane.” He rolled his eyes. “The intrepid girl reporter. Silly, huh?”

I smiled. “No sillier than anyone else. Kind of cute.” I pictured a little dark haired girl with a notepad. “Did you have a crush on Dean Cain?”

“Who didn’t?” The way he said that sounded like any woman in her 30s. I wondered if I should stop this. He seemed oddly relaxed and so I kept going.

“Any boyfriends?”

“One serious – Michael Harrison. We dated in 11h grade.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“No,” he said, with a mix of vehemence and sadness. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Is that why you broke up?”

“Maybe. I think it was inevitable,” he said, playing with his knuckles.

“What did you do?”

“What I always did when things got uncomfortable. Retreated into books.”

“Why do you say retreated?”

“I always felt more comfortable reading. However complicated a book was, it was less complicated than the real world.” He looked uncomfortable.

“Are you OK with this, Bri? We can stop.”

“No,” he said. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Nicole. Remember?” Unconsciously, he was smoothing out his skirt.

“OK…so, what did you read?”

“The usual high school reader girl stuff. Jane Austen. The Brontes…” he grinned, shyly. I found this so endearing that I had to refrain from hugging him.

“Any guilty pleasures?”

“Trashy novels. I loved Rona Jaffe even though I knew it was cr…garbage, excuse me.” That was so cute and ladylike. “My mother had all her books. That was all I ever saw her read.”

“Did you read them to get closer to her?”

“Maybe,” he said, playing with his hair. “Maybe I thought I’d understand her better.”

“Did she ever say anything?”

“She always looked at me and said, ‘always reading…Good for you.’ But, it had an edge. my..my..” and he looked away.

“What?”

He teared up. “My Grandma Lillian always defended me. Whenever my mother would make a comment, grandma Lillian would say that there’s nothing wrong with being smart. That she was proud of me. Then, she’d take me into the city and we’d go to lunch and she’d buy me books, just the two of us,” and he started to cry. My heart was breaking.

“It’s OK,” I said, rubbing his back. “That’s a beautiful story,” I said, forgetting for a minute that neither Nicole nor Lillian was real.

“Is grandma Lillian still alive?”

“No, she died when I was in the tenth grade. I miss her terribly.”

“I would imagine.” I wanted to lighten the mood. “Any pets growing up?”

“A dog. Ozzie. After Ozzie Smith, the Cardinal shortstop. Ozzie – the dog it is – liked chasing balls.” He giggled. “So did Ozzie the shortstop.”

“What kind of dog?”

“A shepherd – retriever mix. He was a rescue.”

“So, where did you go to college?”

“The University of Michigan,” he said, “Go Blue.”

“Very nice. What did you major in?”

“English. Surprised?”

“Not really. Specialized in Austen, Bronte, etc?”

“No,” he said, with a devilish grin. “That’s what everyone expected. I really got into the postmodernists – Gaddis. Barth. Pynchon.” I had no idea of who they were, other than certain guys I had slept with all had copies of “Gravity’s Rainbow.” And that the spines had been cracked on absolutely none of them.

“I’m surprised at that. Were you in a sorority?”

“Alpha Epsilon Phi,” she shrugged.

“Did you like being in a sorority? You seem like the kind of girl who would. I picture you in a big sweatshirt and shorts.”

“I thought I would. Believed in sisterhood. Thought I’d find lifelong relationships. I heard about rush and dressing up in different outfits. That sounded fun. I’d get to be pretty.” Again, pretty.

“But?”

“I have friends from there. But, overall, it was catty and sexist. I couldn’t compete with the girls from New York and Chicago.”

“Couldn’t compete?”

“Maybe, didn’t want to. Not to be mean, but those girls were mean for mean’s sake. I like being nice. Maybe, I’m just a Midwestern girl at heart.” That was adorable. “By junior year, I was spending more time on other things.”

“Like what?”

“The literary magazine. Tutoring kids in Detroit. The Special Olympics?”

“You really like to help people?” I was falling in love.

“Yes. I was given a lot, so I felt like I should do my part. Grandma Lillian always said the best tzedakah – charity – comes when you give yourself not just money.”

“Is it a noblesse oblige thing?”

“No. It really is gratitude for my life. Plus, I’m selfish. I got pleasure when a kid understood something from school because I explained it. Or when a kid at the Special Olympics dribbled a ball fifteen times when he could only do three when I started with him.” I was falling in love with Nicole. I started to tear up, “That’s really sweet.” I grinned. “Now, before we go into sugar shock, when did you lose your virginity?”

He blushed. “Nineteen.”

“To who?”

“A guy named Jason Rosenberg.”

“Was he your boyfriend?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean sort of?”

“He was in ZBT. A legacy. We had a bunch of classes together. We met during a joint event and we both realized that they didn’t quite know what the Greek system really was. We went out for three months before they had sex.”

“Did you love him?”

“I thought so at the time. Now, I realize that I was in love with the idea of being in love. Like, ‘this is my boyfriend Jason.’ ‘My boyfriend and I…’ That kind of thing.”

“Who broke up with who?”

“Neither. Both. We both realized that we were with each other because we were looking for something. We’re still friends. His wife laughs about it. She and I are friends too, which makes me happy.”

“You really like when people are happy, huh?”

He looked generally surprised. “Why shouldn’t I? Who wants to make people unhappy?” I thought about that. Did I like people to be happy? Unhappy? Or did I just not care?

“Let’s get raw. What’s your favorite position?”

“It’s boring. Missionary,” he blushed.

“Why?”

“I like the guy on top.” This was not surprising given how we got here.

“Will you go on top?”

“Sometimes. If the guy wants it.”

“What about doggy style?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Again, absolutely not.

“Why so absolute?”

“It makes me feel used. Like the guy doesn’t want to look at me.”

“Some guys like it. Some girls too.”

“Maybe. Not me. If that’s what he wants, he wants someone else. I want to please my partner – within limits.” He looked down at his toes, wiggled them and grinned. “Sorry. I was just looking at my toes.”

“You like them, huh?”

He smiled then blushed. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Speaking of partners, how many sexual partners have you had?”

“Nine.”

“Nine? So, less than one a year.”

“I don’t just want to sleep with someone. I did that once and felt bad about myself.” I had done lots of times. I never felt bad about it. Well, not about the act, just the guy sometimes. It was weird to hear a guy say it.

“Why?”

“I want a connection with someone. I want to feel like I’m important. I want to be able to snuggle with them.” I was surprised at how matter of factly he said this.

“Snuggle?” I said, with a smile. “You mean cuddle.”

“No, I mean snuggle although I like cuddling. I like to curl up in a guy’s arms on the couch and be held.” I moved over and put my arms around him. He snuggled up and looked up at me. “Like this.”

“Is that when you’re most comfortable?”

“Yes. You’ll know I’m comfortable with you when I pull my legs up under me on the couch.”

“Why do you think that is?” I noticed that he kept lifting his legs up, then putting them down.

“I don’t know. Maybe doing that means I don’t feel like I need to get out quickly.” I realized that I always kept my feet on the floor and my shoes nearby.

“So, “ I said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “When you snuggle, does that mean you’re ready to sleep with a guy?” I expected him to respond to that, but he kept going.

“I’m not a prude or something. I don’t make them wait months. I just want a connection. Maybe I’m too much of a romantic. My friends tease me and call me ‘Charlotte.’”

“Sex and the City Charlotte?” That was a weird pick for a guy to use, but somehow with Nicole it seemed on point.

“Yes, because I never give up on love. I don’t mind, though. I’d rather keep my heart open than give in.”

I started to tear up. I had been cynical for so long that I couldn’t believe anyone could feel that, even someone imaginary. “That’s actually really nice. “

He smiled then looked down then up. He was becoming Nicole before me. “Thank you.”

“Have you always dreamed of your wedding?”

“Of course. You haven’t?” He looked surprised.

“Tell me about it. Where will he propose?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t need it to be Paris or Hawaii or something. I want it to be some place that means something to us. It could be anywhere. It could be the corner of 57th and 7th, if that was where we had our first real kiss or he told me he loved me. That’s romantic. Not some bridge where everyone has been.”

“That sounds really romantic,” and it did.

“So,” I said, changing the subject. “What do you look for in a guy, other than a good snuggler?”

“He has to like dogs. If he doesn’t play with a golden retriever when I do, he’s gone.” I noticed that Brian liked dogs. I wondered if he noticed that I didn’t play with them. I liked dogs, I just never thought about it.

“Really? Why?”

“People who don’t like dogs don’t really like people. They don’t like life, in my opinion.”

“How so?”

“A dog is this friendly creature. It just wants to play and be loved. Are they messy sometimes? Sure. But, when it’s all said and done, they’re there for you?” He upspoke. He saw one of my sandals on the floor. It had a 2” heel. He picked it up with his foot and dangled it off his toes. I found this incredibly sexy.

I held back. “Do you have a dog?”

“I’d like one.” But, I can’t give it the time it needs right now. Plus, I thinks that my husband and I should pick one together. That way, the dog won’t get jealous.”

“Your husband? So who’s your ideal husband?”

He surprised me. “I don’t have an ideal. I’ll know when I meet him.”

“I’m surprised that such a romantic doesn’t have a picture in her head.”

“I’m a romantic, but I know that you come to love a person once you know them. Immediate attraction isn’t love. It’s lust.” I was surprised to hear a guy say that. I sometimes felt that way.

“Well, do you at least have a type?”

“He has to be tall. I want my kids to maybe be tall. He should have green eyes, since that would be a great combination with mine. He needs to be smart and well-read, but not annoying about it…”

“Likes dogs…”

He smiled. “Funny. Also…”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s silly.” He used that word more since we started than in the previous eight months. I don’t know why but I found it feminine. And endearing. I was falling in love with Nicole. He was looking down at the sandal. He reached down and put it next to his foot, like he was deciding whether to wear it. We had the same size foot. 8 ½ mens. He slipped it on and then the other one.

“We all have our things. What is it?”

“He has to,” and he took a deep breath. “Make the bed every day. Well, at least, in his place.” I laughed. “Don’t make fun of me,” he said.

“I’m not. It’s just unusual. Why is that a big deal?”

“I like a home to be nice. A made bed says you care.”

“Is that a deal breaker?”

He smiled. “Not as much as going out in public in pajama pants.”

“I agree. You’re an adult. You can button pants.” We both laughed.

“OK. What’s your place like?”

“What do you mean?”

“How’s it decorated?” I wanted to see how his mind worked. What kind of girl he wanted. Or wanted to be.

“It’s got daffodil yellow walls. There’s one wall in the bedroom that’s baby blue.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It warms up the room. Makes it homey. I have a blue overstuffed couch. A leather chair my father bought me as an apartment warming present…” Interesting. My apartment looked like, as an ex said, a hospital waiting room. Wait a minute? Her father?

“Your father? Not your parents?”

“No, my father. He was in New York for a conference. He came to my apartment and said, ‘Nicole, you need a real chair.’ When I told him that I didn’t want him to buy it for me, he said, ‘I’m not buying it for you. I’m buying it for me. That ferkakte Ikea chair isn’t fit for a normal sized human.’, So, he bought me a brown leather chair with an ottoman.”

“Do you like it?”

“I like what it stands for. That my father cared enough to buy it. I knows that he’s proud of me. He called me Nicole, which meant I was an adult.”

“He sounds like a great guy.” My dad dealt in sarcasm. He loved me but he couldn’t express it. “What else is there?”

“A painting over the couch. Pictures of me and my family and friends. And flowers. I like to have fresh flowers.” That didn’t surprise me.

“Roses?”

“No. Gerbera daisies. Sunflowers.” That didn’t surprise me. They were sunny flowers, like Nicole. “Sometimes lilies, although those are bittersweet.”

“Because of your grandma?”

She teared up then snuggled in. “Yes.”

“What do you have there that you feel funny about?” Every woman had that. My friend Danielle had an old sneaker from junior high that her friends signed. My cousin kept her yearbooks from junior high. I had nothing.

“A stuffed Snoopy from when I was a baby. And a stuffed Fredbird from the old Busch Stadium. They’re on top of the bookshelf. I plan…” And he stopped.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on Nicole, tell me.” I waited to see if he responded to that. He didn’t.

“I plan to put them in a baby’s crib someday. It’s like giving a piece of yourself.” He snuggled in closer. He didn’t make a move to kiss me. He just looked up at me and smiled.

“You sound like you really want to make a home.”

“I do. That’s my favorite thing to do.”

“What is?”

“I like to go shopping on weekends for stuff for my apartment. I go to the Chelsea and Bushwick flea markets. To Home Goods, if I’m in New Jersey. But my favorite store is Fish’s Eddy on 20th.”

“I’ve never been. What is it?”

“They sell dishes and silverware and stuff,” he said, without a hint of self-consciousness. Or awareness to be honest. “You can mix and match. So I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have a set of matching white dishes. I have bright blue and red and yellow dishes. I like when someone serves someone soup in a yellow bowl and then dinner on a blue one, for example.”

“You really like bright happy colors, huh?”

“Yes, I like to feel warm. And to make other people feel warm.”

“You want to avoid conflict at all costs.”

“No, but I pick my battles. Life is too short to fight over a line at Fairway.” This girl was wonderful. I found myself thinking of whether I could do this.

“So, tell me about your closet.”

“My closet?”

“What’s in it?”

“Clothes?”

“What kind of clothes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Pants? Skirts? Clown suit?”

“Dresses and skirts mostly.”

“No pants?”

“I have pants and jeans, of course. But I like being a girl. I almost always wear a dress. I like to feel…” and he paused.

“What?”

“Feminine. Special.” He started fumbling with the dress. “OK, I..should…go….”

“Bri, it’s OK.” I said, rubbing his shoulders. “It’s you and me here. No one else. Remember, it’s not you, it’s Nicole. It’s just a role. Remember? Take a deep breath.” I turned him to face me and kissed him. He kissed back gently. “Are we OK now?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel special. Everyone wants to. Tell me about your dresses.”

He looked around, and then took a deep breath again. “I have wrap dresses and regular dresses for work…”

“Do you wear dresses on the weekends?” I rarely did, but was thinking about it now. I wanted to have Nicole’s love of the world.

“Yes, sun dresses. What do you call those..strappy dresses. Lots of flowers. They make me feel pretty. Like this one.”

“No sweats or anything?”

“I mean I’ll wear yoga pants to the gym or on a bike ride. But the weekend is when I can get dressed without being rushed, so I want to be as pretty as possible.”

“Beautiful?”

“No, pretty.”

“I don’t understand the difference.”

“Beauty is just about how you look. Pretty is how you feel inside. Pretty makes me happy. I feel like it tells the world that I care.”

“What about shoes?”

“I wear them.”

“Ha ha. What kinds?”

“Heels during the week. Sneakers for the gym. When it’s warm, I like to wear sandals on the weekend. I always have a pedicure. That’s my indulgence. Manicure and pedicure.” I knew I was right. His toes had to be bubblegum pink or baby blue. Not red or purple though. Nicole was all bubblegum pink and baby blue.

“What’s your favorite article of clothing?”

“A St. Louis Cardinals giveaway shirt from 2006, the year they won the Series.”

“Interesting. Such a girly girl and your favorite item is a baseball t-shirt.”

“It’s big and it’s soft and it’s been washed so much that it’s faded from red to pink. Plus, I got it at a game with my grandpa the year that he died.” He teared up. Nicole was a crier. It was cute.

“It’s OK. Was it unexpected?”

“No, he was 94. He used to joke that he was too old to die young. But, he, my dad and I went to the game. We got a picture with Stan Musial.”

“Who?”

“Only the greatest Cardinal of all time and the National League career hit leader…” he said, ending in upspeak. He was sounding more like a girl every second.

“Sorry, Nicole.”

He didn’t acknowledge that. “Anyway, the picture of the four of us is on the bookshelf right below Fredbird.”

“That’s sweet. I get it now.”

“Thanks.”

“So, speaking of Fredbird. Do you..does Nicole want kids?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Boys or girls? And don’t give me the healthy kid speech,” I said, swatting him on his ass. His skirt-covered ass. Which now seemed utterly normal. If he were in men’s clothes, it would look ridiculous.

“Two boys, I think.”

“Really? I’d think you’d want a girl at least.”

“I’ve thought about it. On the one hand, I want a girl so that I can share what I love with her. But what if she doesn’t like that? Will I resent her? Boys are easier because you’re not reliving your past. Plus, if I’m the only girl, I’ll always be special. I see how Liam and Josh love Wendy. You?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it like that. I guess I really would just want a happy healthy kid. But, we’re talking about…Nicole. City or the suburbs?”

“Suburbs. Kids grow up too fast in the city. Plus, I want the house with the yard and the dog…”

“Golden retriever?”

He smiled. “If it’s a rescue. Even then, I’d get a mutt.”

“You’re big on rescues.”

“There are enough dogs in shelters that need homes. Why go to a breeder?”

“You really want to help the world, don’t you, Nicole?”

“As much as I can.”

“Would you adopt a kid?”

“I’m embarrassed to say it, but no.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Both, I guess.”

“I’m afraid to adopt because I’m not sure what’s I’m getting. I’ve read too much about fetal alcohol syndrome and stuff like that. I’m embarrassed because I feel like it’s selfish not to want to do that…”

“It’s not selfish. It’s one thing to heal the world. It’s another to take on a lifelong project without knowing anything. But, you paused…”

“I want to be pregnant. I like the idea of someone growing inside me. I want to be a mommy.” When he said that, he touched his belly like he could picture something in there.

“Of course, you do, Nicole.” And we kissed. I started nibbling his ear and he moaned. I pulled down the dress straps and started kissing his shoulders. I hoped he was paying attention since this is what I loved. I started playing with his nipples. He just kept moaning and I got hotter. I unzipped the dress and let it fall to the floor. He was in front of me naked, but all I saw was a brown haired, blue-green eyed 5’4” girl and I wanted her. I turned him to face me and kissed him. He kissed back like a girl. Gently but forcefully.

“Do you trust me Nicole?”

“Huh?”

“I said, do you trust me Nicole? Do you trust that what I’m doing is for our pleasure?”

“I guess so. You wouldn’t hurt me?”

“No, of course not, baby.”

“OK, I trust you.” With that, I kissed him again and stuck my finger his anus.

He shuddered. “Um…”

“Don’t think. Just feel, Nicole,” and I kissed him while I slid my finger in and out. I broke the kiss and said, “How does it feel?”

“Wonderful. Just wonderful,” he said, digging his nails into my back. I had an old boyfriend who always wanted me to do that. I thought it was weird. Now I got it. I put two fingers in, then three. Nicole just kept taking it. I threw him..her..whatever…on to the bed. I started sucking his nipples. What’s amazing is he was rock hard and moaning, but he never came. I climbed on top of him and started to fuck him. We went at it for fifteen minutes. What’s amazing is I came first. When he came, he screamed, in an octave higher than his normal voice.

When I rolled off him, I looked over. “Are you OK?”

“That’s a funny question. You don’t think I liked it?”

“I mean about everything. You were getting into Nicole. You looked like you were someplace else.”

He smiled and took my face in his hands. “I knew what I was saying.”

I was shocked. “What?”

“I heard every question. Brian heard every question. Not Nicole, Brian.”

I got upset. “Were you just playing with me?”

“No. The answers were 100% sincere.”

I was genuinely confused. “I don’t get it.”

“I want Nicole.”

“You mean you want a girl like Nicole?”

“You want to be Nicole?” I was not ready for this.

“No. I want us to be Nicole.”

I really wasn’t ready for that. “I’m lost.”

He stood up. “I’m tired. I’m tired of being cynical. I’m tired of jokes. I’m tired…of being broken. Nicole sees the good. Nicole likes being happy. She’s open and caring. I want that. I want to do that. Can you?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

“Will you at least try?”

“I….”

“I’m not expecting you to change everything you do. But I want us to try. I want to be a couple.”

“We’re not a couple? What are we?”

“I want us to be a real couple like we were that day. The kind of people who feel good about themselves and want other people to feel good. I’m tired of being funny. I want to be good.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“I want to try. I’ve realized something ever since that day I told you my fantasy and you didn’t freak out.”

“What?”

“I like opening myself up. When you spend your life avoiding getting hurt, you never feel. Nicole feels. She’s been hurt but she doesn’t give up.” I involuntarily raised an eyebrow. “Never mind. Clearly, you want me to go. Please just promise me that you’ll never discuss this.” He wouldn’t look at me. He didn’t seem angry just sad.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t stay. You don’t want a guy like me.”

“What kind of guy?”

“A guy who’d let you shave his legs and dress up and pretend to be a girl. What kind of man does that?”

“A man I love.” He looked shocked. I was honestly shocked.

“What?”

“I said ‘a man I love.’ You and me, we’ve spent forever building walls. I’ve gone for guys who weren’t all in because I wasn’t all in. You opened yourself up to me. You trusted me. How could I reject that?”

“Because I wore a dress and let you stick fingers up my ass and acted like a girl. You want a real guy.”

“Who said that you got to decide what I want?”

“I just thought that…”

“I told you from the beginning that if I didn’t want to do something, I’d say so. Have I said so?”

“No.”

“Exactly. I have to tell you something. When you were talking about Nicole, your whole face opened up. I wanted to be with her.” A thought came to me and I smiled.

“What,” he said warily.

“We can define who we want to be, right?”

“I guess….”

“Why do we both have to be Nicole?”

“I don’t get it.”

“You said when you were Nicole, you were 100% sincere.”

“Um…”

“I like that you want to be kind and caring and romantic. Someone who sees the world and wants to make it a better place. I like that Nicole tutors and rescues dogs and wants to make a home where people feel welcome. I like when you’re vulnerable. That’s what makes me love you.”

“I’m lost…”

“Show me what it’s like. This is new to me. It’s new to you. I’ll try my best but maybe you can show me. Be pretty for me.”

“You want me to be pretty?”

“I can’t be.”

“You are,” he said.

“No, I’m not. I’m a woman. I’m a confused sometimes bitchy woman. I can be beautiful. I can be sexy…feel free to jump in.”

He smiled. “You are beautiful and sexy.”

“Thank you. But I’m not pretty. You are. You said it. Beauty is outside. Pretty is inside and, under all your jokes, you’re pretty.”

“Do you want me to be Nicole all the time? Because I don’t want that.”

“I want you to do what feels right to you. If you want to have blue and yellow plates, have blue and yellow plates. Dance like no one’s watching. If you want to dress up, dress up, although…” and I grinned.

“You need a bra and panties. A good Midwestern girl wearing no panties under her dress...”

EPILOGUE

That was when we became a couple.
Brian really opened up. He was still funny but it was natural. He started doing “Big Brothers” in Brooklyn. They honored him with an award after two years. In his speech, he said that he should have given them an award for letting him do it. I cried when he said that.

I got in touch with my mother and he called his father. You hope for some great reconciliation but life’s not a movie. They were the same people they were. But, we did it. We had, and I hate this word, closure and that was enough.

I told my stepmother that I loved her. She looked surprised but said, “I know. I love you too.” I felt like a weight had been lifted.

Six months later, we moved in together. Brian got his dishes. We bought a couch. A blue couch. And a rescue dog named ‘Pizza.’ He likes pizza.

Six months after that, he proposed. At H & M on 86th Street.

Nicole? She’s still a part of our life. Brian keeps his legs smooth. He says women always smile and flirt with him at the gym. I don’t have the heart to tell them it’s probably because they think he’s gay.

We play dress up sometimes. When he let Nicole in, he developed a real fashion sense. He still goes for the flirty little sundresses although his favorite now is a white lace dress, which he pairs with a white bra and panties. He looks adorable in it. He walks in heels better than I do. I still find it hot.

We didn’t become Nicole. We became better. We became us.