Revenge is Snowy White by Jennifer Brock Aurora is adjusting to her new life, and learns a few more things about the one who did this to her. She takes care of some of Doug's unfinished business, and gains new friends. Be warned that a fairly sarcastic tone is frequently taken toward some unfairly brutal issues. If that sort of thing offends you, skip this one.

I’m back. Ah, that was just what I needed. Remind me to introduce you to Hugo later. He is a maestro in the sack! The things that boy can do with his tongue — pure bliss. Anyway, where was I in my story? Oh yes, I’d just finished having sex with Bill.

We cuddled for a little while, and I could feel the gooey mess dripping out of me. I found my clothes and put myself back together. I went into the bathroom and cleaned up, switching to the other slightly larger pair of panties I’d tucked in my purse, and put in a pad to catch any more leakage. The girls in my therapy group had given me some advice on how to be prepared for my date, and they were right. I was still reeling a little from the realization that I was the kind of girl who puts out on the first date, and I really didn’t want to be known as a slut. Bill was very nice and offered to give me a ride, but I was more comfortable having hi call me a cab. I didn’t want to have to explain him at the hospital, but not because I didn’t want you to know I was dating other men. When my cab arrived, I gave him a big goodbye kiss and got his number, since I didn’t have a phone yet. I assured him that I knew going into it he was only looking for a good time, not a girlfriend, but he surprised me by saying he might just change his mind if I spent more time with him. I’m really not sure if that was a line, or I he was sincere. I never got the opportunity to find out. I guess that’s one of the regrets I have since this whole mess started. But that’s irrelevant right now; I was a woman on a mission and a boyfriend would have just gotten in the way.

The next noteworthy thing that happened was my driving instructor passed me and thought I was ready to get my license. To prove my identity at the D.M.V., I’d need my birth certificate. This reminded me that way back when on Day One, the hospital lawyer guy had told me that they updated my birth certificate, but I’d have to go to City Hall to get a copy, and I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. So I went down there and stood in a line to go to a window to get a form to fill out and take to another line for another window. But really it was just giving a person my name and Social Security Number, and they’d look me up in the computer and print my records. When I gave the lady at the window my info, she said they had four forms on file for this person, and did I want them all? I said sure, and paid $30 for all of them, and they came in a little folder with my name printed on the front. It looked very official. I looked through to see what I had and can you imagine what forms I found? Along with the original, my new revised birth certificate was there — congratulations, Mrs. Connors, it’s a girl! (I wonder what my mom would say if she had the chance to meet Aurora. Would I make my mother proud to have me as her daughter?) Also in the packet was a form that must have been filed by the hospital that gave a certain Dr. Michael Andrews power of attorney over my affairs, which wasn’t too much of a surprise but it let me know I really needed to look into finding out how to cancel that. But the big surprise was a copy of my marriage license — indicating that I’d become the wife of Dr. Michael Evil Bastard Andrews himself. This all must have been some other scheme of yours; to get your hands on my retirement funds or something? Was it some kind of insurance scam that would pay off after you killed me? (I noticed that your little minion Larry was one of the witnesses.) I didn’t know what your plan was, but it infuriated me. I had to walk around the block a few times to calm down before I went to apply for my driver’s license. I swallowed my anger and let it fester to work on my plan for revenge and then went to stand in line at the Registry. It was the usual bureaucratic hell, but I kept my spirits up. I had the certificate from the training course, so I could forgo the driving test and only needed to do the written test which was no big deal. I got my license, the first official confirmation of my identity, and it felt great! If I say so myself, I even looked pretty hot in my photo. When I got back home I was so frustrated, I pleaded with Stefan to have a physical therapy session, just so I could get that relaxing whirlpool bath afterward. He caved.

I’m not sure how word got around, but you found out that I’d been out and about, so you came around to let me know you were ready to follow up on taking me out to dinner. I’ll admit that the daisies were a sweet touch. If I didn’t know more about you than you wanted me to, I probably would have swooned. But instead, like so many other things, you’ve ruined daisies for me forever. I had to get into character and get all shy and give you the flirty glances and it was horrible but I did everything I could to keep it from showing. I graciously accepted the flowers and told you that I didn’t have any plans for dinner that evening, so I’d be happy to join you. I put my all into trying to look nice for you. I wore my little red sundress with the white flowers around the hem, and I did my nails in a matching shade of red, showing off my toes in my white wraparound sandals. It was a warm night so I didn’t need hose. The dress had built-in support so I decided to try going braless, and just for good measure went commando, too. It helped make me feel sexy, and not because it made me imagine how easily you could ravish me. I threw a light white cardigan on top, just in case it got chilly, and it would give me an unveiling moment to capture your attention. I wore my pendant earrings that might be diamonds; knowing you you’d have overcharged the hospital for them and planned to sell them after you’d killed me, or maybe they were cubic zirconias and you’d charged the hospital for real diamonds. Whatever they were, I liked them. I wore my cross necklace just to see if it worked as well on Evil Bastards as it does on vampires. I spent about an hour putting extra curl into my hair and I wore full makeup even though I went with an evening style anyway, just to try for a look you hadn’t seen on me. I didn’t want to wear the face of your sex toy when out on a date with you.

You apparently had been doing your research and must have learned from Stefan that I was a whiz with chopsticks when you suggestion we go to that new dim sum place that everyone had been raving about. You were on time to pick me up, but I made you wait. This wasn’t me playing power games; it just took me that long to fuzz over my hatred of you and put on a false front of excitement. At least your car was a sweet classic Mustang convertible. When I got in and adjusted another uncomfortable seat belt strap, the thought hit me that your skeevy marriage license plan meant that what was yours was mine just as much as what was mine was yours, so one upside was that this bitchin ride could be considered community property. I giggled at the idea of making you pay me alimony for the rest of your life, and you just thought I was having fun and laughed along with me. The food was really good, and I liked the way it came by on little carts, like a reverse buffet. I teased you a little by slipping in a bunch of double entendres about oral sex, like grabbing a dumpling that was supposed to be bite size and commenting that I didn’t think I could put something so big in my mouth, or when I dipped my spring roll then licked the sauce off the tip, but my favorite was when I got legitimately surprised when I bit into a fried thing and it squirted in my mouth. I was having fun flirting. I took my sweater off in the restaurant and it definitely piqued your interest. My bodice wasn’t lewd or anything, but I was showing a good amount of cleavage, and the place was cool enough that the contour of my nipples were hinted at through the fabric. You didn’t even pretend not to look; I must have caught you off guard.

You needed to assert control of the situation so you started steering the conversation, but you only managed to turn it into sort of an interview, and peppered me with questions, asking about how I was getting along in my brand new life. I gave you a brief synopsis, leaving out the nightmares that were still haunting me. I took advantage of the opportunity to vent my frustrations at the way everything depended on everything else: how I couldn’t rent a car without a credit card, but I couldn’t get a credit card without a permanent address, and I couldn’t get an apartment without a job, but I couldn’t get a job without a car. It was all one big vicious circle. Then I switched over to talking about the bright side, of all the things I was learning about being a girl. I picked the example of how my group told me that real women don’t wear matching underwear all the time, that one of the things men pretending to be women do is obsess about having bras and panties in sets, but genetic women just wear whatever does the job. You apologized for making the shopper who filled my wardrobe buy all my delicates in matched sets, but I added that they told me that you want to wear a set when you’re ready to let some man undress you; it’s sexier. I told you that so far I’d only worn matching underwear, since I felt it was very important to have a coordinated outfit. I said that I’d never wear a bottom unless it matched my top. I then leaned in so you got an excellent view down my top and could tell I wasn’t wearing a bra, and I could see the moment your brain put two and two together, as your eyes got wide, you gasped, and noticeably blushed. If there hadn’t been a table in the way, I bet I would have been able to see a sizeable disturbance in your lap.

I decided that I’d done enough talking, so I just sat back and looked cutely contented, with an impish smile on my face. You needed to change the subject, but you scored points with me for listening (that is you would have scored points if you weren’t scum) and said that you might be able to help me with my problem. I couldn’t exactly remember what problem you were talking about, so I cranked up the sex appeal, biting the tip of my finger as I said I was sure you could help me in many ways. I’d flustered you again, but you got back on course by saying that if I needed an address I could move into your guest house, since it would just be sitting empty otherwise. I thanked you for your generous offer and went over and gave you a hug, squashing my bountiful bazooms into you. I said I’d need to think about it; I didn’t want to put you out. In reality, my head was running through a million scenarios, trying to figure out whether it would be easier to get my revenge on you if I stayed close. I bought a little time by saying I’d have to see the place first, and you asked me to give you a couple days so you could get it cleaned properly.

I was slightly disappointed that you brought me home without trying to lure me back to your place for some sex first. Did it mean that you actually had respect for me, or were you just trying to act like the handsome hero doctor that the girl you thought I was was supposed to think you were? Or something like that. We were both operating with secret agendas, on top of all the regular pretense that goes along with dating, that I really don’t think we ever had a genuine moment together. Do you, Sweetie-Pie? But that night you just took me back to my room and didn’t even come in. All you got was a good night kiss in the car. The hospital probably frowns on doctors kissing former patients on the grounds, and you’d never want to do anything unethical in the hospital. Bastard. I was so mad, I had to masturbate my anger away before I could calm down and fall asleep. And, no, I wasn’t fantasizing that my fingers were your big, thick cock sliding into me, driving me hard and fast, and taking me to the peak of passion.

Since I had my ID, my next big mission was to check on the storage space where you’d had all the things from Doug’s apartment taken. I dressed simply, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but I still drew looks from the guy who ran the place. He gave me a key, and showed me how to match its number to find the big garage-type door that was my unit. I was a little confused at first, so he graciously offered to show me the way. I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. He earned it. You must have gotten really good professionals to move my stuff, because it was all nicely packed in there. It was all my belongings, in a space about 20 feet long and 10 feet wide. There was a little aisle down the middle, and on the left side were stacked a wall of brown cardboard boxes, all neatly labeled, and even stacked with the labels showing, although the boxes were three rows deep so I didn’t know exactly where everything was. On the right side were my pieces of furniture, the tables stacked on top of each other, the bed disassembled, the biggest pieces furthest in. I took down one of my kitchen chairs and sat down and had a little cry. It was very overwhelming, even without my emotional hormones. I had to remember what all I had, or what Doug had I should say, and how much of it Aurora would want to hang onto, and how much would just be painful reminders of a guy who doesn’t exist anymore. But I knew what I wanted to find first. After an hour and a half, my storage unit was somewhat less neatly stacked than I found it, as I had rummaged through most of the boxes that said “Office.” I left carrying a large-mouth bass mounted on a wall plaque. It was the last fish Doug had caught with his dad, the summer before he died. But more importantly, it had a treasure inside. Am I being figurative here, and talking about some sentimental value? Nope. Doug had kept some valuables in a safety deposit box, the key to which was hidden inside the fish, with a magnet on the key ring holding it in place. But it had slipped down in there in the moving, and although I could see it, I couldn’t reach it. I needed some kind of tool, another magnet to pull it out with. I thought there was something I could in the kitchenette where I’d been practicing, so I didn’t go looking through Doug’s boxes and make a bigger mess.

The look on Stefan’s face when I brought my fish to rehab was priceless. He tried to avoid asking about it, but I could tell it was killing him. Eventually he bribed me with extra whirlpool time and I showed him the key down inside. He decided that it would be a good therapy exercise for me. I tried using some long spoons and even a kebab skewer, but nothing was working. I asked why I’d only practiced with the kind of tools you find in a kitchen and not the kind you find in a garage, and he said that he hadn’t wanted to confuse me with masculine tasks while I was working on my femininity, and also that if handyman tools had been an important part of my life I would have asked about them sooner. So he showed me a section of the room I’d been ignoring, where there was a workbench. I guess I’d always figured those things were for maintaining the rest of the equipment or something. I found a long screwdriver and reached it back in, and heard the magnet click as it jumped on. I got my key out, and the fish was no worse for wear.

I took my key, the letter I’d gotten from the hospital’s lawyer, my ID, and my birth certificates and went to the bank. I dressed somewhat conservatively, but didn’t overdo the schoolmarm look. I wore my nice peach silk blouse with only two buttons undone, and the skirt from my green suit, but I left the jacket at home. My makeup was subdued, but I did go for some sparkle in my jewelry and wore my “diamonds.” I gave my name and asked to speak to a manager and didn’t have to wait long. Ms. Meriwether was a sharply dressed black woman with a tone of motherly concern about her, the kind that only comes with age. I sat in her office and told her my story, showing the documents I had. I told her that I’d understand if she needed to do more to verify my identity, and I didn’t need to get into my safety deposit box that day as long as I knew that she’d started the process. But she was very sweet and told me that my bank accounts had already been changed into my new name, but they just hadn’t known about the box at the time. She called the hospital and asked to talk to someone familiar with my case, then faxed over a copy of my license to verify the person pictured was indeed me, and she accepted that I was who I said I was, and changed the name on my box. I had to fill out a new signature card for their file, and I was all set. But since I was there, I did some of the rest of my banking. She helped me open a new retirement account, so I could transfer the monies from my old company’s fund. I asked about getting new checks, and she said I needed an address, but she did issue me a new ATM card in my new name that would work as a debit card in most places. I asked about whether I could also get a credit card through the bank, and she punched something into her computer and got me approved. It was weird that I could get a credit card with a temporary address, but my checking account needed a permanent one. I wonder if it’s like that at all banks. I told her that I had some treasury bonds in my box, and asked if I needed to do anything to put my new name on them. She said there was a way to do it all on the computer if I could get the paper bonds for her. She brought me over and waited while I got into my box. I retrieved my pile of bonds. When my folks died and I sold their house, I wasn’t really ready to buy one of my own, so the guy I talked to said I could reduce my taxes if I put the money into government bonds, and they’d end up being worth more than I paid for them. It sounded like a good deal at the time, but looking at a couple hundred little pieces of paper was a little overwhelming. I apologized to Ms. Merriwether, when she seemed surprised by how many I had, but she went ahead and scanned them all into her machine and didn’t even delegate it to an underling. They’d be worth about a half a million total when they matured. I bet you’re kicking yourself now that you didn’t think to raid my assets when you had the chance. I decided to take the penalty and cash in a few of the older ones, so I’d have some money for getting around, and withdrew some from my regular savings account. I had around $20,000 in my purse when I left the bank. It was time to go car shopping.

I decided that Aurora wasn’t going to be a gearhead or anything and didn’t want a real performance car; she wanted something cute that was easy to handle and not too expensive. I went to a few used car dealers, and looked around on the lots but nothing really spoke to me, so then I realized that a new life needs a new car, not a preowned. And a cute car would have to be an import. I went to Honda and test drove a sweet little car, but they didn’t have any in stock in blue, my favorite color. It matches my eyes. I tried Toyota and they had a little car that was even cuter, and they had one available in a nice metallic blue, so I bought it. The sales guy had to do a bit of a double take when I told him I was paying cash, but there wasn’t any problem getting my car that same day. I just had to call Larry to get my insurance policy updated. My next stop was to get a new cell phone, since my old one had been in the car when it was wrecked, and I didn’t know where to go or how I would go about getting any of the stuff that had been in my car. On my way home, I decided to drive past the scene of my accident. I’d read the report, so I was sure what intersection it was. When I got there, I had to pull over and take a moment; after all, that’s where Doug died. It’s where the whole mess started.

But actually, the whole mess started a little further away. I decided to retrace my fatal trip and seek out the apartment where my last sex as a man had taken place. It was there that Sandy or Cindy or whatever her name was lost my underwear and gave me her thong panties to wear. That’s what started the whole mess. Yet somehow I didn’t blame her. Quite the opposite, really, I felt I owed her an apology. I put a plan together. I went home and got some things, then I went to the mall, then I went back to the apartment building. I waited in the parking lot, watching to see when she’d come home. I was very nervous; I didn’t exactly know what I was going to say. A couple of times I saw a car with a driver that might have been her, but when she got out I could see it wasn’t her. But then the real her came home. I gave her a little distance then followed her in. In the lobby, I excused myself and asked if her name was something that sounded like “Sandy” or “Cindy” or maybe even “Sadie” and she said it was “Sinder” actually, and wanted to know if she should know me. I said hi and told her my name was Aurora, and that she sort of did know me but it was a long story, and if she had some time I’d love to tell it to her, but I’d rather we were sitting down. Maybe she sensed my sincerity, maybe she recognized something in my eyes, maybe she was just curious; I don’t know. But she agreed to let me in. She even made tea.

We sat at her kitchen table, and I pulled some things out of the tote bag I was carrying. First, I pulled out my surgery scrapbook and removed one of the “before” pictures that showed Doug’s face. I asked her if she remembered this guy. She wasn’t sure, so I told her that he met her in a bar a couple years earlier, and she’d taken him home. She still wasn’t sure, so I had to add that the next morning he couldn’t find his boxers, so she made him borrow her panties, and that seemed to ring a bell, but she acted like she didn’t know him, and she asked if I was his wife or something. I said that no, actually, I was the guy, or I used to be at least. I showed her the facial section of my scrapbook, where slowly you can see Doug’s face turning into Aurora’s, one step at a time. I told her I was sorry she never heard from me again, but I had a really good reason: I’d been in a coma. Although I probably wouldn’t have called her anyway, since I used to be a bit of a dick. I said that I wanted to return her panties to her, but they’d been ruined in the accident, so I got her a gift certificate from Victoria’s Secret instead. I added that the main reason I came to see her was to apologize, as a representative of all the women I’d wronged I wanted to let her know I was certainly being punished for it. Then I broke down and told her everything — the coma, the Evil Bastard, the learning how to be a girl, everything. I hadn’t been planning to, but I guess I just really needed someone I could be completely honest with. When I’d told my story and was just a sobbing mess, she came over and held me and stroked my hair until I calmed down. It felt nice.

When she was helping me clean myself up, she got a funny look on her face and asked if she could see “it.” I had a blonde moment and couldn’t figure out what she was talking about. I made her explain and she blushed a little and said that she’d never met anyone who’d had a sex change before, and was curious about what I looked like down there, as she sort of pointed at my crotch. I giggled and said that I’d let her see the whole thing, but I wasn’t about to get naked in her kitchen. We moved to the bedroom. She sat on the bed and I gave her a bit of a strip-tease, hamming it up for my audience of one. I started by unbuckling my shoes, bending at the waist to show off how flexible my body was. I Then I reached up under my skirt and pulled down my hose and shimmied out of them, apologizing that if I’d have known I would be stripping I’d have worn stockings. With my legs bare, I stretched one out and put it next to her, so she could see how the operation to make my feet smaller made them want to wear heels all the time. She found it amazing, and ran her hand along my shin, impressed by how smooth it was. I told her that you’d used electricity or laser beams or something to remove all my body hair, well most of it. I took my leg back and pulled my little t-shirt off over my head. I showed how my lower ribs had been removed to give me more definition in my waist. To get the full effect, I unfastened my skirt and let it fall to the floor, then stepped out of it. Standing there in only my baby pink t-shirt bra and matching thong, I did a slow turn so she could take in my magnificent booty. I showed how they reset my hips at a more feminine angle after the accident, and then the hormones did their job and padded everything over with the perfect amount of body fat, giving me a nice hourglass figure. I did note that my hourglass had a little more sand on the top than on the bottom, as I reached around and unhooked my bra. I was glad that my 40DD’s didn’t lose too much of their perk when I released them. I told her that I wasn’t sure how much was from hormones, and how much was from implants, but they really seemed like a hassle most of the time. I caught her trying not to reach out and stepped closer, offering to let her touch them if she wanted to. She gingerly gave my left breast a gentle squeeze, and proclaimed it to feel very real. Her fingers brushed me nipple, and I gave an involuntary moan. She commented that my voice sounded very sexy and feminine. I said that when they removed my Adam’s apple, they did something to make my voice higher; I couldn’t sound like Doug now if I wanted to. I leaned down to show her my smooth neck, and she moved her hand up from stroking my breast to touch my throat, then slid it up to my cheek, marveling at how smooth it all was. Then she surprised me by pulling my face towards hers and kissing me.

Her lips parted and I felt her tongue enter my mouth, and it was incredible — not at all like kissing Bill, and yet different than when Doug kissed her. I was just getting into it when she stopped. I was a little worried she’d changed her mind, but instead she said that she didn’t mean to interrupt my presentation, and that I should please continue; she didn’t want to miss the most important part. I slowly eased my panties down my legs until I was standing there completely nude. I pointed out the only strip of hair left on my body other than scalp or eyebrows, but then I had to get on the bed to show her more. I lay back with my head on the pillow and spread my legs. I waved my hands with a flourish like a magician’s assistant and indicated my girl parts with a big “voila.” I asked if she thought it looked real, and she crawled up the end of the bed to get a closer view. She hesitatingly reached out to touch me, and I nodded to let her know it was ok. She carefully inspected every little nook and cranny, every bump and fold, and even let a finger slip between my lips and explore inside. I gave a little shiver, and she realized what she was doing and pulled her finger out. Noticing that it came out sticky, she remarked that she was getting me wet. I explained that it wasn’t quite the same response as with a natural woman, but I was indeed self-lubricating. She asked if that meant it really worked, and I said I wasn’t sure what she meant; I didn’t have ovaries or a womb, so I couldn’t menstruate or get pregnant, but I was completely capable of having sex. I writhed a little when she leaned down and kissed me right on the clitoris. She turned in her verdict that the taste was a little off, but other than that, everything down there seemed perfectly natural and didn’t look at all out of place. I thanked her and sat up to give her a little hug. She kissed me again, and this time she fondled my nipple as she did so, and I let my hands roam over her. I declared that not enough of us were naked, and pulled on her blouse.

She didn’t want her good work clothes wrinkled, so she got off the bed and carefully undressed, removing her shoes, slacks and top, then stood there in her underwear and noticed me watching. She got all embarrassed and said that she felt inadequate compared to me, and that I shouldn’t look at her. I said that while it was true that my body was a work of art and a product of modern science, hers was a force of nature, and that made it sexier. She was self-made and I envied her for it. That did the trick and she peeled off her bra and panties (which didn’t match, by the way) and joined me in bed. I smiled at the idea that I still knew how to charm women. I softly caressed her breast and kissed her throat. She moved my other hand to touch her lower, warning me to be very careful; real lesbians don’t have long fingernails like mine. I asked if that meant this was not her first time with another girl, and she said that she’d been playing both sides of the field ever since she was a teenager. I told her that until she kissed me, I hadn’t really been thinking about women sexually since becoming one. She laughed that her kisses were magic and had the power to turn straight girls that used to be straight boys gay. I teased her that I may not be gay, but I was at least bi-curious. She wanted to test her magic, and pulled me close and kissed me again, taking longer this time. Maybe the magic was working. If I’d still had a dick, it would have been rock hard.

She pushed me down onto the bed and continued kissing me, working her way down my body from my mouth. She kissed my right breast in a spiral pattern, working her way around the entire surface, nibbling and licking, slowly circling in toward the nipple. It drove me wild with anticipation. Just as she reached the areola, her hand reached out and briefly pinched my other nipple. I was awash in conflicting sexual sensations; it was incredible. I cried out in rapture, but she wasn’t finished. With her mouth and her right hand each pleasuring a nipple, she reached her left hand down and began to stroke my labia. I wanted to do something to her to reciprocate, but I was in such heaven I couldn’t move. After her thumb found my clit it wasn’t long before I was screaming in orgasm. And she instinctively knew how to slow down without quite stopping, to keep me there for a while. I was in awe. She changed position and we snuggled for a bit, and then she rolled us over so that I was on top and declared that it was her turn.

Rather than imitate her actions directly, I opted to try a different route, even though I had never been a lesbian before. I tried to remember what Doug had done with women that had gotten the best results. Well, except for that, of course. I started by lightly nuzzling her ears, suckling the lobes, and gently blowing across, but not into, each one. I then went back to her mouth and kissed her again, sucking briefly on the end of her tongue. As we kissed, I started slowly kneading and massaging her breasts with my hands, only visiting the sensitive tips occasionally. I stopped kissing her only for a moment, to lick my thumbs before sending them after her nipples. When it seemed like I’d gotten her warmed up, I scooched down and stuck my tongue in her navel, which unlike mine didn’t have a piercing to get in the way. Then I slowly inched my way downward, kissing as I went, until I had her squirming. When I reached my destination, I blew a little puff of air to get her attention. I delicately licked and nibbled at her lips, breathing in the sexy, musky aroma of a real pussy. I wished I could get mine to smell like that — I’d never had my face that close, but I was sure I’d never given off that unmistakable scent. I’d seen ads for feminine deodorants, but did anyone sell a “feminine odorant?” I wanted to be able to let my man’s nose know when I was on the make. All of which was a strange train of thought to be having while eating a box lunch, as the French say. I kept licking until I was able to stick my tongue inside her as far as it would go. Doug would have switched to a finger then, but since I’d been warned about my nails I wasn’t sure what to do. I gave up on trying to please her from the inside and went in search of that elusive hooded creature that has puzzled man for centuries. A gasp from Sinder told me when I’d found it. I brushed my tongue across her button in different directions, in no discernable pattern, building up speed when her breathing sped up and she started tipping her hips toward me and making a little squeaking noise. She reached down and grabbed my head when she came, holding me still for a moment, then pulling me up to her for another kiss and a cuddle.

When we got our strength back, she said that lesbian sex was ok, but sometimes you just need to be penetrated, and asked me whether I’d played with any toys yet. I must have had a confused look on my face because she rolled over and opened a drawer on her nightstand and pulled out this thing that looked like a purple cucumber, and I understood what kind of toys she meant. I demurely said that I hadn’t tried anything like that. I had been inserting these plastic medical devices, but they weren’t made for stimulation. She asked me if I wanted to see what her toy felt like, and assured me that it had been cleaned since the last time she used it. Did you know sex toys can go in the dishwasher? I was a little scared, but I said ok. She handed the purple one to me, then reached back into her drawer and got a pink one for herself. It was very embarrassing how she made me fuck myself with it, demonstrating on herself first, then having me copy what she’d done. At first I was just too self-conscious, but the way the little nubbly bits rubbed up against me was too exciting so I just stopped thinking about it and did it. I thought it couldn’t get any better, but then she showed me that I hadn’t even turned it on yet, and pushed a little button on the end to start it vibrating. Oh my god! It was amazing! I finally understood all those feminist jokes about who needs a man when you’ve got a vibrator. The next thing you know, I’ll be comparing sex to chocolate. When I told the tranny group about my wonderful discovery of vibrators, they said that it feels extra-good when the vibes hit your prostate, but I wasn’t really sure whether I had one anymore, because I knew my entire pelvic area was restructured. All I know is that it was an incredibly pleasurable sexual experience. Eventually it was just more than I could take, and we had to stop and lay there, sweaty and exhausted. I asked Sin why she had sex with me, and she just laughed and told me it was a little late to change her mind. She said that the opportunity to have sex with the same person as both a man and a woman was too intriguing to pass up, and once she realized that there was still some chemistry between us she had to go for it. I didn’t like to admit it, but I found that it was better for me as a female, and asked her which she preferred. She diplomatically didn’t want to have to choose, and said that there were different aspects that were better each way.

I started seeing her regularly after that. Not always for sex; sometimes we’d just get together for lunch or a movie, or go hang in a club and flirt with men. We developed a real closeness, and at this point I’d say she’s my best friend. With benefits, which doesn’t even get in the way. She’s even the one who started calling me Rory, which felt a lot less like a fake stripper name. You’re probably wondering that if she’s my closest friend, how come I never introduced you? Well, she’s also my confidant. I’ve told her everything about what you did to me, and everything I wanted to do to you. She knows you’re a monster and doesn’t want to be around you. She’s not as good a liar as I am, and didn’t want to jeopardize anything. Plus, she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep from kicking you in the balls if she ever saw you. She’s a good person, probably better than I am. I’m glad to have her in my life, as a counterpoint to all the awful. She even came down here with me; thinking back about our first time almost makes me want to go find her to have a cuddle right now but I think she’s off playing with Hugo. Anyway, back to the timeline. I’d told her that it was most important to me that I stop you from raping and possibly killing more girls like me, if the hospital went through with its plan to offer my procedure as a standard service, and that you’d made an offer to let me live in your guest house, and did she think I should do it. We brainstormed and the plan we came up with was to try to catch you making some kind of confession on tape, that if you could admit to something that would get your medical license taken away, it would be enough. After briefly considering the option of my moving in with her, we decided that I should take your offer so that I could be close to you, and try to flirt with and seduce you to get even closer. Also, I might be able to use my knowledge of our secret marriage to gain control of your assets and ruin you financially, although since you originally started your machinations on me as a way to embezzle money to pay off some shady Yugoslavians, there might not be many assets left for me to plunder.

So that’s why I agreed to see it when you said you’d gotten the place ready to show me. We began with a lunch date, so I dressed in a fun little modified schoolgirl look with a pleated red plaid miniskirt and a white ruffled long-sleeved silk blouse. I wore white stay-up thigh highs and black ankle-strap pumps. To complete the image, I had my hair gathered in bunches on each side of my head. My look suggested without stating it outright that I was a fetish hooker. I think I was trying to embarrass you at the restaurant, but it didn’t work. It just seemed to make you extra-horny. Your eyes were virtually glued to my legs instead of the road; I’m just glad you didn’t wreck the car. We drove to this quaint little café that had awesome soups according to what everyone in the hospital had been saying, and even though it was a ways to go I was looking forward to it. I almost didn’t mind that I was with you. I just fuzzed my brain enough that I could focus on having good soup with some hot guy, forgetting who exactly that guy was. And the vegetarian portobello/barley soup was indeed heavenly, as were their fresh sourdough rolls. You got a strange smile when I ordered a cappuccino with my raspberry tart for dessert, and I didn’t understand it at the time, but I did later after I saw what you’d set up for me. You checked your phone messages before we left and I thought it was some hospital thing, so I didn’t think about it too much. Then we drove back so you could show me the place you wanted me to live.

I wasn’t sure what to expect a “guest house” to be. Your house was very impressive, a big European-style manor in the swanky part of town. Since it was your house and you’d had all that work done, and you were there when I saw it, I really don’t need to tell you this part, but I want you to understand everything that was going through my mind at the time, plus it makes a convenient way of stretching my story out to bother you that I haven’t gotten to the part you care about. You opened the gate with a remote control, and pulled up the driveway. You parked by the two-car garage attached to the house, and led me to the apartment you were offering me, which was over the detached three-car garage across from it. You said you only currently had the one car, so I’d be allowed to park mine inside if I wanted to. We walked around to the side of the garage where there was a regular door. You showed me a little pink key ring with a picture of Sleeping Beauty on it you’d bought at the Disney Store. It was too cute, and also showed that you were way too confident that I was going to accept. You handed me the key and had me unlock the door. Inside there was a little vestibule with a door into the garage, and then stairs going up. You had me go on up ahead of you, and I regretted wearing one of my mini-er skirts. I’m sure you peeked. At the top of the stairs there was a door on one side that led to a glassed-in walkway over to the main house, and you showed me that I could lock it from my side, although I’d be welcome to come across for a visit anytime. You opened the door on the other side and showed me my space. My first impression was that it smelled very new. There was the unmistakable odor of fresh paint, mixing with the plasticky scent of new carpet. I looked around and saw a charming, cozy room decorated in a geniuinely feminine manner, yet not overly girlish. The door opened into a nice living room with country furniture. The wall-to-wall carpet was a rich plush texture in a peachy color that went nicely with the slightly pink walls and crisp white trim. The furniture was a three-piece set of chair, loveseat and ottoman in a delicate print pattern of tiny roses. A vase of pink roses sat on the simple wooden coffee table, welcoming me. An antique replica pie safe on the wall probably concealed an entertainment center. There was plenty of light coming from the two dormer windows, but a delicate porcelain lamp sat on a table by a very comfortable-looking rocking chair, making a nice place to read. In the corner of the room was an old roll-top secretary desk and a nice old spindle chair. There even was a mirror hanging on the wall by the door so I could check my makeup one last time before going out. At the far end of the room, the carpet transitioned to a terra cotta tile floor and became the kitchenette. There was a cute little café table with two chairs. The appliances were small, but they were all there. And it probably would be enough cabinet space for me. I noticed a top of the line cappuccino machine sitting on the counter. I tried to tell you that it was way too much, but you just smiled. I’m sure it was probably just more of your insurance scam, like you convinced Larry to say that I needed a girlie space to live or something, and then you skimmed off the top but it really was a very nice little apartment. I was close to saying yes before I’d even seen it all.

Behind the kitchen, a door led to a bedroom fit for a princess. It was done in my favorite shade of blue, which I didn’t remember telling you. Maybe you just liked because it’s what I wore to our first meeting. There were more hardwood floors here, but you (or your decorator) scattered soft fleece rugs where my bare feet would want to avoid touching the floor. The furniture was in a whitewashed country style that matched the overall theme of the place. A king-size four-poster canopy bed heaped in ruffled pillows dominated the room. It was flanked by a pair of matching nightstands, each of which had a cute little lamp on it, and an old-fashioned alarm clock was on the right one. Opposite the bed was a big bureau with a mirror over it as well as a free-standing full-length mirror. I was tempted to jump in the big bed and just roll around, but then you told me to check out the bathroom, which was through a door on the side of the room. Everything in there was still shiny and new. You must have remodeled the whole place for me. You said that Stefan had told you how much I appreciated my whirlpool sessions after my workout, so you made sure I had one of my own. I was so happy I could kiss you, so I did. Even though it was you. When I opened my eyes I noticed that the vanity counter in the bathroom had been set up with all my brands of makeup. And I looked around some more and the brushes and combs and things looked like mine. And I opened the medicine cabinet, and there were my prescriptions! I shot you a nasty look and asked what was going on. You said that you were so sure I’d love the place that you’d had my things moved in while we were at lunch. You smug prick! But I actually did love the place, and my secret plan wanted me to move in anyway. So I pouted, but not too seriously. You then pulled me back into the bedroom and showed me how my jewelry box was already sitting on the bureau, and led me to my walk-in closet, where all of my things were hanging up, and my shoes were lined up in neat rows on special shelves. But wait! There were things in the closet that weren’t mine. You nonchalantly explained that all of these things had been bought for me while I was sleeping, but my entire wardrobe didn’t fit in the closet at the hospital. There were so many things there that I wanted to try on! You were an evil bastard, but sometimes you really did know how to make a girl feel happy.

And then you opened the drapes in the bedroom, and showed me the French doors that led out onto my own little balcony. It gave me a nice view of the courtyard behind your house, and I saw the pool. It had been so long since I’d been swimming! You saw my eyes light up and said I was welcome to use it any time I wanted to; it was heated so it was usable three seasons out of the year. I gave you a big hug and wanted to run down there and jump in, but I paused first to ask you if I had a bathing suit. You said I did, but you didn’t know where they’d put it. I opened a couple of drawers and didn’t see anything, but didn’t want to disturb my pretty things by searching, so I had an impish thought and sat down on the bed to take off my shoes and roll down my stockings. I then unbuttoned my blouse and unfastened my skirt and took them both off. You stood there sort of dumfounded seeing me in my pink lace bra and panties. I scampered off and ran down the stairs and out into the backyard. I did a shallow dive into the pool and it was lovely! For some reason, ever since I became a girl I have loved getting submerged in water. I swam a coupe of laps and discovered that my lingerie was really uncomfortable when it got wet. I took off my panties and bra and laid them on the edge of the pool, then went back to swimming in the altogether. It was so warm and wet and wonderful it was like a giant bathtub. I could have just stayed in there all day. I heard you clear your throat and looked up to see you standing there with a towel and my robe for me. I teased you that you had a nude woman in your pool and your instinct was to cover her up, so maybe you were gay. You said that you had to go back to work unexpectedly, and extended a standing invitation for me to join you for dinner over in your house. I waved bye-bye as you left and then realized two things: I’d never actually agreed to move in, and my car was miles away from me. But since I was prepared to accept I just shrugged it off.

So left alone for the rest of the afternoon, I took some time to explore my new environment. When I finally got tired of swimming, I dried off and threw my robe on, finding that you’d put my key in the pocket. Sometimes, you really could seem thoughtful. It’s too bad you often used your talents for nefarious purposes. I went back to my little place and dropped my wet delicates in the kitchen sink. I took a shower to wash off the pool chemicals even though I was tempted to try a bath. I browsed all the new things in my closet for something to wear. I settled on a light black and white polka-dot dress. It had a halter top, so I had to find a convertible halter bra to go under it. I found the drawer where they’d put my bras, and they weren’t in any kind of order so it took a while to select this nice soft wireless toffee-colored one. And then of course I had to sift through the panty drawer and find the matching pair, which turned out to be a low-rise bikini. As I sat there in my panties switching the bra straps to the halter position, I realized how ordinary it all seemed. Nothing about being a woman seemed alien or wrong anymore. I had accepted my gender, and just wanted to do the best job of it I could. Once I had my dress on I noticed this cute pair of mules that would go well with it, and then I popped in my black and white dangly ball earrings. My hair was still damp so I just let it float loose to air dry. Then it was time to start claiming the place as mine. The first thing I did was empty my bra drawer and panty drawer and match up all the sets, then ran the bra through the panty leg and hooked them so each set would stay together. I used the old bra drawer for sets with standard underwire and full-coverage bras, and the old panty drawer for sets with specialty bras. I liked asserting my own control over how my underwear was arranged. I then went through the place opening all the drawers and cabinets, just to see where everything had been put.

A thing in the kitchen that I’d thought was a closet turned out to contain a small stacked washer/dryer pair, so I did something horrible and threw my pool-soaked lingerie in the dryer on the delicate setting. I got in all kinds of trouble when I mentioned doing this at my group meeting. First, I needed to wash them out before drying, and I was supposed to always only hand wash my dainties. Also, apparently you’re never supposed to put a bra in the dryer, and only dry them flat. I really didn’t care that much. Probably if I’d actually had to pay for them I’d have been more careful, but these were things you’d bought or at least arranged to have bought, so I didn’t really want them to last forever. Some more poking around my apartment revealed that the desk in the living room contained an overly cute little pink notebook computer. A post-it note stuck to it told me my password and said how to get on your wireless internet. I poked around and looked at some transgender sites for a bit, and then I saw that the little envelope had been dancing to let me know I had mail. I clicked it and saw that you’d even set me up with an email account, and my first mail was a note from you welcoming me to my new place. I replied to it thanking you for being so generous. I went back to exploring my space and saw that you’d gotten me a good photo-quality printer, so I looked around in the desk drawers and found the camera I’d known you’d have gotten to go with it all. I’d been catching on to how your schemes worked.

I opened the entertainment center and saw that I had a nice plasma-screen HDTV, but not offensively large like a guy would have, just the right size for watching a nice movie. I had a bunch of CDs by female artists in a variety of genres, and a dozen or so romantic movies on DVD. I turned on the machine just to find out what my system could do, and found that someone had “While You Were Sleeping” all cued up and ready to go. Cute. I also discovered that I must have a decent set of speakers hidden somewhere in the room. It was a sweet movie, so I got suckered into watching it. When it was over, I switched over to seeing how many cable channels I had, and considered checking out some girl-on-girl porn on Pay Per View, but thought the better of it. Since you were an evil creep, I had the notion that maybe speakers weren’t the only electronics hidden in my walls. I wouldn’t have put it past you to bug my place, either because you were worried that I knew something, or just because you wanted to get off on watching me on a hidden camera. I vowed to myself never to break character when I was at home, just in case. I’d gotten used to the security cameras at the hospital, so it wouldn’t be hard. I went back to exploring my space and when I found my fish on the top shelf of a broom closet I kicked myself for not worrying about it earlier. I’d just been having too much fun playing house. The key in the fish was safe, so I didn’t panic.

I saw that my kitchen was completely stocked with groceries, which were mostly the ingredients for the dishes I had learned to cook as part of my rehab. I decided that instead of accepting your dinner invitation, I would try to cook a meal myself in my new kitchen, and invite you over. I correctly guessed that you would have entered all your contact information into the address book on my computer and called your cell phone. It went to voicemail, but I invited you to dinner anyway. I looked at what I had to work with and decided to do a meat loaf. My oven was small, but not too small. I could fit a loaf pan in there and still have plenty of room for a pair of baked potatoes. There was an apron hanging on a hook on the back of my pantry door, so I put it on to keep my dress neat. It was a ruffled pinafore style printed with little flowers. It was excessively feminine, but I felt nice in it. Somehow I found acting like a housewife to be very comfortable. I think it made me remember my mom, and it was nice to reflect back on a time that I knew I was loved. I tried to be a daughter my mother would have been proud of. I actually felt happy when you called back and asked what kind of wine you should bring. But my mom’s little girl shouldn’t have been smiling at the thought of cooking a nice dinner for her rapist; she would have raised me better than that. I was so confused I had to sit down and sob for a while — I was supposed to be working on my plan to stop you, not imagining myself doing other things to you. It’s a good thing I wasn’t wearing any makeup or it would have been running. I pulled myself together and got back to cooking, cutting open a package of frozen peas. When everything was cooking nicely unattended, I went off to spritz some perfume and put on mascara and lip gloss.

Then I heard my doorbell, which I hadn’t even known I had, and skipped down the stairs to let you in. I debated taking off my apron, but decided it added a cute retro/maid fetish touch to my outfit that might improve my chances with you, although why I was trying I didn’t understand and still don’t. I took your wine bottle from you, thanking you with a kiss on the cheek, and let you watch me climb stairs again, but at least my skirt wasn’t so short this time — you’d have had to try harder to get a peek. I showed you into my living room and had you take a seat while I finished up with dinner. You opted to sit at the kitchen table instead, which I’d set with the best tablecloth I could find, and the very elegant dishes you’d gotten me. You took back your bottle from where I’d placed it on the counter and, pulling a corkscrew from your pocket, you opened the wine and set it aside to let it breathe a while. Having you closer to me made conversation a little easier, when you started to ask me how I was settling in, as I was stirring the sauce. I overflowed with compliments for you about how nice a place it was, and peppered you with a few questions. You let me know my address, and told me that since it wasn’t an actual apartment I’d have to get my mail through you, but you promised not to peek. I let you know that as soon as I found a job I would insist on paying my utilities and some kind of rent, even though you wanted to give me all the time I needed. I figured that meant that Larry’s settlement must be paying for me to live there for a while. You had a door remote for me, and showed me there was one button for the gate and another for the garage; if I was ready when you were leaving the next morning you’d take me to the hospital to get my car.

After I served dinner, you stood up when I came back to the table without my apron, and pulled my chair out for me. Then you served the wine, which meant that I didn’t have to go looking to find the glasses; you knew exactly where they were. You also suavely used the remote for my stereo to turn on some soft mood music. I really had to give you credit for better moves than Doug ever had, although of course you had help. I was flirting at full speed throughout the meal. I told you that I really liked my new room, and could barely wait until I got to try out my new bed. I said I thought it was bigger than any I’d ever slept in before, so I hoped I didn’t get lonely with all that space to myself. I also apologized if I’d embarrassed you earlier that day when I came out of the pool all wet and naked, and you blushed a little. I let you catch me sneaking a glance at your lap, where I could see I was causing a definite reaction. And I frequently touched your arm or your hand while we were talking, stroking slightly before pulling back.

When the meal was over, I put a worried expression on my face and shed a tear, and told you what a bad hostess I was — I hadn’t prepared any dessert. I let you take me into your arms and “comfort” me, as you reassured me that you had gotten plenty to eat. I turned my face toward you and kissed you, lightly at first, like a kiss of simple human gratitude, but I didn’t release your mouth and let the kiss build in intensity. My hands began to trace the muscles in your back, but yours only strayed slightly from my bare shoulders. I came up for air and stepped back, slipping out of your grasp. I put my hands out in front of me and pushed you back down into your chair. With a sly grin I said that you may be full, but I wasn’t, so I’d just have to find something else to eat. My hand went to your zipper faster than you figured out what I meant, and I don’t think the lightbulb went on in your head until you felt my fingers rubbing you through your silky boxers. I kissed you again, with my hand still inside your pants, giving you a sample of what my tongue could do. When I broke the kiss, and lowered myself down to kneel on the floor.

You know, seeing as how you were actually there, maybe I could just skip this part. But on the other hand, maybe if I remind you now of how sex used to feel for you it will make it worse for you now that you can’t feel anything. And if I manage to get you aroused mentally, you’ll be wondering if you’re also aroused physically, and maybe worry if I left you any parts capable of being aroused physically. Yes, I think that would make it worse. So I’ll continue the scene.

Your belt buckle required two hands to unfasten, so I had to let go of you, but only for a moment. When I pulled down your underwear, I got my first real look at The Monster. He was big, and he looked scary. For a second I worried if I was up to the task. I laid a soft, wet kiss right at the tip. I was grateful that you kept everything down there smoothly shaven, but then I realized that it was probably just to avoid leaving hairs at the scene of the crime. I grasped you firmly in my right hand and started licking all around the edge of The Monster’s head, and down the shaft a ways. It tasted clean; you must have taken the time to wash before coming over. My free hand started gently massaging your balls, and while that had your attention I opened my mouth wider and wrapped my soft lips around the end of The Monster and started sucking in earnest. I began to jerk you with my hand, and on each stroke I’d lower my head and take more of you into my mouth. I ran my tongue along that tendon that runs on the bottom of your cock. Is “tendon” the right anatomical term for that thing? You’d know. When my lip hit my thumb, I took my hand off your shaft and realized that I was completely deep-throating you. I bobbed my head up and down, almost backing all the way off, building speed. I could feel you wanting to move your hips, but I held them down with my elbows. I sensed it in your testicles and looked up to your eyes to sort of nod and let you know it was ok. I kept you at full length inside me and swallowed every drop. When I had licked you clean, you buckled your pants and pulled me up to sit on your knee and refilled my wine glass.

You let me have a couple sips before you tried to kiss me; I guess you didn’t want to taste your own spooge. I put my arms around the back of your neck and innocently asked if I did ok, since I really didn’t have any experience doing that. You sweetly reassured me, and said that I was very good, especially as a beginner. I then teased you a little and asked questions I already knew the answers to. I asked if you’d ever thought about me doing something like that when I was lying in my coma and you were my doctor. You said that would have been wrong, so of course you didn’t, while nonchalantly sliding your hand under my skirt, moving it from my knee up to my thigh. I licked my lips and asked if you’d ever imagined while I was sleeping what it would feel like to make love to me, and you just laughed and said that would also be inappropriate. While I traced figure-eights on your chest with my nails, your hand moved closer; I could feel your fingertips brush my panties. I leaned to kiss you and shifted my weight slightly, allowing you to push my underwear aside and touch me directly. I gasped when you slipped a finger or two inside me, making the kiss more intense. You wiggled them around and I squirmed and rocked my hips towards you slightly. I think you were probably making sure my lubrication was working. It was, but I wanted more inside me than a finger.

I stood up and pulled you by the hand into the bedroom. I kicked off my shoes and turned my back toward you and asked you to unzip me. You very readily had not only my dress but also my bra off. I slipped out of my panties and got in bed, posing lustily. You were taking too long to undress, but you made up for it by starting off kissing my knees. Very tenderly, you caressed the back of each knee with your lips. Slowly and carefully, you then kissed your way up my thighs, switching legs with every kiss, moving my knees further apart as you went. You had me twitching in anticipation, and trying to lift my hips toward you. You quickly gave me a single kiss on my mound, then slipped those fingers back inside me. You must have gotten Dr. Powell to give you a map of my most sensitive areas, because it felt like your fingers were finding them all. I couldn’t help but thrust my pelvis forward, trying to get you deeper inside me. Then you brought your tongue into play and started licking my clitoris. I think you might have been doing the old alphabet trick. Whatever trick you were doing it was working. I clutched the bedcovers, arched my back and moaned in ecstasy. I didn’t want you to stop. It was perfect. Even if you were a Lying Evil Bastard, as long as you could do this for me, I was ready to forgive everything. Maybe I could get you just to promise not to rape any more girls and that would be enough, under the one condition that you service me whenever I wanted. That might be a good enough plan for revenge. My mind was straying from my mission but I didn’t care; you brought me to orgasm a couple of times, and I was ready to cave to your will.

When I came down from my sexual high I snapped out of it. You had to be stopped, no matter what the cost. But then you shifted your attention upwards and started fondling my breasts. You started by gently stroking them in a circular motion, but worked your way to more firmly kneading them, letting your fingers occasionally attend to my nipples. When you’d worked me to the point where I was begging, you brought your incredible tongue into play again and teased my breast, then moved your lips down and started sucking my left nipple, sending me to oblivion. I was so ready for you; I needed to feel you inside me; I wanted you to drive into me hard and fast; some mixed up part of my hormone-pickled brain was even preparing to make a baby with you that would nurse me the way you were.

You sensed my readiness and moved your face up to kiss me on the mouth, while your hand went down to my other lips and held me open while you got The Monster lined up. As you pushed into me I could feel your size and worried that you were tearing me open, but of course this wasn’t the first time you’d been in there, so I shouldn’t have feared. When you thrust all the way in I could feel you filling me completely; I fit you like a glove, not unsurprisingly. But I’d made plenty of whatever juices it is my fake pussy makes that you weren’t stuck at all; it was just a satisfyingly tight fit, as I felt you with every sensitive part of me down there. You began to seriously fuck me, working your enormous cock back and forth, into and out of me, as I grabbed your shoulders and pushed my hips towards you and away on every stroke. However, it only took you about twelve seconds before you shot your load and rolled off of me. Now I could hardly complain since you’d already made sure that I had come, and quite completely, but it was very disappointing nonetheless. But I figured maybe that’s why, despite of being a handsome doctor with an impressive package, you had to resort to raping coma patients to get sex. Perhaps word got out about what a lousy lay you were. I kissed you and tried to snuggle for a little bit, so you wouldn’t think I didn’t appreciate it, but fortunately you only stayed a few minutes before getting dressed to go walk back over to your place. I expressed some dismay when I saw that we had made a wet spot on my nice new bedcovers, but you showed me that it was a duvet cover. I could take it off for cleaning, and there were others in my linen closet. I wasn’t sure the soiled cover would fit in my little washing machine, but you said you’d leave the door unlocked on your end of the gallery, (apparently the fancy word for the windowed hallway that connected our buildings) and I could go over and use your laundry room. I kissed you in thanks as you left. I didn’t want your evil semen in me any longer than necessary, so I douched, then took a nice long bath. I was glad my bathroom had been fully supplied for all my hygiene needs.

I took advantage when I was over in your house doing my laundry to snoop around a little. Since it was my first time over there and I wasn’t sure if you had a security camera or something, I didn’t want to do anything too suspicious; I just wandered around looking in every room but didn’t go poking through drawers or opening closets. Your house was incredible! It seemed built for entertaining, even though you really weren’t the type to have close friends. I’d already seen the pool area outside, and inside you had a room with a carved oak bar and a pool table and a classic jukebox, and another room set up just to watch your giant television. You had three different rooms that were all variations on what I’d call a living room, with arranged groups of upholstered seating: one opened to the patio, one had a big stone fireplace, and the other backed up against the kitchen. There was a big empty space in the largest one where I could tell by the indentations in the carpet that you used to have a grand piano. My guess is that you must have sold it for money to pay the gangsters. You must not have been a real music fan, and probably only got the piano to impress people, since everyone knows the sound from a grand sucks if you put it on a deep pile rug. You want a flat surface that will bounce the sound instead of eating it. I learned all this back in college when Doug dated a girl who was a music major.

Your formal dining room had a grand table that could seat twelve, but you also had a more intimate table for six next to your kitchen. That was also impressive, with an imported tile floor and stone countertops and custom-fitted rock maple cabinets and fancy-schmancy commercial-grade appliances. I’m sure I would have been impressed if I was the kind of girl who knows her way around a kitchen. Another room turned out to be your study, with bookshelves covering the walls and a big antique desk dominating the center of the room. I was tempted to try to get into your computer, but I didn’t want to risk setting off any alarms. I’d explored your first floor and hadn’t found the laundry room yet, so I crept up the stairs to look around. I found what I thought was the master bedroom, but then there were two more the same size, all of which paled in comparison to the actual master bedroom. I giggled when I saw that your bed linens were a similar pattern to mine, since I’d thought you’d gone out of your way to make my place girlish. I finally found the laundry room off a door in the upstairs hallway that I’d initially passed on, thinking it was a closet. While my bedspread was in the wash, I changed my mind and decided to poke around your bedroom a little. I was feeling mischievous so I started by stripping naked and rolling around in your bed, just to infuse your sheets with the scent of my perfume, my sweat, and the general ambiance of me. I saw that your master bedroom had “His and Hers” walk-in closets and walked into yours and touched your nice things, appreciating that your taste was decent. Then I tried putting on one of your shirts and looking sexy in that way that a girl can make her man’s shirt look so much hotter, but I’m not small enough for that look; your shirt was too tight on me. I pouted and kept it on anyway, but left it unbuttoned. I couldn’t find anything else in your closet that I wanted to dress up in, so I went looking in the other one, and would not have guessed in a million years what was in there.

Since it was designed for the lady of the house, the second closet was much larger. If I had been in your shoes, I would have taken the larger closet as my own. Then I started wondering if maybe you’d had a woman living with you before, a girlfriend or maybe even a wife, and that was her closet, so you just wanted to keep the one you’d been used to even after she left. There was only one thing in there, which I think made it look even emptier. I walked into the back and saw the large, white garment bag hanging on the rod. It was obviously full of something, so I unzipped it. And there was The Dress, a beautiful wedding gown in pure white satin with delicate embroidery and lace accents. It was proof that you’d been married, so I started thinking that maybe she’d screwed you over in the divorce, and that’s what turned you into an Evil Rapist. Part of me wanted to try it on, just to feel beautiful, but the more rational side figured the chances were low that it would fit me. I was wondering if maybe you’d molded me into a replica of your wife, and growing curious about how different our sizes were, when the washing machine beeped, and I had to move my duvet cover to the dryer. Having a moment to clear my head of its romantic wanderings helped. When I got back from the laundry room, I’d planned on just zipping it back up and leaving it alone, but when I closed the bag I saw there was a little pocket on the outside that I’d missed, like a clear vinyl window, with a little card inside showing through. And on that card was written, in very nice calligraphy using gold ink, the name of the lucky bride “Aurora Andrews” with the date of her wedding printed below, a date that had only been a few months before. You fucking prick! You not only filed a phony marriage license, you bought a dress. Knowing that it was “mine” made me want to try it on even more, but I was so mad at you at that moment that I didn’t want to ruin such a work of art. If Stefan hadn’t made me learn to sew I never would have been able to recognize the quality of all the fine work that went into it. Instead I carefully zipped it back up and yelled at you, in absentia. What was weirdest was that the thing that pissed me off the most was that you had the audacity to assume that I would take your last name! I made a mental note to check the wedding license to see if it changed my name.

I almost stormed out of the place, but I had to wait for the dryer. So instead I sat on your bed and started to take your shirt off but got distracted and began playing with my breasts instead. All the anger and frustration fueled my sexual energy and soon I was lying on the bed teasing my nipple with one hand and fingering myself with the other, while still swearing occasionally at an imaginary you. I’d forgotten Sinder’s warning about fingernails and lesbians and scratched myself a little, but I ended up getting myself off four times before the dryer buzzed. I put your shirt in the hamper and got dressed, then picked up my blanket and went home. I became more resolved to stop you, and took some time thinking about what all I had to do to get you, and what things I had to do first. My “To do” list was sort of overwhelming at that point. Not only did I have to work at getting my revenge on you, but I also had to get my life on track. I needed to find a job, I needed to get some new clothes that weren’t slutty, I had to figure out what to do with Doug’s stuff, I needed to become close enough to you to get some evidence to get your license revoked, and somewhere in there I needed to figure out who exactly Aurora was. What kind of person did I want to be? At least I had already figured out that I’d enjoyed sex with both Sin and Bill, so Aurora was definitely bisexual. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And thinking about my lesbian experiment reminded me that I also needed to go out and get me a vibrator.

I made a point of making sure I was out late for the next few days, so our paths wouldn’t cross at home; I wanted to make you miss me a little. I’d spent most of my free time going through all the stuff in my storage unit. Because some of it was the same stuff, it really reminded me of when I had to go through my parents’ house after they died to see what I wanted to keep. And so I broke down and cried a few times during the process. It’s those damn hormones — I tried getting my endocrinologist to adjust the dose to keep down the mood swings, but he wouldn’t listen and said I was having the normal fluctuation in hormone levels for a natural woman my age. I realized that I wasn’t just mourning Mom and Dad; I was also mourning Doug in a way. There were things there that I would never need again, and I had to decide which souvenirs and mementos from my old life I wanted to hang onto. I did the easy stuff first — I set all the boxes with Doug’s clothes aside to go to charity. I found the boxes with my CD’s, movies, and books and took those back to my apartment. I didn’t have enough shelf space for all of it, so I ended up shoving some boxes into the attic space behind my closet.

The next things I dealt with weren’t so easy. I had to decide which of the activities that Doug did for fun I would also do. As much as it would be fun to build myself up so I could punch you in the face, the image of becoming a bulgy-muscle girl did not appeal to me, so I didn’t want to keep my dumbbells. I looked at my skis and could very easily picture myself shussing down the slopes in a cute snowbunny outfit. I concluded that I definitely wanted to try it, but since I’d need new boots anyway, (I was pretty sure I remembered seeing ladies’ ski boots with a raised heel that would fit my deformed feet) I didn’t want to use my old mens’ skis. I’d get some new, more feminine gear when I was ready to go. I also considered trading my golf clubs in for a set of women’s clubs, but I thought about my feet again and didn’t remember ever seeing a high-heeled golf shoe. Maybe there was a tiny market for whores that cater to men with a golf fetish, but I didn’t really want to know. I said goodbye to the clubs. I started thinking about my shoe problem and tried to come up with sports where women wore heels. I figured I couldn’t take up gymnastics, even though they’re barefoot and much of what they do is on tiptoe, because I’d never seen a gymnast with massive hooters — it’s probably a center of gravity thing. I just wasn’t petite enough. I recalled seeing heels on figure skates, but thought the gravity thing might also be a problem there. I decided that I I had two options. I could start cycling, where it’s only the ball of the foot on the pedal anyway. Or I could learn horseback riding, where I could wear boots that would match one of those English riding outfits with the sexy tight pants, or I could dress western in a smoking-hot pair of jeans and cowgirl boots. At any rate, I wouldn’t need my boy stuff. I took them all to a used sporting goods store to sell. The one sport I did keep was all of my fishing gear. I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t too girly to want to touch a slimy, smelly fish, but I had some poles and lures that used to belong to my dad, and I wasn’t about to let those go.

I was feeling so emotionally exhausted after the second day of going through my stuff that I called Sin to see if I could take her out to dinner. She could tell that I really didn’t want to be alone and not only agreed to eat with me, but also took me home with her. That night we mainly just cuddled. Sure we slept with our naked bodies intertwined, and yes her mouth spent some time at my breast, but it wasn’t as sexual as it was emotional. It just felt really nice knowing that someone was there for me. It was good to be loved, not in the sense of by a lover, but more by a friend or a sister. In a way, it made everything not as scary as having to deal with it all on my own. I never really had that before. It was wonderful waking up in her arms the next day, and I almost didn’t want it to end, but she had to get to work and I had to get back to my mission. She gave me a kiss on the nose and a pat on the ass and sent me on my way.

I found a furniture consignment place that would send guys with a truck to pick up Doug’s furniture. I had them take the bedroom set, but they said my other stuff wasn’t quality enough, so I had to arrange for the Salvation Army to come out with their truck for the rest of the furniture. I kept my old laptop in the trunk of my car, just in case I needed to do any computer stuff without you knowing about it. The electronics you put in my apartment were better than what I had before, so I asked if anyone at my group wanted my old stuff. It was decent equipment; it just wasn’t top-of-the-line. Oliver took my old TV and insisted on paying me a couple hundred bucks for it. I told him it had a great screen for watching football, but he just laughed and said he’d be more likely to use it to watch old movies. I tried to flirt with him and said I didn’t have the old instructions, but if he wanted I could come over and try to help figure out where everything gets plugged in, but he brushed me off and wanted to work it out on his own. It blew my mind to find out that he was a woman becoming a fag, I mean a homosexual. We’re not supposed to call them that; all of us LGBT’s need to stick together and all, but I still feel creeped out around gay guys. Well, except for Stefan of course, and Oliver most of the time. But I don’t like when Stefan talks about his boyfriend, and if I picture him sticking it in some man’s ass it’s just ewww! I know it’s kind of hypocritical and all, seeing as how I enjoy eating out my girlfriend, but it just seems wrong.

Arthur, that’s the man who pretends to be Wendy, came to get my stereo and even though I hadn’t seen him in boy clothes I knew him right away. But he had this guy Ben with him to help carry all the components that I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t until he looked around my by that time nearly empty storage space and asked me if he could keep some of his girl things there that I realized that Ben was Belinda’s other self. I gave her a hug and told her I hadn’t realized who she was, and of course she could keep anything she wanted to in my space; I’d just add Ben’s name to the list of authorized persons. I stepped back and took another look and if I tried I could see the vivacious girl I knew in this withdrawn-looking plain skinny Asian guy, but it was only really when she smiled that I caught a glimpse of my friend. She just looked so depressed in guy-mode that I knew I wanted to come up with something that I could do to cheer her up. I added that to my ever-growing “to do” list.

I’d finally gotten the things in my storage space down to just about eight boxes or so, so I just shoved them up against one side in the back. When Bel’s things showed up, they were in three locked steamer trunks, and she put them up against the other wall. Three trunks seemed like a lot of stuff to hide from her folks, but I guess on the other hand since it was all that Belinda really had, it seemed like not very much. I felt a little guilty when I got Lou the storage center guy to cut the padlocks off with his bolt cutters, but my plan required it. I just jiggled a little and told him I’d lost my keys, and he was putty in my hands. Her trunks were very organized. One of them contained her clothes, neatly folded with separate piles for each kind of garment — a stack of blouses, a stack of skirts, etc. She had exquisite taste. It’s a good thing we wear different sizes or I would have stolen her stuff. The second trunk had mesh zipper bags containing different kinds of lingerie; the largest one had some very beautiful nightgowns. Each bag also contained a floral scented sachet. Under the bags, the bottom of the trunk was lined with two layers of plastic shoe boxes. Each contained a pair of lovely shoes that were individually wrapped in tissue paper for protection. She even had a sexy pair of calf-high boots in a big box on the bottom layer, and a couple small handbags in another. The third trunk had an assortment of smaller squarish boxes inside. One was a sort of tackle box that contained all of Belinda’s makeup. Another similar compartmented box had her jewelry, which looked decent but I didn’t think it was as expensive as my stuff. There was an electric makeup mirror in the trunk that had little lights all around it. She had been keeping it in the box it was sold in. There was a pair of small white unmarked cardboard boxes that confused me. I opened them and saw that each one had a weird pink sort-of-triangular thing sitting in a shaped plastic liner. I picked one up and it felt blobby like Jell-o, then I flipped it over and saw that it had a nipple and got very embarrassed when I realized I was holding my friend’s boob. I carefully put it back into its box, and wondered if it would be appropriate to let Belinda know I’d gotten to second base with her. There was a container with some hair styling products, and another big box turned out to have a nice-looking long black wig on a Styrofoam head. Then I got even more embarrassed when I opened the last container and found her collection of dildos. I guess she really couldn’t go out in public with a guy so she had to limit herself to imaginary guys. Sometimes it’s just not fair.

I decided to do what I could to brighten her life. I took me a couple of days to get it all together, but I was so excited on that last day that I wanted to call her right away, but it was so late when I was done it would have been rude to call, so I went home and had a swim and, you probably remember this part, I still had too much energy so I crept over to your place and tried to sneak in wearing just a towel, but I set the alarm off and you had to come down in your pajama bottoms to see what it was. I dropped my towel and proceeded to lead you back up to your room for more of your awesome foreplay followed by pathetic actual sex. When I left you I was smiling but not from anything you did; I was just thinking of how I’d done something nice for my friend.

I waited until after dinner to call the next day, and almost slipped when her mother answered and I had to ask for “Ben.” Now it turns out that that’s not really her name either; it’s really some Chinese name that most white folks can’t pronounce, so he goes by Ben which is sort of close to his actual name. But eventually, the old lady figured out who I wanted to talk to and asked for my name, and I heard her shout something in the background, and I liked the way she pronounced “Rory” with her accent. And Ben came on and he was using his boy voice, so I figured mom must have stayed in the room. He wanted to know if something was wrong, and I said it was closer to the opposite and asked if he was busy or could I show him something I wanted him to see. Was he allowed to date on a school night? He laughed and said he was free, and I could come pick him up in a half hour. When I got there, his mother met me at the door and welcomed me into a little foyer. She was a sweet looking tiny Asian woman who didn’t appear to be as old as I knew her to be. She looked me up and down and shook her head disapprovingly. Then she went into the next room and I heard some shouting in what must have been Chinese, in a few different voices. Then this little old man peeked in and saw me and I smiled at him and he smiled back and waved. He went back into the room and said something and then the bickering voices stopped. Bel told me later that the argument was that her mother didn’t want her son going out with some cheap blonde devil with giant breasts and should find himself a nice traditional Chinese girl, but her father got interested when the subject of giant breasts came up so he went to make sure his wife wasn’t exaggerating. I got the impression that the old man immigrated because he actually wanted to be an American, and his wife just came along for the prosperity. He seemed to think that his son going on a date with a life-size Barbie doll was a great idea, so he told his wife to butt out and gave his thumbs-up. If only they knew. Ben took my arm and I walked him to my car, where he opened the door for me as though it were a real date. His folks must have been watching from a window, so I gave him a little peck on the cheek as I got in.

Belinda wanted to know where we were going, and I said there had been a change in the way things were stored in my unit, so I thought she ought to know. It was really hard relating to her when she looked male. I tried keeping a straight face, but I just couldn’t hold my smiles in when we went to the night guard to get the key. I knew I must have been too confusing, so I said that just like Batman needs a special cave where he can get away from his secret identity, I decided that more than just a place for her stuff, she needed somewhere she could express her other self, so I converted my storage space into a glamour space. I opened the door and showed her what I’d done. I had redecorated my little store room as almost a lady’s boudoir. Now you’re probably going to think it was stupid of me to get rid of all my old furniture just to bring some back, but since you can’t laugh at me in your current state I don’t care. I’d bought some secondhand and cheap stuff just because of my budget, but I think it worked. There was a knockoff oriental rug on the floor instead of the bare concrete, and in the front of the space I’d set up a little sitting area with a chaise lounge and a wing chair grouped around one of her trunks with a lace tablecloth on top to serve as a coffee table, with an assortment of fashion magazines arranged on top. To highlight its purpose as a sort of oasis of femininity, I’d put in a fake potted palm and softened the harsh metal walls by hanging sheer draperies in front of them. I’d set up the back of the unit was a kind of dressing room area. On one side I’d set up a little vanity table, with all of her cosmetics arranged on top, with even her wig on its stand, but under a dust cover. All her baubles were in a real jewelry box. The new mirror, surrounded by fluorescent full-spectrum lights Hollywood style, was larger than her old one, but I kept the old one on the table since it reversed to magnify. I’d screwed an adapter into the fixture in the ceiling where the single bare bulb had been, and run an extension cord duct taped to the beams and around the back of the room. Past the vanity was a large free-standing wardrobe armoire, where I’d hung up all her clothes on those fancy little padded satin hangers, and arranged her shoe boxes on the shelves at the bottom. Next to that was a six-drawer lingerie chest where I’d put the things that couldn’t be easily hung up. Across from them was a three-section full length mirror, serving a dual purpose as a screen to hide my boxes.

I apologized for breaking into her trunks, but she was so happy it didn’t matter. Her eyes lit up and she just gushed, even though she was in drab mode, and gave me a big hug and thanked me profusely. I told her than the unit had been paid for in advance for the year, and I didn’t really need all that space. The very least I could do is give my friend a place she could go to get away from the stress of having to live a lie. It’s a good thing we weren’t wearing mascara, because she started weeping and it must have set off my hormones, because I joined in. Fortunately I’d thought to stock her vanity with tissues and not just swabs and cotton balls and sponges. I carefully then showed her all the little details of where I’d put her things, and told her that I wouldn’t be offended if she preferred some other arrangement. She thanked me some more and I said she could make it up to me by taking me shopping some time; I absolutely adored her taste and sense of fashion! I then suggested that since her folks thought Ben was out on a date we probably had a few hours before he was expected back, so did she want to get dressed and we could go out for a girls’ night on the town? She thought that was a great idea, but rejected my idea of going clubbing since her legs weren’t shaven so she couldn’t wear a short skirt, and thought we could take in a movie instead — the revival house was showing the original Sabrina, and I hadn’t even heard of the remake. Bel was a big Audrey Hepburn fan, and insisted I had to see this movie, so I didn’t get to come up with an alternate plan.

I wanted to watch her transformation, but she made me turn around and look the other way. I thumbed through the latest issue of Vogue while she did her magic, and it only took her about twenty minutes to get ready. She gave a little fanfare noise and I turned around as she asked me how she looked. She had put together a little casual number that was cute and sophisticated. She wore a long navy skirt and a matching silky short-sleeved top with a lace-edged scoopneck that hinted at cleavage that I knew couldn’t possibly be there, and had a white fine-knit cardigan sweater over it to keep out the evening chill. Her tights were white (I felt bad that she always had to wear tights to hide leg hair) and her shoes were a pair of simple navy slides. She had her long hair on, and it really made her look feminine. It was black with a natural shine and hung to the middle of her back. She had a white silk headband just behind her bangs that coordinated nicely with a scarf she wore as a belt. Her makeup was flawless. She’d done something that made her eyebrows look like manicured arches, (I asked about it once and she showed me how she’d just backcomb them bushier when she needed to look like a guy) her lashes were thick and long and lustrous, and there was a hint of silver on her lids, all of which combined to make her eyes seem bigger while not losing their exotic Asian quality. I couldn’t tell if she had any foundation on, but I could see a hint of color in her cheeks. She went with a bright pink lipstick with a shiny gloss that announced to the world that this girl was made for kissing. Her jewelry was a pair of navy and white button earrings, a matching disc pendant, and a navy bracelet. I told her how cute she was and brought her over to the mirrors to twirl. She said that the experts say you should always look over an outfit and remove one thing before you go out, so she opted to take off her bracelet. While putting a handbag together, she asked me if we had time before the movie for her to do her nails. We didn’t, so she brought her buffer along and made her hands all shiny in the car.

We turned quite a few heads on our walk from the car to the theater. Bel insisted on paying for our tickets, but a nice guy behind us in the concessions line covered our Diet Cokes, popcorn and box of Sno-Caps. I wasn’t sure which one of us he was trying to pull, so we both flirted with him a little, but neither of us gave him a number. And luckily, he wasn’t going to our movie so he couldn’t creepily try to sit next to us. After we got our seats we accused each other of trying to pick up that guy. I said she was the prettier one so he was obviously interested in her, but she said men are easier to figure out than that and he’d clearly been trying for the one with the bigger chest, and she poked me for emphasis. We giggled for a while, but settled down before the movie started. It was a sweetly wonderful film, and I won’t say anything else about it in case you’ve never seen it, because you simply have to. I could totally understand Belinda’s obsession with Audrey Hepburn. We stopped at a drugstore on the way back to the storage center so Bel could get a bottle of water, a plastic washtub, and a roll of paper towels. She was used to removing her makeup in the bathroom and wanted a makeshift sink. It didn’t take long for her to turn back into a pumpkin. I wondered if Ben’s folks would be worried if he was out too late, and that’s when she told me about the parents’ different reactions to seeing their son out on a date with a blonde American devil. I tried to flirt and asked if he wanted to try dating for real, but he shot me down and let me know he had no attraction to women. I tried reminding him that I used to be a guy, but all that got me was a playful growl in Bel’s voice and a comment that she was so jealous. It bugged me a little that there wasn’t enough of Doug left to catch the eye of a gay guy, or maybe she was more a straight girl, but either way I wasn’t man enough. I wanted his dad to be happy anyway and think he’d gotten some action, so I mussed Ben’s hair then set about misbuttoning my blouse so it would look like I wasn’t paying attention when I’d dressed.

I drove him home and he said he could see the folks peeking, so I got out of the car with him, and held his hand to walk him to the door. I asked if he was going to invite me in, and pouted when he said he had to get up early the next morning. I caught a glimpse of pink in the corner of his mouth where some of Belinda’s lipstick hadn’t come off, so I insisted on a good-night kiss and pulled him close and worked my tongue on that spot to remove any traces. I even gave his buns a little squeeze. He was breathless when I let him go. I gave him one last hug and said loud enough to be overheard that he smelled like my perfume, so I was sure he’d be dreaming of me later. I made him promise to call me, and I left. We had a few more fake dates after that. I’d pick him up, or he’d get me, and then we’d go get Belinda and the two of us would do something. I offered to serve as an excuse if she ever wanted to meet a guy, but she was too worried about having to keep her life a secret. There did come an incident where I took the charade a little too far. I insisted that if we really wanted to convince the old folks that we were a couple, I would have to stay the night. And of course to really get the impression across that we’d had sex, we’d have to at least get the sheets sweaty, so I got in bed nude, and made my pretend boyfriend do the same. I offered to give Bel a better look at my body, in case she was curious about any of my surgeries, but she was really embarrassed about my seeing her as a naked male, and turned the lights out. She lay there very stiff and uncomfortable, so I tried to do my best to relax her.

I whispered in her ear to close her eyes, and told her to imagine a big, handsome man with broad shoulders, a tight butt, and rock-hard abs was holding her in his arms, describing him as a gentleman of refinement and taste, but who still emanated an aura of raw, animal masculinity. I said that she’d been a good girl and had held out until the fourth date, but she’d been eagerly awaiting this night and all through dinner every time their eyes met, she had felt herself getting moist and ready for him, and in the car on the way to his hotel she had thrown her arms around him and kissed him deeply and passionately, and he had lost enough of his control that he’d slipped a hand into her dress and touched her round, supple breast. At this point, I reached over and gently stroked her nipple, feeling it become erect, as her body relaxed a little. I continued her fantasy. He had led her to his room, where after some impatient fumbling with the key they entered and he threw his jacket at a chair and she kissed him again and allowed her fingers to slip under his shirt and explore his muscled chest, breathing in his manly scent, and not caring that the special pair of tiny sexy lace panties she’d bought just for this date were becoming with her juices. Keeping one hand softly caressing her nipple, I slowly brought my other hand over and lightly touched the growing erection I’d hoped to find. I didn’t sense any objection from her; she actually seemed to shift her weight a little and make a slight moan, so I began running my fingers carefully along the shaft as I kept my story going. I said that she’d quickly gotten his shirt unbuttoned, and he had gotten his hands up under the hem of her dress and was tracing the bare skin where her stocking tops met her garters, and her panties were of course so tiny that there was plenty of bare skin for him to enjoy as moved up to where her thighs became her perfect buttocks and the womanly curves of her hips. She surprised him by stepping back and pushing him away, but only so she could reach down and take off her shoes, then she spun around and guided his hands to the zipper on the back of her dress. Then she turned back to face him and stood there in nothing but her panties, garter belt and stockings. Being a man his eyes were immediately drawn to her breasts, but he managed to look back into her face and tell her how beautiful she was and give her a kiss to show how much he loved her. As he kissed her, she unfastened his pants and dropped them to the floor, and she had to let out a gasp at the massive tent in his silk boxers, but she had to laugh when he realized that he still had his shoes on and had to break the romantic moment to sit down and get his shoes and pants off, and he did have the sense to know that men’s socks aren’t sexy so he removed them as well. I said that while still seated he pulled her over to him and noticed that her breasts were no conveniently at the level of his face, so he lovingly kissed each nipple and then lingered at her left one and suckled it deeply. By then I was seriously jerking her off, so I took a gamble and illustrated my story by leaning over and licking her nipple. It was tricky because I had to make sure my own erect nipples didn’t touch her and spoil the illusion, but I think it worked because she made a little happy noise. Returning to my narrative I told her that as he stood, he easily picked her up in his arms and carried her delicately to his bed. He was pleased that she’d worn her panties over her garters so that he wouldn’t have to work as hard to remove them, but when he moved his hands to her waistband, she shook a finger at him and stopped him, insisting that he go first. He pulled off his boxers and she got her first look at his manhood. It was almost frighteningly large, but she still quivered in anticipation of feeling it moving inside her. A glistening drop at its tip told her that he was just as ready for this as she was; she brought his hands back to her panties and assisted him in pulling them off of her. He had an appreciation for what he saw and parted her knees to lean down and give her tender rosebud a sweet kiss, and then when he brought himself up, she brought her hands to his hips to assist in guiding him into her.

At this point, I got a little selfish and kind of ruined it. My story had been working on myself on just as much as her, and I was getting really aroused. I wanted to touch myself but unfortunately, both of my hands were busy stimulating someone else. The thought briefly flew through my mind that I could try to move Belinda’s hand and see if I could get her to touch me, but then my mind clicked and I realized that I was a horny girl with an erect penis in my hand and there was a really simple solution to my need. I told Bel that her man was making love to her so completely that it was as if they’d become one person; it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended; even as she felt him entering her, it seemed almost as if she was the one entering. And I quickly swung my leg around so I was straddling her and aimed the erection in my hand into my eager pussy. I was a little dry so it was slow going, but I got her inside me and started rocking my hips, and suddenly I wasn’t describing my girlfriend’s fantasy anymore I was fucking my fake boyfriend. He moved his hands up, I think to push me off of him, but I grabbed his wrists and brought his fingers to my nipples. I think eventually he figured that I wasn’t going to get off until I got off, so he started playing with them, and he starting thrusting against me. It was really working for me, so I let out a few moans, loud enough so his parents could hear, since we didn’t have squeaky bedsprings or a rattling headboard to let them know what was happening. We came to climax around the same time, and I rolled off when I was sure he was done. I kissed him and said thanks and tried to cuddle for a while, but he just turned away and I spooned him and fell asleep in the wet spot, letting his essence flow out of me to leave more evidence for his mother to find.

I woke up alone and poked around his room for something to wear. I struggled into getting a pair of his boxer shorts around my hips, but once I did, they were loose in the waist and rode low. On top, I stretched out one of his t-shirts which fit kind of like a babydoll and showed off my navel piercing. I tiptoed over to the bathroom, where I kind of regretted not being able to pee without taking off my underwear anymore, but cleaned myself up a little. It was one of the few times I liked being permanently made-up; it would help the parents’ opinions of me that I’m perfectly beautiful in the morning. I wandered in search of a kitchen and eventually found it. I found the three of them sitting, fully dressed, at a small round table. They were sipping juice ad eating some stuff that I later learned was rice porridge. Everyone looked up when I came in. Mom seemed to be getting angry and muttered something that wasn’t English, Dad looked up over his newspaper and was staring with wide eyes at my chest, and Ben just looked embarrassed. I ignored them and walked over to “my lover’s” chair and sat on his lap and draped my arms around his neck and kissed him good morning. I asked if there was any coffee but then remembered where I was and said tea would be ok. Ben’s mother was looking daggers at me, but his father got up and apologized for mistreating a guest, and offered me his chair, then told his wife to go fetch a chair from the next room. He said they were a proud American family so of course there was coffee, and opened a few cabinets before he found a jar of instant coffee and microwaved me a cup. I thanked him and gave him my cutest smile. He tried not to notice how tight my t-shirt was. Being instant it was of course horrible coffee, but I tried to look like it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. I also tried to make sure I kept touching my “sweetie,” either putting my hand on his arm, or rubbing my foot against his, or leaning over onto him. I tried to play the role of a very clingy and possessive girlfriend, the kind that mothers everywhere can’t stand. She was still glaring at me, so I said I hadn’t realized that they were the kind of people that get dressed before breakfast, but I figured it was just family, so coming down in pajamas would be fine, then added that we hadn’t really worn anything to bed, and Ben turned beet red and his dad started picturing me naked and drooling a little, while mom was getting ready to yell at my considering myself family already. I gave my “Cuddlebug” a squeeze, blew Mr. Shun a kiss and left to go up and get dressed. I turned around as I was leaving the room and asked if I had time to take a shower, and flashed another one of my patented smiles when told I could. I decided to reward them by letting them watch my back as I pulled off the t-shirt and stretched. I skipped topless down to the bedroom and grabbed my bag, then went into the bathroom and had a shower. They didn’t have anywhere near the right products for my usual regimen, but I made do and at least I wasn’t sticky anymore. I toweled off and put on a clean pair of panties and the sundress I’d packed for my overnight. I went braless even though it hurt a little when they bounced around unrestrained, so I could give the old guy a little more of a thrill. I popped in a fresh pair of earrings, slipped on my sandals, grabbed my bag and then I went looking for my ride.

I found Ben and grabbed his arm and we went to his car and drove off to the storage parking lot where I’d left my car, and he didn’t say anything to me until after we went into the unit and Belinda got dressed. Then she started yelling at me, asking how could I do that to her. It took me a while to figure out what she was talking about. She had to come right and tell me she never would have expected me to force myself upon her sexually, since we’d already discussed that she had no interest in women. I wasn’t very good at arguing my side; I just crumbled and started crying. I thought we were just fooling around, and I was trying to leave a solid impression on the parents that their son was straight, and I didn’t know she didn’t want it. It seemed like she was enjoying it and I didn’t realize I was forcing myself on her; that was the last thing I’d ever want to happen to anyone else. I said she didn’t have to move her things from the space; I’d leave her alone for as long as she wanted me to, and I hoped she’d be ready to forgive me at some future point. Belinda believed my sincerity when she saw how awful I felt about having hurt her, and gave me a half a hug. I pulled away because I shouldn’t be forgiven so readily, not for something that heinous. She caught on that there was something I wasn’t saying, and I broke down and told her how I’d been repeatedly raped by horrible rapist, and would never ever have wished the same thing on anyone. Piece by piece I ended up telling her the whole thing, all about Doug and the thong and the coma and the evil doctor and his money scheme and murder plan and waking up and learning to be a girl and trying to stop you. We were both weeping by the end and she gave me a full hug and said we were friends again, but we’d have to come up with a different plan because the whole “pretend girlfriend” thing was freaking her out.

Eventually, we did find a solution for her problem. I’d been surfing the web in a cybercafe using the wi-fi connection on Doug’s old computer, reading other transsexuals’ journals, finding out what others have had to go through with discrimination issues, and seeing some horror stories about botched surgeries. I then got the idea that maybe others have had the same problem and went looking for Asians who didn’t want to dishonor their parents, and found creative ways around it. It turns out there’s a serious subculture of gays and lesbians who enter into “Marriages of Convenience” as a way to appease familial obligations, and I searched some personals and emailed Bel the bookmarks. A few days later she told me that she’d been exchanging messages with a dominant lesbian looking for a fake marriage, who only lived two states away. She was an artist, so relocating wouldn’t be a major problem if it got that far. So we staged a big breakup scene in front of the folks — dad was heartbroken, but mom was dancing for joy, especially when Ben ended by saying he maybe needed to find a more traditional girl. Ben met Molly (just like him her real name was something Chinese, but it sounded like Molly so she went by that to the Anglos) at the bus station a month or two later and they didn’t mesh very well, but then he took her to see Belinda, and they hit it off right away. For the week she was visiting, they were pretty inseparable. I think Molly was attracted to Bel even though they were supposed to be faking it. I kind of played up the jealous ex role when I was invited to their fake wedding after their whirlwind courtship, but I was also the maid of honor at their real wedding, held during their fake honeymoon. Belinda looked beautiful in her wedding gown, and Molly was stunning in her tux. There were only a handful of us at the ceremony and only one picture was allowed to be taken, but it was very sweet and a memory that I’m sure we all will cherish. The last I heard, Molly was trying to get pregnant, so they could finally appease the folks. They said that if they can have a grandchild to continue the family name, maybe Belinda would finally feel free to transition.

But now I got really sidetracked and lost track of whose story I was trying to tell. This is supposed to be about me, not my friends. So I’ll have to rewind in time and then take another path to cover what was going on in my life, so that I don’t skip over anything significant.

I guess the next thing I need to describe is the time I went down to the porn store to get myself a vibrator. The place I went was called “Woody’s Video.” I thought it was a hilarious name for a sex shop, but does it sound familiar to you, maybe? I’d never been in a porn shop before, not even when I was Doug and it was more brightly lit than I’d been imagining. It didn’t take me long to find the section I was interested in. I was really embarrassed to be perusing a wall covered with dildos, trying to pick out what I wanted to screw myself with. I tried to avoid making eye contact with the guy behind the counter, because I wasn’t sure what that would imply, but I could feel him looking at me while I tried to make my choice. In the end, I couldn’t really decide where I wanted to be stimulated the most, so I picked up three. I got a lumpy thing that didn’t look much like a penis and had a little doodad on the side that was designed to tickle the clitoris, and I picked out a long skinny one that I could stick up my ass to find out whether I still had a prostate, and I admitted to myself that what I really wanted inside me was a cock and picked out a realistic looking vibrating dildo with a slight curve to it that promised to find my G spot. I wasn’t sure if I had one. On my way out my eye was drawn to a pair of vibrating nipple clamps, so I picked those up too, since some of the sexiest stimulation I’d gotten since becoming a woman was on my nipples. I felt like a big pervert taking my collection to the register, and toyed with the idea of getting some porn while I was there, but because I was worried that you had my place bugged I couldn’t get girl-on-girl, and I wasn’t sure what was sexy about watching other people fucking — I wanted to be the one getting fucked!

The clerk looked at me funny and asked if he knew me from somewhere, and I said he probably confused me with someone. He started ringing me up and it took a while because he had to open each package and test the vibrators before he sold them, since they can’t be returned. To fill time he tried to be funny and asked me if my boyfriend was out of town, but I flipped it around on him and said that my reason for the purchase was that my husband was failing to satisfy me (well, you were technically my husband and you weren’t good at sex) and so I needed help. He apologized for not noticing my ring, but I looked and saw that I didn’t have one and pretended to panic, saying I’d have to call my girlfriend to see if it came off inside her. That got him to laugh. I said that everyone needs a hobby, and my dear doctor husband was at the hospital all the time. Which made something click in his head, and he said that “hospital” reminded him of where he saw me, and he waddled out on his fat little legs from behind his counter over to a spinning rack under a sign marked “Local amateurs.” He pulled out a DVD and brought it with him when he came back, and showed it to me asking, “Isn’t this you?” It was a plain white box with a printed insert slipped behind a clear pocket on the cover. Can you guess what it was called, my darling? It was called “Coma Bride” and the front had a picture of me lying in my hospital bed, wearing my wedding dress, which was indeed as lovely as I thought it would be. The writeup on the back described the plot as a young couple’s wedding night is interrupted when the bride suffers a fall and lapses into a coma, but the groom is forced by his priest to consummate the marriage anyway, or he won’t sign the marriage license. I got livid and made up a quick lie that you’d told me that movie was just for us! I asked him how many copies were sold, and he told me only about a dozen. I asked what I could do to keep him from selling any more, and he said they only had three left so I bought them all. He told me not to worry too much, since my face wasn’t shown very much, and probably only someone who spends eight hours a day looking at that cover would recognize me, especially since I hadn’t used my normal voice in the movie, which threw him. Knowing that this guy had seen a porno movie about me really creeped me out, but I tried to play it cool and then got out of there as fast as I could.

I got in my car and drove off a ways, but then pulled over into a parking lot to scream out my frustrations with you. You not only gave me a stripper name, and the body of a wet dream with ginormous hooters and a too-small waist and feet that can’t stand without fuck-me heels on and overinflated cocksucker lips and the trimmed bush of a centerfold, but you also literally made me a porn star! And I couldn’t figure out why you’d need to do that — even if you wanted to record video footage of you raping me, why did you have to go sell it at the corner porn shop? Were you that hard up for cash, or was it just a power thing? I didn’t understand at all. I’ve never hated you more than I did at that moment. I didn’t really want to, but I knew I needed to watch the damned movie, just to see if there was anything it that I could use to incriminate you. I was hoping that there would be a scene where you were clearly raping a patient for all to see that I could show the board to have your medical license pulled. Taking your practice away would not be enough, but it would be a good start. I vowed to destroy you utterly and completely.

I didn’t want to play your porno at home because you probably had me bugged, and my old computer didn’t have a DVD player, so I asked Sinder if I could watch it at her place. I don’t need to tell you that the movie was worthless as evidence — you started it with a really cheesy voiceover over a still image of a chapel, then cut to me lying in my hospital bed in my beautiful gown, and a guy who was probably you came in, but the camera was behind you and only saw the back of your head, and the audio was more of that voiceover, as your stupid character imagined talking to my stupid character and wondered if she’d let him do this. Then you undressed me, and some sappy music played. The pure white lingerie you had me in under the dress probably would have been very sexy on someone willing and awake, but it really scared me when you stripped it off of me while the camera got really close up on all my personal body parts. And then the stupid voiceover girl started telling her stupid groom to make love to her. I guess it was supposed to be all in his head or something. The camera swung around for more intimate close-ups of me, occasionally including your evil penis (I totally recognized it as you, but it probably wouldn’t hold up in court) or your hands or whatever else you were touching me with, but never your face. And there was some clever editing in there to make it look like you had more staying power, while voiceover girl was moaning or whatever. And she ended by thanking you and saying she loved you, and possibly I died at that point in the story, because you covered my face with a sheet and zipped up (You couldn’t even get naked in a porno) and walked out of the room with your head hanging down. I wondered if you had an accomplice who operated the camera, and maybe I could make him turn on you, but Sinder noticed a wire coming out of your pocket and we figured you had the camera on some kind of remote. You probably stole the audio from some real porn or something. It sucked. You made a stupid porno about me and it didn’t even prove anything. It was a good thing Sin was there with me or I might have tried to hurt myself; I just got so enraged and frustrated at being a powerless victim, and having to watch being victimized on screen, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, and nothing I could do could undo what had been done to me. I just started trembling and sobbing about the unfairness of it all, and she had to hold me and rock me and tell me we were going to get the bastard and make him pay! But it would be a while before we did.

Continuing with the porn theme, I should probably move on to how I got my job. I’ve told you part of this before, but not all of it. I suppose it all started with a trip to the mall with “Sinder and Belinder,” as I was fond of calling them when I was feeling silly. I was looking for some new clothes, since everything I owned had your taint on it. Going shopping with girlfriends was a feminine experience Sin insisted that I needed to have to truly awaken as a woman, so I asked Bel to come along since I really admired her taste. I got some new dainties, and a plain cotton nightgown that I really liked. But when we started looking at real clothes like skirts and blouses, I was having trouble finding things that fit due to my bizarrely shaped body. Anything that fit on top or over my hips was too loose in the waist. I kept having to “cinch” things with a belt to make them fit. It was getting very frustrating until Bel had a brainstorm and turned to Sin and said “Empire waist,” and she agreed and they dragged me off to try on dresses. They explained that an empire waist is a style of dress that is tight right under the bustline, but then flows out in a wide skirt. They are favored by women who think their waist is too big, but it would also solve my too small problem. I do have a little bit of ribcage under my boobs before it goes in. I ended up trying on a lot of dresses, some that made me look pregnant, which was very weird, and I had to take a moment to mourn the babies I would never have. It’s strange; I never really thought about having kids when I was a guy but now I see a family out together, a mother and children, and I just get so envious. We’ve got a baby coming, and I just can’t wait to help raise her. I know I won’t be her real mommy, but I’ll try to be the best parent I can. But now I’m getting off track again. I got a couple of really nice dresses: that yellow one that you like, and a nice blue gauzy one that I wear clubbing, but nothing that I would feel comfortable wearing to a job interview. I just got so irritated that I said something like “Where can I find clothes to fit this goddamned stripper body!” And Bel, my fashion genius friend, made the suggestion that should have been obvious that I should ask a stripper where she buys her clothes, the ones she wears when not on stage.

That brilliant suggestion is what brought me to the sleazy part of town, looking for the classiest strip joint I could find. The outfit I picked was maybe a little too sexy, but I wanted the girls to see me as a peer and know I didn’t feel I was above them. I wore a cute pink babydoll dress that had a built-in shelf bra because I really hate that trampy “visible bra straps” look, with a pair of pink wedges and a nice pair of pink lace panties. I was feeling very pink, and pulled my hair back in a ponytail with a pink scrunchie, and wore pink beaded chandelier earrings, and even put on some long-wearing pink lipstick. I put a little pink-shaped heart jewel in my navel piercing just for completeness, even though no one would be seeing it. I ended up going to Vixens, the strip joint whose building seemed to be in the best shape. The brute at the door told me that the talent is supposed to use the back entrance, and I had to correct him and say that I was just a patron coming to watch the show. I found an empty seat next to the stage and carefully sat down. A few of the dirty old men in the crowd noticed me and watched me cross my legs. I caught the attention of a lingerie-clad waitress and ordered a light beer. When she brought it, I pulled a roll of bills out of my little pink purse and paid her, including a generous tip, and then noticed that the girl on stage had started dancing directly in front of me, so I reached up and slipped a one in her garter. I’d been to a strip club before, so I knew how they work. I made sure I politely tipped all the girls who came before me, until I found one that was more or less my same shape. When the dancer the announcer had introduced as “Jasmine” took the stage, I knew I had found her.

She was a caramel-colored exotic beauty that looked maybe Latina, maybe Thai, although her sharp cheekbones and the shape of her nose seemed to suggest Native American. I couldn’t quite place her and it added to her allure. (Eventually, I learned that her mother was Filipina and her father described himself as “half Italian, half Black, and a quarter Cherokee.” She was sort of the Tiger Woods of adult entertainment, so I probably could have asked her where to get high-heeled golf shoes, come to think of it.) She was tall, and her figure was similar to mine, with ample breasts that I guessed were probably around the size of my double-D’s with a similar unnaturally narrow waist. I ought to admit that her gorgeous ass was better looking than mine, but I reckoned her hip measurement seemed to be in the same ballpark as mine. She wore a tiny bikini covered in turquoise sequins that barely covered her chest and was hardly more than a string in the back. She had a tribal design tattooed on the small of her back that added to her exoticness. I was both glad and surprised that you never had the tattoo artist that did my permanent makeup give me a “tramp stamp,” and I had a moment of panic where I wondered if maybe I did have ink back there. But then I remembered your stupid porno and my lovely derriere was pink and clean when I saw it there. I suppose you could have “branded” me after you made your evil film, but I had my piercing in it, and I’d have thought you would have had those done at the same time. I was still a little paranoid about it for a while, until I got Sin to swear I didn’t have any tattoos, but I did take a picture with my phone once to make sure.

I shook myself out of my funk and drank my girly beer and watched the girlie show. She really knew how to dance, especially when she swung around the pole. Her song was “Genie in a Bottle” so she threw in some belly dancing moves that really showed awesome muscle control. I held a dollar up for her even before her top came off, and she strutted right over to me and kneeled down so I could easily slip it under the waistband of her thong. She got back up and did the next part of her dance right in front of me, and was waggling her tits right at me when she did take her bra off. They were so big they were probably fake, but I couldn’t see any tell-tale signs. I peeled off another couple of ones and put one in each hand, slipping them in on both her hips. She had to go give the men a chance to tip her, but she kept coming back to me, and I kept giving her more. When she was wrapping up her act, I held out a twenty and she had me stick it down the front of her thong. The girls who came on after she left the stage were okay, but I only tipped them a buck apiece. But then Jasmine came back out from backstage, only this time on the floor, circulating through the tables. This time she wore a black lace merry widow over a matching panty, with garters attached to back-seamed stockings that slipped into a tall pair of knee-high boots. It seemed like she was trying to avoid the male patrons, as she sauntered over to me and asked if I wanted a lap dance. I said I did, before even asking how much it cost. It turned out to be $40. I paid her and she slipped the money into her boot.

She took my hand and led me back away from the stage over to a bench seat, kind of like a restaurant booth without a table, and had me sit comfortably, with my knees slightly apart, and my hands at my sides. She started sort of standing, sort of sitting in my lap, and grinding her ass against me. Then she took my hands and moved them to her thighs and had me start unsnapping her garters. This part was different; when I had been a guy the cardinal rule at a place like this had always been “Never touch the strippers.” When I’d unfastened the four in the back, she moved my hands to the two in the front, which were a little trickier since I couldn’t see what I was doing. She placed my hands in her lap right on her panties and danced in place a little bit, doing a little shimmy to the music that was so contagious I found myself following along. She moved my hands up onto her breasts, giving them a squeeze with her hands on top of mine. I thought I could feel her nipples through the lace cups. But soon it wouldn’t matter as she deftly reached her arms around behind her back and unhooked her top, letting it fall into my hands. She took it from me and set it on the bench beside us, then kneeled straddling me and waved her titties in my face. I wasn’t sure where my hands were supposed to go, so I lightly rested them on her waist and exchanged a look in her eye to make sure it was okay. I hadn’t noticed it, but most of the horny men around were now pretty much watching us instead of the stage. The song was about to end, and one of the guys came over and asked if he could pay her to keep going. She said it was up to me and I nodded, figuring what the hell, and he handed her a fifty that she tucked away. She then surprised me by brushing my lips with a nipple. I opened my mouth a little and tentatively licked it, and she looked me in the eye and gave a little nod, so I gave it a more serious kiss. She popped it out and switched me to the other one, while sliding my hands down so they were touching her bare ass, which had continued bouncing around to the beat throughout all of this. I gave it a playful squeeze. This was the wildest lap dance I’d ever had, and it only got wilder!

One of the men went to the bar and a waitress came back with two champagne flutes for us. She sat up a little straighter so we wouldn’t spill, and whispered in my ear, while giving it a gentle lick, asking me if I felt like kicking it up a notch and making these geezers cream their shorts. I leaned over and whispered back that I was game for it if she was, and lightly nipped her earlobe. She took a sip of her champagne, and then kissed me full on the mouth, letting me share the taste. As her tongue met mine, I discovered that she had a stud in it, and wondered why I hadn’t noticed. I took a sip of mine and likewise shared it with her, and let my hands explore a little more of her, just to see what would happen. I reached up to touch her breast, and she didn’t stop me so I lightly stroked her nipple. She laughed and told me to go harder, then shocked me by showing me what she meant and she found my nipples through my dress and gave them each a pinch. A couple more kisses and our glasses were empty. She pushed me back against the bench and stood up and I wasn’t sure if it was over, and maybe our audience wasn’t sure either, but another brave soul snuck over and slipped a couple twenties in her boot so it became irrelevant. She winked and asked me if I was up for more, and I just smiled and licked my lips. She quickly slipped out of her G-string and did a little dance right in front of me, turning around so I could take her all in. She had less hair down there than I did. She had me carefully place my hands on my lap between my thighs as though I was praying, but with my thumbs sticking up. She then went back to kneeling on the bench, but lowered herself onto my thumbs, and started kissing me while fucking my hands. I tried not to move because of the whole fingernail thing, and let her do all the work. I just tried to return her kisses in earnest. She took the scrunchie out and popped it onto her wrist, releasing my hair, which she ran her fingers through sensuously. She started to pull the straps of my dress down over my shoulders, and with my hands trapped the way they were, there was nothing I could do to stop her, even if I wanted to. Much to the pleasure of the watching eyes I’m sure, she brought the top of my dress down and exposed my breasts, then started stroking my nipples. Her hips increased their speed, and she moved her mouth down to my left breast and began sucking. Then she either came or decided to fake it and I felt her tense up. She held still for a moment, but then slowly eased back off and put my boobs back into my dress. She took my hands out of my lap and brought one to her mouth to suck my thumb, tasting all her own juices. I was curious and put the other thumb in my mouth.

That seemed to give her an idea. She went from kneeling on the bench to standing on it, and danced with her crotch in my face. It was so close I could smell it. I leaned forward to better take in that heavenly aroma, and that was all the encouragement she needed. She went to town grinding her pussy against me. Almost instinctively, I opened my mouth and got to work licking, kissing, and sucking on her. She was really gyrating around so I guess it was working for her. It made me nervous she was going to fall, so I put my hands on her legs to keep them steady. She had my head in her hands and was holding it against her as she fucked my face, and I tried to do my best to bring her pleasure; I was pretty sure I didn’t have any of my pretty pink lipstick left on my lips. It was so backwards from the last time I’d been with a stripper — she’d been all about trying to make me come, so she could move on to the next guy. But here I was now trying to give the stripper the orgasm, and she’d hung around for like four songs already. I really couldn’t see much at this point but I’m pretty sure a couple more guys put money in the boot to keep the show going. I was pretty sure I found the spot, because near the end of the song she quivered, then stopped moving and held my head in one place, then gently eased off my face then went back to kneeling, and kissed me, then got off the bench completely and sat in my lap. I must have looked a mess, but she ran her fingers through my hair and sort of put me back in order. She pointed at one of the guys and told him to get us more drinks, and a waitress brought us another pair of champagne flutes. This time we clinked glasses and did the intertwined arms thing you usually see at weddings. It was refreshing, but I didn’t feel like I was getting drunk at all. Maybe the drinks they serve the strippers are designed not to have so much alcohol, so they can remain in control — big horny guy / naked drunk girl would be a recipe for trouble.

I guess to reward the guy that bought the drinks, her next maneuver took it even further. She stood on the floor and run her hands along my legs up under my dress, and pulled my panties off, then before I could react she lifted me by the hips with my shoulders still on the back of the bench and put my thighs on her shoulders. She was pretty strong! I just arched my back and tried to keep from falling off the bench. My dress fell inside out and revealed everything below my bust, so now these guys had seen all of me naked, just not all at the same time. But I really didn’t care because what that tongue stud was doing to my clit felt amazing! For just a second I took my shoulders off the bench and made her support all my weight as I pulled my dress off over my head, but I leaned back down as quickly as I could. I was just so turned on that I needed to play with my nipples, so I did. It helped me resist the urge to clamp my legs around her head. I couldn’t help myself, so I vocalized my pleasure with a few moans. That just seemed to make her go faster, which whipped me up into more of a frenzy, so I cried out a little louder and squirmed against her. She changed the way she was supporting my hips, and I felt her slipping a finger in and out of me while her tongue kept working my button. She brought me to the peak of ecstasy, and I let out a screaming moan of pure satisfaction that the whole room heard, because even the music stopped and they all applauded. I was a little embarrassed, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t the kind of hypocrite who’d go to a strip club and then feel ashamed that all the masturbators saw me have an incredible orgasm.

Jasmine carefully lowered me to the seat, and when a guy came over with more money she said the show was over and she had to take a break. He tipped anyway. She gathered her things and walked away, and I hurriedly pulled my dress back on. I was arranging my boobs back on their shelf when one of the perverts came over and handed me some money, thanking me for the best show he’d seen in a long time. I gave him a sweet smile in appreciation of the compliment. I had my purse, but I looked around and couldn’t find my panties. I figured maybe the stripper took them, and realized that she still had my scrunchie too, so I headed off to the door marked “Employees Only” that I’d seen her leave through. I was already to explain to the burly guy guarding the door why I was going, but he didn’t try to stop me or anything. I guess he figured I was just another stripper. The room on the other side was a very chaotic locker room, with girls in various states of undress changing their skimpy outfits, or fixing their makeup at a long vanity table with a lit mirror. I tried to stay out of the way and found my target sitting on a bench taking her boots off. She was counting her money, and looked up to see me. Before I said anything, she handed me a pile of bills, saying that it was my original forty back, plus my cut. I said that a guy gave me some more after she left and handed it to her. It turned out to be a fifty. She took it and gave me a twenty. She said the total haul was $350, and the house would get $35, I could have $120, and she’d take the rest since it was her act originally. I said I hadn’t expected anything, so that was a fine split; I’d just been looking for my underwear. She said she’d grabbed everything quickly because some of the assholes like to take souvenirs, and gave me my panties. I brought them down to my feet to start putting them on, but she stopped me and said that I ought to wash them first — it’s anyone’s guess how sterile the room out there was. I thanked her and put them in my purse, but then pointed at her wrist where my hair band still was, and asked if she wanted a souvenir, too. She laughed and gave it back to me, and I just put it in my bag.

As I was doing that, an ugly little man walked over to us. He was probably only a few inches above five feet, but had a little paunch and a bunch of gnarled muscles so he may have weighed two hundred. His head was totally bald, but I couldn’t tell if it was from age or shaving, but he had thick black eyebrows that were trying to merge. He introduced himself as Jack Gustav, the owner of the club, and gave me his card. He asked me what club I usually worked at, and asked what he’d have to do to steal me away. I said I wasn’t a stripper, and Jasmine interrupted to tell me that they preferred to be called “dancers.” He was surprised and said that I was a natural, adding that he could tell I’d had some work done (I bet he wasn’t guessing anywhere near half of it) and that wasn’t what he’d meant, and then asked if I was interested in a job. I said I didn’t think I’d be comfortable doing what I’d just done with some strange man instead. He laughed and said that was a good thing, because getting money for explicit sex acts is illegal and he didn’t want to get shut down. I got a scared look on my face so he said, “Don’t worry, Barbie. Nothing you and Pocahontas did out there was a violation. Everything they defined as a sex act in the law requires a dick, so there’s nothing two broads can do to each other that breaks it.” I looked a little confused at his language and “Jasmine” shook my hand and introduced herself as Alice, or Ali to her friends. She said he was teasing her because he kept trying to get her to go on stage in an Indian Maiden costume, and she refused to disrespect her heritage that way and would only do it for the annual Thanksgiving buffet, when half the girls dressed as Indians and the other half as naughty pilgrims. I told her my name was Aurora, or Rory to my friends, and it got an “Are you sure you’re not a stripper; is that your real name?” from Jack. I assured him it was, and had a brief epiphany right there that Aurora was my real name; I felt like a real person not just someone Doug was pretending to be. I said I still really didn’t want to have to touch men like the ones out there while I was naked even if I didn’t have to have sex with them, but I thanked him for the offer anyway. He said “Well, how about a job where you’re not naked, just dressed sexy, and no one’s got to touch you if you don’t want them to, but you got to let a bunch of guys look at you?” I said that sounded better and wanted more details. It seemed the boat show was coming to town, and he was also in the business of supplying show girls to stand around and smile and point at the merchandise, but most of his girls would rather work the club, because there was more money in sex work than in booth modeling. I said that sounded like something I could do, so he said to meet him in his office in fifteen minutes to sign some forms, and he went to talk to some of the other girls. I exchanged numbers with Ali, and she said I didn’t need to worry about Jack; she’d done similar gigs for him before so she knew his offer was legitimate, and he never made advances on his employees, so I’d be safe in his office alone. I gave her a little hug in thanks, and for the first time realized that I’d been talking to a completely naked person and got a little uncomfortable. I asked where the ladies’ room was and freshened up, washed my face, and put on some lipstick before going to see Jack. I filled out some employment forms, he took some measurements without once trying to cop a feel, and told me to meet him at the club, and he’d have my outfit for me, and we’d all (he and I and the other eye candy) go to the convention center together.

When I left the club I was feeling really guilty about having sex with Ali, as though I’d been cheating on Sinder. Even though we’d never made any kind of official commitment to each other, I felt like I was violating our bond anyway. I called her and confessed, and she told me that I definitely wasn’t Doug the Hound anymore, but I didn’t owe her any apology. We were girlfriends, but we weren’t girlfriend girlfriends. I understood, but I also realized that I wanted to be. I told her that I loved her, not just like a sister, and I didn’t want to be with any other women. She kissed me and said she loved me too, and we agreed that we’d be faithful. No other women, and only men that the other accepted. She knew I’d probably have to seduce you some more, so you were grandfathered in. When we cuddled the next morning, I suggested that she could get her tongue pierced. She suggested that I go first, and that was the end of that conversation. But she is wonderful, and we’re still together. Maybe we’ll move to Massachusetts or Vermont or whatever and get married. You know, telling that sex story made me kind of horny, and now I just really want to go give my sweetie a hug, so I’m going to need another break.