I Love Mondays

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I Love Mondays

I love Mondays, and I know that makes me weird. But it actually makes sense in my case, because I’m a junior-assistant nobody cook at Fujimole, a Japanese-Mexican fusion restaurant.

I know, I know. Don’t ask. Really, despite what you may be thinking, I’m a pretty good cook if I do say so myself. I didn’t choose the menu.

Anyway, that’s just a digression. Sorry. The reason I love Mondays is that Fujimole is closed on Mondays. It’s also closed Sundays (the owner is a very observant Catholic – you know, the kind that says the rosary a lot and goes looking for the nearest Latin Mass), but my roommate Roger is off on Sundays, too. No knock on Roger, who’s a really nice guy. Most Sundays we hang out and play Dragon’s Dogma and eat Cheese-Its. We’re pretty evenly matched, too, though I let him win sometimes just because he gets so pumped. Honestly, it’s cute.

But every Monday, when he puts on his brown uniform and goes off to deliver packages, I get to spend one precious day having some girl time. Roger doesn’t know I’m trans, and – thank whatever god you like – my boss doesn’t know either. My parents do, which is why we don’t speak to each other anymore. But they live in Oklahoma City, I live in Austin, and all three of us like it that way.

I love Austin. Sure, it’s in Texas, and that sucks rotting bananas. Keeps me careful, too. Can’t afford to get clocked in public by some yahoo wearing shiny boots, city jeans and a ten-gallon hat! I never leave the apartment looking less than my best, but at least I don’t have any trouble finding places where I can get supplies, if you know what I mean. So this morning, when I heard the front door close behind Roger, I leapt out of bed, tore off my shorts, and went to the closet to get my secret stash.

Who do I want to be today? Should I be demure? Laid back? Casual, but fun? Pretty? Alluring? How should I do my hair? My makeup? How tall should I be? These are all questions that I never ask, and never would ask, Tuesday through Sunday, when I’m presenting as Roy. Presenting as Rowena, the woman I’ve always felt myself to be, requires a lot of work – and a lot of decisions. And I love it.

First up, I decided not to go out at all. It was September, hot, and unusually humid, and when I’m out in public I need to wear a bit more fabric and padding than is comfortable in that kind of weather. But that decision just gives me more freedom, not less. If no-one is going to see me, I can dress for “Netflix and chill,” or for “Office Girl,” or for clubbing. It doesn’t matter.

Humming in happy harmony with the fun thoughts swirling through my brain, I stepped into the shower and gave myself a close shave everywhere. I like to be smooth as a used car dealer when I’m being Rowena. Roger’s never questioned Roy’s shaved state; he knows that I’m a speed swimmer – true story – and that makes a great excuse. I don’t even think about it anymore. Even shaving my pits is second nature.

After showering, I moisturized my skin, slicked back my short hair, and wrapped a towel around my torso. Back in my room, I decided that the look for the day would be “night out with my besties,” so I opted for dramatic eye makeup and deep red lipstick that looks moist and kissable. I wanted to do my nails to match, but I know from experience that it’s too much trouble to get it all off.

I spent a moment wishing I had besties – girlfriends I could hang with, go to clubs and bars, and talk about everything and nothing. But no more than a moment. I have a good imagination, so I conjured them up, Melissa and Carly and Tammy Sue, and each of them were wonderful friends. I imagined that we would be playful “tonight,” full of wit and sparkling word-play. They would be laughing with me, loving my humor. I am pretty, and witty, and bright!

I carefully attached my long blond wig and fussed it into place. There’s nothing like long, golden tresses to convey femininity! Well . . . almost nothing. The pride of my collection is a pair of silicone darlings from The Breast Form Store. I’d bought the set years earlier – my parent’s discovery of them was the reason why we were no longer speaking – and I love them to bits. Two bits? Well . . . they are two bits, I suppose. Specifically, two big, luscious, C-Cupcakes of wonderfulness. But they cost a lot more than twenty-five cents!

Once I used the concealer to hide the seams of my breast forms, it was time to get dressed, and I had the perfect LBD for clubbing. Hits about mid-thigh. A simple v-neck, not too dramatic. Spaghetti straps and a deep, revealing back. I added a couple simple gold strands. Girls aren’t really wearing necklaces much right now, but I always shiver when the cool metal brushes against my bare skin.

How tall should I be? Oh, tall, honey! I’m kind of self-conscious about my height when I’m presenting as male; five-and-a-half feet isn’t very impressive. But it means Rowena can wear five-inch heels and only hit 5’10”. Lots of guys are taller than that! Roger’s six-one, and I know plenty of men who are taller.

So, strappy black leather sandals for me, with long, delicate spiked heels that make me feel heavenly.

It’s stupid. I know it is. I know that being a woman isn’t about looking like a blond bimbo. But it’s fun, in a distinctly feminine way. It’s a sweet, froofy cocktail with a pink umbrella rather than a glass of wine. In theory, anyone can drink it, but in reality only girly girls do. I wouldn’t order it most days, but sometimes that’s where my head’s at.

A look in the mirror confirmed that my transformation was complete. I couldn’t resist hamming it up a bit. You know – sticking out my tush, tossing my head, smiling with all my teeth, their pearly white maximizing the contrast with my lipstick. Roy’s smile is tight. Controlled. Rowena’s is sunshine. Sunshine! A few selfies, which I will carefully hide, joined my collection.

Aria_Nova_1.jpg

Did I mention I love Mondays?

I sauntered into the kitchen to make myself some tea and dry toast. Boring, of course, but a girl needs to watch her figure! Heels this high defeat me after an hour or two, but I love the way they shape my legs and naturally feminize my walk. They make me feel sexy and even desirable. I imagined myself dancing with Tony Dovolani . . . .

The bread was toasting and I was dipping my tea bag in and out of the cup, when the front door opened and Roger walked in, carrying a grocery bag and a gallon of milk.

I froze.

Can I play it cool? Will he recognize me?

It was clear from his expression that he did, right away. It wasn’t a bad expression, or a mean one, but in a million different ways, it screamed “I know.” Carefully, neutrally, he said, “Roy?”

His words broke the spell that held me motionless, pinned in place like a bug in a display case. I did the only thing that came into my mind, which was to run just as fast as my high heels and tight little skirt would take me. But Roger, damn him, was blocking the front door, so I made for my bedroom.

Once inside my only possible safe space, I tried to slam the door behind me, but it wouldn't go. Spinning, I found myself staring into Roger’s deep, dark eyes. Somehow, he had lost the groceries.

I couldn’t help myself. “What are you doing here? It’s Monday, damnit!!!!”

“Did you forget?” After a moment’s pause he added, “It’s Labor Day.”

Labor Day! Fuck!!!! However hard I tried to keep control, I suddenly found myself bawling and shaking. “I’m so sorry!”

“Why?”

So teary that I couldn’t read his expression anymore, I stammered, “because . . . because . . . .” But I couldn’t complete the thought. However delightful my imagination is in normal times, under pressure it tends to default to lurid and paralyzing scenes of horror. The man in the mask turned cold, basilisk eyes toward me and revved the motor of his chainsaw . . . .

After a moment, Roger stepped forward and folded me into a hug. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay. Really.”

His words didn’t make any sense. “What?” The guy with the chainsaw isn’t supposed to ask you which tree you want to remove!

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

It felt strange to have someone give me a hug while I just left my arms at my sides, but I hesitated to return his embrace. He’s being nice; no need to take chances with it. He still might have a chainsaw somewhere!

He just kept holding me and saying soothing words. Finally, I couldn’t help myself. I raised my forearms and rested my palms lightly on his back. He has the hard, efficient muscles required to lift and move heavy boxes, day after day, rather than the showy sort cultivated by “personal trainers.” I lowered my head to his shoulder, mostly so I could avoid his eyes. Eyes which don’t actually resemble those of a reptile. Not at all.

Eventually, I stopped crying. I don’t know how long it took.

When I finally stopped quivering like an aspen in a windstorm, his hands stopped moving over my back. “Want to tell me about it?”

“I’m trans.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that part.”

I raised my head and gave him a questioning look. “You did?”

“Just now.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. I mean, I’ve always been trans. And I’ve always been in the closet.”

“Because of your family? I’d wondered why you never talk to them. Or about them.”

I nodded. “It was them, to start with. But it’s also work, and . . . .” I paused, not wanting to go on. But it needed to be said. “It’s you, too. I didn’t want you to . . . well. You know.”

“Did you really think it would bother me?” Why had I imagined he had eyes like a lizard? Stupid.

Still, I thought about his question carefully before answering. “No. Not really. But I didn’t know for sure, and I didn’t want to risk it. You're my best friend, you know? The only real family I’ve got, these days.”

“What kind of a friend would I be, if I walked away just because it turns out you’re a woman?”

That made me chuckle, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. “The only kind of friend I’ve ever known.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice.

“Well fuck them! I’m not like that. You’re my friend, no matter what. Okay?”

“You aren’t mad?”

“No.” He was definitive. But he added, “I’m a bit disappointed, I guess. I wish that you’d trusted me.”

CAN I trust him? Am I SURE he doesn’t wear a mask or carry a chainsaw? But I decided I would have noticed it by now, whatever my brain was gibbering. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I guess I get it.” He held me at arms’ length and gave me a quick look-over. “I’m kind of surprised I never saw it – you look good.”

“I do?”

“Fishing for compliments, girl?” he teased.

Girl?!!!! “I’m kinda insecure?” Yeah, and the Horsehead Nebula is kinda far!

He chuckled, then turned serious. “What should I call you?”

“Rowena.” I found myself smiling. Really smiling – with my “Rowena” smile, not my “Roy” smile.

He smiled back. “Rowena. Okay, then. Ah . . . isn’t it a bit early in the day to be dressed for clubbing?”

I felt the blush come fast. “Yeah . . . I was just. You know.”

“Playing dress-up?”

My blush got worse. Way worse. “Yeah,” I said in a small voice. Then I took a deep breath, let it out, and asked the question that was maybe worrying me the most, once I’d dismissed all thoughts of masks and chainsaws. “You don’t want me to leave? We can still be roommates?”

“Well . . . Roy’s a good cook. And decent at most video games. Is Rowena?”

The playfulness in his voice put my fears to rest. “Hell, yeah!”

“I bet she takes longer in the shower though.”

This, I had to confess, was true.

“But she smells nicer, so there’s that.”

“Hey!” I gave him a look. “Are you saying I smell bad?”

He grinned. “No, I’m saying Roy smelled bad. You aren’t Roy, are you?”

“Five days a week, I have to be,” I sighed.

“No,” he corrected me. “Forty hours a week, maybe. But when you aren’t at work, you can be Rowena all you want.”

“Really?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Roy’s a great guy and a good roommate. But honestly, I’d rather look at you.”

And I thought I was blushing before! “Just so you know, I don’t always dress like this!”

“Really? What a shame.” His voice was gentle, teasing. His warm eyes drew me in. Basilisk my ass! Suddenly, without warning, he bent slightly and kissed me. Tenderly at first, but when he felt me respond, the kiss became harder, stronger, deeper.

I had never ever felt so feminine, so desirable. I writhed in pleasure as his arms tightened and his hands wandered.

This, I knew, was going to be the best Monday EVER.

— The End

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.

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Comments

the best Monday EVER.

fantastic!

I love it, hon. huggles!

DogSig.png

Thanks, Dot!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Huggles right back at you! :)

Emma

Rowena, Honey

joannebarbarella's picture

You're worth it!

Definitely not . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Definitely not a two-bit girl!

Emma

Happy Labor Day, Rowena!

gillian1968's picture

That first coming out is always awkward.

Another wonderful story. A great way to start the week.

Gillian Cairns

Awkward indeed!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Especially to a girl with a hyperactive imagination. She should maybe try writing fiction. :)

Thanks, Gillian!

Emma

Acceptance is the best !

SuziAuchentiber's picture

Smashing tale, beautifully told.
Just knowing you are loved for who you really are is the greatest feeling imaginable. We need more Rogers in this world who are accepting and understanding!!!
Hugs&Kudos!!

Suzi

Roger

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Roger handled her about as well as anyone could have imagined— even Rowena!

Hugs back atcha, Suzi!

Emma

Fresh Approach

BarbieLee's picture

Different, really nice way of telling the tale.
Hugs Emma
Barb
OKC last week, short, slim black skirt, sleeveless, cowl neck body hugging knit blouse, dangle earrings, ultra small gold necklace, soft peach lipstick. I received "sir" twice that day and couldn't wipe the smile off my face. People are creatures of habit and the VA is full of military and ex military men. "Sir" is so ingrained and automatic to most who work there. Like men walking up to a gaggle of women and saying, "Hi guys." Lots of compliments but it was "sir" I found so amusing.

Oklahoma born and raised cowgirl

Gendered honorifics

“Sir” has the advantage of not being age-specific. Choosing between “Miss” and “M’am” can get treacherous.

Love the hat, Barb. Would go well with shiny boots and ironed jeans. Not sure why Emma disses that look. Also, what’s her gripe against rotting bananas? That’s about the least worrisome soft stuff you can step in at the One Star Review State Capitol.

But Catherd!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Barb’s a cowgirl! Gen-u-ine, see? Says so on every post! No way she’s got creases in her blue jeans. Say it isn’t so, Barbie Lee! As for rotting bananas, it’s not stepping in them that would distress me!

Emma

The world would be a better place

Emma Anne Tate's picture

If sometimes we smiled more and took offense only when offense was clearly intended. Sure, Aaron Burr was the villain of Lin Manuel Miranda’s play (“smile more. Argue less.”), but he died safe in bed at a ripe old age, decades after the contentious Hamilton was buried. :)

Thanks, Barb. Glad Oklahoma City treated you well!

Emma

Refreshing

Sunflowerchan's picture

Reading one of your stories, is like getting some fresh air after being cooped up in a hospital room for a few days without any access to your favorite stories or sites. It's refreshing and nurishes the soul and waters the tender seedlings of your muse. Once more I find myself enchanted by your wonderful prose, your down to earth writing style, and your simple, yet powerful word usage. And I'm impressed more over how you use simple words, void of poetic prose to tell a yet poetic story! Thank you Ms. Tate for watering the tender seedling of my muse yet again with one of your wonderful stories.

Plum out of ten-dollar words

Emma Anne Tate's picture

I think I used them all up — spent them like a boozer at a brewery!

Thank you, as always, for your kind words and inspiration. :)

Emma

What a delightful way

to start a Monday. You're one of my favorite authors, on a carefully curated list, and this one just resonated.

I had one of those days recently, when I knew the wife was going to be out, and I decided to relax a bit. Short sleeve navy dress, hosiery and heels, sitting at the kitchen counter working on something with my coffee. Not exactly the polo shirt and shorts I'd usually be wearing. The door is 20 feet away, behind me, and when it opened, I was startled to say the least. She made no comment, and rushed by to drop off the ballroom gowns she collected from the dress shop after alterations. Ooops. I guess I forgot the plan. No harm, no foul.

But then, you mentioned Tony D. We've met, on several occasions, at the studio, dance competitions, etc. An acquaintance at best, but he and my wife are definitely friends. I immediately began to suspect Emma has been spying on me, and using my experiences to prompt her Muse. I have resolved to put a piece of tape over my laptop camera, and request that the next time she publishes a story based on my life, that I get to read it first.

I'm looking forward to seeing what else she's seen me do...

Steve

Steve

joannebarbarella's picture

I think you're toast!

Probably...

But I do enjoy a slice of bread with Silver Shred lemon marmalade. Just wouldn't want to -be- the toast.

I wonder if Emma ever caught me on camera with my Royal blue dress and matching 15cm platforms. I don't think that would have gone without some comment, he he.

Steve

I hate to ask . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

. . . But in your haste, you either moved away from your camera or did something to disable your microphone, so I was unable to catch your wife’s reaction. I hope everything worked out better than it does in 98% of the “caught with consequences” stories!

Seriously, I’d originally written “Fred Astaire” for the imagined dance partner before stopping to remind myself that my youthful characters will not be believable if all of their cultural references date from the last millennium. :(

Emma

Well, that's the thing...

I knew you were watching.

I never moved. Tried not to attract her attention. Guess it worked!

As you may have guessed, we seem to have achieved detente vis dressing. I try to avoid her seeing it, she seems to avoid mentioning it. No tension, just the companionship of 46 years of marriage. I'll take it!

Steve

46?

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Congratulations!

Emma

Thank you!

But boy does it trigger the very odd dysphoria I feel. Not gender based (well, may be a little bit), but temporal. My brain is quite settled believing that I am 34. My body is very visible evidence of my calendar age of 68. Looking at myself in the mirror in the morning can be a real roller coaster! It's a whole other set of stressors, quite likely minimal compared to others that might frequent this site, but very real. Might be part of why I am drawn to the stories I enjoy here so much!

Or, to be fair, maybe I'm just garden variety crazy. It's probably a testable hypothesis, if anyone needs a thesis topic...

Getting old

Patricia Marie Allen's picture

Getting old ain't for wimps. I find it a bit scary. Come March next year, I'll turn 80. I thought the big 40 was traumatic, but it's nothing compared to staring at 80 coming at you full on.

Yes my mind wants believe that I'm still in my 30s, but every time I get out of my recliner and try to stand up straight without taking few steps first I get reminded that it ain't so.

Hugs
Patricia

Happiness is being all dressed up and HAVING some place to go.
Semper in femineo gerunt
Ich bin eine Mann

Old?

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Nah, you’re just getting started!

Emma

First person mastery

Erisian's picture

This is a wonderful example of how to use first person to best effect - the burst of characterization shines clear from the get-go, setting a marvelous voice - including keying in to the reader that yes, they -are- indeed scattered enough in their thinking to have missed that the day was a holiday for those with standard nine-to-fives - a truth the whole story rests upon.

Quite fun, Emma! <3

A bit of a crutch, I know!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

I almost always write in first person because I like to intersperse my MC’s thoughts with her words. I do need to write more third-person stories, though. Just to build up the muscle memory, if nothing else.

Glad you enjoyed the diversion, Seraph!

Emma

Rainy Days and Mondays

Love at first gasp!

Jill

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

It’s taken me a while

Emma Anne Tate's picture

It’s taken me a while to lose my working stiff’s dread of Mondays. But it’s so liberating when the idea finally sinks in!

Emma

What a lovely twist on the “busted” trope

Jill Jens's picture

I kinda knew it was coming and was enjoying her fantasies so much that I missed the April Fools, National holiday, 3 day weekend risk to getting fully and well clocked.
Love it ❤️
Gimme another chance at someone like Roger.

Jill

Labor’s Love . . .

Emma Anne Tate's picture

. . . was not lost! At least, things certainly looked promising at the point I dropped the curtain. The contest rules said something about coming in under a hard “R” rating, after all. ;-)

Emma

Well

Robertlouis's picture

That was shot through with the familiar Emma humour, Rowena’s horror movie inner monologue contrasting throughout with Roger’s gentle and gentlemanly understanding and acceptance of the entire situation.

Nice story and a nice way to slide into another week. Thanks Emma.

Rob xx

☠️

Thanks, Robert!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Good to see you active — I hope all is well. :)

Emma

First Friend

Daphne Xu's picture

Apparently, Rowena's roommate was the first friend ever not to drop her like a hot potato upon knowing she existed.

-- Daphne Xu

Maybe

Emma Anne Tate's picture

It’s also possible that she assessed her other friends and decided they wouldn’t understand. Maybe she was right, too. On the other hand, her internal catastrophizing might have done her a disservice there. :)

Emma

I read it yesterday

on the day it was posted -- was it deliberatley planned to be a Monday? I hope so.
I liked it!
Today, Tuesday, I re-read it. It was not a Monday flash-in-the-(frying)-pan. I still lliked it.
Come to think of it, I like all your writing, even those which use cross-references (eg The Matrix) where I cannot assess the relevance!
It is less than a month since your previous offering, the gaps always seem too long.
Please keep them going, my imagination is only good enough to enjoy other authors, but I don't have my own ideas, not even small enough to feed as a seed to those who can!
Besy wishes
Dave

No coincidence

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Yes, I did deliberately post it on Monday — and, specifically, Labor Day. The hook was too good to pass up!

It’s been a while since I had anything to post, and I can’t promise I’ll have more anytime soon. I’ve been struggling to write, lately. I don’t think Maryanne Peter’s’ solution in her latest story, “Unblocked,” is going to saunter through my door, either!

Emma

This side of "the duckpond"

Labour Day does not exist, but the week before that was our "August Bank Holiday", when like Labour Day, everything closes down!
Dave

Acceptance

Wendy Jean's picture

And a boyfriend too, what more could a girl ask for?

Yeah.

Emma Anne Tate's picture

What’s Labor Day for, if not a bit of wish-casting!

Emma

Did Rowena really forget?

Dee Sylvan's picture

And was Roger really surprised? Methinks the lady doth protest too much.
Isn't half of the excitement of dressing up the element of risk and adventure? I was standing in front of my closet this morning with a similar dilemma to Rowena's: What to wear? But I was going golfing on a glorious sunny day and didn't know if I should wear a short white skirt with lacy red tank or a short red skirt with a low-cut shirred white top. So I compromised and went with a flowery blue golf skirt with the red top. Whew!

Btw, that's quite a selfie in the story, Em! I have a blond wig just like that one.

Rowena's real dilemma is: Why be Roy at all? Parents and family are no longer in the picture, Roger is interesting (at least as a supportive friend, but perhaps more than that), and Rowena can certainly pass. Why not look for a new job for Rowena? What a tangled web we weave, when we first...

Glad to see you back in the saddle Emma. Sorry I haven't been on the site much but this has been a really busy month at work. This past Labor Day weekend and holiday, we had over 500 people take a trip with Captain Dana! :DD

DeeDee

Decisions, decisions!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Quite the dilemma for you, Dana! Hmmm. Just how cute can I be today? Just imagining the scene brings a smile.

Did Rowena forget? Probably. She is a bit flighty— spinning stories in her head and missing what’s in front of her nose. But Roger? Yeah. I’m guessing he was maybe guessing before. Maybe. Don’t ask me. I’m just the scribe. ;-)

Oh — so you know, the picture is part of the captioning contest Mel is currently running. She gave a bunch of initials describing the source of the photos, but they didn’t ring any bells for me.

Emma

I'd enjoy Monday's too...

RachelMnM's picture

With a brown uniform guy like Rowena's... Well done short and the sprinkled visuals, the letting us in her headspace - really dug this story! Hugz Chica!

XOXOXO

Rachel M. Moore...

Rachel!!!!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Always good to hear from you, sweetheart! Thanks for the kind words. :)

Emma

Monday/Friday

Hypatia Littlewings's picture

For foods service and entertainment workers it is definitely Not TGIF. And now a days lets not forget Uber etc. Friday and Saturday are the busy nights, show up early, stay late & work harder. Sunday is usually work day to but a bit quieter, Monday or Tuesday it often the day off. Without these people all everyone could do on their days off, would be sit home an do nothing.
When I was working I would often give a sort of crocked grin when someone said TGIF. lol

Oh,um.. about Pits! From my gym days (at least in my area), I noticed a lot of guys do shave them, some not everyday tho.

Just some observations.

.

Good Story, lucky girl.
~Hypatia >i< ..:::

Holidays

Emma Anne Tate's picture

In the US, many holidays are floated to the nearest Friday or Monday, so that people can enjoy a 3-day weekend. The Fourth of July, Columbus Day, Labor Day . . . . It makes sense, but of course it means people who are normally off on Mondays -- a lot of restaurant workers, barbers, etc. -- miss out on the holiday altogether. :(

Lots of guys shaving pits? My goodness, that does surprise me! Good on them!

Emma

Mondays off

Patricia Marie Allen's picture

Aside from service workers and first responders, most folks with Monday as their normal day off, usually get the following Tuesday. One Monday holiday I really liked was President's day. My wife's birthday is on the 19th and if it fell on Friday, Saturday, Sunday or Monday, I would take a personal day the Friday before President's day and the Tuesday after so we could take a five day mini vacation to the beach.

As far as TGIF, I'd rather go with POETS. (Phooey On Everything Tomorrow's Saturday.)

Hugs
Patricia

Happiness is being all dressed up and HAVING some place to go.
Semper in femineo gerunt
Ich bin eine Mann

Awwww!

Emma Anne Tate's picture

Thanks, Avidreader!

Emma

26 comments and counting!

and that's not including your replies, Emma. I can hardly believe that these have all arrived within 24 hours of you posting your story. Of course this means that everything I might have written has already appeared and more eloquently that I would have phrased it.

I love 'happy ending' stories and this has it in spades. I prefer to think that Roger has been nursing feelings for Roy for some time which he has found very confusing, and seeing Rowena for the first time is like a blinding flash of light which makes everything clear. Sensibly you have left us to make up our own minds on what comes next in their relationship, but a deep kiss is a pretty good indicator of how things will go. Many thanks for a most entertaining story Emma, and good luck with the competition.

Bron