Cassandra Ch. 01
Keywords: Cassandra, Ch., 01,
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Cassandra is a tease, a flirt, a slut, a girl who lives very much for the moment. Unconcerned with propriety or fashion trends, she dresses in clothes that go right for the jugular of a fetishist's libido. Spandex, leather, latex, spike heels, corsets, overdone hair, make-up and fingernails - these are her stock-in-trade. Cassandra flaunts her outrageous body with wanton abandon. She is soft, sinuous, seductive, an open invitation to sample her treasures. Many have. She craves cock and has had more boys that she can possibly remember - or ever care to. "I can have cock anytime," she muses. "I don't need a boy to make me feel complete." Some might regard her as bizarre, perverse, obscene. Cassandra doesn't. She loves her life, and herself, more now than she ever has before.
Girls like Cassandra are made, not born. Bit by bit, Cassandra was guided, shaped, molded, transformed into everything she is today. It took time, patience, dedication, perseverance, and lots of love. It took Melissa. She is Cassandra's roommate, friend, confidant, fashion advisor, counselor, personal physician - and Mistress. Melissa is also the one, true love of Cassandra's life, forever and ever. Who would know better than I? As I said, she made me everything I am today - and so much more than I ever dreamed I could be. I had been 'dressing up' as long as I could remember. My early attempts were crude, to be sure. I 'borrowed' things from my mother and sisters and kept practicing, experimenting. I hadn't really developed a feminine persona yet; I just had an 'urge'.
My hobby was a solitary one. In my hometown, such a thing "just wasn't done". I didn't dare reveal myself to anyone. The boys' vulgar jokes and derision of "Faggots" and "Drag Queens" scared me off. I wanted the girls to like me, to accept me, and they did - but only as a friend. They perceived me as "too small", "too thin", "too pretty", and "too swishy" to be boyfriend material. They used to talk around me as though I was one of them, gossiping about hair, makeup, which boys were "real studs" and which girls had "made it" with them. The girls were only teasing me, but I was living for it.
I went to college, studied Computer Science, and played at being "One of the Guys". I went to football games, out to the bars, rode my motorcycle, and dressed very 'butch' - though with stylishly-long hair. It was more difficult to pursue my desires at school. There really wasn't much privacy in the dorms, so dressing was out. I moved off-campus to more private accommodations as soon as university regulations permitted, but even then I had roommates, homework and projects to contend with. I picked up scene magazines; "Cosmopolitan", "Elle", "Vogue", and specialty hairstyle and make-up magazines. I bought makeup, styling gel, hairspray and a set of hot rollers and spent whatever private time I had painting my face and styling my hair, then dressing in some cute little outfit I had pieced together. I spent my precious stolen hours in feminine bliss and dreamed of a day I could dress up without fear of being discovered.
During the spring of my senior year, I saw a promotional flyer for a seminar on 'Alternative Sexual Lifestyles'. I awaited the event with anticipation. At last, I would meet 'kindred spirits', people who saw sexuality as more than "Me Tarzan, you Jane", or "Paradise by the Dashboard Light". The seminar was a complete waste of time. It was an amateurish forum by campus gay and lesbian activists to vent their spleens against social injustice - at least, where it was unjust towards them. Nothing at all was said about the other variations on the 'Alternatives' theme. But there WAS Melissa.
I sat next to her (on purpose) and we began chatting between speakers. I was 'traveling incognito' in jeans and black leather biker jacket and carrying my helmet. She was spectacularly beautiful; long, thick, streaked hair a la Cindy Crawford, big, wide-set blue eyes, full, pouty lips. Melissa was not particularly well-built, but so what? She was engaging, effervescent, smart, sassy, sexy and self-assured. And, she was HERE! That had to mean SOMETHING. She was the kind of woman I could lose myself in - and did.
We became lovers almost immediately. I couldn't believe it; she wanted me passionately! I was new to these things, but I sensed something developing, something deep that neither was willing to discuss. There was so much I wanted to tell her, so much I wanted to share, but I was afraid to open up to her. I think she felt the same way; we didn't even discuss why each of us had been at the seminar. In addition, I could sense almost from the start she was involved with someone else. Don't ask me how; call it 'female intuition'.
After a while, she just stopped seeing me, stopped returning my calls. I was hurt. I didn't understand. I wished we had had more time together, time for me to summon the courage to say the things I wanted to tell her. I resigned myself to the loss, but she haunted the corridors of my mind for a long time.
I earned my degree, moved to the city, and landed a good job at Barnes and Bidwell. I hit it off well enough with my co-workers, especially Gwen. She worked in Human Resources (they don't call it "Personnel" anymore) and helped me fill out the myriad of forms that goes with a new job. We had lunch together and she introduced me to her girlfriends: Peggy from Human Resources, Beth, and Lisa from Word Processing, Melanie from Payroll, Suzie from Administration, Nancy and Gayle from Accounting. They made me feel so at ease.
Before I knew it, I had friends - and girlfriends at that! I found an apartment (my own place at last!), started shopping for my 'special things', hung or put them away in their own places in my closets and dressers, and settled in to practice my own version of The Good Life.
I kind of drifted into the Drag Queen/Transsexual scene. There were some substantial differences between me and them; I had a job, paid my own bills without selling drugs or hooking, wasn't all that interested in the latest music by Des'ree, Pebbles, or Salt n' Peppa, didn't want to compete in any pageants, and wasn't looking for a 'husband'. I didn't even dress at first (after all this time 'in the closet', I was too afraid of looking silly), while most of them were living 24/7. Still, I felt comfortable there. I had finally found others like me who enjoyed being as feminine as they could be.
I was fascinated by the fact they all had femme names and personalities, even if it was all illusion. Well, why not? I had been living the same illusion all my life. It just made sense; it was an entirely different 'me', who deserved her own identity. I certainly didn't want to get all dressed up, go to a club, and introduce myself as "Matt". I spent the rest of the week thinking up a name, thinking up the right SOUND of a name, to compliment the woman within me. I literally woke up in the middle of the night with the answer - and the resolve to make it happen.
That Friday night, I took a long, luxuriant bath and shaved my smooth, supple body. I then carefully, exquisitely painted my pretty face. Next, I dressed in red lace waist cincher, bra, bikini panties and garter belt, sheer black stockings, red spandex tank dress, red patent belt and red patent five-inch spikes. My bra cups were filled out with very realistic (and hideously expensive) silicone breast forms that jiggled as I walked. I donned my flashiest hair and pinned it tightly to my scalp. "If I only have one life, let me live it as a blonde," I mused. I added equally-flashy necklace, earrings, bangles and ankle chain. I added long, crimson press-on nails for drama, then spritzed on a liberal amount of "Obsession". Thus, "Cassandra Santee" was ready to make her debut.
The city had a number of clubs that welcomed girls like me, not to mention those who admire us. I vowed I would experience every one I could find. That first time, I would have been satisfied with a smile or two; perhaps even an appreciative "nice". I never expected to be as well-received as I was. I don't know how many times someone (usually another cross-dresser or a 'straight' guy who liked "chicks with dicks") stopped me and told me I was beautiful or sexy. Even some of the queens said I looked good - for a "rock" (whatever that meant). It was faint praise, but better than none at all. All in all, my first time was a lot of fun.
In time, I became known around the scene and was welcomed warmly wherever I went. I made some friends, including cross-dressers, Queens, gay boys, even bouncers (always nice to have around when you want to get in without waiting in line or to get rid of some abusive Yuppie jerk). I found out I had more in common with the Queens than I had previously thought. Once they got to know you, they were a lot more fun to be around than the "weekend warriors" who wore opaque pantyhose and long sleeves to hide their hairy legs and arms. We hung out, danced, got a little drunk, and just had a good time. We even ventured to some of the straight clubs when they had special events. The management loved us; we were exotic and controversial, which made us "cool", and their club the "cool place to be".
I learned the local idiom and grew comfortable in conversing in it. For instance, I finally found out a 'rock' is a (usually new) girl who has not undergone any kind of physical transformation (hormones, implants, or other cosmetic procedure). This is not to be confused with a "rock star", who is a girl on Crack. My new friends gave me tips on dressing, 'tucking', makeup and hair and other tricks of the trade. They told me they got their curvy bodies through a combination of hormones and "pumping" - silicone injections - and recommended I get myself "done". "We know this great doctor," my friend Naomi told me. "She's fish (genetic female), but she's really into us 'girls'. She gives us all the 'mones we want. Just say the word, Sugar, and I'll fix you up with her.
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Keywords: Cassandra, Ch., 01,