A Woman in Red
Keywords: A, Woman, Red, in,
It had been a fairly normal lunch break at the local taqueria and I was getting ready to head back to work when I saw 'her' walk into the restaurant. She immediately caught my attention, but my two friends soon watched her with as much interest as I did. Stepping into the restaurant, she took a deep breath and then walked clumsily over to get in line to place her order.
Wearing a bright red dress that came down to just above her knees, she nearly stumbled several times on her red high heels and as she stood in line, she seemed like she was about to fall off her heels. Her calves were very muscular and presumably so were her thighs. Besides the effort she expended trying not to stumble, she seemed to walk as if muscle bound or something, her shoulders stooped as she moved, increasing the awkward look of her.
She was thin, with oddly narrow hips and very small breasts, but the thing that drew our attention, hell, everyone's attention to her was the way her blonde hair curled neatly along her square jawbone, nicely highlighting her dark five o'clock shadow. Looking at her, I couldn't help but run my hand along my face, wishing I could sport such a shadow.
Moving through the line, she grabbed her tray and with intense concentration, she walked over to an empty table and sat down. Her back was now turned to my friends and I, but I did need to take our trash to a trash can, so avoiding one not far away, I walked to a distant can, dumped the tray I carried, placing the bright plastic tray on a stack next to the trash can. I then walked back to my table, passing by the woman in red, nodding slightly as she looked up at me.
It was an odd look she gave me, you might call it pained, but, it seemed she was more overwhelmed than anything else. Sitting down at the table, I listened to my friends joke a bit about her, one guy even whispered a comment to several women who were equally flabbergasted at this woman in red, "You see what your competition is these days."
The woman didn't hear the comment, but I suddenly felt very uncomfortable as I asked myself why the woman would come out to the restaurant like this. Surely it wasn't payment for some odd bet because there were no hecklers obviously following her and the look on her face simply didn't fit.
I wondered if perhaps she was simply a cross-dresser, but she just seemed too affected by her surroundings, she just seemed out of place. It was possible she was transsexual, just very disturbed by the stage of transition she was in at the time.
After finishing her lunch, she walked off across the parking lot and then headed up the sidewalk, quickly passing out of sight. A number of people continued with the jokes and ridicule, but by that time I had pretty much tuned it all out. This woman in red, in her quiet, stoic endurance of the stares and obvious ridicule reacted with a dignity I had rarely seen in anyone before. Following my friends to the car, I couldn't help but be impressed with the courage she displayed when, for whatever reason, she came to eat lunch that afternoon.
The rest of the day, I found myself obsessed with the woman, wondering what she was actually going through. I had convinced myself she was transsexual, working her way though the long, stressful transition. Though I am embarrassed to admit it, I couldn't help but picture her in sexual situations, wondering what it might feel like to kiss her, run my hands over her tiny breasts and then move down on her only to find the sudden surprise of an erect cock.
I pictured taking the cock in my mouth, while she did the same to me, sharing a pleasure a man would understand the most, but realizing she was no longer a man. Continuing to daydream I wondered what she might be like after the operation, what her vagina might feel like for me... and her. I had heard that male to female transsexuals often could achieve orgasm and I pictured moving between her legs and sliding my lubricated cock into her new pussy. The image of her coming for me was an incredible sight.
Enthralled by the woman, I returned to the taqueria every day for a week hoping she would appear, wondering if I would have the courage to approach her and talk some if she did. Over the next few months, I returned to the restaurant once or twice a week hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but she never returned.
I still find myself strangely attracted when I see a woman wearing red and I feel a twinge of disappointment when I see she has no five o'clock shadow.
Keywords: A, Woman, Red, in,