You Can Always Say No Ch. 06
Keywords: Ch., Always, 06, Say, You, Can, No,
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We pulled up in front of the professional building opposite the sprawling medical center. The intervening multi-story parking structure was well-lit, but sporadically populated with vehicles this long after business hours.
"What are we doing here?" Angie questioned as we stepped out of the cab.
"Baby, Faye and I have someone we want you to meet," I explained confidently. "Shelby is a friend of ours, a therapist..."
Angie's hand tightened around mine apprehensively.
"It's all right, Sweetie," I assured her. "Shelby works with girls like you to help them realize their dreams. We told her about you and she really wants to meet you. If we want the whole world to see and appreciate you for what you really are, this is the right place to start. We'll just chat for a little while, Baby; that's all. We need this – "you "need this."
"But I – I..."
I anticipated this. It's one thing to admit to your secret desires in private, to your spouse – or in this case, spouse and 'mother'. It's something else to come face-to-face with the first concrete step towards realization of those desires. I had experienced a similar reticence with Deidre. She had required a little 'nudge'; so would Angie.
"Shhhh," I murmured soothingly. "Everything will be fine. I understand it's scary for you. Do you remember what we talked about in the taxi? You don't have to worry about making the wrong choice. You have ceded that responsibility to me and I have made the choice for you. You want to be my girl. "I "want you to be my girl. Now, you are going to be my girl. How could that be wrong? See how easy that was?
"I'll let you in on a little secret. Shelby "adores "girls like you, just as your mom and I do. All you have to do is be your sweet, sweet self and the two of you will get along famously. Faye and I will be right there with you for moral support. Now, let's get inside. Shelby is expecting us."
It was the tiniest of little white lies. Faye had said Shelby was not into T-girls to quite the same extent as us, but I wasn't so sure. She had admitted to us she enjoyed counseling girls in transition and was affiliated with several local gender support groups. I was willing to bet, she didn't see many as good as my Angie. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but....
***
Our meeting with Shelby was a mixed blessing. After some initial shock at how 'turned out' Angie was – in Faye's own style, with which Shelby was already well-versed – Shelby was enchanted with my sissy hubby. The four of us chatted together for thirty minutes, then Shelby asked Faye and I to leave the room so she could chat with Angie privately. I didn't like cooling my heels in the outer office for thirty minutes "at all". My place was by Angie's side, representing her best interests. Faye assured me this was a necessary part of the process, to ensure this is what Angie really wanted. Of course she wanted it! We had agreed on that just a little while before, in the cab. I had forged a career around my ability to take responsibility and get things done. Being reduced to the status of 'bystander' was anathema to me.
In the end, Shelby had been in favor of recommending Angie for Hormone Replacement Therapy – with a few reservations. She expressed concern about the lack of a 'real life test', in which Angie lived as a female full-time. The therapist wanted to continue seeing Angie for a while to make certain her desire was genuine. "Genuine"! What was I, chopped liver? My company paid me six figures to make that kind of judgment call.
I had diplomatically asked her if it would make a difference if Angie embarked on this 'real life test'.
"Certainly," Shelby had replied. "It would be a strong indicator of her commitment to transition. That sort of 'sea change' in one's life doesn't come about easily, particularly when a career is involved. If Angie decided she wanted The Change badly enough to face even that hurdle, I don't see how I could deny her sincerity."
"That "was certainly food for thought – especially in light of the evening ahead. I was buoyant with anticipation of a bright, shining future for us that was within my grasp.
***
The cab dropped us off in front of what could only be described as a gothic-looking castle in the middle of a Near-North neighborhood. I was still floating on air, as I had been since stepping out of Shelby's office. Despite our first stop, it was still early; barely nine-thirty. As we approached the door, I crashed back to earth with a resounding thud. As was often the case with new nightclubs, the looming, body-builder bouncer was carding "everyone", regardless of gender or sex appeal. Yeah, okay; Alan was twenty-four years old and had the ID to prove it. I supposed it was inevitable, despite her surreal passability, she would be 'outed' somewhere along the way. In light of recent events, it might even be desirable. She would have to become tough enough to endure this embarrassing – and potentially dangerous - facet of transition. Was she ready for this? Was I?
Was the 'gatekeeper' going to be cool with this, or a macho asshole? I was going over the permutations of my rebuke to the doorman's possible snide comments when we stepped up to the velvet rope.
"Good evening, Ladies," he greeted oh, so smoothly. "May I see your identification, please?"
"You flatterer, you," Faye schmoozed, handing her card over with a wink.
He examined her ID with a suave smile and cursory glance, taking only a bit more time with mine, then turning expectantly to Angie. Before I could get a word in edgewise, she retrieved her ID from the inside pocket of her purse and handed it to him expectantly.
"My sissy certainly has balls", I thought, "for a functional castrati".
Mr. Olympia took his own sweet time scrutinizing Angie's credentials, then glanced up at her face, then examined the card once more. What was he doing; memorizing Alan's vitals so he could tell his buddies at the gym about the 'fag' that had tried to get into the club the night before? Perhaps he was committing our address to memory so he could swing by with his buds and give my sissified hubby a little 'tune-up' later? What did he think he was, "NYPD Blue"?
"Thank you, Angela," he intoned with a gleam in his eye, "Happy Birthday. Ladies, welcome to "Neo". Enjoy your evening."
He handed back Angie's ID as pretty as you please. The velvet rope parted like the Red Sea for Moses – and we were inside.
I knew I had somehow been 'had'. I kept my mouth shut. We found an available booth, illuminated by a single flickering tabletop candle, and slid into the plush, semi-circular bench. A waitress appeared almost immediately and took our drink order. As she departed, I held out my hand to Angie, palm up.
"Okay," I demanded, "let's see it."
She adopted a look of wounded innocence which was ruined almost immediately by her giggle. She opened her purse, fished the identity card out of its pocket and extended it to me, gracefully clasped between two fingers.
"You mean this?"
"Yeah, Miss Butter-Would-Melt-In-My-Mouth," I groused, snatching it away from her. ""This"."
I adjusted the card proximate to the candle to allow the maximum illumination possible to fall on it. To my astonishment, the authentic-looking driver's license had been issued to Angela Faye de Castro, residing at what I knew to be Faye's home address. The picture was definitely Angie; no trickery there. The card showed today to be her birthday – her "twenty-first "birthday! The lettering was crisp; the state seal hologram and safety watermarks all appeared genuine. Our drinks arrived. I handed the card back to Angie, then raised my glass and turned to Faye.
"You never fail to amaze me," I marveled. "That has to be the best fake ID I have ever seen. It even shows our girl to be old enough to drink legally, after we have been telling everyone she is eighteen. That's a nice touch."
"Thank you," Faye acknowledged, "but it happens to be the real deal. I took Angie over to "DMV "a few weeks ago. I brought along my baby's birth certificate for authenticity. The card arrived in the mail yesterday. You see, this really "is "my baby's birthday. That's why I asked you two out tonight. Thank you both for sharing it with me."
"Faye, we wouldn't turn down an invitation from you, regardless of the occasion," I responded, then furrowed my brow in thought, "but the birth certificate would have shown Angie to be eighteen, not twenty-one."
"I know," Faye smirked, winking. "I have a friend who is a supervisor at that "DMV "office. I called him the day before we went. He was on hand to personally escort us back to his office, where I, ah... pulled some strings, so to speak. He was yummy."
I was glad I hadn't taken a sip of my drink yet; I would have choked on it, laughing.
"Let me see if I understand this correctly," I challenged, looking directly at Angie. "You now possess..."
"... a "fake "fake ID," she finished glibly.
We clinked glasses, then had to set them down on the tabletop until the laughing fit passed. So, why did I have a vague sense of uneasiness about this new development? Perhaps I should have thought of a discreet, plausible reason to hold on to her ID for her....
It was an amazing evening. We drank more than we should have on a work night, but certainly not enough to incapacitate us. We were, by far, the most popular stop for men seeking dance partners – and all three of us said 'yes' far more than 'no'. As the evening wore on, we were having a giddy, giggly good time. When we weren't dancing, the talk around the table turned to Sex. Not unexpectedly, Faye was a wealth of anecdotes about lovers, their penis sizes and shapes, and where she had done them – or they had done her – and her favorite positions and techniques. She loved it all; vaginal, oral, anal, light bondage, multiple partners, double-penetration, even airtight. Angie was not in the least put off by this talk of cock. In fact, she seemed fascinated, even enthusiastic over Faye's depictions of past debauchery.
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Keywords: Ch., Always, 06, Say, You, Can, No,