Just One Drink
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Authors Note: This is little more than a drabble, but too close to my heart to throw away. I've always dreamed of having the courage to venture into the world as "me". I've always wanted to be able to force myself to have one experience, no matter how trivial, as the woman inside. Apologies in advance for the ending, which was intentional. ~ Stacy
I had no one to blame but myself. No one forced me to dress like a woman. No one made me leave the cocoon of my apartment looking like a college-aged wet dream. I spent countless secret hours learning to sit, stand, walk, talk and gesture like a woman on my own. I was the one who learned to do my makeup and hair just so. I was the one who started an extreme diet and had let that same hair grow long. I was the one, who in spite of my hateful anger with my hidden obsession, finally Naired my body, plucked my brows, dyed my hair, pierced my ears and forced myself into the terrifyingly wide world that day. I had decided I was going to "do it right" one time before giving up my dressing forever.
"One drink," I told myself. One drink and I would flee back to the apartment and hide this part of myself away forever.
Somehow, I was able to walk down the bustling city sidewalk without bursting into flames. I even was able to allow a twinge of giddy excitement to mix with the mind-numbing fear. I listened to the pretty little click-click-click of my four-inch spiked strappy sandals. I felt the summer breeze play with the flip of my gauzy silk skirt and caress my smooth baby-oiled legs as I walked. I enjoyed the delicious sting and sway of earrings in my newly pierced ears and how my unbound mane of voluminous blond hair brushed over my bare shoulders. Through my feelings of naked terror, I almost reveled in my ability to show off bare shoulders, arms, and even my pits at all. My white flowery bustier-top made me feel less than naked as it cinched my waist to almost comically thin proportions and worked with my expertly taped, pushed-up, and squeezed flesh to create very real cleavage above the gelled inserts of it's shelf-like cups.
A wolf-whistle snapped me out of my nervous reverie and I quickened my delicately clicking steps. I knew I looked good, too good even. With well practiced attention to my makeup, long polished nails, matching toes, jewelry, perfume, and my thin new delicately arched brows that no guy should ever have, I was inwardly torn even knowing how pretty I could be as a woman; how much better I looked as one than I did as "him".
My false confident smile was as fake as my curves but equally convincing. I suppressed both my terror and my surprise as I approached the upscale club. Its ornate door was gallantly held open for me. I stepped in with a smiling nod and the feel of color rising on my cheeks, which caused the gentleman at the door to blush and smile back at me.
I broke eye contact as I walked passed him. Holy shit! Any guy in the world would have taken that silent exchange as a flirt!
I only had eyes for the bar, searching for an empty space. I would not have noticed if the room had been burning as I made my way to the tall elegant stool near one end.
"Is this seat taken?" I suddenly had to ask the tall stranger suddenly looking into my face.
"Please," he answered while holding his palm up for me to take.
"Thank you," I said with a demure lilt as I took his hand and let the man help me onto the tall stool.
Hooking a heel over the middle rung of that stool, I crossed my oil-shined legs and arranged the wisp of my skirt as best as possible. I don't know why I felt a burning desire to hide my legs, but I couldn't. They looked embarrassingly sexy, no matter how much I suddenly wanted them to be ignored.
He didn't look away or try to hide a glance at them. He instead looked unabashedly at my legs before mater-of-factly staring back into my eyes.
"Bob," the tall dark-haired man smiled in introduction, not yet releasing my hand.
"Stacy," I replied, forcing myself to return a confident smile.
As petrified as I was, I knew I couldn't show it. I knew I had to act as if this hopefully-short exchange was as normal as breathing to pull this lunacy off. My mind was already drifting to my "one drink" and my retreat home as I broke his gaze to find the bartender.
"Are you thirsty Stacy?"
"Yes," I smiled simply, forced to look back into Bob's face.
"Let me guess. You're a white wine woman?"
"Cosmopolitans," I said remembering to keep my smile.
Bob nodded to the unnoticed bartender and then to the bar before me. A coaster materialized as the tender turned to prepare a drink that I suddenly realized Bob had just ordered for me!
"Thank you Bob," was all I could think to say.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!
This was going all wrong! All I wanted was one quick drink in peace and a speedy exit! That was the deal I had made to myself. But there I was, somehow smiling at a guy who was buying me a drink! To make it worse, I suddenly realized that my dainty hand was still resting in Bob's!
"My pleasure Stacy," he said locking his eyes with mine.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!
I didn't know what to do! I wasn't prepared for this at all! I didn't know how to extract myself from this unseen crisis. Somehow, I had let myself be maneuvered into what could only be called flirting with another man! I didn't know how to break eye contact or even pull my hand away from Bob's. Keeping my armor of a smile plastered on my glistening red lips, my mind raced for a way out.
"You're a beautiful woman," Bob added, further throwing me off guard.
"Why thank you Bob," I said blushing like an idiot and not knowing what else to say.
"Are you from around here? I work around the corner."
"Yes. Well n. Actually, I used to spend a lot of time in the area."
"A life time ago," I said trying to recover my wits at least a little bit.
"And now Stacy?"
My drink, a pinkish looking martini-drink, arrived just in time. I gently pulled my long polished fingers from Bob's hand and took my glass.
"Thank you Bob," I said with a smiling acknowledgment before turning my attention to the bartender.
Bob's glass touched mine and my eyes were drawn back to him.
"To chance meetings," he said smiling warmly.
I simply smiled back and took a small sip. I had never had a Cosmo before and was surprised by its strength. An involuntary shudder traveled down my spine.
Bob laughed a casual laugh that made me like the poor guy in spite of the strange circumstance. His laugh seemed so completely genuine, so unaffected, and so NORMAL, that some kind of ice was broken. I suddenly couldn't hate the guy or even blame Bob for his behavior. He wasn't being pushy or obnoxious. I was the bigger jerk for not being able to head-off the signals that I didn't mean to be giving off. I was the one dressed to kill and being an unintentional cock-tease. Shit, Bob was just being a guy.
I smiled in spite of myself.
"What?" he asked sincerely.
"You have a nice laugh," I said honestly, being unable to think of a more convenient lie.
I didn't just say that!!! Color rose to Bob's cheeks now. Why the hell was I unable to avoid flirt-talk with this guy?!
To Bob's credit, he didn't pounce on the opening I inadvertently had given him. He made some self-deprecating remark and just started an abnormally normal conversation with me. It was light. There were laughs and the smiles were genuine, on both our ends. Bob put me completely at ease, like I had known him forever. I didn't feel threatened or vulnerable at all. I barely blinked at the second Cosmo on the new coaster. My earlier terror had been pushed to a far corner of my consciousness and I was actually enjoying myself.
I didn't realize I was on my third Cosmo until I noticed my near-empty glass had somehow become full. I was small, slight, and nearly anorexic. The drinks were really hitting me, but I didn't care. The terror was gone and my conversation with Bob had become a kind of game to me. The flirts, glances, and increasingly sexually charged little comments were more intoxicating than the drinks. I started to enjoy Bob's validating attention. It made me feel as if I were a real woman that he was hitting on. I felt more delightfully feminine than I ever had in my tortured little life. I relished the sight of my lipstick on my glass, the smell of my own perfume, the closeness of Bob's face as we spoke over the rising din of the room, even his little touches, which became ever more frequent.
One of Bob's leans to speak close to my ear had taken him off balance. Bob "accidentally" laid a hand on my bare knee to catch himself.
It was a flash of a moment, but it was electrifying. The feel of his large mannish hand on my smooth leg stirred fantasies that I had never really wanted to pursue. I wasn't gay. I didn't want men. I'll admit I had my dress-up fantasies about them and their penises, but that's all they were, dress-up fantasies. Just a part of the whole feminine little dream, a private little pornography that I never intended to really play out.
But I was in the real world, not just fantasizing in the privacy of my cloistered little apartment. I looked like a tender little sex-kitten and had a real man paying me the kind of attention I only dreamed about.
"I need to go to the little boy's room," I said tipsily.
"Little girl's room you mean," he said with a raised brow.
"Isn't that what I said Bobby?" I said trying to slough it off.
I made it to the bathroom.
Bob helped me onto the stool when I returned. He leaned in close to my ear, his hand casually on my thigh by my knee. There was nothing accidental about it.
"Not really Bobby. Was I long?"
"No, but you should have been," he said mischievously.
"For the same reason half the bar is talking about you Stacy."
"I don't understand Bobby."
"Take a look at the line for the ladies room."
"No. Not there," he said simply into my ear.
It was then that my world came crashing down around me. I looked away from the men going in and out of the bathroom I had just come from and over to the line of women on the other side of the coat-check.
"I didn't realize who you were until just now Brian," he added with his hand still on my fragrantly oiled thigh.
I wanted to run, to hide, to die. How in the world could I have been so stupid?! How did Bob know my name?!
Bob gripped my leg a little more firmly, though not tightly, as he felt me try to rise.
"Don't go," he said simply, genuinely. "It's OK. Really Stacy."
"Really?" I whispered in a quivering dry voice.
"Yes," he whispered after a reflective pause, "really. I don't know why, I don't fancy men at all, but you've been turning me on all night Stacy."
"You're Stacy tonight, and as weird as it is to me even, I can't help being even more turned on knowing."
Bob flicked a glance at his own crotch before looking back into my eyes. The evidence was unmistakable. I couldn't believe that he was actually hard over me! His touch on my knee took on a terrifyingly arousing feel.
"How do you know my name?" I trembled
"You came into my store around the corner on"
"Thursday," I said completing his sentence.
"Your order should arrive on Monday," he added with a smile.
The barest slide of Bob's hand on my hairlessly-smooth thigh was oh so delightfully wrong. From finally being out in public to being discovered, I had drifted from my most perfect dream to my most fearful nightmare in the blink of an eye. But the fact that Bob not only didn't mind, that my being dressed as a woman turned him on more, confused me almost as much as how his touch felt on my bare slender leg.
"I should go Bob," I said as soberly as I could muster with his hand still moving on my skin.
He withdrew his hand with a disappointed look that pained me.
"I'm sorry," I continued. "I've never done this before."
"Never done what before?"
"This. Been out. All of it."
"This is the first time you've ever been out like this Stacy?"
His continuing to call me Stacy made me like him even more. I nodded.
"Let me walk you home," he said decisively. "No tricks. No motives. Just let me make sure you get home safely."
"That's OK Bob. I think I'll just"
"You're in no position to walk home by yourself Stacy. I'm not taking no for an answer."
I realized he was right. It was dark and I was dressed like a vulnerable little woman, a drunken one at that.
I nodded again.
"Great," Bob said smiling as I took his offered hand to help me off my stool.
Taking the crook of his offered arm, I let him lead me back down the sidewalk to my apartment. I felt more feminine on his arm that at any other time that night. I almost cried from how wonderful it felt.
"This is it Bobby," I smiled as we stopped by my door.
"I had fun tonight Stacy."
"Me too Bobby."
"I'd like to call you sometime."
"I'm not sure that I can."
"Think about it?" he persisted warmly.
"I don't know Bobby."
"Then think about this," he said before leaning in toward me.
I leaned back from him slightly.
"You owe it to yourself to at least see Stacy."
"Why do you want to Bobby?"
"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "All I know is that I do. Why do you do what you do?"
I stood, unable to answer or to move as move leaned in again. I let Bob's lips touch mine.
The feel of his large tender lips on mine was electrifying in ways I could never begin to describe. The taste of Bob's breath, the hint of his stubble, the flavor of my own lipstick and even the tilt of my upturned head to receive that kiss sent shivers cascading over my skin in waves.
And then it was over.
My breath quivered as I opened my expectant eyes. My tiny bald wee wee strained uselessly in its tight Lycra prison and my whole being hungered for more of Bob's tender lips.
"Can I call on you Stacy?" he smiled sincerely.
"Yes Bobby," I heard myself whispering in disbelief.
"Next Saturday? Dinner?"
I nodded stupidly.
"Do you dance?"
"I never had the"
"Then we can learn together. You really are a beautiful woman Stacy."
"And you're a handsome man," I said honestly.
"Goodnight Stacy," he said before giving me another tease of a parting kiss.
"Goodnight Bobby," I whispered to his retreating back before turning toward my door.
I stepped inside the door and quietly started to cry. I don't know why I did any of what I did. I don't know why the night was so painfully perfect. I don't know why I stood there, leaning against my door, hungering for Bob's lips, which I did.
I don't know why I want and fear seeing Bob again. All I do know is that I'm scared. I'm scared of how easily Bob drew out the woman hiding inside of me. I'm scared of how much I like being "her". I'm scared of how easy it would be to lose myself to this gripping obsession of mine.
Why am I looking forward to going out on a date next weekend? Why can't I stop thinking about what I'm going to wear, or do? Why can't I stop thinking about Bob?!
Why? Why? Why?!!!
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