Patricia
Keywords: Patricia,
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"This is inspired by, and sort of about, the incredibly beautiful Brazilian transsexual porn actress Patricia Araujo - Machado is her real last name (though in this story she doesn't do porn these days a la Elisha Cuthbert in the underrated "The Girl Next Door," the only actual similarity - no proms or award robberies here!). Apart from her, none of the characters in this fantasy are for real (although the two main male characters are supposed to represent myself and the man who helped germinate this story), and this isn't meant to be an indication of how people behave in real life... though men willing to have sex with women who weren't born as women are a more positive force than rapists, don't you think?
Comments, complaints, or whatever to the link below."
* * * * * * * * * *
Victor Stevens trudged out of his workplace at the end of another busy day. This would usually be the cue for the tall, dark-skinned man to head to his bachelor flat, but tonight was Tuesday. The first of the three weeknights he had to go to his evening classes. Having finally had all his defences worn down by his sister, he'd signed on to expand his mind and maybe get out of the job he was in (never mind that he liked the people he worked with). But it was still a bit of a drag; he hadn't been too fond of classes even when he had been a student, and now that he was officially a grown-up... well.
The classroom was still emopty when he got there - another holdover from his old school days; he was usually the first one there. Victor thought about going through his textbook or reading his paper, and (in another throwback to his schooldays) went for the latter. He was still reading when he heard the door open - the other prisoners had started to arrive.
"Excuse me, is this... Vic!"
"Mike!" Victor said, glad that there'd be at least one familiar face around here. "You're in this class too?"
"To the bitter end," the unfortunately named Michael Bolton confirmed. When his parents had divorced, she had gotten custody of their only son and dropped her married name of Jackson, which he had thought would bring an end to endless jokes about his name. Sadly, this was done the year before "How Am I Supposed To Live Without You" made the straggly-haired song-murderer famous, ensuring Mike's embarrassment continued, though he was one of the few men in history who actually welcomed the onset of premature baldness. It cut down the resemblance.
"I didn't figure you as a student type," Victor said.
"It'll keep me busy," Mike admitted, sitting down near his friend. "Give me something to keep my mind off my job for a couple of hours."
"You'll be dead this weekend. Two jobs and this three nights a week..."
"It pays the bills and keeps me off the streets."
Victor couldn't argue with that. The two kept talking about theie jobs (OK), their relatives (sort of okay), their favourite TV shows (usually ones starring really good-looking women) and their love lives (ha ha ha...), until the room was almost full of students running the gamut from professionals to amateurs, men and women, rich, poor, you name it. Your typical cross-section of people you got in a night class. Or in a sitcom. Victor and Mike were keeping up one of several conversations running in that room when the door opened. Victor started to put away his paper and get the real texts out - another school holdover; put the non-school stuff away fast just before the teacher came in.
Then he saw who it was, and forgot about the class for a second. He just stared at the woman who was walking into the room, holding her books to her chest. "Nice..." Mike said under his breath. Victor didn't say anything; he was just drinking in the newcomer's beauty.
Now, there are men who can look at a young woman with shoulder-length jet-black hair, lovely almond-shaped eyes, an indescribably innocent-looking face, the most strokeable dusky tanned skin this side of Jessica Alba, and an illegally attractive shape and the walk to go with it, and think "Bleh." But none of those men were in that room; every single prick swelled to the size of Donald Rumsfeld's arrogance as their owners watched the class's only female student move through the desks towards the only emmpty one left. The one directly in front of Victor.
"Hi!" she said cheerfully with a strong Latin American accent to the guys on either side of her as she moved into the space, giving Victor a clear view of her buttocks; big, round and sexy, they were made for tight jeans. It only took her a brief moment to sit down, but for him and the other guys lucky enough to have a view, it seemed like a moment frozen in time. But with his luck, she was probably a lesbian.
His luck did run out just then, as the teacher arrived; Victor, his mind on the vision in front of him, registered that the man's name was Mr. Grant and he'd be their teacher in this class, and that he wanted to get to know his students - who they were, what they did...
"My name's Cletus Hogan, and I'm an accountant..."
"I'm David Robinson, and I'm unemployed..."
"I'm Tony Knox, and I'm a journalist..."
Come on, come on, get to this gorgeous creature...
"My name is Patricia Machado," said the gorgeous creature, "and I'm a waitress."
I'm Victor Stevens, Victor thought, and I'm in love.
* * * * * * * * * *
All his friends knew that Victor wasn't a drinking man, so it was quite a surprise when Mike rang him two weeks later and invited him out for drinks after work. Victor, rather than tell him that bars didn't usually look kindly on people who didn't drink anything stronger than tea, was about to come up with one of his variety of excuses for begging out when Mike said the magic words: "It's the one Patricia works at."
Patricia. Who Victor had spent the past few weeks silently lusting after when he should have been keeping up with the lessons (so that was another thing this had in common with his school days). Whose lilting laugh had come back to haunt him in his dreams. Who often starred in his dreams. Who he had been utterly petrified of talking to in case she said no... "Is it a smoky bar?" Victor asked.
"Hell, no," Mike assured him. "Well - there's a smoking section, if that counts."
But Victor would have gone even if it was wall-to-wall cancer risk.
* * * * * * * * * *
Patricia's shifts alternated with her classes, which was one reason she had signed up for the night school. Victor was surprised that he didn't see anyone else from the class that evening as he and Mike waited at one of the tables, trying to look as if they loved the music that was playing. But Dido was making it hard.
"How come there aren't any others from the class here?" Victor asked.
"I only found her here by chance," Mike admitted. "She only started working here a couple of months ago; I didn't know until I came in here one night and there she was. Let the others look for her - she's mine! All mine! Ha ha ha ha..."
"So why'd you tell me?"
"That's what friends do, Vic."
They shook hands as Patricia came over to their table, bearing her tray and fielding admiring glances. "Hey there," she beamed, "taking a break from the grind?"
"Where better to get over the day?" Mike asked the beautiful Brazilian woman.
"Thanks for not spreading the word, Michael," Patricia added. This girl really had him around her little finger - he didn't like being called Michael. "I knew I could trust you to keep it quiet."
"Huh?" Victor said.
"Oh, you didn't know? When he came in here I asked him not to tell anyone where I was working - I get enough guys trying to put their hands up my skirt and pinching my ass without Croft and his pals coming here..."
Oh yeah, Croft and his pals. Victor hadn't been in class with them long, but he knew the type - loud, annoying, thought they were God's gift to women (the Grinch's gift to women more like). They had actually hit on her at the end of Thursday's class; told her she needed to be with some real men. Patricia had sweetly told them to let her know if they found some, and left them steaming and everyone else delighted. Croft had been muttering about how she was the first woman ever to turn him down, and how she would regret it; Mike had whispered to Victor about how the missing ingredient this time around had been money.
"And I don't really like to date much," Patricia continued. "Word gets around..."
"Parents get mad?" Victor asked.
"They're already mad," Patricia sighed. "That's why I haven't seen them for years... but what's your poison? Funny expressions you have here."
"Fruit juice for me, whisky for Mike," said Victor. "My treat."
"But I invited you!" Mike pointed out as Patricia took their order to the bar. "This is my bill..."
"I got to see Patricia out of class," Victor pointed out. "It's worth it."
* * * * * * * * * *
"Okay, that's it for tonight," said Mr. Grant, looking as weary as the students felt. "Remember, it's a test next week... don't let that ruin your sleep."
Mike muttered something under his breath as he led the other students out, Victor chucking his books into his bag as he hoped and prayed that the bus driver wouldn't be late again tonight. It was no fun having to sit out there waiting for hours while the driver was probably getting pissed in some bar somewhere -
"Hey, Victor!"
Victor stopped his mental moaning and put himself on Patricia's wavelength; she had touched his arm to get his attention along with the "Hey, Victor!" Not that she had had to say anything... "Rough class tonight."
"No kidding," Victor agreed as they said goodnight to Mr. Grant and headed out. "I don't know why I agreed to this..."
"You want to do better for yourself," Patricia told him. "So do I... you think I want to be serving drinks forever? And speaking of drinks, maybe you could come over sometime and I could get you one on my own time."
Victor almost tripped himself up. He had trouble asking women just for the time of day, and now this lady was inviting him over to her place? ".
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Keywords: Patricia,