As Good As A Woman free porn video

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any real persons or events is purely coincidental. I am reluctantly rating this as "G" for FictionMania, because there is no "PG-13" equivalent here. Actually, I'd be *very* surprised if you'd find anything in this work that wouldn't be found on U.S.A. prime-time "network" television programming. AS GOOD AS A WOMAN By Denise Em copyright 1995, 1996, 2001 Chapter I The barbs were beginning to get to me. I appealed to Diane, "Look, I'll concede that you women do have a little tougher time of it, but you do choose to dress that way. Besides, it still isn't anything us guys couldn't do just as well, if it were actually important." Jean, in for another handful of reports, heard that and challenged me, "OK, prove it." All I could do was look at her quizzically. "Show us how you can do it just as well," she demanded. "How?" I asked. "Is it too simple for your complex mind?" she sarcastically asked. "Do a full day's work, wearing a skirt and high heels." *--* It had all started on a particular government holiday, which was, unfortunately, not observed by the company I work for. The office I worked out of was somewhat special, in that the majority of its business was government related. Because many of the field technicians would have little to do, it was an ideal time to schedule several of the field technicians into the office for a "workalong day". Thus, I found myself assigned to work with the Service Response Coordinator, Cheryl Diaz, taking calls from the customers who were still open for business. It was a function Cheryl normally shared with Diane Parker, the contracts administrator. I had the filing system for customer records figured out by ten AM. By eleven, I was taking customer calls as though this were my normal job. Having long been on the receiving end of the dispatch process, it wasn't especially difficult to learn how to assign the calls. Perhaps it was the way I had fit right in, that made an offhand comment lead to my present circumstances. Several technicians, with no calls to keep them busy, were hanging around the office. Remarking on how well I was handling the job, one of them added an observation that although she couldn't identify what it was, something didn't seem quite right. Knowing that the position had always been held by a female, I made the mistake of quipping, "I suppose you'd feel better about it, if I had longer hair and wore a dress?" That drew several laughs from around the room. Gregg Avery, another technician, spoke up, "Only one way to find out!" I gave him a withering look. Another call came in, breaking that train of conversation. While I was handling it, the discussion had wound down. When I'd finished, Cheryl reopened the topic. "...really! You're only doing part of the job. It's a lot more difficult to do while managing a skirt. All the getting up, bending, stooping, maneuvering around desks and cabinets, all the while, tethered by the headset cord - it's much easier in slacks." "Then why don't you just wear slacks all the time?" I asked. "I've seen you wear them sometimes." "Just on rain days," she parried. I had to grin, as I sprung my trap. "Then it's not part of the job; it's just personal preference." "Oh, yes, it is. The people coming through here expect a certain 'ambience' at the SRC desk. Maintaining that is part of the job, too." I rolled my eyes at that response, and said no more. Someone mentioned that it was nearly lunch time. A short discussion followed, concerning where to go. It was Cheryl's turn to stay behind and answer the phones, so Diane came with the rest of us. During the trip to the restaurant, she sort of attached herself to me. While we were waiting for our orders to be served, she remarked, "Sometimes I wonder about Cheryl." "What about her?" I asked. "Oh - you know - that business about wearing a skirt on the job. I mean, that really is a bit much, expecting a man to be able to manage a skirt - especially in those circumstances." I hadn't listening that closely, so I asked, "How is that?" "Well, it takes special skill to wear a skirt and not make a spectacle of oneself. It isn't fair for her to put a guilt trip on you just because you can't do it." Some days I can be just plain stupid. Instead of recognizing her troll, I demanded, "What do you mean, CAN'T?" Diane responded, "You don't have any experience with it." I became indignant. "I didn't have any experience with our equipment before I signed on, either, but I've certainly shown that I can do the job." So far, no one else in the group had contributed anything this conversation. However, Jean Cox, from the billing department, could no longer hold back. "It isn't the same, Ted. Girls spend years, growing up in skirts, learning to handle them gracefully. You can't just read a manual and expect to do it right." For some reason, it still hadn't occurred to me to question why I should even care. "So, what's there to learn? Don't bend over so someone can see what's underneath..." I quipped. I was getting sucked right in. At this point, Gregg decided to add his tupence worth, "It ain't that simple ..." Jean interrupted him, "What do YOU know about it, anyway?" Kate Nichols, another technician, who, as it happens, never wore skirts to work, admonished her, "Hey, he is on our side, here." She then directed her remarks toward me. "There really is a lot to be aware of. You don't want to sit on a fold and make a wrinkle of it. You have to be careful not to snag it on anything, because a skirt doesn't follow your movements closely, the way pants do. Outside, you have to watch for breezes, and inside, low air registers. It's a different way of living." Still not realizing how deep I was getting, I philosophized, "It sounds like it's just a matter of situational awareness." Jean couldn't let go without a final word on the subject, "Sure, only, like saying goes: Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did, and wearing high heels when she did it. Do You think HE could have done HER job?" I didn't bother to answer what appeared to be a rhetorical question. While we ate our meal, the conversation drifted to other matters. While Cheryl was at lunch, Diane guided my work. I completed the rest of the day's work satisfactorily, although not without having to hear an occasional comment about how easy I had it. That probably would have been the end of the matter, except that I have only one account to service. It is a production facility, and it needs two full time tech's to keep all the equipment maintained. The second week following the holiday, my account was scheduled to take block vacation. Normally, I would have been assigned calls in other territories, to help out the other technicians. That's just the way it turned out, the first day. However, when I arrived at the office Tuesday morning, I discovered that Cheryl had been injured during the previous night's softball game. She would be out at least a week. The office manager asked me if I would mind covering for her. Since I had been good at it, it didn't occur to me to have any reservations about taking the assignment. Perhaps I should have. First came an occasional comment about the nameplate on the desk, "You don't LOOK like a Cheryl." Jean was considerably less subtle, "At least, you could have dressed for the part." Still, I was handling the job well enough, and by noon, Elaine Ross, our office manager, was generous in her praise. Jean had stopped by the desk to pick up service reports, and hearing Elaine's comments, appended, "Sure, he's almost graceful, working around the call station. If Ginger Rogers had worn flats, she could have made Fred Astaire look like a klutz." Everyone in the office had become accustomed to militancy of Jean's feminist rhetoric and pretty much ignored it. Elaine, however, glared at her, as if to say, "what does that have to do with anything?" Jean took the hint and went about her business. Still, she didn't let the matter drop. Each stop for paperwork, she found something provocative to say, until she finally got the opportunity to make her challenge. I tried to demur, "You're making a big deal about nothing." "You're the one that claimed it was easy. What's the matter, is it too big a project after all?" "No," I told her, "I just don't see any point in proving the obvious. There's nothing in it for me." She pressed, "What would it take to make it worth your trouble?" Elaine could hear all of this through the open door of her office. I could see that she was about to step out - perhaps to tell Jean that she was out of line - but she halted when Diane spoke. "Hey, cut him some slack, if he weren't here doing Cheryl's job, I'd have to do both mine and hers. He's doing just fine as he is, so leave him alone. You don't even want to be the one who drives away my golden goose." Unfortunately, neither of them had taken into account my ego. It had taken all the battering it could stand, and I was nearly ready to accept. "How MUCH worth my trouble?" I asked. Jean was quick, "Dinner, my treat." "Get serious," I responded. I think Diane surprised Jean, when she raised the stakes. "How about dinner, your choice of menu, every night for a week, the weekend included?" I had to think about that, which was a big mistake. The question is: did I think too hard, or not hard enough? Hey, I can cook well enough, but I'm not such an ambitious chef that I don't get bored with my own cooking. Besides, I wanted to see how far they'd bid for something this crazy. Jean was about to break the silence, but something held her back just long enough for me to yield first. "And?" I ventured. Jean was aghast. It didn't take any genius at reading body language to tell that she was ready to tell me where I really stood - which, presumably, wasn't very high. Fortunately, she wasn't fast enough. "And the satisfaction that you really can do something most other men wouldn't even attempt," Diane offered, as she gently grasped my upper arm. "All day tomorrow, skirts and high heels - do we have a deal?" I certainly hadn't expected such a hard sell, so I accepted without really thinking about the full implications. The next thing I knew, Diane was leading me to Elaine's office to get her concurrence. Elaine listened to Diane's explanation, as though it were the first she'd heard of it. She expressed reservations about how my altered appearance might prove disruptive in the office, but, in the end, she gave her consent to the arrangement. I suppose that if this had been a major city office of the company, she'd have been more concerned about "image". However, out here, in an predominantly rural area, nonsensical pranks were a common form of entertainment. Moreover, the very nature of the business was such that walk-in traffic was almost non-existent. Other than the on-site services provided, public contact was almost 100% by phone, FAX, or mail. Diane quickly thanked her, then tugged me along, back to our work area. There she had a quick conference with Jean. "Then it's settled," Jean confirmed, "you're having dinner at my place tonight. Be there at seven." Regaining a little of my presence of mind, I responded, "No, that's OK, I haven't won my prize yet; you don't have to feed me tonight." "Unh-uh," Diane intervened, "We want you to come over tonight, anyway. You need to get fitted out, and learn how to get along with the articles you'll be using. In fact, let's make a list of your sizes." This she proceeded to do, and, with Jean's help, converted them to `misses' sizes. "Now, all we need," Diane advised me, "is to find people who will let us borrow the things you'll need." Chapter II After work, Diane stopped at Cheryl's and brought her up to date on events at the office, including my agreement. Cheryl is a big girl - not fat, but 71 inches tall and size 14. Reviewing Diane's list, Cheryl noted that she could have supplied almost everything I'd needed. This led to an animated conversation, and a trip through Cheryl's closet and chest of drawers. When I arrived at Jean's apartment, I didn't make much notice of the crowd of cars, until the door opened and I discovered that - seemingly - half of the women in the office were present. "Dinner won't be until eight," Diane announced. "In the meantime, you can get changed and try out your outfit." "Why can't we start after dinner?" "Because we have lots of time now. Besides, then you can practice even while you are eating." Again, I wasn't thinking fast enough to ask what it might be that I'd need to practice, while sitting down to eat. It would be quite awhile before it dawned on me that they intended for me to learn more about femininity than just adeptness at walking in high heeled shoes. They sent me into the bathroom with an A-line skirt to put on in place of my slacks. In a tartan plaid, which barely reached the tops of my kneecaps, it presented a kiltish appearance. On returning, I was presented a pair of mid-height, black, T-strap pumps. When I had difficulty getting my feet into the close fitting shoes, I was given a pair of slipper-like nylon half socks, which allowed my feet to slide right in. Then my education began. I was drilled in walking, turning, sitting, and all I would need to know to be able to handle the thin heels and flaring skirt. Just about the time I was beginning to feel accustomed to walking mainly on the balls of my feet, dinner was ready. One thing I might have noticed, had I not been so preoccupied with my situation, was that no one was digging at me, as had been the case during the day. It was almost as if I was being accepted into the conversation nearly as "one of the girls", even if most of what they had to say concerned my efforts to master the feminine graces, such as they considered appropriate for the role I was undertaking. The training didn't stop at dinner time. Comments were regularly directed my way, explaining that I shouldn't sit like so, and to hold my fork like thus, and to leave my other hand in my lap, and on, and on, throughout the meal. It was done in such a amicable way, that I couldn't take offense, but instead adjusted my posture and gestures to meet with their approval. When dinner was over, I offered to help with the clean up, something which, when I thought about it later, surprised me. Kate suggested that, to make the best use of my time, the ladies would do the washing and drying, and I could put things away, with Jean's guidance. So, I found myself rushing back and forth across the kitchen, trying to keep up with the stream of dishes, pots, and pans being washed and dried. By the time everything was in order again, I was most grateful for the chance to sit down. Even though the heels were barely over two inches high, my ankles were screaming for relief. It was when I passed through the doorway from the bright kitchen into the more dimly lit living room that Kate discovered a problem. "Ted, I'd hate to say this, but you're going to need a slip under that skirt; I can see right through it, when you're backlighted." Some discussion followed, about what all a slip was for, and, although I was resistant to wearing one, I finally conceded that modesty was an important issue. Jean, having caught just the end of the conversation, hastily added that something ought to be done about my hairy legs, too, which immediately brought me to the edge of canceling the whole deal. Diane was ready for this, too, and suggested that opaque hose would solve the problem. When all the details regarding my wardrobe had been settled, I drove home and went straight to bed. As I was drifting off into sleep, a thought barely flickered across my mind. Just how had everything been on hand - in the right colors, even - to cover the changes they had thought up? Chapter III Early the next morning, I drove over to Diane's. While I was getting into my "uniform of the day", I began to doubt the wisdom of my insistence that the change stop at the waist. Last night, some of the women had expressed dismay at the overall image I presented. They had suggested that a complete makeover might be preferable, even from my point of view, since I would draw less attention that way than dressed half-and-half. Next, I was confronted with the problem of what to do with the things I usually carried in my pockets. I didn't find Diane's suggestion, that I might need a purse, the least bit funny. I decided to leave behind everything except my wallet and comb. Fortunately, the skirt turned out to have side pockets, so I didn't have to carry them in my hand. Diane invited me to ride to work with her, so I left my car in her parking lot. I was oblivious, at the time, to the fact that this would effectively insure that I'd have to see this through, since I couldn't drive anywhere to change - not to mention that my pants and shoes were locked inside her apartment! The jokes and jibes didn't last long that morning, because there were plenty of service calls to keep the technicians out of the office. That left just the office staff. Jean, of course, just had to tease me some - although she admitted, grudgingly, that I was handling my part rather well. By mid-afternoon, the strain of dealing with the unaccustomed clothing was beginning to tell. I wobbled on those darned skinny heels even more than I had that morning, on the way down Diane's stairs. My calves were sore from stooping so much to get into low file drawers. Finally, during one rush to get to the phone, I tripped, narrowly avoiding spraining my ankle, but breaking a shoe heel. Finding it hazardous to be hobbling around with one heel elevated, and the other not, I took Diane's suggestion and removed both shoes, going about in my stocking feet. At day's end, I put them on so I could hobble out to her car and, in turn, up the stairs to her apartment. Along the way home, Diane had expressed generous praise for my performance that day. It paralleled that which I had already received from the office manager - especially about being a good sport and all. Nevertheless, inside the apartment, with Jean, Kate, and the others, she agreed with Jean's assessment: I hadn't done it entirely right. "He broke the heel on the shoe; that's not a successful completion," Jean complained. Kate became my advocate. "I suppose you've never broken a heel? He did as well as anyone I know, carrying on in spite of it." Jean wasn't about to concede easily. "He not only broke the heel - he also worked part of the day with no shoes on. The deal was skirts AND heels, all day." "Don't I at least get partial credit?" I asked. "I mean, after all, I did go the whole morning as agreed." "The agreement was for the whole day." Diane then suggested that I be allowed to make up the last part of the day. Jean was adamant, but saw that her support was eroding. Almost defensively, she insisted, "He broke the heel." By now, my expression must have shown that I was becoming resigned to the notion that I'd done all this for nothing. At best, they had conceded that I had a legitimate alibi for the only part in dispute, equipment failure. "OK," Jean suddenly relented. "Teddie, do you want to try it again?" "An hour and a half tomorrow?" "Unh-uh. The whole day tomorrow." I arranged my demeanor to reflect a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "We'll throw in four more dinners, to balance the good part of today," Diane offered. I held off making a reply, but Jean must have seen my intent from my facial or body language. I was about to make a counter offer, when she spoke with renewed firmness, "All, or nothing." I stood up. "Then, nothing," I declared. Jean grinned victoriously. "I told you he couldn't hack it," she exclaimed to the group. A voice from out of my line of vision decried, "Party Pooper." "Why are all of you so anxious to get me into a skirt, anyway?" I demanded. "I'd have thought your main goal would be to keep me OUT of your skirts," I added, in an attempt to inject some humor. Jean responded, "Who was so cocky about being able to do ANYTHING a woman could?" "I never said that," I insisted. "I'm well aware that there are things that you ladies can do, which I, as a male, can't even hope to." "Maybe not so many as you were thinking, honey," advised a voice. It was Anita Wells, from the parts department. As I turned so I could see her, she continued, "I was just reading, last week, about how researchers think they can implant an embryo on a man's intestine, and it will grow to term. You might not be able to conceive, but bearing a child may be within your reach." At that description, I put my hand to my brow, while my face and neck glowed with embarrassment. "Well, come on `Mr. Macho', lets get you out of that skirt," Jean prodded. "We wouldn't want anyone to think you were a sissy, now, would we?" I glared at her. "Was that the point of this whole deal? To see how much you could embarrass me?" With the question still in my expression, I turned to face Diane, then Kate. Diane spoke first, "It wasn't like that at all, Ted. You were the one claiming you were capable of it; we just gave you an opportunity to prove or disprove it. And ... I did already told you that I thought you acquitted yourself very well." "Ted," I heard Anita begin, "if you feel we weren't fair, don't forget that you were offered a chance to make it up." Kate added, "Despite what Jean said, Ted, no one is going to think badly of you if you drop it. You made a good faith try, and I, for one, think you've earned another dinner, if not the whole week's worth. If they don't want to spring for it, I'll do it myself. "Thanks," I replied as I turned toward the bedrooms. "On the other hand, if you want to try again," she looked around the room, "how about double or nothing?" She got nods of agreement from the other women, albeit with widely varying enthusiasm. I can hardly believe that I actually hesitated for a moment, considering her offer. However, I didn't answer. Instead, I resumed my progress down the hallway. Chapter IV The next morning, I was back on the job with my normal appearance. The day started well enough, but, from the first time that Jean came by for the paperwork, things started going awry. She hadn't been the least bit subtle in telling me that I didn't belong there. She insisted that I couldn't hope to fill the shoes of the person whose job I was pitifully trying to do. Her criticism actually unnerved me. I began mis-routing calls, misfiling call slips, and making mistakes on the report sheets. When the foul-ups came to Elaine's attention, she had Diane help straighten out as many as could be found. She wasn't happy. "What is wrong?" she asked. "It's almost as though you'd forgotten how to do the job. You were doing a far better job yesterday, even with your `handicap'." Not wanting to be seen as trying to put the blame on someone else, I didn't mention Jean's influence. I rationalized to her that I'd been rattled by the rapid pace at which calls had come in earlier in the morning. Diane tried to lighten up the mood with some humor, "Perhaps you should have taken the double-or-nothing offer after all, Ted. Maybe the job is EASIER to do in skirts." "Oh, sure," I mockingly agreed, "without the high heels slowing me down, I go too fast and make mistakes." "Only one way to find out," she responded. "Spare me." Nevertheless, I did slow down and concentrated on being more methodical about each task, as if I were learning the job anew. Another thing that seemed to help was forcing myself to make my motions more fluid as might a dancer. At lunchtime, Diane chose the second shift. That put me on the same lunch break as Jean and Anita. Much as I'd have preferred to decline their invitation to join them, I couldn't bring myself to be rude. So, along with Gregg, and Kate, I accompanied them to a nearby restaurant. I fully expected Jean to use the opportunity to continue harping on my shortcomings. Instead she was about as pleasant as I could ever remember; avoiding all mention of the previous day, or the way I was handling today's work. When we'd finished eating, everyone but Jean and I went their own way to do errands. That was when she finally started laying it on. "Well, you couldn't cut it, after all, could you?" "What?" I asked mechanically, before her meaning had registered. "You know, in skirts and heels. You couldn't do a simple job that any woman could do." "That's baloney, and you know it. I was doing the job; I lost on a technicality. Furthermore, I'd bet that any woman would have trouble with the heels, too, if she hadn't ever worn them before then." "Are You complaining that You didn't get enough practice?" "Forget it." "Oh sure, now that you've failed, you want to hush it up. Well, the next time you think you're as good as a woman, just remember yesterday." There was no reasoning with her, so I was silent the rest of the way to the office. A little later, Diane was commenting on the graceful way I was navigating around the dispatch station, and I let it "slip" that I might be interested, after all, in trying for the double-or- nothing. "I don't know if that offer is still open, Ted," Diane remarked. "I'll ask around." Jean made a show of objecting to a repeat of the offer, but let herself be persuaded, perhaps with uncharacteristic ease. Kate proved to still be amenable to the deal, so I found myself being invited to Diane's place after work. "This time, we draw up a contract, spelling out exactly what is expected," she advised me. Alarms went off in my mind. "What do you mean ... a contract?" I exclaimed. "Just that, if the expectations are in writing, there won't be any ambiguities to be disputed after-the-fact." Elaine, having heard part of the exchange, came out to the dispatch center. "What is going on?" she demanded. Diane explained. After a moment's silence, she sighed. "I do hope you haven't forgotten that this is a business, not a playground for your 'inner children'," she reminded us. I felt a sudden inclination to drop the whole matter. She turned to me, however, and asked, "Why are you putting up with this?" Now on the defensive, I found myself trying to justify the situation without any real conviction behind my logic, "It seemed like an easy way to get a couple of week's worth of dinners." Her stern expression melted slightly, into an exasperated grin, and she shook her head. Turning her attention back to Diane, she said, "Goddess help me, I hope I don't end up having to justify to Region why I'm allowing this nonsense." An hour after work, I was in Diane's living room, negotiating the terms of my "contract". When all the details had been worked out and committed to paper, the group dispersed. Jean offered to stay and help Diane prepare dinner. Diane suggested that it would be to my advantage to get all the practice on heels I could, before work tomorrow, so why not start right now? That turned out to mean: with panty hose and a skirt - the same one I'd worn yesterday. After dinner, Jean suggested, half in jest, that we go to a movie. I was willing - as soon as I could change into my own clothing. I should have known better. Jean was interested only if I went as I was. That discussion was aborted when Kate rang the bell, and Diane let her in. The discussion turned back to the coming day, and how I simply COULDN'T wear the same skirt twice in one week. When I asked `why not', Kate observed that it was a feminine custom. "Also," she pointed out, "you spilled some of your dessert on it." Consequently, I was presented a different skirt, white, with a linen texture and box pleats. Then they invited themselves over to my place to find an appropriate shirt to go with it. Kate had brought in another pair of pumps, with low, two inch heels. When she offered them for me to wear during the trip, my objections were sidetracked by Jean's protest. "I hope those aren't the shoes he's wearing for work," she said. "I thought they'd do for the spare pair," Kate explained. "Spares would have to be the same height as the first pair," Jean stated flatly. Kate looked over to Diane, who didn't object. "OK," Kate agreed, "but these will do for the trip to Ted's place." I didn't really want to go outside again, dressed as a woman from the waist down, but after Kate had taken my side, I didn't have the heart to argue the issue with her. So, still wearing the plaid skirt and the mid-heeled shoes, I was escorted out to the parking lot, where we all got into Kate's car. I live in a rambling old cottage, twice extended by previous owners. It sits well back on a deep lot, shaded by a thick canopy of old trees. Because the view of passersby was blocked by heavy shrubbery, I wasn't bothered about going from the car to the house, dressed as I was. Inside, matters soon became a little more complicated. Although they found a dark blue oxford shirt that looked OK with the skirt they'd brought, none of the women thought it a truly suitable pairing. Kate went out to her car and brought in a top that obviously was the mate to the skirt. It had three-quarter sleeves, a jewel neck, and buttoned up the back. It wasn't near as much trouble as they might have expected to get me to try it on. However, after I saw myself in a mirror, I didn't like the mixed image. Jean started teasing me about how I was starting to look quite cute, and that a little makeup might help even more. After that comment, I prevailed upon Diane to unbutton the top, and I went to my room to change into a jogging suit. When I returned, Diane reminded me that I'd have to go back to her apartment for my car. Then she extended an invitation for me to spend the night in her apartment. Her housemate had two weeks to go on an overseas assignment, she explained. She was sure that Carol wouldn't mind if I used her room. "That way," she rationalized for me, "you won't have to get up so early, yet you'll have plenty of time to get ready for work." I couldn't think of any rebuttal to her logic - or even to ask why I'd need much time to get ready. Taking my lack of objection as capitulation, they helped me gather up the items I'd need for that night and the next day. Back at Diane's apartment, Kate brought up a large case, as well as an overnighter. Among the items inside were two pairs of dress pumps that had the same heel heights. That was how they got me out of the jogging suit again, by insisting that I had to try on the whole outfit for tomorrow, including both pairs of shoes. When I got to see myself in a full length mirror, I again became dismayed at the mixed image. Somehow, the contrast hadn't been so strong with the plaid skirt. That seemed to be Kate's cue. She turned on the charm, asking me to please go along with them for just a few minutes - which turned out to be two hours - and let them try a different approach. Soon, I was back in the linen suit, wearing pantyhose which bore a faint honeycomb pattern and ankle strap pumps. That put me at the precipice of my comfort zone. What they wanted next, pushed me right over the edge. "It's so close," Diane mused. "Why don't we see?" Jean asked cryptically. Diane led me into her bedroom. "Sit down right here," Diane directed, pointing to a padded stool next to a small table. Tilting up the top of the vanity to expose a mirror and a compartment underneath, she removed a bottle. She soaked a square cotton pad with a portion of its contents. When she began wiping it across my face, I reached up and grasped her wrist. "What are you doing?" I demanded. "Just cleansing your skin," she answered. It was in a tone of voice so absent of guile, that I let her continue. "How often do you shave?" she asked, as she gently stroked my face. "A couple of times a week, I guess," I responded. "That's unusual for a twenty-five year old, isn't it?" "Not in my family," I said. "My dad didn't need to shave every day until he was nearly forty, neither did any of his brothers. When she had finished, she brought out another bottle, which I immediately recognized. It was liquid makeup. "Whoa, there. You aren't thinking what I think you're thinking, are you? You're not putting any of that stuff on me - no way." Then the air was filled with the sweetest plea's and "please's" for my indulgence. Wouldn't I just let them show me what was possible? It would wash right off, afterward ... Their appeal to my male nature was so transparent, that it was disarming. I had it in my power to make them happy, merely by sitting there - and letting them have their way with me. Well, it wasn't exactly in a way I might have wished for. Still, all that attention was intoxicating, so I acceded. By the time they had finished, I was sure I knew how an artist's canvas might feel. After the liquid foundation had been spread, blended, and set with translucent powder, they began applying other powders in various hues. Kate stroked each side of my nose, and the tip of my chin, with a brush bearing traces of tan. Diane made me smile, then lightly dusted the fullest part of my cheeks with pink, and followed with a darker shade just below. Next she took a clean brush and went over the same areas, with an interruption to use a previous brush to add a little more color to one side. Kate took over, and with light and dark shades of a brick colored powder, began dusting my eyelids. Next, she used a dark pencil to draw along the edges of my eyelids. She followed with cotton swab in short strokes that didn't feel like they quite followed the way she'd drawn the original lines. When they were both satisfied, Diane fitted me with a wig. It was a dark, golden blonde in color, and not quite shoulder length. She arranged it with an odd sort of comb which had only four, long, widely spaced, teeth and rattail handle. Only then was I allowed to see a mirror. I found myself unable to deny that they had done an excellent job. I wasn't exactly pretty, but my own mother probably wouldn't have recognized me, or even - perhaps - that I wasn't a woman. Still, the suit didn't look quite right; I wasn't curved in the right places. Returning to the case, Kate removed a long- line brassiere and some pads for the cups; then she retrieved a panty girdle which had pads strategically placed. They moved me along quickly, forestalling any questions: suit off; foundation garments on; a full slip, much fancier than the half slip I'd used at first - a little lace would show in the walking slit; then back on with the suit. Much better. Clip on some earrings. Another look in the mirror. "This is unbelievable," I whispered. Kate gently suggested that I was so convincing that no one could possibly guess that I wasn't what I appeared to be. Furthermore, she insisted, this person before them was far too feminine to be even a "Teddie", much less a "Ted". Her conclusion, therefore, was that they ought to call me "Tess". Had the same thoughts been expressed by Jean, even in the same tone of voice, I would have taken instant offense. Instead, I was so much under the spell of the moment that it entirely escaped me that a guy shouldn't think of that as much of a compliment. Jean decided she'd had enough for tonight. "I've got to get some sleep. See you in the morning." A round of hugs, and Jean was gone. Then Diane began to ply the "big sister" routine in earnest. "Ted, you might want to consider going into the office like this, instead of just half-and-half." My eyes went wide. "Why?" I said. Kate took over "For one thing, because you'll be less likely to get unwelcome attention from outsiders." "Which is bound to make Elaine feel better about this," Diane interjected. Kate continued, "For another, I think you'll have an easier time with the in-house people, too. That gender-bent image you presented Wednesday will just get you a lot of unwanted attention." "And you think that showing up, completely made over as a woman won't?" I asked incredulously. "Anyway, that's not the question I meant to ask. Let me try again. Why is it that YOU want me to do this?" "Because you are a macho pig," Kate teased, adding, in a dramatic voice, "and we want you to walk a few miles in our 'high heeled moccasins' so you can know what it's like for the other side." As if on cue, Diane continued Kate's thought, with equal exaggeration, "It's the least you can do, you know, considering the thousands of years of oppression we've suffered at the hands of you men." After working with me for two years, they knew how responsive I was to wry humor. In a sudden reversion to seriousness, Kate moved in to close the sale. "Because we want you to win." I tried to counter, "I can win without all this other stuff," gesturing at my head and upper body. I saw a satisfied smile form on Diane's face, which she quickly suppressed. Instantly, I realized it was because the gesture had been executed in a feminine manner. Weakly, I tried again, "Why aren't you on Jean's side? You're each committed for equal shares of the dinners. If I win, you lose." "I only did that to make sure Jean got her hook set firmly in her own gills," Diane answered. That left me speechless. She continued, "Honestly! It isn't as if you'd never been invited here for dinner, before this." With Diane pushing my ego with the prospect of forcing Jean into providing dinners for me, and Kate assuring me that I appeared absolutely authentic, my resistance was crumbling. Add an "assist" from the image I saw in the mirror, and my defenses were overwhelmed. Once I had committed myself to that, it wasn't much more trouble for them to finagle me into going with them, as I was, to get frozen yogurt cones at a nearby Dari-Delite. All they had to do was assure me that we'd go through the drive-through, so I wouldn't have to get out of the car. I became apprehensive when Kate insisted I sit up front. She chose to sit behind Diane. However, once we were there, I realized she'd done me a favor, by putting me as much out of view from the service window as was possible. I wasn't sure if Diane was teasing or not, when she suggested that we take a parking place and eat right there. Fortunately, she yielded easily to my pleading and drove directly back to her place. All the excitement - and the extra time it took to remove the makeup - rendered me one tired soul when I finally collapsed into my borrowed bed. Chapter V The next morning started early. The image which they had built for me last night had to be completely re-created. Kate, too, had stayed overnight with Diane, to be on hand to help with the project. Fortunately, it went faster than expected, leaving them plenty of time to attend to their own needs. Left essentially alone, while they made ready for the day, I passed the time walking around the apartment. After Kate was ready, she appeared with a camera. I didn't want any photographs, but she invoked the privileges of friendship. When Diane came out a little later, they double-teamed me into assuming some very feminine poses for additional pictures. When they were finished, Kate brought out a purse to match the shoes. My wallet and a few personal effects were dropped into it, as well as various makeup and grooming items. That was when I realized I needed to visit to the bathroom. When I came out, Kate was already gone. I followed Diane down to her car and rode to work with her. When we arrived at the office, we were both astonished to find that Jean was most cooperative and unabrasive. In fact, she quickly assumed much of the responsibility for fending off snide comments - taking the `blame' for the fact of my appearance, if not for the quality of it. By nine, someone had kludged an overlay for Cheryl's nameplate which had my last name with only a first initial preceding it. Shortly after that, I noticed that several others were following the lead of Diane and Jean in calling me "Tess". Morning gave way to midday, and I discovered that a small difference in heel height seemed much greater after three hours of up and down, back and forth, stoop and rise. Smarter now, I slowed down enough to allow for my fatigue. As lunchtime approached, Jean dropped by to ask if I was going out to lunch. I told her I was eating in the employee lounge again. "What a waste," she chided. "You go to all the trouble to look fabulous, and then you hide yourself. Come along with us, and put some sunshine in your life, as well as food in your tummy." I shook my head, and she went back to her department. Kate returned from a service call just as I'd sat down to eat my microwaved lunch. She sat down next to me, and removed her lunch from her backpack. We engaged in light conversation until we'd finished eating. Then she got up. "Come with me," she said. I was following right along until I realized she was leading me into the ladies' room. I stopped abruptly. "Come on," she said. "I can't go in there," I insisted. "Where else are you going to go, dressed like THAT? The men's room?" "I'll wait until after work." "What if you can't last that long. There's no one in here to care, if you use it now." I couldn't fault her logic, so I followed her inside. As I entered a stall, she reminded me that ladies sit down to do their business. "I knew that," I drolly replied. After we'd each finished with the necessities, Kate directed my attention to my makeup. It needed touching up, especially the lipstick. Fortunately, it only took a minute or so; the longer we remained in there, the more nervous I got. Upon returning to the dispatch desk, I discovered that the nameplate had been changed again. This time to read "Tess" in front of my last name. During the afternoon, that drew some additional chuckles from a couple of the passersby, but I pointedly ignored them, and continued with my work. About mid-afternoon, it suddenly occurred to me that even Elaine was addressing me as "Tess". The feeling of oddness increased, when I realized that I was beginning to respond to it as though it really were my name. As the end of the day approached, Elaine stopped to talk. "I thought you'd want to know that I think you've done an excellent job, today, in spite of the extra `handicap' you've been enduring." I just smiled, and softly said, "Thank you." "I had some serious misgivings," she went on, "about You showing up for work appearing so thoroughly feminized. It wasn't what I had been expecting after Diane's explanation yesterday." Inwardly, I cringed a little at that remark. It wasn't much like I'd imagined either - yesterday. Elaine continued, "I came very close, this morning, to ending this ... wager ... and sending you home to change clothes. Do you know why I didn't?" Now, I couldn't speak at all, and shook my head "no" with only the slightest motion. I had a vision of her giving me my termination notice. "It was because you were doing it so well." I must not have appeared as shocked as I felt, because I didn't notice any change in her demeanor. I'd swear I had goose bumps everywhere. "At first, I was angry," she explained, "partly because I thought I'd been deceived; and partly because I feared that you intended to act out an unflattering caricature. Fortunately, I was too involved to leave my office just then, so I had to be content with observing." She continued, "Now, I'm not saying that you performed with perfect feminine grace. Nevertheless, I saw what seemed an honest effort to 'be' the woman you appeared to be." I finally found a little residue of voice, and squeaked out another, albeit tentative, "Thank you." "What I'm really trying to say is: as `Tess', you've been a very welcome member of the staff today." Jean, who seemed to have a nose for being in a place at just the right moment, had just come for another batch of reports. "Yes, she's been positively great," she said, "She ought to stay on permanently." She paused, her face reflecting exasperation. "I've as much as conceded that you've won, haven't I?" My smile filled my face. "All right," she grumbled, "I'll make it official. You've won the bet. I lost." "And, I'm just as good as any woman," I prompted. Jean paused, her expression seeming to say, "let's not get carried away." She looked up at Elaine, and her countenance softened. "Yeah, Okay," she said. "Yeah, Okay, WHAT?" I pressed. "You did just as good as a woman." "Thank you." A service call - the last one for the day - interrupted the encounter, and I turned my attention to getting the customer's information and notifying the engineer. By the time I had finished, Jean was gone, and it was time to close up shop. Elaine was still there. I looked at her - expectantly, I guess - figuring that she had more to say. "How would you feel about working as "Tess" for another week?" There's no way she could have missed the look of shock on my face. She cut off my first attempt to reply. "If you'll do it for one more week, I'll make it up to you, later. " Even though I knew I had absolutely no intention of following up on it, I couldn't help but regard her with a rather unfeminine leer. She saw it. "Don't even think it," she growled. I returned a playful grin. *Gotcha!* "You!" she burst out, in mock rebuke. In a softer voice, she said, "Come into my office, will you?" After she'd closed the door, she released a sigh, and then explained, "Look, we have a little problem here. You remember the regional parts manager that came in this afternoon?" I nodded. "He's going to be here next week, too. I can't have him comparing today's `Tess' with Monday's `Ted'." Good Heavens! What had I gotten myself into? "You mean, you don't think he already knows about me?" "Anita says no." "He wasn't around my desk that much; he probably didn't get a good look at me. If he asks, just tell him `Tess' was a temporary." "Take another look in the mirror, dear. He had more than enough reason to study you closely. Your appearance is that of a very attractive young woman." "Oh, thanks. You don't KNOW what a compliment that is," I replied with restrained sarcasm. "No," she countered, "You don't realize what a compliment it IS - to your skill, your adaptability, even your chutzpah. You've done an admirable job today - not the work, although that was fine, too - but BEING someone else - another gender, even. I wish I had videotape to show you. By mid-afternoon, your gestures were so feminine that it was difficult to remember who you really are. And your voice - when you first answer the phone, you sound just like Cheryl, with a cold." "Elaine, I can't keep this up for a whole week." She stared in silent regard. "You don't know what it took to make me look like this," I persisted, gesturing down my length. "This is the work of Kate and Diane. It took them hours. I couldn't hope to do it by myself, and they certainly aren't going to want to do it for me every day. She continued to stare. "Everything I'm wearing is borrowed. I don't have anything else to wear, much less a whole week's wardrobe." Finally she spoke. "Help me out, Tess." Her use of my adopted feminine name didn't go unnoticed. "I helped you win your bet, by allowing this." She gestured at my attire. "Now, it has put me in a bind, and I need YOUR help." "I don't know how I can," I responded in despair. "Talk to Diane and Kate," she suggested. "You've got the weekend; maybe they can help you line up what you'll need." "What if they can't?" "Won't you at least try?" "All right," I told her as I stood up. "I'll try." "If you give it a good go, even if it doesn't work - if something goes wrong, and you're discovered - I'll still hold up my end." "Just what is your part in this deal - other than the consideration already rendered?" "Well," she considered. "You've been wanting a promotion to Senior Engineer?" My breathing stopped. "I can't make this a condition for promotion, nor can I use it against you. What I can do is put you on the fast track to getting there. That's not a guarantee, but it's the next nearest thing." "Thank you," I said, with humble gratitude, "but I still don't know if I can set it up." I opened her office door. "Tess?" I stopped in the doorway and turned my head to look at her. "No guts, no glory," she advised, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Returning an apprehensive smile, I continued to the front door, where Diane and Jean waiting. "Did you forget something?" Diane asked. I couldn't think of anything. "Your purse?" she prompted. I went back to my desk - or rather, Cheryl's - and retrieved the purse - I couldn't bring myself to considering it `mine'. On the way out to the parking lot, Diane reminded me, "It's my turn to provide dinner. You never told me what you want." "I hadn't had much time to think about it," I told her. "How about I buy it at a restaurant?" she offered. "When?" I asked. "It'll take a while to change out of all this." "Why bother?" countered Jean. "You look just fine the way you are. Maybe a little touch-up would be in order, but otherwise you're better attired for an evening out than any of us. We're the ones who need to change." Kate had just joined us, and reached to turn me around. "She's right; you look simply delicious." I half stumbled from the unexpected change in motion, but smoothly recovered by pivoting on the leading foot, swinging the other behind me to stop my motion and push off again. Jean pressed her point, "And you move well, too. It would be a most fitting way to end the day. Sort of an honors banquet." "I can't go out in public like this," I insisted. We had reached Diane's car, and it took her a moment to unlock it. "What do you think you've been doing all day?" she pointed out. "None of the visitors who saw you today showed any sign that they thought anything was out of place. You'll do just fine." Kate added, "Your voice even sounds feminine. When you first answer the phone it's almost like Cheryl's." "And, you're beginning to sound more like me," Diane confirmed. "At first, I wondered if you were mocking me, but I think, now, that you're just a natural mimic." "Please," I begged, "the deal was just for the workday." "This isn't about the deal," Jean explained. "This is about all of us enjoying a pleasant evening meal together." I could have resisted Jean easily, but with Kate and Diane involved - no, even just the two, without Jean - they could get nearly anything from me. Kate gave me an across the shoulders hug, and in a Bogart-style voice said, "You're on a roll, kid. Relax and enjoy it." "All right," I capitulated, "I'll go like this." "Wonderful!" Jean exclaimed. "I'll meet you all at Diane's at seven- thirty. She slipped into her own car and drove away. When we arrived at her apartment, Diane went straight to the shower, leaving me alone, nervously contemplating the idiocy of what we had planned. Fortunately, or maybe not, Diane made quick work of her shower and appeared at the edge of the living room wearing just a towel. The look on my face must have bewildered her for a moment, then she blushed. "Oops!. I'm sorry, Ted ... Tess. I'd actually forgotten, that you're not really another woman." Backing into her room, she called out, "You'll need to redo your makeup. Clean it off, and I'll help as soon as I'm decent." "What's wrong with it, the way it is?" I called back. "Evening makeup should be a little more dramatic than for the daytime." I just sat there, thinking of all the awful possibilities that could result from going out with these women, dressed as I was. If I were discovered, I just knew that I'd be run out of town. I suddenly wanted to just shuck everything, put on my jogging suit, and leave. I'd try to collect my dinners later. I arose and went to Carol's bedroom, where I'd spent the night. I didn't see my own clothes anywhere. I checked the closet with no luck. Just then, I sensed a presence in the room. Diane was standing in the doorway, wearing a long terry robe. "What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the troubled look on my face. "I can't find my jogging suit, or my shoes," I told her as I marched straight for the door. "Excuse me." My voice had lost the feminine lilt it had acquired during the day. Diane moved aside to let me pass, then followed him me into the living room. I picked up the purse that contained my wallet and other things from my pockets, only to discover that my keys were not among them. Now I really felt abandoned. Almost tearfully, I demanded, "Where are my keys? I want to go home." I could see deep worry settling into her expression. We had become very good friends in the past two years. Her whole demeanor changed, "I'm sorry ... Ted. Kate must have those too. I guess she put everything into her case. Do you want me to take you home?" "I can't get inside without the keys." The anger was fading, giving way to hopelessness. Seeing what she later called a "lost puppy" look on my face, she reached out and took my right hand, asking, "Ted, am I still your friend?" "Uh ... yes." "Well, you are my friend, too. The thing is, `Tess' has also become my friend - and I'd like that friendship to continue, as well." "But, `Tess' doesn't really exist," I countered. "In the legal sense, that is true," she acknowledged, "but you seem to be very good at making `Tess' a reality. Maybe you owe it to yourself to explore that talent more deeply." I didn't know what to say. Not getting a reply, Diane continued, "Did you really have a bad time today?" "Well ... I guess not." "Then, what's bothering you is being out in public without the shelter of an office full of friends - right?" "I guess." "But, you WILL be among friends, and no one else there will even be noticing you, except, perhaps, how nicely you're dressed. They'll be immersed in their own concerns." I shrugged in uncertain agreement. "Come on, let's fix you up, and see if you don't feel better when I've finished adding some special touches. You'll be a work of art." That brought an immediate reaction, as my mind replayed an image. I laughed anxiously, "Not an Andy Warhol, I hope." That brought a giggle out of her, as she gently took hold of my hand and led me toward the bathroom. I trailed along, not at all certain that I wanted this. After helping me remove the suit top and wig, Diane dabbed cold cream on my face, then had me spread it around evenly, while she soaked a washcloth in very warm water. Once my face was clean, she lent me her electric razor. "It's for a woman's legs, but it should be all right with no more beard than you have." When I was done, she took me to her room and had me sit at her vanity table. She explained how to use the skin toner, to be followed by a moisturizer. While I was thus occupied, she busied herself elsewhere. By the time she returned, the moisturizer had been thoroughly absorbed. Now, she guided my application of the makeup base. When the foundation had been set with powder, and the excess brushed away, she refit the wig to my head, pulling the hair away from my face and pinning it out of the way. Next, she wrapped a towel around my neck, draping it over my ersatz bust. Then, half doing it, and half instructing me in what to do, she showed me how to apply the highlights, explaining the differences between what we were doing now, and the daytime makeup I had worn to work. As the job progressed, she had me getting into the spirit of the affair. I was growing enthusiastic about the way my appearance was changing. When she thought everything was just right, Diane exclaimed, "There! Don't you think you look simply beautiful?" I was still feeling quite subdued, but agreed. The liner and shadow played up my eyes, such that they seemed larger, without appearing 'drawn on'. The blush gave my cheeks a roundness I'd never seen before. My lips seemed to appear more full and moist. Was it just wishful thinking, a result of investing all this effort? I thought that, just maybe, I was somewhat pretty. Before replacing the suit top, Diane sprayed me under the arms with a scented powder. Then, keeping up a patter of talk, she retreated to her closet to shed her robe and drop a slip over her head. She appeared to be a little uncomfortable, dressing with me in the room - I certainly was, about being there - but she didn't ask me to leave. Indeed, she kept me engaged in conversation such that I pretty much had to remain there with her. So, in spite of my reservations about being in such an intimate setting, I stayed. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure she didn't want to leave me alone again, and risk letting my fears regain control. I turned back to face the mirror, at an angle that didn't show Diane's reflection, then deliberately avoided turning around until she asked a question about the dress she had slipped on. She looked so good, it became difficult for me to remember to be "Tess". That got easier, when she took my place at the vanity. I watched with interest as she applied her own makeup, enhancing it for evening wear much as she had done mine. Jean arrived about twenty-five after seven. Her compliments on my appearance took me by surprise in their apparent sincerity. We didn't have long to talk, as Kate had driven into the parking lot only a minute behind her. Quickly, we all agreed to ride with Jean. My resolution to see this through lost some of its firmness when we arrived at the restaurant. To my dismay, there was no crowd to get lost in. Although it took only a minute or two to be given a table, I began to feel increasingly conspicuous while we were waiting. Perched on my three inch heels, I was the tallest person in our group. In spite of my fears, everything went very well - at least, until we'd finished eating. That was when we were approached, and two of us were asked to dance. Jean and Diane accepted and left the table with the men. Moments later, Kate explained, "I have to go to the powder room. Want to come with me?" I just stared at her. I didn't really want to be left alone, but the ladies room at the office was one thing - entering a public one was, to my mind, an entirely different matter. Finally, I gave my head just the slightest shake, and replied, "I'm fine. I'll just wait here." Maybe I'd have been better off to have gone with her. When the band finished its number, Kate hadn't yet returned, and neither had Diane or Jean. The lead guitarist was going through his patter to introduce the next tune, when a guy teetered up to the table. He must have been the runt of his mother's litter, as he didn't have to bend much to get his face level with mine. The sour smell of the beer he'd been consuming drifted into my face, along with his words. "Hey, babe. Wa's a pretty one like you doin' just sittin' when there's music to dance to? My, my, you ARE a big girl aren't you?" I froze in terror. I'd thought for sure that he'd figured out my disguise. "Yeah," he continued, "I'd ask you to dance, but I like to look into my girl's eyes when we dance, not her boobs." Then he laughed and wobbled away. As my terror faded into disgust, I began to desperately wish that the others would come back soon. I even considered leaving without them, but we were on the opposite side of town from my place. I'd be very conspicuous making the three mile walk home alone, not to mention what kind of shape my feet would be in after making such a trek in three inch heels. Moreover, I still didn't have my keys. The band rolled right from one number into the next, without anyone returning. I caught a glimpse of Jean dancing in a most flirtatious manner, and marveled. For being a militant feminist, she sure was leading that guy along. Then I thought about it more deeply. Of course! What better "revenge" than to set a fellow's expectations and then leave him frustrated. Another man approached, looking directly at me. This guy had to be the epitome of what women consider a "hunk". Even though the din of the band kept me from hearing some of his words, it was plain that he was asking me to dance. Now what could I do? I wasn't much of a dancer as a guy, and I had absolutely no experience dancing the woman's part. Besides, I didn't want be out there, dancing with another man - regardless of what he thought me to be. Then too, how long would he continue to think of me as a woman, once I was away from this table? I remembered Diane's purse. Gesturing toward it, I tried to speak both softly, and, yet, make myself understood, "Thank you, but I'm watching the purses." The music dropped a few decibels. "How about when one of them gets back?" he asked. "I probably shouldn't. My ankle has only been out of the cast a few days," I lied. "And wearing high heels so soon?" he grinned. "Anything for fashion," I quipped. "But dancing would be pushing my luck too far." "You look tall enough to dance in your stocking feet," he observed. "Thank you very much for asking," I responded, "but not tonight." Kate returned to the table just after he walked away. "Who was the guy?" she asked. "He wanted to dance." "You'd have made a lovely couple," she teased. I gave her a deadpan glare. Soon, there was a break in the music. We saw Jean and Diane being escorted back to the table. Kate asked, "How about dancing with me?" The idea of dancing with Kate was appealing, but I wasn't so sure about trying, dressed the way I was. Which part would I take? Then again, if it wasn't a slow dance it wouldn't matter, would it? But, in that case would I give myself away out there in front of everyone, moving like a guy instead of like a girl? Then, too, there was the fellow who'd just been here. "I can't do that now," I exclaimed, "not after telling that guy I'd just got my ankle out of a cast." Diane and Jean slid back into the booth, while their dance partners pulled up a couple of free chairs. "You two are missing out on the fun," Jean chided. "We need to be getting home," Kate told her. Diane was sharp, and picked up on Kate's intent immediately. "Isn't Tess feeling well?" she asked, solicitously. "Maybe you just need to dance it off," Jean suggested. I shook my head, but didn't say anything. "You're driving," Kate reminded Jean. Jean turned to the fellow she'd been dancing with. "Well. I guess that's the night. Thank you for the nice time." He suggested that she let us take her car home and he'd give her a ride home later. She plead a busy day tomorrow. Picking up her purse, she edged out of the booth as she talked. The rest of us followed suit. Outside, she remarked, "Well, I can write that guy off as a loser. He must have thought I'm some kind of airhead. Like - right - I'm going to put myself in a position where my safe return home tonight is dependant on a guy I just met? As if!" On the trip back to Diane's, I remained silent, not responding to anything Jean said. She pulled over to the curb and stopped, so she could turn to look at me. "I'm sorry, Tess. I wasn't trying to be mean. Do you even know how to dance?" She answered herself: "Even if you did, you wouldn't be used to doing the ladies' part - in reverse. I really am sorry about putting you on the spot. It's just that you are so `on' as Tess tonight, I have a hard time remembering that there is a Ted underneath. Please accept my apology?" I wanted to call her a "witch - with a `B'", and suggest a place where she should go to find a warmer reception. Instead, I just sighed, and nodded, uttering a barely audible, "OK." "I also want to apologize for using the word `sissy' the other night. A real `sissy' wouldn't have even tried t