I threw the copy of the marriage license at him, which in reflection was stupid because it wasn't tied down with a large piece of marble, and it wound up flittering away until it landed beside him. "You want to explain this? Oh," I waved my left hand at him displaying the monster mound of diamond attached to my finger. "And this?"

---

 
Author's Note: Yeah, I know. Another one.

Chapter 1
"Gnnnnnnnnn." I squinted against the massive amount of sunlight shining through the window. "Who left the damn curtains open?" The searing pain shooting through my head was a sure sign that I had a blowout of a time the previous night. Way too much booze. My body ached. That meant that I either danced the entire night long or had some marathon sex. At that thought I closed my eyes back up and smiled; either way I had fun.

The one thing I couldn't figure out was why my backside was sore. Probably one too many mechanical bull rides at the Wild West Casino. I squirmed a little to ease the pain, like it did any good. Being hung over pretty much guaranteed I'd be in poor condition for a good portion of the morning. The only cure was water, a hot shower, and aspirin.

After rolling out of the bed I squinted the entire way to the hotel bathroom and cranked the hot water of the shower as high as I could stand it. The relative dimness of the room let me actually open my eyes . No way I was turning the overhead light on until I had totally woken up. The sun blazing through the doorway provided more than enough light.

I lifted the lacy babydoll nightgown over my head and dropped it on the counter. Yeah, I'm a crossdresser. Been one for most of my life. It doesn't harm anyone and I can pretty much pass in public. I'm not a stunning beauty, but I'm not dog chow either. I'd say I'm incredibly average in appearance: five-nine, brown eyes, brown hair, the hair reaches down to the tops of my shoulder-blades. I keep myself in good physical condition and try to stay as feminine as possible.

No, I don't live full time as a girl. I really don't have any desire to be a girl either. I'm perfectly satisfied with my body. Sometimes… most of the time, really, I just enjoy being feminine. But that's going to have to change really soon. Graduation was Friday. If memory serves then this is Sunday morning and my best buddy and I decided to go to Vegas to blow off a massive amount of steam after finally receiving our diplomas.

He's from overseas. Clive Hargrove the Sixth. Yeah, it's a mouthful. He's old money from Europe. Escaping to the States for college was his only way to get out from under his parent's thumb. Now he's got to go back. That's the other reason we're here: the funeral. Not that anyone died. It was symbolic. His freedom died. Now he has to go back to Slobovia or wherever he's from and go into the family business. Poor guy.

I leaned my head into the hot water and sighed as it pounded on my neck, relieving some of the aches from the night before. We must have had a blast. The last thing I remembered was coming back to the casino hotel and hitting the club here. There were flashes of dancing with Clive and tossing back drink after drink. Oh, sorry. I forgot. Clive knows about my feminine side. He's cool with it. I guess being a flaming homosexual might have something to do with it. Well, I guess flaming might be a little harsh. He's masculine. No limp wrists for him.

When he first found out about my dressing habits he was a little standoffish. Gay guys usually don't go in for the whole crossdressing thing, but after a long talk about being a big fat hypocrite he readjusted his world view. I accepted him being gay, he should accept me for who I was.

In case you're wondering, that's why he wanted to escape from his family. They set up an arranged marriage to a nice blue blood girl. She was hot; don't get me wrong. She was just the wrong gender. So Clive insisted on completing his education overseas in the good ole U.S. of A.

Once I worked the kinks out of my neck I grabbed a washcloth and the tiny bar of soap and got to work scrubbing my raccoon face away along with the smell of sweat and alcohol.

More of the last two days came back to memory: the dares we challenged each other to, the resulting pay-ups, the fun in general that two best friends experience only once in a lifetime. Clive was rich, and when I say rich I mean American Express Black card rich. In case you don't know what that entails, I'll tell you. There's a five thousand dollar start up fee, and you have to spend about quarter of a million dollars a years to maintain it. Can you imagine? I have a local bank Visa card with a five hundred dollar secured limit. I come from a trailer park in suburban Houston.

So this weekend was on Clive.

He flew us up to Vegas after graduation ceremonies Friday morning. We were pretty toasted by two o'clock. That's when we hit the casino hotel and he dared me to try and pass for the weekend. Pfft. Like it was a challenge for me. Please. So he lost that bet when the bartender at the casino club called me ma'am. For his penance he had to sing karaoke for one song. By the way, Clive has a horrible singing voice.

That's when I kind of lost the rest of the day in an alcoholic binge. Hey, it was my last one. College was over, so I had to become a respectable business type person.

The crust gluing my eyes shut finally gave way under the water and I blinked away the coma like sleep. That's when my washcloth got snagged on my left hand. The first thought that zipped through my head was that it was hung up on my fingernail, except I wasn't wearing extensions and the tugging wasn't from the tips of my fingers, it was from the other end.

With a frustrated frown on my face I pulled the cloth loose and froze when I saw the gigantic rock on my third finger. A diamond ring. A very large diamond ring. A very large diamond ring offset with two pretty big rubies on either side. Believe me that was bad enough. Did I mention the platinum wedding band in front of it? No? Well it was there.

What the hell did we do last night?

Awareness of the situation made me make a logical deduction. That soreness in my backside? I wasn't riding the bull at the Wild West Casino. Apparently the bull was riding me and his name was Clive. Here's the bad part. I'm not gay. Sure, I like to dress up in girls clothing, but I like my sex nice and straight. Girl on boy-girl, so to speak. I don't mind dancing with guys, or even flirting with guys, but I'm all man when it comes to the bedroom. Now I'm not a virgin where it really counts. I think I'm going to be sick.

My breathing was still pumping at a semi-rapid pace when I exited the bathroom and saw Clive on the other side of the bed still passed out from the night before. One look at him and I knew he was naked underneath the single sheet. How could I tell? Morning wood, it's hard to hide. Clive had nothing to be ashamed of in that department. I was secure enough in my own masculinity, however feminine it might be, to recognize that he was a very handsome guy. He could pretty much have his choice of bed partners. I just never wanted to be one.

Something caught my eye on the bedside table. I chose to check it out before I grabbed the closest sharp object and cut off Clive's pride and joy. Upon closer inspection it was a copy of a marriage license issued by the great state of Nevada. The groom was listed as none other than my former best friend Clive Talbot Brian Stephan Hargrove the 'VI' and the bride as Abigail Rebecca Weiss. Oh, Abigail is my girl name. My real name is Noah… not that it matters at the moment.

I looked around the room for a moment. Nope, no dull rusty knives laying about. However there was something of note that would almost be as satisfying. After removing the spent bottle of champagne and checking that the ice wasn't completely melted I upended the entire contents of a large ice bucket on Clive's morning wood. Ah, the satisfying sounds of cursing in a foreign language. I think it was French, maybe Italian. Do I really care? Either way Clive was on the floor flopping around like a landed fish wrapped in the bedsheet… the very wet and cold bedsheet. It was almost worth losing my guy-on-guy virginity to see that. Okay, not really.

"Noah! What the hell?" Clive grabbed at his head and groaned at the volume of his own voice. It must have sounded like an echo chamber inside that improperly quaffed head.

I threw the copy of the marriage license at him, which in reflection was stupid because it wasn't tied down with a large piece of marble, and it wound up flittering away until it landed beside him. "You want to explain this? Oh," I waved my left hand at him displaying the monster mound of diamond attached to my finger. "And this?" Then I pointed at my behind. "And you want to explain why my ass feels like it went ten rounds with a summer sausage?"

He winced with every snap of my voice. In truth, I wanted to wince right along with him. At least I had my shower to take the edge off of my hangover. Clive's finger rose to his lips and he shushed me with a pleading look on his face.

"Can we do this after I take a shower?" he almost begged. "Maybe some coffee too?"

A choice. Did I let him take a shower and order up a pot of coffee, maybe some bagels with Lox to soak up the acid building up in my stomach, or did I shriek some more and see if I can manage to get his ears to bleed? Hmm.

"Ten minutes, Hargrove, and then your ass is mine… seeing as how you already had my ass last night, I think that's more than fair!"

He got up and stumbled to the bathroom. I heard him slip and fall on the wet tile. I even cringed a little, but then I heard the shower turn on a few seconds later so I didn't bother to check on him. I ordered the most expensive things I could find on the breakfast menu, which placated me for a moment before realizing that I could probably order breakfast for everyone in the entire hotel and Clive wouldn't flinch at the cost. Hey, there's an idea!

I spent the next fifteen minutes changing into my college sweats and doing my hair. I'd probably already shown myself as a girl to the entire casino staff, no need in creating waves outing myself. By the time the breakfast cart arrived I was sporting a ponytail and minimal makeup. Clive was just out of the shower and exiting the bathroom in one of those complimentary terrycloth bathrobes.

He looked like death warmed over, but it was a clean death, apparently.

I signed a hefty tip for a now smiling, pimply-faced teenager, and then sent him on his way before grabbing the coffee decanter, and pouring myself a nice steaming cup of coffee so strong that I'd be up for the rest of my life. I wanted to be wide awake and totally coherent for this conversation. Clive flopped down in a chair at the small breakfast table. Well, I suppose it was a breakfast table. I mean it very well could have been a table where you set a nice fruit basket on top, or maybe a ornate candle set. But for the purpose of making this tale as short as possible we'll call it a breakfast table, right?

Clive made sure I wasn't going to pour the coffee on him before he leaned in and doled himself a cup. After adding a liberal amount of cream and sugar -- the heathen -- he sipped at the rim of his mug. Why on Jehovah's green earth would anyone dilute perfectly good, gut scouring coffee, with cream and sugar was beyond me. Defeated the whole purpose if you ask me. I digress.

"So, you want to tell me how in the hell we got married and why you chose last night to deflower me?" I tried to be as cool and collected as I could. Okay, not really. I pretty much spat that line out with enough venom to kill a charging rhinoceros.

"You don't remember?"

After sitting my coffee down I dropped into the chair across from him. "Lets rewind time back to Friday at the bar downstairs. I really don't remember much past you mangling Abba's Dancing Queen."

Clive sat up a little straighter. "You don't remember anything?"

With a small shake of my head — remember, pounding headache; it had to be a small shake — I indicated my lack of memory.

"Noah... oh no." He leaned into the table and cradled his head in his hands. It would have probably been a good idea to set his coffee down first, but hey, whatever drives the comedy during this tragedy is aces in my book. In the interest of moving this little story along I threw one of those tablecloth type napkins at his head. You know the ones I'm talking about: they're made out of the same ridiculous cloth that restaurants use for tablecloth. They're stiff from so much Scotchguard that they aren't able to soak up anything, much less provide a decent napkin to wipe your hands, or by the way, spilled coffee. At the moment it's the little things that made me happy.

A few more choice words from Clive in yet another foreign language — the letch knows five of them, Eurotrash son-of-a… never mind.

"Start at the Karaoke. No, on second thought, start after the Karaoke. I don't really need to remember that unholy terror."

I could have refilled his coffee, but I thought better of it. I wanted to milk the guilt trip I was going to throw at him for all it was worth. And I was taught by the best, my mother. I'm Jewish, or at least my family is. I'm kind of a lapsed Jew. However, my mother was the queen of Jewish mothers. She tossed around guilt like the infield of the Red Sox. The woman could make me feel guilty for going to the bathroom in the morning. 'Why can't you clean up after yourself, Noah. Day after day I slave for you, cleaning your bathroom, cooking your meals, washing your clothes, and what do you do? You leave the seat up. Why can't you be like that nice Solomon boy next door.'

Texas trailer park Jews. You really haven't lived until you've lived in the shadow of the nice Jewish boy next door who, in actuality, steals money out of his mother's purse. I know, I caught him in the act. Didn't matter. Mom still poured on the guilt. 'I told you he was a thief. His poor mother. Noah, why didn't you bring him to synagogue more often, been a better role model…' I swear the woman could make Catholic priests run the other direction and they're masters of dishing out the guilt!

After Clive cleaned up his mess and refilled his second mug of coffee he began the impossible story of how we ended up in this situation.

"We were at the bar. You remember that much, right?"

I nodded and sipped away at my mug.

"I told you about what I could expect when I went back home."

I shrugged a little. "Which is what, exactly?"

He scowled. "I have to marry that girl." He said girl like girls were somehow specific carriers of Ebola.

"Okay, that sucks, but how is that a problem?"

He pursed his lips and glared at me. "You said that you wished that you could help." He didn't wait for me to respond with the obvious. "Barrett had an idea."

"Barrett? Your bodyguard?"

He nodded. Barrett Kent, former U.S. Marshal and now bodyguard for Clive, was always in the shadows. You just never saw him. But he was always there in case Clive got in trouble. He bailed both of us out of jail our freshman year when we got busted for underage drinking at a local bar during a raid. He was there when Clive's Jeep broke down on the side of the road. He saved our butts a number of times when we were just plain stupid.

"He knows about your dressing up."

I figured.

"So he suggested that I get you to pose as my American girlfriend for the summer." At the look of disbelief on my face he explained further. "It would piss off my parents, piss off the girl along with her parents and we'd have to call the wedding off. Problem solved."

I was highly doubtful of a positive reaction on my part to this really stupid plan that sounded like it was straight out of a teen melodrama. "And I went along with this?"

That's when he smiled. "It was your suggestion to get married. Technically, it wouldn't be legal since we're both guys so it can't be enforced, and we'd have the paperwork in case my parents tried to kick you out of the country or something."

Okay, now I knew he was full of it. "Clive, despite how easy it looks in the movies, you just can't go down to the local chapel in Vegas and get married. You have to have a license, and to get that you have to have I.D. to prove who you are."

He cringed a little. "Barrett used to be a Marshal in witness protection. He knows people."

My eyes widened at that. "You had stuff forged for me?"

"Birth certificate, passport, drivers license… not a lot."

"Dude! I could go to jail!"

Clive saw the panic on my face. "No, the guys Barrett knows are cool and I paid a lot of money for those things. He made sure there was nothing left behind to incriminate us. It's his butt on the line too, you know."

I looked around. "Where is it?"

"What?" he asked.

"The stuff. The I.D. and stuff."

"In your purse."

I rolled my eyes and got up to find the black handbag that I used for going out. Eventually I found it under the edge of the bed and I tore through it until I found my wallet and the new Texas drivers license. It looked exactly the same as my old, except for the gender change. It even had the same picture. I had long hair in that particular picture so I suppose I could have been either a boy or a girl. The passport had a newer picture of me. I was wearing the same blouse I wore on Friday, and I was smiling. Oh crap. I actually did this voluntarily. No, there had to be another excuse. Anyone could have taken a picture of me and did this.

"Where did you get this picture?"

Clive looked at the passport. "They took it at some photo shop off the strip. You needed it for the passport." With another thought he retrieved the marriage license. "Look, see? Your signature at the bottom right next to where it says bride."

I looked. There it was. I was married, voluntarily, to a guy.

"Noah, it's just for the summer, and it's not like you aren't getting anything out of it. I agreed to the ten grand."

I just kept staring between the license, passport and drivers license. I sold myself into marriage for a lousy ten grand. The nightmare just kept getting worse.

"Look, we go to my home. You act like my wife for three months we come back, tear up the I.D.'s and you go on with your life." He almost pleaded with me. "It's a good idea, Noah, one of your best. It's not legal. We aren't really married."

I looked up at him like he had grown a second head. After taking a breath I tried to cool down, then I thought of what happened last night. "You forgot about how we consummated the 'not-real-marriage' there Clive."

Now his face got red. "That wasn't supposed to happen. Even I don't remember that happening."

Great, not only did we have sex, neither of us remembered having it. Well I have an all new sore feeling that reminds me all about the experience. Good thing I can't get pregnant.

I'm sure he could see the turmoil on my face. "Look, it's a good idea, Noah. Just be my girlfri… well I guess my wife for the summer. That's it. Who knows, you might enjoy the experience."

That earned a grimace from me. "I'm not gay, Clive. To pull something off like this we'd have to be… convincing."

He looked like he wanted to laugh, but thought better of it. "We still have a few days here. We'll do some shopping and get you what you need to pass muster. Then we just act like a couple. You have been in a relationship or two."

I got up and went to put my hands in my pockets, forgetting that I didn't have any pockets. A small growl of frustration later and I argued, "That was me being a guy with my girlfriend as an actual girl. I have no idea how to be someone else's girlfriend… gah!... wife!"

"It's not rocket science, Noah. We hold hands, kiss on occasion, sleep in the same bed…"

I cut him off right there. "You are 'not' getting a repeat of last night so get that out of your head right now."

He agreed readily. "Fine. No problem."

Maybe it was the lure of new girl clothes, I don't know. Why did I agree to doing this? The money would be nice. I have student loans to pay off anyway. It would be nice not to default on those right away. The new clothes would be fantastic. I haven't been able to update my wardrobe since I started school. Sure I've bought a couple of things here and there, but not a significant amount. I probably would have killed for some new shoes. Now nobody has to die for my needs.

I was still wary of one thing. Passing 24/7. I'm under no delusion about being able to fool people that I don't know. I know the basics of girlhood, but I will have to fool Clive's family while living in the same house with them for a short time. Well, not the same house. Clive once told me that he actually has a small cottage behind the family mansion that used to be the nanny's. Since he was a teenager she's been gone and he took over her place. I'm guessing that we'll live there for the summer.

I really needed to go all out if I am going to pull this off. Submerging into the part, so to speak. This cost Clive lots and lots of money, which made me happy in a vengeful sort of way. I was going to be the most expensive piece of ass he ever paid for. Isn't guilt a wonderful thing.

"What are we doing here?"

I stood beside the door and waited for Clive to get a clue and open it for me. "I met one of the dancers at the casino. Her breasts aren't real and she told me where she got them." I thumbed toward the door.

He looked confused. "Why do you need fake breasts?"

I rolled my eyes. "Clive, it's summertime. What do girls like to do during the summer?"

The light bulb finally went off in his head. "Oh, swim and suntan."

I nodded. "And if I don't have any breasts, that will probably be a sure giveaway."

"Good point. Let's go."

After being seen, consulted with, and measured, we were waited until one of the specialists appeared with an array of choices in my skin tone. Clive goggled at the eight pair of varying cup sizes and textures. I was shooting for the most realistic. Price wasn't an issue.

"If I may make a suggestion Miss Weiss?"

Yeah, I was using my… maiden name. Just in case. Don't worry, the rings are in my purse. "Sure."

He motioned to a certain set that I was actually eyeing myself. "These are our most realistic. Made of siloxane, a much more natural feeling material, and as you can tell, a much more visually natural look. The nipple and areola contain a locked in natural reactive ingredient that will act as a natural female nipple, varying size depending on ambient temperature."

I was stumped. "You mean the nipples will get hard when they get cold?"

He gave me a satisfactory nod.

I turned to Clive. "We're getting these."

I wound up with a pair of B-cups. I really didn't want to go overboard. I don't think I could pass as a buxom co-ed. I just didn't have the personality to pull it off. The skin tone matched perfectly so there was little to do to make them meld with my own skin. It is truly amazing what they are doing with science these days. The specialist instructed me as to how to remove them, clean, and reapply them every two weeks. Supplies were included with the packaging and his silence was bought with a generous tip. All in all, I think it was a good spending of an even grand.

The feeling as I walked around with no bra on was amazing. I don't mean it in a sexual way. It was just a really new experience to feel my chest weighted down. To feel them bounce slightly with each step and sway a little when I spun around. I was like a kid with a new toy.

We decided to go mall trolling where and I was very pleased to see my nipples pop through under my tee when we hit the cold air of the mall. It almost made me feel like a real girl!

Victoria's Secret was my new best friend, along with Macy's, Lord & Taylor, Penny's, and some of the lower end jewelry stores. I didn't go overboard with the jewelry, just odds and ends that every girl should own after twenty-three years of living. After we were done with accessory and shoe shopping we made a pit-stop at the dance store and purchased several gaffes in varying colors and styles. There was no way I was doing anything permanent with my manhood. It was there to stay.

By the time we were done it almost felt natural holding Clive's hand as we walked along. No, I'm not saying that I changed sexual orientation over the course of a single day, but I mean how hard is it really to become comfortable holding someone's hand? It was bigger than mine. I mean Clive is about half a foot taller than I am and he's in pretty decent shape, so he's naturally bigger than I am in just about every area of definition.

After our respective headaches diminished about midday he started treating me like the little woman. He'd take that extra step to open doors for me, or pull out my chair when we had lunch. Clive actually bought me ice cream at a little shop on the Strip. Of course it melted right away; it was a race to see exactly how fast my tongue could work at licking the drippings. Girls have it so made. I had fun.

The only uncomfortable times came when he leaned in to be affectionate. I just couldn't get used to a guy actually wanting to kiss me or nuzzle my neck. It's plain weird, I tell ya!

"You have to get over this thing, Abby. Our cover will be blown for sure."

Yeah, we switched to my girl name. Better to start getting use to it right away so there were no slip-ups. I was busy clipping prices tags off of everything and stowing things away for the trip overseas when he had come up from behind me and pulled my hair aside. He didn't snap at me. His voice was surprisingly soft, only inches from my ear. I still couldn't avoid flinching.

"I know," I responded in mild frustration. "It's not like I'm an actress or anything." I tuned around and realized exactly how little space there was between the bed and Clive. I suppressed an urge to cringe away or sit down on the bed to widen the very small gap. "Imagine if some big breasted cheerleader was doing the same thing to you. How would you feel?"

He nodded grudgingly. "Yeah. I get it." After a few seconds of contemplation he made a suggestion. "Can we try something?"

Releasing a heavy sigh I said, "Sure, anything to make me relax…" One of my eyebrows shot up with a slight bit of aggression. "Except where that is concerned." He looked down and saw me pointing at his crotch.

With a bit of a smile on his face he shook his head. "That's not what I had in mind. I was thinking about a kiss, or more to the point a series of kisses."

Clive saw the doubt I was displaying.

"I know how it sounds, but hear me out for a second." This time I did sit down, and after noticing I was mere inches away from his crotch I backed up a little. I sharply breathed out, steeling myself for this explanation.

"You keep flinching away for two reasons. One I'm a guy and you aren't gay, obviously. Two, we aren't comfortable with each other. So I propose getting comfortable and hopefully at least one of those things will go away."

"So you want us to make out? That's your solution?" I thought about it. Normally I'd be running away at this point, but in the spirit of pulling this illusion off I actually gave it serious thought. I mean it was kind of like acting, in a way. I wasn't going to get emotionally involved, and it would do nothing for me sexually. We were both consenting adults, and we both knew the score. He wasn't trying to make me gay and we also knew that this was going to be over with by summer's end.

"Okay."

I think I caught him by surprise. "What? Really?"

I pursed my lips to the side and then gave him my slightly annoyed face. "I can be reasonable at times, you know. You know I'm not gay, and we're doing this just to…" I flipped my hand in circles.

"Right," he agreed. "No, sexual or emotional things getting in the way. It's like football practice, only gayer."

A bark of laughter erupted from my lips. "Right. Just make sure you stay away from my tight end."

He looked relieved and a little nervous at the same time. "Right, okay. Umm…" He looked around the room. "Do you want to do this on the bed or maybe the couch?"

I hurriedly indicated the couch. I didn't want to give him any ideas. Clive let me take the lead and I made myself comfortable on the love seat by the window. After kicking off my sandals I tucked my feet up under me and leaned back. It didn't take him long to sidle up beside me and lean over.

"Just try to relax. I'm a good kisser, really."

After giving him a questioning look I closed my eyes. I thought it would be easier if I imagined I was kissing one of my ex-girlfriends. The couch shifted a little and I felt his fingers brush along my cheek before he made contact. I think my lips were sealed with rigor, but I forced them to relax. We weren't going to accomplish anything if I fought the experience. Act, Abby, act!

My hands were clinched in my lap and Clive was patient. He did nothing but press his lips against mine at first. It was a teenage kiss, full of caution and no knowledge of Frenching. I could smell a slight bit of aftershave and what I knew was a natural scent of Clive. After living with a guy for five years you kind of get accustom to what they smell like, gay or not. It wasn't awful. I didn't get the urge to jump him. My fear was irrational, I knew. But I am and always was one to push my fear aside. I really didn't want to let my fear rule me. How else do you think I was able to go out in public dressed en femme for the first time. Baby steps.

Okay, how would a normal girl react. What did my last ex do when we were in this very same situation. She wrapped her arms around my neck, that's what. So I did that. My hands were shaking slightly but I forced them up. Keeping my eyes closed throughout this experience made me brush his chest before I reached my goal. Then I let my lips relax along with the gesture. Just pretend, Abby. You're a girl and he's your… okay, that's not going to work. How about you're a guy and this is your girl? Yeah? Okay.

I opened my mouth and Clive took the invitation. Now normally I would be the first to initiate a little tongue action so I wound up meeting him in the middle and we dueled for a second before he entered my mouth. Oh god, he does kiss good.

It wasn't so different than kissing a girl. He was a little more aggressive than your average girl, but I've had aggressive partners in the past. His mouth was a little bigger, but I've kissed big mouthed girls. There was a very tiny patch of stubble that he missed shaving this morning. Okay, none of the girls I've kissed in the past had to shave their face. Just ignore it.

I felt very submissive, trapped between the Clive and the couch. It just wasn't natural for me. Maybe that's what was wrong. I pulled back and ended the kiss. He was a little confused at first, but he didn't try to act hurt or anything. Point for him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I caught my breath. I didn't realize exactly how much I was exerting myself. It was just nerves, I deduced. "Do you mind if we shifted position? This is kinda…"

I didn't even get it out before he leaned back and said, "Sure, whatever makes you feel comfortable."

A small smile rose to my face in appreciation. "Thanks." I started to assume the typical guy 'lean over' but that didn't really feel right considering his size in relation to mine. Then I thought about how girls took control when making out. With a breath of courage I rose up off the couch and then to Clive's open-mouthed amazement I straddled his hips and settled in. My knees were wedged in the crease at the back of the couch and my feet naturally tucked in under his thighs. I scooted a little until our pelvises touched and then placed my arms around his neck again.

This is what girls do, or at least this is what my girlfriends did.

A very small smirk played at his lips.

"I'm just getting comfortable. Don't get any ideas," I warned.

He raised his hand and showed me the three fingered salute of the Boy Scouts, so I scoffed at him a little. "You were never a scout."

Before he replied I closed my eyes and moved in to reinitiate our session. After a few seconds I realized this position was much better. Clive's hands wound up on my hips with a natural movement. Just what I would have done in his place. I don't know how much time lapsed before my brain reengaged. I can tell you that my fingers were well through his hair and I was actively pulling him into my mouth at the end. I did feel his hands kneading my butt and the strain of Clive pulling my hips as close as humanly possible to his. A very large protrusion was grinding between my legs. Clive was hard and ready for me. His breath was heavy and mine wasn't that far behind, but my mind clicked over into remembering that he was a guy as well.

I can't relay very well what I was experiencing at the moment, but I'll try. I think it was being caught up in making out with 'somebody' that did it for me. I haven't had actual sex in about three months. Yeah, I masturbate. It takes the edge off, but it really doesn't do it for me like actual companionship does. So my body responded to kissing, to feeling hands on my body, to the closeness of a warm sexually charged body next to mind. It was the only reason that I could think of, that I could justify being hard myself. Yes, I was sexually turned on. I admit it. I wanted to have sex right then.

That's when my brain broke.

I pulled away, ending the make out session. Clive's eyes were glassy and his lips were swollen and red. Yeah, he wanted to have sex too. Trouble was that we didn't have the right equipment to do it my way.

"I think we better stop." I edged backward and I could feel the reluctance in his hands, but he eventually let go of my butt. My feet touched the carpet and I felt week-kneed. Most probably because of the lack of proper blood flow in that particular position. Using the couch to balance myself I waited a second before moving to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.

My member was straining against the crotch of my panties for release. It's not the most comfortable position to be in when you get sexually aroused. Tucked between my legs made it ache like I've never really experienced before.

I caught sight of Clive in the mirror as he rose up of the couch and stuck his hand down his shorts to rearrange himself. With his endowment he probably has a more intense feeling than I. After patting at my face with the towel I exited the bathroom and he took it over. Except he closed the door. Yep, I guess he was a little bit worse off. Rummaging through my purse provided the needed distraction I needed to get my mind off what he was doing in there. My eyeliner was fine, but my lips were a mess. I wasn't wearing dark lipstick. It was more of a toner, but it was completely gone. It looked like I had collagen injections, my lips were so swollen and the borders were so red.

Apparently we really went at it for a while. I felt like a teenager coming home from parking for a couple of hours. A check of the clock and I estimated that we had been going at it for at least forty-five minutes. That made me feel really weird. My first time with a guy, my only time with a guy, and I go that long? Oh my mother fucking god, is that a hickey? There it was, plain as day on the side of my neck; a bruise about the size of a squished half-dollar adorned the tendon that I stretched out.

I didn't remember him doing that. Then it dawned on me exactly how I forgot about last night. Oh, I'm sure alcohol had a lot to do with it, but if we did this last night as well and my inhibitions had taken the bus out of town. Well, lets just say that I felt kind of bad for treating Clive the way I did this morning. It wasn't entirely his fault. Apparently I'm a slut.

A gasp followed by a groan sounded from the direction of the bathroom and I knew he had spent himself. All because of me. I did that to him. I made him so hard that he had to go relieve himself in order to function for the rest of the day. A little smile played at my lips. Just a little one. Hey, it was an ego boost any way you look at it.

I hurriedly applied my toner again and then followed it up with some light gloss, before fluffing my hair out a little. He'd be out any second and according to the guy code of ethics I wasn't suppose to notice that he'd been whacking off over me in the bathroom. It would be a very large social faux pas to let him know that I know.

Upon noticing wrinkles making themselves known on my top I decided to change my outfit. Hey I was a girl now. I could do that sort of thing. In fact it was kind of expected of me. Resuming my place at the foot of the bed I flipped through a few things until I found the red and blue striped pencil skirt and white top. The door to the bathroom opened as I was sliding it up and over my hips Clive stopped to stare at me for a second before continuing to his own suitcase and pulling out a pair of khaki pants, and some underwear.

"Thought we might go down to the tables if you want?" He was so smooth. I almost laughed. Pretend like what we did was nothing out of the ordinary, that was his plan. Okay, I could go along with that for a while.

I tucked the annoying tag that was sticking up from the collar of my blouse after I pulled my hair free. "Sure, honey."

Clive head snapped around and he gave me the strangest look, so I tried to put him at ease. "Terms of endearment, Clive. We need a couple if we want to look realistic."

"Right," he replied in understanding. "Sorry, just took me unaware for a second."

That time I did laugh, or maybe giggle just a little. "So you think that after one little make out session with you and my world view has changed?"

That earned a grimace from him. "That wasn't a 'little' anything that we just did. And that wasn't a 'little' anything that I felt grinding against me ten minutes ago."

Touché. That shut me up real quick.

"Sorry," offered Clive.

I shook my head as I grabbed a matching blue jacket and slipped it on. "No, you're right. We were both… responding. That was the whole purpose of doing that. We need to be more realistic and 'boy' was that realistic."

After looking at me for a moment he turned around and slipped off his shorts and underwear so that he could change. It wasn't a big deal. We've seen each other nude hundreds of times by now over the years, but this time was just a tad bit different. Now he was my husband and we had been making out just a little while ago. So different thoughts were running through my head instead of the 'meh, there's Clive naked again' that normally runs around, in its place was thoughts of measuring him up. I don't mean the length of his member which was hanging so low I could see it swinging slightly between his legs. I mean the muscle definition of his legs and back. His quite firm butt cheeks that were clinched for a moment and then relaxed the next as he pulled up his… why in the hell was he wearing a thong?

"Are you checking me out?"

My eyes flickered up to his. How did I get caught checking out Clive of all people? "Uh I just noticed the thong. New?" Misdirection! We are in Vegas after all.

He nodded. "Yeah, it separates the cheeks a little. Makes for better definition. What do you think?"

Dammit. Now he wanted me to look at his butt. "Uh, looks… good."

Clive grabbed his khakis off the dresser and slid his legs in while I stood there like an idiot and watched. Yep, his butt looked good. Erm, I can say that. I'm secure enough in my masculinity. Yeah, and I'm also wearing panties and a skirt at the moment. That's damn secure if I do say so my damn self. I shook it off and searched through a few boxes until I found my yellow heels so I could feel even more male and secure.

Clive's hand was at the small of my back leading me everywhere. It was an odd feeling being treated like a lady, by someone who was trained from birth to be a gentleman. It seemed as if the college days were gone and he was slipping back into the role of whatever it was. I remember how hard it was to break him out of his gentleman shell when we first roomed together, and now with thoughts of being a dutiful son again on the horizon it seemed like the old Clive was coming to the forefront.

"What do you feel like, darling? Twenty-four, slots, Texas Hold'um, Roulette?" he asked.

I stopped and looked up at him with an ironic smile. "Not really liking the 'darling' tag."

He frowned and then thought about it. "It's what my father calls mother. I should have known better. How about sweetie, or baby?"

That let me to a thoughtful look. "Maybe if nobody's around. I can't imagine, from what you've told me about your parents, that they'd approve. Maybe we better stick with 'honey' until we figure it out. It's fairly neutral."

He smiled a little with amusement. "So you want me to call you baby when we're alone?"

I was about to return a sharp retort when I remembered what I just said and conceded the dig at me. "Yes, dear, you can call me what you want in private."

That send a warm laugh through him. "I'll remember that."

On an impulse I placed my hand in the crook of his arm and encouraged him toward the gaming tables. I knew his favorite was Texas Hold'um so we signed him up and were lucky enough to reach the required amount of people needed for a game. So he took his wallet out and paid the start up fee after which he handed me ten one hundred dollar bills.

"Go have some fun, honey."

I looked at the money for a second and then at the one of the players who was watching us with amusement. With a smile I took the proffered cash and then leaned in to give him an expected kiss. I was just going to peck his lips, but he wrapped his arm around me placing his large hand at the small of my back, pulling me to him. Our lips met very naturally and with just a little bit of hunger for effect. When he pulled back I didn't realize that I had lifted one of my heels up and had it hooked slightly on its neighboring ankle.

I dropped back down and after eyeing the dealer very quickly I staged whispered to Clive, "You are going to get so lucky tonight." How's that for acting like a newlywed?

Before going out and blowing all of Clive's money, there was something that I had to do. I made my way to the side of one of the interior restaurants and found a phone.

"Hey Mom, it's Noah." Yeah, I checked to make sure the coast was clear before I said that little factoid. "I just wanted to check in and tell you I'm going over to Clive's place before coming back home. I'll be there for the summer."

"Noah? Noah who?"

She likes to play these little game, you see. "Your son, Noah."

"Ooohhhh. So now you decide to call your mother. Months I go without a word from my only son, my flesh and blood, who I nurtured, and slaved for, for eighteen years…"

I tuned her out and sat down on the bench seat nearby as she droned on and on. And she wonders why I never call.

"… and now you go traipsing off to the other side of the world while I sit here in a broken down trailer…"

She was on a roll today.

"… nothing to do but talk to the Solomon family next door. Did you know their son is in prison now? You should have been a better friend, Noah. Taken him to synagogue more often…"

At that I dropped the phone and leaned back for a while. Whenever she gets to talking about 'the Solomon boy' she'll go on for an hour straight. I crossed my legs and sighed for about five minutes before sitting back up and grabbing the receiver again.

"Noah?"

"I'm here Mom. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."

She sighed over the phone. "You're such a good boy, Noah. You never argue with your mother."

"Thanks mom. Well listen I gotta go. I just wanted to call and let you know I love you."

"You be careful over there, Noah. No messing around with those European girls, unless you meet a nice Jewish girl, they're the only safe ones. All those other girls have the syphilis."

Ladies and gentleman, my mother, the diplomat. And people wonder why I turned out the way I did.

"Thanks for the tip, Mom. I'll be careful."

After saying our salutations I hung up and wondered where the closest waitress was. I needed a drink after that conversation.

I played a little at the slots and then went over to the roulette wheel for a while before checking in with Clive. Hey, I was only down two hundred bucks after two hours. I was doing pretty good! There were only three people left from the original six and Clive was one of them. After the latest hand was over I moved in and got a nod from the dealer that it was okay to bug him, so I set my hands on his shoulder and leaned in.

"Hey, honey. How are you doing?"

Clive leaned back and smiled at me. "Perfect, now that you're here."

Oh god. He can lay it on thick. I gave him a smile as a reward.

"Give me a kiss for good luck?" he asked.

He was playing this up for all the attention he could get. So I obliged and leaned in. Again, thinking that I was going to get a peck on the lips, it turned into a mild make out session with our tongues warring at each other.

"Little blind to you sir," prompted the dealer to Clive.

I smiled at him and then poked Clive in the ribs a little. "Back to your game, sweetie."

I spun around and left the game area. As I waited for the usher to open the rope line so I could exit I heard one of the players tell Clive, "You're a lucky man, Mr. Hargrove."

Clive's reply was, "Tell me about it."

I looked over my shoulder and saw Clive looking at my butt before meeting my eyes. With a small smile on my face I finger waved at him and went on about having a little fun.

I earned a little bit of Clive's money back and was pleasantly surprised to find out he won the final round of Hold'um. $24,000 was a sizable win, I don't care how rich you are. The sad part was that he really wasn't all that pumped about it. I couldn't put my eyes back in my head after he showed me the voucher.

"What? They ran out of cash?" I mocked playfully.

He shook his head. "Casinos don't normally pay out large amounts in cash, especially if we're staying for a few more days." He waved the voucher in the air. "This is good at any of the shops or the casino until we leave. Then they'll cut me a check or I could cash it out if I really wanted."

No matter how long I've known him I still never got over exactly how rich he was. What must that be like?

"So how lucky am I going to get tonight?"

"Huh?"

"Earlier you said I was 'going be so lucky tonight'."

With an annoyed frown I clarified my statement. "That was for the dealer to overhear. Your money is by your suitcase. I only spent about a fifty dollars."

"The money is yours, Abby," he said in resignation.

I walked over to the dress that was doubling as my make up table and took off my watch. "I'm not doing this to take your money, Clive. I like to earn my own way."

As I was taking off my earrings he looked at me with a little confusion. "What about the ten grand?"

I shrugged. "That was a deal for my services over the summer. That's different." I think this stumped him, so I clarified. "Clive, we made an arrangement, a verbal contract if you will. I play the part of your wife for the summer, you pay me a set amount. You've bought my wardrobe so that I could play the part realistically. I don't expect you to give me money above and beyond that. It wouldn't be right."

That seemed to get through, but he still protested. "But if you're playing my wife then what I have is yours and what you have is mine… if we wanted to look realistic."

I gave him a placating grin. "That's sweet, but I don't have anything for you to actually have. I grew up in a trailer park. I have a serious amount of student loans and a half dead Buick waiting for me back home. You're rich. It'll already look like I'm a gold digger. I don't want to further that by abusing the situation."

His lips tightened and I could see that he didn't like me calling myself names. "It's not like that. This was my idea. If anything I'm using you."

"I thought this was Barrett's idea?"

"Uh…"

Oh no. "Clive?"

His face started going slightly red.

"It was his idea wasn't it?"

She shuffled a little and started to edge toward the door. "Mostly."

I tried to look intimidating, but standing there in a pencil skirt and yellow heels it wasn't like I'd be able to chase him down or anything. "Define mostly."

"He suggested getting someone to play my girlfriend, not necessarily you."

Ah. "And you thought you'd be able to fake it better if your girlfriend was actually a guy."

He nodded and then looked away.

I put the pieces together and made a leap of logic. "Clive, do you have feelings for me?"

He abruptly turned and grabbed the handle to the door. "I'm going to go grab something to eat. I'll be back in a little while."

The door was halfway opened before I stopped him. "Leave now and I won't be here when you get back."

Clive froze on the spot. I really hadn't ever perceived my best friend to be a coward, whatever the situation. I suppose facing unrequited feelings of affection, be it love or extreme like, was the preverbal breaking point for his courage. It made me feel a little sad for him. Everyone has to go through it one time or another.

"Please answer my question, Clive."

The door hid the front of his body and face from me acting like a shield between us, but I could still see the tension in his stance, from the back. His shoulders dropped a little in anticipation of my reaction to his upcoming answer.

I heard a rough mumble and then he cleared his throat. "Yes."

Being surprised was something that I wasn't prepared for. I mean Clive was my best friend and he was gay. I was a crossdresser. Sometimes they intermix, not always, but sometimes. The obvious deduction was that over the course of the last five years I became something more to my friend. It wasn't out of the question, of course. Male and female friends often become lovers or more. So why should it make a difference in our case?

"Come back in and close the door. We need to talk." I wasn't mean or even firm. I think it was more of a request than anything else.

"Do we have to?"

"Clive," I warned him.

He sighed and then backed away, closing the door as he cleared its path. I made myself comfortable at a desk chair, crossing my legs and settling my hands in my lap. Clive made for the bed nearby. I could tell by his inability to meet my eyes that this conversation was going to be like squeezing a grapefruit up a dog's butt. Not that I've ever done that before. I love dogs.

"When did this happen?" I started off.

He didn't waste any time. I guess being busted was like a truth serum. "Freshman year after you laid into me about being a hypocrite regarding your crossdressing."

"Really?"

He nodded and looked down at his hands. They were busy picking at each other. "Nobody has ever really stood up to me before." He paused for a moment. "I was raised with domestic staff that pretty much spoiled me. It was kind of a turn on to have a guy put me in my place."

"So all this time…"

He nodded again. "I'll back off. I promise I won't push you or anything."

You want to know the weirdest thing of all about this situation? I was flattered. I mean, what guy who happens to dress up like a girl doesn't want a little romantic interest thrown his direction? It was natural in a way. The hard part was remembering our little make out session on the couch that I was currently glancing at. Now I knew that he was really into it and that erection that I felt rubbing against me was for a another reason unrelated to simple lust or a physical reaction to the contact. No matter the situation, every schoolboy knows that it doesn't take much to cause an erection: a little friction here, a little caress there, hell for some people a nice cool breeze would be enough.

That's what I attributed my response to be. My lips were engaged in a fun little play, and there was more than enough friction involved for my little man to come to attention. Did it mean that I was gay? No, of course not. But did it make the possibility of me being a little bisexual slightly more real?

I learned a long time ago, when I first had the urge to swipe my mother's pantyhose out of the laundry, that I shouldn't dismiss something out of turn. It felt wrong at the time to deny my desire to dress in female things. I experimented and found that I really enjoyed my time alone amidst the frilliness. Now it was second nature to me. Hell, it was first nature to me, if there was such a thing.

Now my biggest question, for the time being, was denying Clive something that I would feel to be wrong much like the crossdressing. I hadn't really tried it. How would I know that I eventually would love it if I didn't try something that pushed my boundaries? I mean I wasn't disgusted with the thought of gay guys. It just wasn't something that I really thought about. Girls were enough for me; it was as simple as that.

One other thing popped into my mind: my experience with unrequited love. I couldn't count the times that I've been in love over the years and how much I wished that the girl who turned me down would only give me a chance to prove that I was up to the task. If only I had that one chance then I could show her that she would actually love being with me and that I would be an excellent partner. Now here I was, on the other side of the situation.

Fuck it. "Clive?"

His eyes moved up, but he still didn't meet mine.

"I want to throw something by you." He simple nodded and the waited for the shoe to drop. "I'm not gay. I really like girls." Before I got any further he closed his eyes for the inevitable brush off. "But I'm not going to say that I'm one hundred percent heterosexual. I really don't think…"

Now I had his full attention. His stare was hot, and by hot I mean it was penetrating and made me feel like I was the center of his little world. Nothing else existed except for us, right there in the room. It made me stutter for a second.

"I… I really don't think anyone is totally one or the other. Everyone experiments, you know?"

He nodded. "What are you saying?"

It was my turn to look away, but I didn't let my embarrassment last long. "I'm not saying I love you or anything like that. I don't want you to be under the impression that what I'm offering is because of that, but if you want…"

"Yes?"

I swallowed. "If you want… how about we try dating or something like that. You know, just to see if there is anything to see. It will give you a chance to woo me or whatever and it will also give me a chance to see if this is something that is part of me."

"You'd be willing to do that for me?" he asked curiously.

I met his eyes again across the short span of space separating us. "Dude, you're my best friend. Who's to say it ends there."

His smile was unlike anything I've ever seen. I thought he was going to explode into little joyous Clive pieces all over the floor. Housekeeping would not be pleased. How in the heck was it possible that I could be the cause of making someone so happy?

He was speechless. I saw him start to speak at least a half dozen times before shaking his head and taking to his feet. "I don't know what to say."

I stood as well and waved him to me. Two steps later I reached my arms up and around his neck while he squeezed my breath away and picked me up for a celebratory spin in place.

"You won't regret this," he vowed softly.

That's when the phone rang. Good timing. I wasn't really sure if he was going to kiss me and this was a really good time to have a breather. Although I really had no idea who would be calling since nobody knew that we were here other than my mother and even then she only knew that we were in Vegas.

Clive crossed to the bed side table and picked up the phone in his little glow of euphoria. Any way you want to look at it, my friend was happy. That made me feel good. Dinner time was coming and I thought I'd go ahead and change into something a little more classy since I'm sure Clive would want to take me out for the inevitable wooing. I rolled my eyes. I'm going to be the object of the woo. Life was really weird sometimes.

His voice was somewhat hushed on the phone so it must have been for him. I hung my light jacket up and withdrew my tee. Standing in front of the closet I surveyed my choices for dinnerware. That's went I heard Clive hang up the phone.

"Who was that?" I asked as I turned around dressed only in my bra and pencil skirt.

"It was Barrett." His eyes drifted to the door and his face looked like a picture between panic and anger.

"What's wrong?"

"My father is here."

TBC

Photo Credit to Sarah Silverman