Colleen by Jennifer Brock An unlikely friendship forms out of a case of mistaken identity, and a new persona is born from chain of personal favors. A pretend relationship may turn into a real one, or it may fall apart. Can a false girl find true love?

“I love you.” I knew as soon as the words left my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say, but it was too late. He didn’t have a response, but his face said it all. I had to get out of there. I didn’t know where I was going to run to, but I know now.

It’s not much further. That’s a good thing, too. These shoes weren’t meant for walking, even before the heel broke. I’m not sure, but I think I have a run in my hose, too. And that jerk of a cab driver splashed mud all down my left leg, just because I had no money. A real girl wouldn’t have forgotten her purse - I’m just a stupid pretender!

I’m sure I must look a total mess. The drizzling rain is messing with my makeup, but at least the passing cars can’t tell I’m crying. I wonder what they see; some unlucky woman having a bad day, or maybe in this dress and these shoes a cheap whore who got roughed up by an angry customer or maybe they just see what I truly am, a deluded pervert who’s not fooling anyone but himself.

I picked this impractical raincoat because it was sexy, and that was a mistake. It does nothing to keep the chill out. This wind isn’t doing my hair any favors, either. The hundred I spent at the salon might as well have been flushed down the toilet. If I’d just gotten it cut in the first place this never would have happened…

***

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing eating all alone?” I’ll never forget the first words he ever said to me. I was sitting at my favorite café nibbling a chicken salad on whole wheat and sipping my lo-fat chai latte while reading the latest Grisham hardcover. My long hair kept falling forward and I had to tuck it behind my ear every time.

I chuckled, and told him there were so many reasons why that lame pick-up line wouldn’t work. He smiled and sat down, and I think he was still trying to score. He had close-cropped brown hair, and just a hint of sexy stubble. He was in a button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and a tie but no jacket. There was a hint of a decent build under his clothes, and he seemed just tall enough to look good without being overpowering.

I said my name was Ethan, and at first he didn’t believe me. My voice wasn’t that deep, my body wasn’t all that muscular, and of course I had all that long, wavy auburn hair. I had to lean back in the chair and show him that I didn’t have breasts before he’d accept that I wasn’t a girl.

He laughed and said he’d noticed me at that café a few times before, and finally had gotten up the nerve to talk to me; he’d never suspected. We shook hands and Paul introduced himself. He told me he was a law clerk at Kelly, Webster and Finch, and I told him I was working on my Masters in library science, and stocking shelves at Baker’s Books in the evenings.

After that, we started meeting for lunch every so often. We had enough in common for a friendship to start up, and we were both so busy that we didn’t meet a lot of people. It was rare to find a new friend in the big city.

Eventually we became close enough that he started using me to vent about his girlfriend. They’d dated all through college and she came with him when the firm hired him. She worked as an administrative assistant for an investment banker and hated her job. He was always complaining about her for one reason or another. It seemed like their major issue was that she wanted him to ask her to marry him, but he said he wanted to wait until he was promoted to junior associate; she deserved better than a clerk.

I told him that it sounded like she had a point. She came out here to be with him, the least he could do is show some kind of commitment. He got defensive and asked me why I never talked about my girlfriend if I was such a relationship expert. He was kind of confused when I told him that I hadn’t really dated in eight months, not since I came home early and caught my boyfriend in bed with another guy. I’d been out since I was twelve, and my mannerisms are so fey (Chad once told me that my hair was red because I was such a flamer) that I was almost as shocked that Paul didn’t know.

We had a moment of awkwardness, and then it passed. He realized I was still the same person. I hadn’t really been hiding anything; he just hadn’t seen it. We pretty much fell back into the same routine. He even uncomfortably tried to tell me that I needed to get back out there and start dating again. I did eventually try hitting the bars, but I kept striking out. Paul was surprisingly encouraging.

Gradually, we saw each other for more than just lunches, and we’d hang out on rare weekends when his girlfriend wasn’t being clingy and I didn’t have any homework. We were the only Viking fans either of us knew, so we’d catch a game from time to time. And we were both into 1950’s B horror movies, so we’d try to get together when The Classics Channel was showing one.

We were at my apartment watching “The Return of the Thing from Beyond” when my friend Toby comes crashing in carrying a garment bag. Toby is six and a half feet tall, and weighs around three hundred and fifty pounds, so you can’t help but notice him. He said he needed my help, and I said I’d do anything for him, not because he was a gorilla but because he was a dear friend.

It turns out that the help he needed wasn’t for anything serious. He was going to a “St. Patrick’s Gay” party at our favorite watering hole dressed as Michael Flatley, Lord of the Dance, and he wanted me to go as one of his backup Riverdancers. Every inch of Toby is covered in curly black hair, so to see him try to imitate a famously shirtless man would be a great joke, but I didn’t want to have to be a part of it.

When Toby showed me the outfit he wanted me to wear, I definitely wanted no part of it. It was a green plaid minidress, white tights, and cute green shoes. Toby had been really into the drag scene for a while, but got sick of all the waxing and cut back to twice a year or so, but I had never been into it. But Paul said he thought I’d make a cute girl, and offered to pay me twenty bucks if he could see me in the outfit. I told him to double it and I’d do it.

I think I might have been trying to flirt with him. If I admit it, I was pretty much attracted to him from the get go, but he’s straight, so I kept him in the Friend Zone. But if he could see me as “cute,” maybe I could turn him or something. Whatever I was thinking, it was pretty crazy.

I agreed, and Toby took me into the bathroom for some painful treatments. My body hairs are pretty light, so I didn’t think it would be necessary, but he waxed me all over anyway. He had some specialty drag garments for me to wear. After I tucked my testicles up into my body (which is just as uncomfortable as it sounds) I had to push back my penis and put on this extra tight thong kind of thing to hold it all in place.

I then had to step into a pair of panties that had padding in the hips and ass to give me fake womanly curves. This was followed by a little corsetty thing that wrapped around my waist and got cinched up in the back to give me a girlish waist. Then he carefully pulled the shiny white tights up my legs. With so many layers, going to the bathroom was going to a major hassle. I did not envy women at all.

He manhandled the little flabby bits of my chest and squeezed them together with a piece of duct tape to create the illusion of breast cleavage. I got even with him by sticking the end flapping off the roll onto his hairy arm. After he called me an evil bitch for a while, he put a bra on me, and then flopped a set of jello-ish fake boobs into them.

He then had me put what I thought was a white tank top, but then he snapped it together under my crotch and I saw it was a leotard. Then I had to step into the green mini-dress and he zipped it up in back. My feet went into the shoes, and I was dressed. I thought that was it.

But there was more. He glued acrylic tips onto the ends of my fingernails, and then painted them with five coats of polish: first a base, then a coat of red, then some stuff to make that coat dry quicker, then another coat of red, then the drying stuff again, and then finally a clear topcoat to protect the color and make it shinier.

He pulled my hair back from my face and clipped it with a thing like you use to keep a bag of potato chips fresh. And then he started my makeup. I guess to get revenge for my revenge with the tape thing, he went to town on my eyebrows with his tweezers, and then nearly mangled me with an eyelash curler.

Before he started splashing on the paints and powders, I asked as nicely as I could for him to try for something a little more subtle than a full-on drag queen look, and he said he’d aim for what a real Riverdance girl would wear. I tried to be obedient after that, quickly responding to his requests to close my eyes, or look down, or purse my lips or whatever.

When my makeup was done, the bastard cleaned a little of the foundation from each of my earlobes with a Q-tip dipped in alcohol, and then stabbed me with a pair of little gold earrings shaped like shamrocks.

Then he unclipped my hair and took a comb, a couple of different brushes, a pair of scissors and a whole lot of hairspray to it. In the end he seemed satisfied and let me look in the mirror. The girl looking back at me had enormous eyes, greener than mine ever were, a generally porcelain complexion but with innocent pink cheeks, pouty red lips, and a full mane of red hair that had more body and less frizz than mine.

He clipped a Celtic knot pendant around my neck that drew attention to my “cleavage,”
And slipped a Claddagh ring on the ring finger of my right hand, facing outward to let people know this girl was available. He sprayed me with perfume and sent me out to talk to Paul while he got into his own costume.

When I stepped out and cleared my throat to get his attention, Paul’s jaw dropped to the floor. He said I looked gorgeous “like a real Irish colleen,” and before I knew it he’d snapped my picture with his phone. I tried to stop him, but I wasn’t yet used to walking in heels and I stumbled. He said he emailed the picture to himself, so even if I got his phone and erased it, he’d still have the picture for posterity.

I had to sit daintily so he couldn’t see up my dress. I tried shooting him dirty looks, but he just said it made me look sexier. He said that if he didn’t know who I was, he’d think I was a really hot chick. He figured that I’d probably have more luck picking up guys if I went to a straight club than if I went to a gay one. I kind of blushed at that. I was totally flirting with him, and he was loving it.

The movie ended, but Paul stuck around. Maybe he was enjoying ogling me, maybe he was waiting to use his “Michael Fatly, Lard of the Dance” line when Toby came out in his leather pants, vest and headband. Toby just flipped him off and asked him if he wanted to go to a party. He declined the offer and said he’d be going.

I teasingly asked if he was going to leave without giving me a goodnight kiss, and he laughed and said, “Sorry, Colleen, but I have a girlfriend. Maybe some other time. Try not to break too many hearts tonight, and tell Ethan I’ll see him later.” He’d not only christened the female me, but was already thinking of us as two different people.

The sad part is that he was right. I couldn’t get anyone interested at the club. They thought I was just some tagalong straight girlfriend of Toby’s hanging with the gays to be safe, or worse that I was some lipstick lesbian wannabe. I know this because most of the dance partners I had were “other” straight girls were really were there for those reasons.

I played up the Riverdance angle and tried dancing only from the waist down, but shaking my booty only served to remind me of its feminine padding. The one saving grace is that the club’s restroom was unisex, so I didn’t have to worry about which one to use. Because of all the complicated undergarments I had to sit.

I eventually got bored and tracked down Toby to let him know I was leaving. Unfortunately, a couple of the girls I’d been hanging out with overheard and said they agreed with me. They were tired of being in a club where they had to pay for their own drinks, and offered to split cab fare with me to go to a place with better action. I made a major decision and took them up on the offer.

In the cab we exchanged names. The skinny blonde in the blue dress was named Eileen. She was deliberately not wearing green because she actually was Irish and didn’t like people usurping her heritage, but then realized that sounded like she was insulting me and apologized. She thought I looked really authentic. I thanked her. Her heavyish brunette friend was named Angela. She was wearing a lying T-shirt that said “F**k me, I’m Irish” and a pair of unflattering jeans. I lied and introduced myself as Colleen, and tried to sound legitimately female. I did tell the truth and said I was only half Irish, and the over-the-top leprechaun outfit was my friend’s idea.

We went to a place where a guy who probably would have kicked my ass if I was dressed as me let us in the door without having to wait in line. I didn’t realize until much later when I learned more about how straight clubs worked that the other two girls had latched onto me so they could use me to cut the line. They also took care of my extras when guys started buying me more drinks than I could handle by myself.

I got pretty drunk anyway. I had just enough self-control left that when this hot guy I was kissing on the dance floor started trying to grope for stuff I didn’t actually have, I knew that it was time to leave. I ditched him by taking too long in the ladies’ room, and then snuck out to have the bouncer hail me a cab. When I got home, I realized that I didn’t have any money with me; Toby hadn’t given me a purse and my wallet was upstairs. I told the cabbie to wait and I’d be back down with the fare, but he touched his cheek and said I could give him a kiss and we’d call it even. There were a lot of advantages to being a pretty straight girl.

When I got to my apartment, it finally hit me that I didn’t have my keys, either. I told myself that the next time I went out like this I would totally need a purse. I’m not sure where that idea came from, but I didn’t question it. I had to use my emergency key in the light fixture to let myself in.

I took off my shoes and then contorted around to find the zipper on my dress, which wasn’t easy with long fingernails. I struggled to remove my tights, and got so worn out I just went to bed and collapsed.

I woke up in pain everywhere. I had a throbbing headache from excessive drinking, the punctures in my ears were stinging, I couldn’t breathe, my chest itched, and it felt like I’d been kicked in the crotch. I looked in the mirror and saw a pretty girl in a leotard whose hair was horribly messed up. Her face was unhappy, but still flawlessly made up. Toby had used long-wearing industrial-strength stuff on me.

After figuring out how to make my fingers work the buttons on the phone, I called Toby to have him help me get out of my costume. He laughed when he saw me, and told me he called the night before to give me a hand, but I wasn’t home yet. I told him about Colleen’s wild night in Straightville, and he warned me to be careful doing that. It was an easy way for a “girl with something extra” to get killed.

He got me out of my complicated underwear, and told me I shouldn’t have slept in my waist nipper. It was a relief when it came off, but he thought I may have bruised a rib. I’m not sure which of us was more surprised by the number of little pieces of paper with guys’ phone numbers on them I had stuck in my bra. I wasn’t going to call any of them, and I really hoped I didn’t give out my number to anyone. Getting the tape off my chest was a mixed blessing. I wasn’t being pinched anymore, but it left a welt.

I took off my padded panties and my thong thing, and put on some of my own boxers, and then Toby cleaned my makeup off with a healthy dose of cold cream. He went through a lot of cotton balls and almost a full bottle of nail polish remover to get my fingers back to normal. I was almost sad to see Colleen go.

Toby took back the dress and shoes, because they were rented, but told me I could keep the rest, just in case I wanted to explore some more. I said there was no way I wanted to do that again, but asked him just out of curiosity what size my dress and shoes were.

So Colleen became kind of a hobby for me after that. I didn’t have a lot of disposable income, so my feminine wardrobe was somewhat meager and came mostly from thrift stores and bargain basements: a couple of different tops, three dresses, four skirts, only two pairs of heels. I bought some makeup on sale and used a book I found at the library to teach me proper technique. I only had cheap drugstore jewelry. I kept the shamrocks in until my ears healed, and then switched to little hoops for everyday, but for “girl time” I’d swap them for dangly ones.

I checked out some books on tape read by female authors and worked at imitating them to give Colleen a perfect female voice. Because I’d passed so effortlessly that first night, I was never really nervous about going out dressed, but I did keep it to poorly lit bars and clubs for a while. The darkness was comforting, and the free drinks were a bonus. But it did soon get to the point where Colleen had no trouble going out in broad daylight to browse the new show at the art museum, for example.

But I’d gotten a little too comfortable. I should have used more caution. One summer day I’d worn a new sundress to enjoy the weather with a stroll in the park, and I came home to find Paul sitting on my couch. He’d let himself in, and had the TV on. I’d completely forgotten that he was coming over to watch “The Killer Monster from Mars.”

He turned his head when he heard the door and I felt the color drain completely from my face. I tried making up some kind of excuse about a costume party or a dare or something, but I’ve never been good at lying. Which is a weird thing for someone who’d been going all over town pretending to be the opposite gender to say, but Colleen never really felt like a lie to me, more like a role I was acting in.

Paul came over and put a hand on my shoulder and told me not to cry, and said that I looked beautiful. He really didn’t care what I did for fun, and asked if I wanted him to leave. I said he didn’t have to, then went into my room and changed back into me. He said he was a little disappointed that the pretty girl went away, but Heather would probably have killed him if she’d known he was alone with some hottie in her apartment, so it was just as well.

We watched the movie, and during the commercial breaks I told him all about Colleen, how she gave me a kind of freedom I never had as a man. A graceful, effeminate woman had a much easier time in our society than a man with those same qualities. Strangers never snarled at Colleen or gave her dirty looks just for existing. It was very liberating.

Paul just listened, without judging or questioning. I wanted to scoot over on the couch and lean my head on his shoulder, but I knew I couldn’t. That would cross the line I was not allowed to touch.

As time passed, we fell back into a routine, only now when he told me how things were going with Heather, I’d tell him how things were for Colleen. Now that we both had women in our lives, it somehow gave us more in common. I was relaxed around him and would occasionally show him Colleen’s latest purchases, to get a man’s opinion. Um, I mean a straight man’s opinion.

He surprised me on my birthday by getting me a $500 gift certificate for an upscale boutique that I’d always fantasized about shopping in. I told him it was way too much money to spend on me, but he said his firm had done work for the store, and for all his hard work the boss had given him the gift card instead of the bonus he was promised. I asked why he didn’t give it to Heather instead, and he said that it wasn’t her birthday. I melted, and if I’d been dressed I would have wanted to give him a hug and a friendly peck on the cheek. But I wasn’t, so I had to settle for a handshake.

What I did instead was meet him for lunch at our usual spot a couple weeks later, but I let him get there first and have to wait a little while before Colleen breezed in, looking her best. He just sat there looking stunned, so I took advantage of it to give him that friendly peck hello. I said I thought he deserved to see the dress I’d gotten with my birthday present, and gave a twirl so he could see the fabulous gauzy geometric print fluttering in all the right places. I settled into a chair and his eyes were all over my legs as I crossed them.

I leaned forward and told him in a conspiratorial whisper that I’d also treated myself to some quality lingerie. I moved the top of my dress over a little to give him a peek at my lacy bra strap, and then put it back. I said that if he asked nicely maybe I’d show him the rest some time. He tried to laugh off my teasing, but I’m sure his imagination went into overload picturing tiny bits of lace barely covering the parts Colleen should have had, and I swear I could hear him hardening in his shorts.

I was a very naughty girl and dialed up the flirting all through lunch, touching him on the arm through our conversation, playfully tossing my hair, moving in ways that drew his eye down into my imaginary cleavage or across my swishing stockings. He had to take a moment before he could get up from the table, so I left first and did my sexiest wiggle. I turned to wave goodbye and caught him checking me out. He was kind of mad at me for a couple days, but he took it all in fun.

Then there came the day when I went too far. Colleen had been out to a club, and was having fun partying with this guy. I got really drunk, and let him take me back to his place. I’d given him some hints that what he saw wasn’t exactly what he got, but he was either too horny or too drunk himself to understand.

He took it in stride when he found that my bra was stuffed, (I’d switched from using tape to push-up pads for creating cleavage.) and he just thought I was a girl with really tiny breasts. He played with my nipples for a while and was pretty good at it, but then he was done with the foreplay and ready for the main event.

He tore off my pantyhose, and then pulled down my padded panties, and was really annoyed to find yet another layer. He yanked down my gaff, Little Ethan popped up, and he freaked out. I tried to explain, but he just kept hitting me. He punched me in the face until all I could see was blood, and then for good measure he raped me. I guess he was still horny. It was dry and painful and I could tell he tore something.

When he was done he called me a lying faggot whore and told me to gather my things and get the hell out of his apartment before he called the cops on me. He didn’t even give me time to get dressed. I made sure I got all my stuff and shuffled out into the hallway as fast as I could. I tried making myself decent but I was just in too much pain; I just buttoned up my dress and walked out. I didn’t know what else to do, so I got my phone from my purse and called Paul.

He asked me where I was and I had to look around for a street sign. He wanted to take me to the hospital, but I just wanted to go home. He compromised by taking me home so I could change before I went to the hospital. The lady at the ER thought that maybe Paul had hit me, but he showed her that his hands were clean and free of blood, and it was far more important to get me looked at by a doctor than to try to blame someone.

The doctors made me talk to the cops, and they took my statement, but said there would be trouble making the charge stick, since I’d almost committed fraud myself. They were kind of sympathetic, but knew they wouldn’t be able to nail the guy and apologized. I really did care if they caught him or not. I knew I’d already been punished. I was just lucky he hadn’t given me any diseases.

The tests they did showed that the guy had drugged me, so it wasn’t all my fault for being stupid, but I was still wrong to keep going out and leading men on. Paul was really worried about me and wanted me to promise to stop being a cocktease in straight clubs, and I said I’d go further and give up Colleen forever. They made me stay in the hospital overnight, and I told him to go to my place and clean out all the girl stuff and chuck it in the dumpster.

My face was so messed up that the surgery to fix it was covered by my insurance. They didn’t put me back exactly the way I was. Paul said that if anything they made me prettier, but that was not what I wanted at the time. I felt like I deserved a face with huge, hideous scars all over it. He spent a lot of time helping me through my recovery, and I think he got in trouble both at work and at home.

I was really depressed for a long time, but friends and therapy and a little medication got me back to mostly normal. Toby tried to get me to do drag for a Halloween party, but I said no way. I was done. No one could get me to do that again. Not even when I was hanging out with Paul and he told me he kind of missed Colleen. I wasn’t going to ever be her again; she was too vulnerable. I went back to my normal life and everything was mostly the same.

At least I thought so for a couple months, but then one night Paul came over and I could tell he’d been crying, and he was carrying one of those cardboard file boxes with a lid that you see in offices all the time. I let him in and led him to the couch and brought him a beer.

“So, did they fire you or something?” I asked him as gently as I could.

He shook his head. “No, no. Heather left. She went back home. She left a note. She got tired of waiting.” He pulled a folded and wrinkled up piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. I opened it and it was her note. She realized that he was never going to ask her to marry him, and was tired of lying to herself.

I was confused. “So what’s in the box? Did you bring some work home with you and forgot you were carrying it?”

“I want to ask a favor. There’s only one person I can talk to about this. I need to see her. Please.” He handed me the box.

I lifted the lid and looked in. It was all of Colleen’s things. Everything was neatly folded, and he’d even gotten the bloodstains cleaned out. I carried the box into the bedroom. He’d been there for me when I needed someone, and now he was asking me to do the same. How could I refuse a friend?

I took the Rape Dress out of the box and threw it in the trash, but I put everything else away back where they belonged. I went to the bathroom to shave and wax and an hour later Colleen came out, wearing her favorite dress, the one Paul had bought her. Even though it was night, I’d gone for daytime makeup since I wasn’t on the prowl.

I turned to Paul with my arms open, and he just clung to me and wept. Colleen could comfort him in a way that Ethan couldn’t, so I just accepted that. When he’d completely exhausted himself, I laid him out on the couch, covered him with a blanket, kissed him on the forehead, and went to bed.

I wasn’t sure who to be in the morning. I settled for a casual female look, but went really minimal on the makeup so I could clean up quickly if I needed to. Paul was still sleeping, so I took the time to cook him a nice breakfast, an omelet and toast. The smell from the coffee maker brought him around, and I called him a sleepyhead.

He apologized for intruding on me and I said it was nonsense; he was welcome any time. He thanked me for breakfast and said he couldn’t remember the last time Heather had cooked for him. He was starting to see the bright side, and that his relationship hadn’t been all that great in the first place. I said nothing.

I started playing girl games again, but I made myself some new rules. I was restricting myself to no later than 8 pm, I tried to keep flirting to a minimum, and I wouldn’t accept free drinks anymore. I still managed to have some fun. I caught a nice exhibit at the museum.

It was a couple weeks later when Paul called and said he needed another really big favor. A while back he’d accepted an invitation to a dinner party at the home of one of the partners of his firm, and naturally he’d been planning on bringing Heather. He asked the host’s assistant if there would be a problem if he showed up alone, and she told him that his wife was extremely hung up on the rituals of formal entertaining. If he didn’t show up with the “plus one” he’d agreed to, he would be persona non grata at the party.

He only had three days before the party, and he didn’t know any women. He’d been out of the dating pool for so long, he didn’t think he had the skills to find someone in a bar, especially one that he could trust not to embarrass him in front of the boss. He wanted Colleen to be his date to the party. Would I do it for him?

I accepted on three conditions. One, that we were as truthful as possible to anyone who asked; Heather had left him and I was just a good friend filling in. (It would have messed me up too much if I’d had to pretend to be all girlfriendy with him; I was afraid I wouldn forget it was pretend.) Two, he had to buy me a new Little Black Dress to wear for the occasion. (My old one had been destroyed, and I didn’t want to think about it.) And three, he had to come with me to the store to pick it out. (This was just me wanting to make him squirm a little.)

He was very good and almost boyfriendy when I made him take me shopping. We walked through the department store to where misses’ dresses were, and he held my purse like a good boy when I took three of them into the changing room. He even had an opinion on what worked and what didn’t about each one, and we both picked the same one as the best. On our way out of the store, I stopped in the jewelry department to get a new pair of silver earrings and a necklace that would work well with the dress, and he offered to pay for them as well. He even asked me if I needed to get shoes for my outfit, and really, what girl would refuse the opportunity for new shoes?

When he took me home I thanked him and gave him a little hug and a kiss on the cheek. Maybe I was getting a little too into my role. In order to look my best for him, I made an appointment at a salon to get my hair done the day of the party. They gave me an updo with a few escaping tendrils that looked beautiful and classy. I bought some upscale makeup for the occasion, and even a tiny bottle of real perfume.

When Paul showed up at my door, looking amazingly handsome in his suit I might add, it literally took his breath away when he saw me. The dress accomplished its mission perfectly. He opened the car door for me, and waited until I was seated and buckled in to close it, then he went around to his side. At his boss’ house, he again opened my door for me, and even offered his hand to help me out. He was a perfect gentleman.

We mingled with cocktails for a bit before the meal. I stood by Paul and met a bunch of people. At one point, a couple lawyers pulled him away to talk business and left me to chat with their wives. The hostess was this tough old broad who looked like she didn’t take any crap. She introduced herself as Bitsy, and said she thought my name was Heather and asked why I was introduced as Colleen. I explained that Paul’s girlfriend was unavailable, and that I was a friend filling in. Marianne, the other woman we were talking to, said the rumor she’d heard was that Paul’s girlfriend had left him. I apologized to Bitsy for my little fib and said that it was true about Heather. Marianne wanted to know if she’d left because Paul and I were having a fling, but I assured her we were just friends. She said she could tell by the way we’d been looking at each other that there was something more than friendship between us. I didn’t dare hope.

Dinner went wonderfully, and I made sure to congratulate Bitsy on her choice of menu. Even if she didn’t cook it herself, she was responsible. She told Paul that I was a truly lovely girl and he’d be a fool to let me go as easily as the last one. He just smiled. When he drove me home, he continued his gentlemanly manners and helped me out of the car. As he held my hand, it felt like we had a moment, so I thanked him for a beautiful evening and leaned in and gave him a real good night kiss squarely on the lips. I wanted to throw my arms around him and keep my lips there, opening myself up to be invaded by him, but I didn’t dare. I had a tiny moment, and it was enough. Giddy as a schoolgirl, I went home to my apartment and replayed that kiss over and over in my mind.

When we talked about it later, he seemed to ignore the kiss part, and thanked me profusely for helping him get in good with the higher-ups. I definitely made a great impression on Bitsy, because her husband made a point of telling Paul.

A couple weekends later, we were invited out again with them, but this time it was a more intimate luncheon on their boat for just four couples, and we were one of them. It was us and the senior partners. Bitsy really liked me, which means her husband had to really like Paul. He’d only been “dating” me for a little while, and I already had him on the fast track to junior associate. In your face, Heather!

Bitsy was particularly amused that my attempt at guessing what you’d wear to lunch on a yacht was a white boat neck blouse and a navy blue pleated skirt. I’d never been Colleen in flats before, but it just seemed wrong to try heels at sea. She told me I should have been a model, and my dream of becoming a librarian was a waste of my beauty. That was a job for mousy girls with thick glasses.

I was a little more openly affectionate, and grabbed onto Paul to steady myself a couple times. When the wind picked up, I snuggled up to him and he put his arm around me. It was very sweet. We had a great time, and the lobster tails were delicious. We had these really tasty strawberry petit-fours for dessert, and I snatched one of Paul’s out of his hand with my lips, licking his fingers playfully. Lloyd, one of the senior partners, said Paul was a lucky guy to have a girl with such a talented mouth, and I just tried to put an innocent expression on my face while Paul turned beet red.

That day when he took me home he was a little more self-conscious. He gave me a hug and thanked me for being the best fake girlfriend a guy could have. I’m not sure if he knew how much it stung to hear myself called a “fake girl,” but I’m pretty sure he was deliberately keeping his face away from mine to avoid another kiss.

When they offered him associate, he invited me out to dinner to thank me for my role in getting him the job. He picked me up in a limo and took me to the rotating restaurant atop the highest building in the city, and we looked down on all the peasants and laughed. We dined on filet mignon and a bottle of champagne. We were on the top of the world, literally.

We had another bottle of champagne in the limo and finished most of it. I pulled his face to mine and kissed him, a real kiss, a full kiss, the kind of kiss that I’d been dreaming about, and he was either too drunk or my dress was so sexy and he was too horny or maybe it was just my lucky night. He didn’t push me away. He put his arms around me and his tongue started chasing mine and he returned my passion in kind. When the car got to my building, I said “Let’s just go to your place,” and he agreed.

He helped me out of the car, and handed me the champagne bottle so we could finish it upstairs. He tipped the driver and we went up to his apartment. He took a swig from the bottle and kissed me again, and we shared a champagne kiss. I followed him to the bedroom and made him sit on the bed while I helped him off with his jacket and tie, and then his shirt and undershirt. I had him lie down on the bed. I removed his shoes and socks and then unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and pulled them off.

He was almost poking out of his shorts, so I had a little difficulty getting them off. But then there was my man laid out for me in all his glory. I gave him one last kiss, then slalomed my shiny red nails all the way down his torso, until I found my objective. It was already leaking a little, so I ran my finger through it and touched my tongue to give it a taste.

He was really enjoying the show, but it was time to get down to business. I showed him that his boss was right and I really did have a talented mouth. Of all the men I’ve had between my lips, his was the best, and it wasn’t just because my mouth still tasted of champagne. I used all my skills to bring him torturously close to ecstasy four times before I finally let him go.

Unfortunately, I was a little too good. When he had finished, he just wanted to roll over and fall asleep. I debated with myself about what I wanted to do. I could have called a cab and gone home, but I really missed the feeling of sleeping in a bed with another person. I wanted to cuddle.

I had no illusions about which one of me Paul would rather find in his bed. He needed to wake up next to Colleen, not Ethan. I stripped down to my bra and panties, so I still had most of my womanly shape, and then I pulled on one of Paul’s big t-shirts, which fit me kind of like a nightgown. I’d seen girls do this in movies. I washed my face to get most of my makeup off, and then climbed into bed to spoon my sweetie.

I woke up alone. I breathed in the scent from his side of the bed and I knew for sure I was smitten. This was not good. My dress and things were folded neatly on the chair in the bedroom, and a note had been taped to it. “I had to go into work early, Sorry. There’s Corn Flakes in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Lock the door on your way out. I’ll talk to you later. -P”

He’d talk to me later? I guess that means he didn’t regret it so much that he was cutting me out of his life. At least it wasn’t a punch in the face. But I was still crying when I got home, after doing the Walk of Shame in my pretty dress and fancy shoes. I was a total mess. I had to admit that I was undeniably in love with a guy who kind of liked me when I dressed up as a hot chick, but was probably repulsed by the real me. I didn’t know what to do.

I was kind of in a fog for a few days. Of course he didn’t call, even if he said he would. That’s a line that straight guys use to give girls the brush-off. I should have realized. He was only using me to get the promotion, and once he had it he didn’t need me anymore. I was just devastated because I’d lost not only the guy I wanted, but I lost my best friend, too.

Our paths crossed casually a week or so later, when we both happened to be at our usual lunch spot, but not our usual time. We’d had the same idea of trying to avoid running into each other, and just happened to delay by the same amount. It was beyond awkward, just a couple of exchanged Hey’s, but it seemed to have broken the ice. That night he called me and said it was weird not seeing me, and we arranged to meet at a neutral location to talk. Our schedules really were full, but we both were free the following Sunday evening. We decided to meet at a Chinese restaurant in a neighborhood roughly halfway between our apartments.

I really wanted him, and I knew that he only wanted me when I was Colleen. So I needed to show him that if I had to, I’d become Colleen for him all the time. I had a stronger identity as Colleen, anyway. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t miss being Ethan all that much.
I broke my budget and went to every expense to become the sexiest version of Colleen yet.

I spent everything to get my hair, my face, my nails, and my skin looking their best and most feminine. I was waxed and peeled and painted and plucked and curled and dyed and polished. I squeezed and pinched and prodded and padded and tucked my body into the best female shape I could manage, and then dressed it in the sexiest outfit my credit card could afford.

Since we’d picked a Chinese restaurant, I’d used that as my theme and wore this silk dress that was cut in a Chinese style. It was a deep emerald green that highlighted my eyes and had a dragon motif in gold embroidery running all over. More gold dragons hung from my ears, and another was coiled around my wrist. A little drawstring purse in a matching fabric hung from my other wrist. My dress was tight enough across my fake breasts that you could almost make out the contour of my fake nipples, and had a keyhole opening below the high collar that showed off my fake cleavage. It was slit along the right side almost all the way to my fake hip, and my fake ass was swaying nicely as I teetered on four-inch spikes. I wore real black seamed stockings with garters, and every so often a sliver of bare skin would peek at the slit in my dress.

I looked in the mirror and saw a woman that was advertising so clearly she might as well have been carrying a sign. The only man that could see me in this and not want to fuck me is either gay or dead. Paul did not stand a chance. The weather report said there was a chance of rain, so I’d gotten this shiny black vinyl raincoat that almost hinted at fetishwear.

I made sure to show up at the place a little late, because that’s what girls do, and the hostess knew exactly who I was talking about when I said I was there to meet this big handsome guy who probably looked a little sad. She complimented me on my dress, and I made a lame joke asking if they were hiring.

She pointed out Paul’s table and I called his name and made a little wave to make sure I had his attention as I crossed the room, stalking my prey like a jungle cat in heat. He actually stood up and held my chair out, and helped me take off my jacket. He sputtered that he didn’t think I, that is to say Colleen, would be coming.

I asked if he liked my homage to Chinese restaurants, and gestured along my ensemble. His difficulty in maintaining eye contact told me that he liked it very much. I suggested that we order first and he agreed. This girl was definitely in control, at least for the moment.

We had steamed dumplings for an appetizer, and I showed off my skill at using chopsticks by grabbing a dumpling, dipping it in the sauce and then offering it to him to nibble, all faster than he could even work a fork. He had a little drip of sauce on his chin, and I brazenly leaned over and kissed it off of him.

That made him kind of uncomfortable. He stammered, “W-what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to give you a good time. I want to show you that I can be all the girl you’ll ever need.” I licked my lips suggestively. “We had a good thing going for a while, and I want to get it back.”

I paused but he didn’t say anything. I continued, losing my seductress act and getting more real. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He just looked at me. My head tried to tell my heart not to say what it wanted to, but my heart wouldn’t listen. “I love you.” I reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled it back, almost reflexively. That said enough. I grabbed my raincoat and ran out of the place. I didn’t run toward my home, I didn’t run toward his, they both had too many memories of us. I just ran away.

***

So now here I sit at my favorite outdoor café, in my usual chair at my favorite table by the tree, in the rain. Here is where it all started, and if I could go back and do it all over, here is where I’d need to make a change. I’d just have to make him go away and never become important to me. All I’d need is a different answer to his corny opening line.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” I look up and there he is. He’s standing in the rain, but he doesn’t have a coat. He’s got my purse in his hand, and something else. Oh, it’s the heel that came off my shoe!

“I didn’t know where you went. I tried my place, I tried your place. The library is closed. They hadn’t seen you at the bookstore. I found Toby’s number and he hadn’t heard from you. I thought maybe you’d come back to our spot. You scared me half to death.”

“Good. Please give me my things and then you can leave. And it’s my spot, you can’t have it.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“No?”

“You have to hear me out. You got to say your piece, but you didn’t give me a chance to respond.”

“I gave you time, you just blinked and pulled your hand away.”

“I was trying to figure out how to salvage my plan, and my hand was going to my pocket.”

“What?”

“Okay. I know I’m a lawyer, but I’m not very good at speeches, and you messed up the one I’d prepared. But let me try. Here, you left during the appetizer and never got your fortune cookie.”

“I don’t want a fortune cookie. That’s sweetly bizarre of you, but no thanks.”

“At least open it, please.”

“I’m not going to open a cookie just because you want me to.”

“Okay, I’ll have to do this the hard way. It’s been confusing for me dealing with you, because you’re two different people. Sometimes you’re the beautiful woman I see in front of me right now,”

“There’s no point in empty flattery now. I know I must look a mess.”

“Anyway, sometimes you’re a woman, and other times, you’re a guy who’s one of my closest friends.”

“And no matter how much effort and expense I put into trying to be a woman for you, you’ll always see me as a guy, I get it.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t get confused because I can’t look at the woman without seeing the man; it’s the other way around. I can’t look at my friend Evan without seeing Colleen, the girl of my dreams.”

“Yeah, but she’s a lie. I’m a lie and a fake and I understand why you don’t want me, you don’t have to keep hammering that nail.”

“Please, try to listen to me. Look, I don’t know anything about being gay.”

“Yeah, you don’t like gays, I know. This is not news.”

“Could you let me finish without interrupting all the time? I don’t know anything about being gay. I’ve never been gay before, and I don’t know how to be one. Wait, don’t say anything. I don’t know how to be gay, but I guess I’d better start learning, since the girl I’m in love with more than anything in the world has a penis. Excuse my language, but I would miss having you in my life far more than I would miss having pussy. I’ll figure out how to do whatever it takes to make you as happy as you make me, just give me time. Now I don’t know if you want to move to Massachusetts or I guess California now to be legal and stuff, but if you’d opened the damned cookie it would have said, ‘Will you marry me?’ And I was going in my pocket for this. I never even thought of buying one for Heather but the day after you first kissed me I went to a jeweler.”

Oh my God, that is beautiful! And he got it for me?

“You can talk now, Baby Doll. I’m kneeling in a puddle here. Please, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! Let me help you up, you silly boy! I don’t want my fiancé catching pneumonia. Let’s go home and get out of these wet clothes.”