Pastries
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

It seems like everybody has a marketing degree, so I could not get the job I was looking for. I hate to admit it but it was my mother that got me the job. She knew Mario, the head chef at Perelli’s Italian Restaurant, and having told him that I was more than capable in the kitchen, in particular in baking, she was able to get me a job in the kitchen.

The Perelli family had sold the restaurant to Dave Clancy, who has made a bundle working financial deals downtown. He had bought the block and set up a nightclub in the old theater behind the restaurant. The nightclub was called “Risquée” and had some edgy themed nights with floor shows. Initially only Tuesday was “drag night”, but by the time I started at Perelli’s it was Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.

Dave had turned out the tenants in the 3 floors above and was building an apartment on half of the top floor. There were rumors that the 2nd and 3rd floors would be a high-class whorehouse, but I saw no sign of that.

Anyway, my job was to arrive before lunch and bake special breads, prepare the fresh pasta, pizza dough and some dessert items, and assist in the kitchen during service. But because I was more prep than service I had an easy time in the evenings and could go home early.

When I did work late I would take some of my items through the back to the nightclub, so I got to know the staff there. I was asked to help out on occasions and ended up picking up a regular stint as barkeep on Sunday music nights. It was extra cash and like everybody working in the nightclub, I was paid through Perelli’s.

On drag nights the drag performers would wait tables as well as put on a show, but they were still short staffed and I was asked if I could keep bar on drag nights. The pay was good, and I was keen for the extra money. Plus, I was not doing much in the evenings so why not? But there was a catch. Bar staff needed to be “in theme” – that meant dressing as a woman.

The other male bartender was a guy called Robert, known as “Bert”. He was quite a masculine guy, and he dressed up 3 nights a week. He just shrugged it off – “it’s a costume.” He said he had actually pulled a couple of dates with women while dressed in drag. But he did say that we had to be serious about it. That meant that as he was quite hairy, he had shaved his arms and legs to get into costume. I had not much hair to speak of, so that seemed no big deal. Anyway, I decided to do it, and take the work.

So one of the performers known as Dolly, helped me with the outfit. He/she (I’ll say she) gave me moisturizer for my arms and legs (good call) and fitted me for we a body stocking that gave me a bust and some hips, and also held my package in. Then it was simply a wig and make up. Her style was big hair and outrageous make up, but for me she suggested that I go for a straight blonde wig not too long, and more simple make up.

When I first saw myself in the mirror I had the strangest reaction. It was almost like the Greek myth – it was like falling in love with the woman in the mirror. Not then but later, when I was in costume on my own I would give myself looks, wink at myself, strike sexy poses. It was as if I had a beautiful girlfriend who only had eyes for me and would do whatever I asked. It was sexually stimulating (although the body stocking made it hard to be hard) but it was also pleasing on another level. It was like having a special relationship with a wonderful, super sexy woman, without ever having sex. That of course, would be impossible.

Drag night was great. Wednesday and Friday, we had strippers and the clientele was really kind of sleazy, but on drag nights people were just there for a laugh. The mood was happier and the customers super friendly. I liked to give people some of my sexy looks and smiles – like the ones I gave myself in private. They looked happy and I felt good. Bert just served the drinks and would say in his usual male voice “that’s seventeen fifty Buddy, enjoy.” I would try to sound more like a girl. Initially I developed a husky whisper but with the assistance of my phone voice recorder I was able to work on lifting my voice to a higher octave. If I answered the phone in that voice you would swear you were talking to a woman.

After the first few weeks I really got into the swing of things. I was doing my own make up and I started to select some better outfits to wear. Waiting staff in drag would wear glittery ball gowns or over the top frou frou frocks, but as bar staff Bert and myself (and Jenny our real girl) would wear cocktail dresses as something more practical. I had good legs so I kept my hemline shorter than Bert and Jenny, and then Dolly introduced me to stick on breasts that I could use to create a real-looking cleavage with a little concealer on the edges. I learned what look was right for me. I looked good, unbelievably good.

I developed a rapport with the male customers in particular. I used to flirt a little and get comments about how beautiful I was. I think that some of them did think I was beautiful. That makes a person feel good. I especially liked to overhear the exchange: “Are you telling the barmaid is a guy – I don’t believe it.” You might think that a guy would not like to hear that, but for me it was like the ultimate compliment.

It was my second month when I met Dave Clancy for the first time. I didn’t know who he was when I served him, and Bert had to stop me when I started to run up a check for him. “No charge for the owner,” he said. Dave smiled at me. He told me later that he had no idea I was a boy in drag.

Somebody must have told him, because the next time I heard from him, he asked me to meet him at the restaurant at 4:00pm on a Tuesday afternoon, and he specifically told me “come dressed as a woman.” That was a little strange as I would not get dressed for the bar until after 6:00 normally. When I told Dolly she said that she would find me a something suitable for “day wear”, and she did my makeup not in the heavy evening style but in a lighter more under stated way. I still looked like a girl – a very pretty girl. I have to say that it made me feel awkward. It was almost like it wasn’t a costume anymore. The truth is that apart from trying out some dresses for size in my room at home, I had never been out of the nightclub dressed as a woman.

I changed in the dressing rooms out the back of the club and went through to the restaurant. The day staff (who knew I worked bar in drag) did not even recognize me. The place was open in the afternoons serving coffee and some of my pastries but was generally empty. So I ordered coffee in my girl voice. I was still not recognized.

Dave Clancy came in alone and saw me immediately. He sat down opposite. “We haven’t been formally introduced,” he said. “Dave Clancy”. I responded with my name as we shook hands but he said: “Forgive me, but looking the way you do I feel stupid calling you Kevin, may I call you Kara?”

This was getting weirder by the minute, but what could I say? I said: “Sure, whatever you like.”

“I understand that you are a pastry cook,” it seemed like a question.

“I have no formal training, just stuff I have learned from my mother and just following the recipes that Mario has given me. Baking is all about accuracy. Follow the recipe and you should get it right, although have a feel for the mixture or the dough, and the presentation will make anything better. I think I’m pretty good.” Why was I talking in my girl voice? Did I wink at him when I said those last words? Am I going crazy?

“Obviously you are a … an exotic creature …”, he was smiling warmly, “and I have to say your cannoli is fantastic. I was wondering if you might consider helping me with another business in this block?”

I was interested. I brought my hands from my lap to the table top. I saw that Dolly had painted my nails a light coral pink. At night we would sometimes have bright red stick-on nail extensions, but this time the day look was my own nails, cut back but shaped and painted. I knew I looked good and I felt a wave of confidence come over me. I knew that Dave Clancy was rich, and here he was, proposing business with me, a simple barkeep and kitchen-hand.

“Tell me more,” I whispered, with a hint of sexuality. It was like a girl inside me was taking over. Weirder and weirder.

Perelli’s was on the corner, and then the entrance to Risquée, and then there was an empty shop. The display window had a mannequin in drag promoting the nightclub, but it was otherwise empty. Dave’s idea was a cupcake shop, maybe selling other cakes and pastries. “I thought, “Kara’s Kakes”, he said. I just need a Kara, preferably one who can bake, and certainly somebody who can manage a business. I understand you have a business degree. I think there is potential here and I can back it, for a period anyway. I am talking about a 50/50 business partnership. I fund it and you run it. If it works we both make money.”

“It sounds really interesting, but you understand that I only dress up three nights a week,” I said. “I don’t live like this. Actually I live at home with my mother. She doesn’t even know where I work nights.”

“For me the girl thing is important,” he said. “I am thinking of making Risquée a drag theme 7 days a week and I want the cake shop to be seen to be part of it. The daytime part. I want the look to be exotic and feminine – like you. If you are not interested in going with the theme I am not sure that it will work quite the way I want it to.” He looked at me, long and hard. “Are you interested?”

Interested? Shit, this was like a dream come true. In at the ground floor, doing something I loved (baking) and maybe using the marketing and management skills I had studied for 3 years. “Of course I am.” I had blurted it out - there. “But it’s the woman thing that is a little scary, I’ve got to say.”

“Talk to Dolly about it,” he said. “I know she has been helping you with the dressing and stuff. Hey, and if it makes it easier for you, you can stay in my apartment upstairs. I live downtown and only use the apartment a few days a month. You can house-sit for me. That is if it would be easier to move out of your mother’s place to live and work in drag.”

Whoa. This was all happening too fast. I went from the confidence of being a good-looking woman using her sexuality to feeling like a vulnerable woman close to tears of confusion. But either way I was not thinking like a man. I needed to get in control, so I said: “I have to think about this.”

“It will be a new character for you,” he said. “I love the cheeky barmaid character – this is just a new character – ‘little Miss Cupcake, the sexy baker’. But take some time consider. If you say no, your job at the club is safe. But I just think you could be so much more.” He was already standing to leave.

He took my hand, and for some reason instead of shaking his mine just lay limp in his grasp. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. “Here’s hoping you will say ‘yes’.” And he walked out.

When I told Dolly she squealed with delight: “You have to do it! Looking like you do with that daytime look, you can ‘pass’ as we say. But for those who know, you will be promoting the show. It will be great for you and great for the club. All the ‘girls’ will support you. This is fantastic.”

“But you guys love the drag thing”, I said. “For me it’s just some extra income. I am not sure that I can wear bra and dresses all day. I am not gay you know.”

“Neither am I honey,” said Dolly. “My Vanessa and I have been together for years. It’s a lesbian love affair but I don’t need a strap on.”

“I still haven’t come to grips with this,” I said. “I like getting the looks and having guys chat me up, but it’s all part of a fantasy – right? They know I am a man. It’s like they can flirt with me right in front of their wives because I am a man.”

Dolly sat me down: “I am a transvestite and a drag queen. That means that I like dressing in women’s clothing – it excites me sometimes, and other times just makes me feel good. That’s being a transvestite. And I work as a burlesque performer – a drag queen. If you are not a transvestite, then you can still be a drag queen. Neither of those things makes you a transsexual. That is a man who wants to be a woman. Or a woman in a man’s body or … whatever. It’s not us. But tell me - How does the clothing you are wearing now make you feel right now? Honestly please.”

It was difficult, but I knew I had to tell. “It’s like I feel relaxed. It’s not sexual. I just look at myself in the mirror and I love being me. It’s not a turn on. I just feel right. When guys come on to me I feel a bit turned on. When Dave Clancy kissed my hand, I almost passed out. Is that how you feel?”

“No,” said Dolly. “I am only fully dressed up for the show, and then I am over-dressed. But the show is a release for me. It’s like being a rock star when I am strutting my stuff. At home I just wear lingerie for sex. And when I work during the day I wear some underwear, just to level me out. I wouldn’t try to pass during the day. I don’t have the look. But you do. You are just pretty. No other word for it.”

I am not sure that I wanted to hear that. But Dolly was right. I never thought of myself as pretty but with the large eyes and small features, just a wig and some eyeliner and I was pretty. I could be the sexy baker without even trying that hard.

“Go back to him and ask him to pay for the makeover and the wardrobe,” said Dolly. “He wants you. You set the terms. Think of a salary and double it. Be sure to ask for full management. And ask to be able to work in the bar a few nights a week. You are very popular with the patrons, and of course we all love you.”

So I did what Dolly suggested. The next morning, I called Dave and set my terms. I figured that if he said ‘no’ then it was not meant to be. But he accepted everything I asked for. “Leave it to me,” he said. “I will have a dressmaker call you for a fitting and arrange a makeover. And I will have the keys to the apartment for you at the restaurant tonight if you want it.”

Sure enough I had a call from a dressmaker that afternoon and after dinner service at Pirelli’s I was handed an envelope with keys and a note:

Dear Miss Cupcake,
The apartment is available to you but not exclusively. The master bedroom will remain for my use when I am uptown. That is not that often these days. The pink bedroom is for you. The blue bedroom is a guest room. No problem if you want somebody to say – just give me notice. Keys and pass cards enclosed. Welcome.
Dave.

Anyway, I met the dress maker and had some measurements taken, but I needed to sort out my living arrangements before I arranged any makeover. So the following Sunday I arranged to move in to the apartment. The appointment with Dave’s nominated salon and spa was scheduled for Monday afternoon.

My mom was a bit sad to see me go, but she knew I would spread my wings some day. As I was not so far away we would still see one another regularly. As it happened I got into the habit of calling her twice a week. We probably had better contact after I moved out.

I just had one suitcase which I put on the bed in “the Pink Room” before I opened the closet. To my surprise there was already stuff in the closet – some women’s clothes made to my size in just a few days. There were labels with notes on them from Dave. Things like: “Hi Miss Cupcake, suggested uniform for the cake shop, Dave”; or “Hi Kara, something suitable for a corporate dinner, Dave”. I felt as if he was treating me as a fantasy mannequin to be dressed to his whim. Frankly I was a little pissed.

He had stuff in the drawers too. Padded bras, sexy lingerie, nighties, again with some notes, like “Not for daytime wear, Dave”. All the drawers seemed to have a lingering perfume, in fact the whole bedroom smelled floral. I slept my first night there and just went out like a light.

The following morning I was woken by workmen downstairs fitting out the new cupcake shop. There had been paper over the windows and most of the work had already been done. The noise was the cherry picker putting up the sign “Kara’s Kupcakes”.

Well, as I was Kara I had a crazy idea that I would go down as her. I shaved and did my face, put on my wig and uniform, and went downstairs. I told the contractors that I was Kara (my name was embroidered on my uniform) and asked to see the shop. As far as I could see it was almost ready for business. I made a list of required bowls and utensils additional to what was already on hand, and another list of ingredients, and I still had time to go to Perellis to do the morning baking.

I walked in in my Kara clothes and they still did not recognize me. I had to say “It’s me” three times before the shocked realization became obvious. I explained that I was now designated to work at the other shop, but I proposed that I still do some baking in their kitchen until my own was ready. I was now proposing to work three jobs simultaneously. As it happened Dave Clancy was at least the majority owner of each business, so nobody could complain.

So I finished there after lunch and hurried 5 blocks to the Salon/Spa, which was (as it turned out) another business partly owned by Dave Clancy and a tenant in another Dave Clancy building.

“I am so glad you came as Kara,” said the lady in charge, a large but attractive woman with copper red hair piled into an ornate hairdo. “Let’s get started.”

She took off the wig and said immediately: “Oh I don’t think we’ll be needing this.” She washed my own hair and combed it out to full length. “We can easily anchor extensions here, and I think you can grow this out to something truly gorgeous.”

I explained that this was just a costume. I told her I wanted to be able to take it off.

“Nonsense,” she said. “Wigs might be fine for nightclubs but when you have hair like this and you are working days, you need to go for extensions that you can wear up. I know what I am doing. You sit back and trust me.”

Of course I had never been in a salon before so this was a new experience. But I decided that I would trust her and go with the flow. That meant not saying “no” or “Stop” when whiskers and eyebrows were plucked and ears were pierced. To some extent I knew that these changes, although not permanent, would prevent me from easily slipping back into Kevin mode.

The outcome was shoulder length honey blonde hair, flawless skin and eye makeup that was nothing like my evening drag get-up. The overall appearance was perfect for a young woman working in hospitality or retail. I was shown how my hair should be put up in a loose but pinned bun, ideal for working and serving in a cake shop.

I was given shampoos and conditioners, skin creams, cleansers, night creams and make up, and instructions on everything. I was told that I should come in every morning for the next couple of weeks to get my hairstyle and makeup right, but that I should work on doing everything myself eventually.

I have to say that I just sat staring at myself in disbelief for quite a while. If I had fallen in love with the sexy barmaid, how was I to feel about this person, who seemed so much more real.

As I walked back the five blocks I got several wolf whistles, and beside that I could see that I was turning heads. I could feel the desire like sunlight. It was … empowering. I lifted my head and quickened my pace. I think that I may have unconsciously started to sashay, whatever that might be. This was the form and style of a confident and attractive young woman. As it happened a business woman on the edge of success.

I stayed in that mode for the rest of the day, and I found it surprisingly easy. I was talking to the contractors about the finishing work, and the installation of the specialist cake ovens and other equipment, and the bench space. The whole time I spoke and acted as a woman. I honestly believe that none of them believed that they were not dealing with a woman. I learned one valuable thing – a man will do almost anything he can to please an attractive woman. I decided that for the duration of the work at least, I would remain Kara.

I accepted the offer and turned up at the spa for the next few days. There continued with intensive facial treatments which included what I now know was electrolytic hair removal and estrogenic creams. I learned more about hair care and makeup. And at the end of every session I was ready to twist my contractors around my little manicured finger.

Dave turned up for the grand opening and seemed suitable pleased. I was in my uniform and I had roped in two of the most feminine looking dancers from the Risquée troupe in matching uniforms to assist me in a photo-shoot. We puckered up for the cameras. The shots became the basis for our “Cutest Cupcakes in the City” poster. We dished out free mini cupcakes and had the ceremonial cutting of a giant cupcake. Dave and I did it together – him with his arm around my waist smiling while I adopted a series of sexy poses. It was great fun.

Afterwards we drank champagne and partied until late with Dave’s friends and colleagues, and Dave crashed in his room in the apartment.

The following morning, I was well up when Dave came out of his room. I was in the loose clothes that I wore to the spa in the morning with no makeup and my hair tied in a rough low ponytail. Dave took one look at me and it is hard for me to describe the look on his face. It was something between disappointment and discuss. Anyway, he just turned and walked out without a word. I was going to call out, maybe “Have a good day” or something. But I am now glad I didn’t speak. If I had it would have been Kevin’s voice. And I know now that he did not want to hear that.

So, I got down to work. I had started making small volumes of product to limit expenditure and run the shop myself doing the frosting on the front counter while waiting for customers. I wanted to get my product right before starting a full marketing campaign, but customer numbers just started to grow by word of mouth assisted by the story in the paper about the opening. It was only a week or so before I had to hire a kitchen-hand and get back the Risquée dancers to work in front. I even had to ask to use Pirelli’s ovens to cook more cakes.

I called Dave from the shop, of course in my Kara voice as there were people about. Unlike that morning in the apartment he seemed happy to hear from me, and keen to discuss things. “I s Kara free for lunch today?” he asked, curiously talking in the third person.

“She is,” I replied coyly.

“I would like to take you to le Chambertin,” he said. “I will send a car at 1:00. Wear something nice.”

It was only then that I started putting things together and perhaps realizing that there was something unhealthy developing. This was less like a business partnership and more about some deviant obsession on his part. If I wanted to put a stop to it, why did I put on the black dress over red underwear with a little extra padding in the bust?

The restaurant was amazing. I knew it would be as I knew that it was super-expensive. Dave said that he went regularly simply because he needed to stay in touch with the best. He had his eyes on me when he said it.

I was determined to focus on the business. I talked about the limits of my capacity and the need for expansion should we be able to cement a reputation. I told him that the feedback was that the sexy baker was a winner. Cupcakes were overtaking chocolate as the lover’s gift.

Dave had not seen a dividend yet, but said that he was happy to “raise the stakes” with a second shop in a property of his in another part of town, with a potential for a third in yet another of his buildings. We talked about how these could be run. I would need to be in charge of product development, marketing, systems and quality control, and that would mean moving about.

“I may have to lose the uniform”, I said with a smile.

“I love you in that uniform,” he said. A harmless thing to say. I know what he meant. It suited me – right? He didn’t mean anything more? “You are the face of the company and you should wear it, but otherwise dress as you are today.”

I had been wondering if I could run the company without dressing as Kara. Of course Kara was the face of the company and could come out on special occasions, but surely there was no reason why I needed to wear women’s clothes to run a baking business.

“Oh, and just one more thing Kara,” Dave said. “While I am staying in the apartment I would appreciate If your wear something appropriate. I will send you something.”

He called for the bill and had his driver take me home. Sure enough the following day a package arrived at the apartment. In it were two nighties and a silk dressing gown trimmed in lace. Very expensive. Very feminine. And carrying the clear message: I do not want to see Kevin in my apartment.

So here is my dilemma again. For the first time in my life I see success lined up in front of me. That success is dependent on Dave’s patronage and funding, and to a large extent (perhaps) on the Kara image that I am responsible for create. Being Kara now presents no burden. It is easy and while I am dressed as her I am confident and capable of turning people to my desires as Kevin never has been. Do I throw this away because I am worried about the effect on my masculinity? or worried about the effect I am having on my business partner?

Of course it went on. I waded in deeper and deeper. After a long day I went to bed as Kara. I got up as Kara in the morning. All my friends now knew me exclusively as Kara. Business contacts and colleagues had never known me as anything but Kara. I was Kara, to all but one person…

As I said, I was in constant contact with my mother by phone, but I had not seen her for months. I was able to avoid going to see her when she had distant relatives in town, because I could see the problem looming. Now I had to face it. I decided to dress as Kevin, but when I did I immediately saw how ridiculous I looked. It was like a bad movie where the beautiful girl tries to dress like a boy. It was not convincing. I could no longer pass as a man. I could walk freely about the city as a woman, but in jeans and a t shirt I looked like a flat cheated girl without makeup.

So I changed my mind. I prepared my mother by phone warning of changes that might shock her, then I turned up on her doorstep, with a box of cupcakes.

The moment she realized it was me she started to cry. But then she said: “My darling. My poor darling. You should have told me.” She hugged me tighter than I can ever remember her hugging me before. “I know how hard this must have been for you sweetheart. I watch TV and I understand. And I have to say that you are beautiful. Such a plain boy and now such a beautiful woman.”

Her reaction completely threw me. I was going to explain that this was just a costume, but as she went on talking about my silent suffering as a transgender, I just felt that it would be wrong to deny it. You might say that this is just another example of me letting my silence lead others astray, but it is just the way it happened.

“Are you on hormones?” she asked. “They prescribe the same ones they gave to me for menopause problems. I have plenty.” She returned with boxes of pills. “I understand that they are a godsend for people in your position. They really can help you to adjust.” She almost forced the pills down my throat. I had to swallow them to keep her happy.

We talked into the night about my business, about my new friends and about my boss/business partner Dave Clancy. She spoke with me in such a different way that it occurred to me that what she had always wanted all these years was a daughter. She now had one. She started to give me advice about Dave, and men in general. It was funny in a way.

When I finally got my taxi home I remember that I felt closer to my mother than I ever felt before. It had been a wonderful evening. If Kevin had turned up she just would have gone through the motions. She loved as Kevin, but as Kara I was a treasure. I started to wonder if Kevin had anything left in the world. All of his friends seemed to have disappeared. Probably they were not real friends.

I went to bed happy. I wore one of the nighties Dave had sent me. It felt so good that sleep seemed to carry me away.

I woke up happy. I looked in the mirror and said: “Good morning Kara.” She smiled back. I went to my wardrobe and selected something business-like. I put my hair up as I had been shown. I applied some makeup. I looked good – really good. But there was something missing. I had a look in my handbag – for a different lipstick perhaps. Then I saw the pills my mother had given me. That’s what I needed. I took two and stepped out into the world.

Why take the pills? I still had an idea in my head that I was still Kevin in disguise. But the truth is that this idea probably belonged in history. I was not yet a woman, but it seemed that it might be difficult going back to what I was.

A couple of days later Dave came to stay the night. He arrived at the apartment late and a little drunk. I was wearing a nightie and the silk gown. I helped him get to bed. He slurred compliments at me the whole time: “You are so beautiful”; “Any man would be lucky to have you to look after them”; “I think you’re wonderful.” I just laughed as I pulled off his shoes, socks and pants.

When he was down to his underwear I laid him out and pulled the cover over him. I had washed my hair that night and I had blow-dried it and brushed it out to a shine. As I leaned over him I let my hair fall for a moment in his face. It was not an accident, but I was sure it looked unintentional. I just heard Dave sigh. It excited me.

I was up before him in the morning. I had a done my hair and makeup and taken my pills. I had my mother’s hangover cure waiting for him – carrot juice and tabasco.

“Will it work,” he moaned. He was shirtless but had found some fresh pants in his wardrobe.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” I replied.

Dave downed it and belched noisily. I looked at him disapprovingly. He smiled. I suddenly realized that he was a very attractive man. I am not sure why I never had this thought before, but now it was very clear to me. And I was a little angry with him too.

“You really overdid it last night,” I scolded. “You must look after yourself better.” I picked up my handbag and left.

I was very busy. It turned out that I took on both new sites. Si I had 3 outlets plus orders online through the website. Everybody seemed to be going crazy for Kara’s Kupcakes. My biggest problem was supply. I needed a large scale kitchen. But I felt that the business could fund it without Dave. I wanted to go to the Bank to ask them. Dave could have offered to go with me, but he did not. He just encouraged me. At last I knew that he respected me for my growing business skills.

But I had also learned how to use my other developing assets. I went to see the Bank in a suit with a buttoned up jacket and a skirt just above the knee, but underneath my blouse was low cut and I was wearing a push up bra. Over the past few months the pills seemed to have had an effect way beyond that expected. I had definite breasts to be pushed up. As it happened I decided to show them off when it was clear the key decision maker was more interested in me than the numbers. I got the loan.

Dave took me out again to celebrate, but this time to a more intimate older restaurant where the owner had been a friend of his late parents. It was a bit like being introduced to his family. It was a great meal. We both knew that there was something going on between us, but we could always avoid embarrassing pauses by talking business. But the fact is that it seemed that both of us would rather just look into one another’s eyes.

Now I am not going to try to explain any of this. Both of us were heterosexual males – at least we always had been. It is a known fact that sexual preference is unalterable – right? So, what was going on must have been something else. Maybe a special kind of friendship or respect. So why did I have the feeling that I wanted his hands on my naked skin. More than anything I wanted that. It just made no sense.

He drove me back to the apartment, but he would not be staying there that night. In fact, he had arranged for a friend to stay in the guestroom from Monday, so he would not be back for a while. I was disappointed. I thanked him for the dinner and the evening. Before I got out of the car he kissed me. It was not a face sucking kiss – it was just tender, on the lips, lingering, both our mouths slightly open, and exchange of breath. It was wonderful. As I took the lift up I squealed to myself in delight. Why?

It affected me the whole day. I started to wonder whether I was turning gay. Is that possible? Or maybe I had always been gay and just kidding myself in my desire for women. The only woman I was really interested in now, was the one in the mirror. That day I checked her out a lot. Hair perfect. Lipstick needs a touch up. Bat those eyelashes – great. I understood why Dave had kissed me, but why did I like it?

That evening Dave’s visitor arrived well after my dinner, to stay the night. His name was Damon and I disliked him from the moment I answered the door. He looked at me as if I was a piece of meat. I felt that it was the first time I had been looked at like this. He told me that he knew the whole story and asked whether he could see my dick. Imagine that? Who asks that?

I told him that he could make himself at home because he was Dave’s guest but that I would be spending the rest of evening in my room. But he became aggressive. He actually grabbed me and tried to lift my robe. I discovered that in recent months I had lost strength in my upper body. I realized that I could not fight him off. I became afraid.

I just managed to escape his clutches and I rushed to my room and locked the door.

Damon was outside knocking on the door as saying: “Come on baby. Just a little look at your little she-dick. Then maybe suck my cock.”

I was panicking I suppose. I called Dave. I said: “Your friend Damon has just attacked me! He’s outside my room now.” And then I just burst into tears. I felt such a flood of emotions I just fell on my bed and sobbed. I could hear the monster outside my door whispering now, all kinds of indecent suggestions.

Dave must have driven like a madman to get to the apartment. I heard the front door swung open and then I heard a crash as if somebody was thrown across the room. I heard some loud voices and then I heard Dave tap on my door once and say: “Kara, you can come out now.”

I dried my tears, and before I opened the door I checked my face. Eyes not red. And thank God for waterproof mascara. I adjusted my hair and stepped outside.

“Apologize to the lady!” he shouted at Damon, who was cowering in the corner with blood streaming from his nose.

“What are talking about man”, he whined. “That’s just a shemale slut.”

“That is not a shemale, asshole,” said Dave. “That is my girl.”

I heard those words and my heart just … well, there is no other word, it leapt. I rushed to him and clung to his side. He put an arm around me. It was like I had found my home after wandering in the wilderness my whole life. I looked up at him, and he stole a loving glance at me before continuing to stare down the asshole.

“Sorry man, I didn’t know it was like that,” he said. “She is a looker.”

“Now get out,” demanded Dave. “Take your bag and get out. And by the way, I won’t be doing any business with you.”

Damon left, muttering. And we were alone.

“So, I’m your girl?” I asked.

“Do you want to be?”

“Yes, please.”

This time the kiss was a passionate one. Just about as passionate as a kiss can be. He picked me up as if I was made of foam and carried me to his room.

“Are these titties?” he asked as his hands explored my top half.

“I’m taking pills,” I said. “Do you like them?”

“I love them,” he said. “I love everything about you. Except, maybe one thing that I don’t want to think about.”

I knew what he was talking about. I said, with a smile: “Oh, that old thing. I think I am ready for renovations, provided that the owner is serious.”

“Oh, I am, he said. “You can put a ring on it.”

The End