My Funny Androgyne
Keywords: Androgyne, My, Funny,
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"What will Donna Mae Trix get her girlfriend for Valentine's Day? Could a cruise be the cure for the wintertime blues? The continuing misadventures of Miss Anne Thrope." * * *
Winter in Chicago is bad enough when you're a businessman who can get away to Palm Beach or Palm Springs. When you have to put on a dress and ride the bus to your cubicle every day, you soon find out that nylons are no match for an Artic blast off Lake Michigan. For a working girl, winter in Chicago is almost unbearable.
Almost. Having a man in my life, even if my special someone was a dominatrix masquerading as a man, was enough to put a spring in my step as I went through the week in my high heels. I lived for Friday nights, when Donna would squire me to dinner and a show before I took her to bed in my little apartment. The weekends were reserved for indoor sports: sleeping till noon, cooking for two, and multiple orgasms.
I loved sex as a guy, but I loved it more as a woman. Just getting ready for a date was an erotic experience: deciding what outfit and lingerie to wear, soaking in a steaming hot bubble bath, smoothing moisturizing crčme over my tender body, styling my hair and putting on my makeup. On this particular occasion, I was meeting Donna at the same restaurant where she had rocked my world by showing up as a man, and just like then, she told me to "wear something special." It was Valentine's Day, and I wondered how she had ever gotten a reservation as I cut the tags off my new dress.
My little black dress! When I spied it during my lunch hour, jammed into a FINAL CLEARANCE rack at Talbot's, my heart jumped at the prospect of wearing something so pretty. Now, after slipping on a black teddy and a new pair of ultra-sheer black pantyhose, I was quivering in anticipation as I stepped into my dress. The velvet skirt kissed the tops of my shimmering knees, and the plunging neckline barely covered my bra straps. I could almost hear my tortured penis whimpering in my panties when I nudged my silky feet into a pair of black stilettos.
When I tottered over to the full length mirror to survey the finished product, I was struck by how vulnerable I looked. With blonde hair curling down my bare neck, a hint of cleavage, a satin bow tied around my waist, gossamer legs and spiked heels, I would be easy prey without a man to protect me. How would Donna stand up to a mugger? I wondered as I fastened a velvet choker around my neck. Would she shoot him with her gun full of female hormones?
* * *
After I handed my faux fur to the coat check girl at Lawry's, I felt almost naked in my little black dress. Was it my imagination, or were heads turning throughout the restaurant as the maitre d' escorted me to Donna's table? There she was, looking smashing in a double-breasted navy blue blazer and gray flannel slacks. With her neatly trimmed beard and mustache, she looked like a sea captain as she got up from the table and kissed me on the cheek. She must have been wearing lifts in her Italian loafers, because even in my stilettos I had to stand tiptoe to kiss her back.
We were seated across from each other this time, with a flickering candle between us. Once again, Donna ordered an expensive bottle of champagne, and I waited until we were alone before asking what she got me for Valentine's Day.
"You mean you didn't get anything for me?" she asked in mock surprise.
"I'm the girl," I countered.
"Hmmm, maybe being a guy isn't so great after all."
"You'll get your goodies later on tonight, at my place. Provided you treat me right. No flowers, no candy...you're blowing it, Mister."
Instead of responding, she pulled a beautifully wrapped gift box from under the table and presented it to me with a flourish. "Will you be my Valentine?" she asked.
"The boy is just full of surprises," I said as I tore off the ribbon and wrapping paper. The box was from a boutique on Oak Street. Inside, under layers of tissue paper, was the skimpiest bathing suit I had ever seen.
"And I thought I felt naked in this dress," I said as I held it up against myself. "At least I don't have to worry about wearing it any time soon."
"That's where you're wrong," Donna said. "Take another look inside the box."
I peered under more layers of tissue paper, and spotted an envelope. "What's this?" I asked. "A gift certificate to a tanning salon?"
"Give me a little credit," Donna replied. I opened the envelope, and my heart jumped to my throat. It was a ticket wallet from Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines. Inside was an itinerary for a one week cruise from Port Canaveral to Jamaica, Mexico and Grand Cayman. The departure date was in early March. "We just have enough time to get you a new passport," she said.
A cruise! Days on end lolling on deck chairs in the tropical sun! Excursions to exotic ports of call! Formal dinners in the grand salon in my little black dress! Night after night, fucking our brains out to the rhythm of the waves! It all sounded like a fantastic dream, yet something Donna said was nagging at my subconscious. "Oh, Don, it's wonderful!" I cried. "I'd love to go, but...."
"But what?"
"Do I really need a new passport?"
"Of course you do, Anne. You already have a driver license in your new name, what's the big deal?"
My driver license in the name of Anne Thrope had been issued by court order as part of my punishment in the Metabolean class action settlement. One of the few good things about the Consent Decree which had doomed me to life as a woman for a year was a proviso that my old license would be returned to me once my year was up. "If I apply for a new passport, will I be able to get my old one back?"
I could see the hurt in Donna's eyes as soon as the words were out of my mouth. "Is that what you want?" she asked.
"I don't know...we really haven't talked about it," I stammered. We were so caught up with our new lives, neither one of us wanted to face the reality of what would happen when my year as a woman was over. Once I changed my gender to female in a sworn declaration to the federal government, would I ever be able to go back to being a man? Is that what I really wanted?
"I thought you liked things this way," Donna persisted, taking the initiative like a man.
"I do, Don. But who knows how I'll feel when I have a chance to switch back?"
"I do, because that's what I just did, remember?"
"And how would you feel about having to stay like that forever?"
"Are you kidding? I'll never go back to being a woman if I don't have to."
"See what I mean? What if I feel the same way in September?"
The waiter came to take our orders, and we both pretended to be interested in his recitation of the night's specials. Food was the last thing on our minds, and after we made the default selection of prime rib (King's cut for Donna, Queen's cut for me) we sat in silence, painfully aware of the other happy couples sharing their love in the crowded restaurant. Donna just stared at me, as if saying, "We have such a good thing going, baby. Please don't screw it up."
Part of me wanted to scream, "Please take me on the cruise! Take me anywhere you want to!" Just the thought of escaping from the Chicago winter for a week was enough to make me want to say yes. A whole week without getting up before dawn to wash and style my hair, put on my makeup, gussy myself up in a dress, heels and stockings to freeze my ass off on the way to my bus...what was I thinking? But another part of me was desperately afraid that I was being sucked deeper and deeper towards the point of no return. After all, Donna was a professional dominatrix. How could I be sure that this wasn't just another of her elaborate psychological games, designed to break my will and doom me to a lifetime as a woman?
Our salads came, and we picked at them listlessly. Finally Donna broke the frosty silence. "Do you remember what I promised you on Christmas Eve?"
"You told me that you would go back to being a woman if I went back to being a man."
"Well, the offer still goes. What hurts more than anything is that you won't even consider doing the same for me."
"I'm not sure that's what I really want. Oh Don, I'm so screwed up right now!" I felt tears dripping down my cheeks.
She reached over with her napkin and gently wiped my face. "Your mascara is a mess," she said with a half smile. "I'd go into the ladies room with you, but I don't want to start another Valentine's Day Massacre in Chicago." I tried to laugh through my tears, and she got up and pulled back my chair. I picked up my clutch purse and hurried towards the lounge.
There was a line, of course, and the girl standing in front of me surveyed my face. "Bummer! Breaking up on Valentine's Day?" she asked.
She was cute, short and blonde, the kind of girl I would have lusted after when I was a guy. Now, as I followed her into the ladies room after two women walked out together, I could only sigh at how much my life had changed. Standing side by side in front of the full length mirror, I saw her lift up her skirt to fuss with her panties and hose. In times gone by, I would have wanted to grab her ass. Now I was rummaging through my purse for a tissue to fix my makeup. Is this what the rest of my life was coming to?
"How about some sisterly advice," the girl said.
"I think I can fix it okay."
"I don't mean your mascara, I mean your man. Let me take a wild guess that you're breaking up with him, only you're not one hundred percent sure you're making the right move. Well, he brought you here for Valentine's Day, didn't he? Do you know how many girls would kill for a guy who would put on a coat and tie and take them to a place like this?"
"You don't understand."
"What, you have 'issues' with him? Let me tell you a little story about a guy who was head over heels in love with me, and treated me like a queen. After we started living together, one day I came home early from work and found him parading around our apartment in my panties. So I dumped him, right? Well, get this – today he's married with two kids, living in a mansion in Winnetka, and I'm here on Valentine's Day with a Viagra poster boy who's cheating on his wife.
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Keywords: Androgyne, My, Funny,