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Train Wreck By Dimelza Cassidy The choices we make and the chances we take. It had been a long, tiring day. I worked at a local high-end car dealership, delivering serviced customer cars and dealer trades, as well as driving the parts van. It was brainless work, but rewarding nonetheless. At least to me. After trudging up the four flights to my apartment, I washed off the day's grime and checked my e-mail. I lived alone by choice. Most women or men wouldn't want to live in a cold flat, heated by a kerosene stove -- especially with a devout cross-dresser. After I'd made the choice to live as a reverse George Sand, dating had all but evaporated. Many women found it difficult to date a man who out-dressed them and men couldn't bring themselves to drink or play cards with a man in a skirt. Support groups had gone lacking as I tired of the incessant chatter about make-up and coming out angst. My thoughts had always been, "Make a decision and then live with the consequences." I'd made my choice some twenty-five years earlier and the results had been a life alone and fringe job employment. Living alone had its plusses, but at times I missed the softness of a real woman and the backslapping friendship of men. The delete button got a workout as the endless stream of spam found its way to the trash bin. One particular e-mail caught my eye, as the state motorcycle training coordinator had sent it. Dan, I need you to teach a course this Sunday. Are you available? I'll cover the transportation and lodging, as it will be quite a trip for you. It's at the State Capital riding range in parking lot "B." If you respond in the affirmative, I'll reserve a room in your name at the Motel 6 on Center Drive Your key will work in the pad-locks and the combination to the center lock is the local area code. Please respond by noon tomorrow. Timothy T. Belmont, IV. Chief Trainer and Regional Site Coordinator He must have been desperate to e-mail me to teach a motorcycle training course -- desperate enough to reimburse travel and accommodation expense; something that hadn't ever been done before. If I agreed, my trip would be in excess of 350 miles - round trip. He ran the state's southwestern region and scheduled the trainers. My name hovered below the bottom of the active trainers because in part of our common hatred of each other. We had different approaches to training students to ride motorcycles. He lived by the curriculum, while I thought of the curriculum as a guide. I clicked on Reply: I'm in. Dan. The day before the training day, I packed my training materials, riding gear, and an overnight bag, and then headed down to my car. I decided to drive versus ride due in part to the excessive amount of gear that I'd have to carry. Sport bikes weren't all that touring friendly. As I made my way down the steps to the car, my twenty-something graduate school neighbor Annie popped her head out of her apartment door. "Motorcycle trip, Dan?" she asked. Her elfin body contrasted with her booming man-like voice. "No," I replied. "I'm off to teach a course and it's on the other end of the state so it will be an overnight trip. I guess the state coordinator guy got desperate - he's picking up the tab for the room and paying mileage. "I thought you've given up teaching people to ride after that tirade you delivered when you returned last time." "Like I said - they must be desperate." "Well, have a good time and try to stay out of trouble." "It won't be easy, but I'll try." I tossed my gear into the trunk of the car and then began the over three-hour trip to the motel. I dined on a packaged meal purchased at a local convenience store, watched an in-room movie, and then changed into my black satin waltz-length night-gown and called it a day. *** I arrived at the training site one hour before the course start time of eight o'clock ready for the day's events. As I set up the first exercise, a truck pulled in. It turned out to be Tim. "Damn," I muttered under my breath. I'd be spending the day with the anal retentive one. It would be a long by-the-book day. "Hello, Tim," I said extending a hand and trying to be cordial. "This is a surprise, teaching with you." "Dan, it's good to see you again. I see that you have the range set up." He offered a convenience store twelve-ounce cup of coffee. "Do we have a full course?" I asked accepting his gesture of friendship and wondering why he appeared to be even more regimented than his normal self. "It's a full registration; and it'll be a double-course day." A double-course day; twelve students in the morning from eight to one and another twelve students in the afternoon from half past one until half past six. That much time on my feet with him sticking his nose in would be painful. "Tim, do you have the morning roster? I'd like to take a look at it." He'd been military - a marine and a child of the '80's. He reeked of it. I hadn't held it against him, but, for me, it was something without reference. Most of my time during the ?60's had been dedicated to staying out of the draft. He marched while I shuffled along. His manner of speech and physical movements were compact as opposed to mine, which were random and lackadaisical. He wore the state's oxford cloth uniform shirt and multi-pocketed police styled slacks while I wore whatever male clothes happened to be clean. The few times that we had worked together our presentation rivaled that of Punch and Judy without the hitting. He reached into his bag, removed the list of students, and then handed it to me. As much as I hated profiling, I profiled. Over the years the use of age, sex, physical movements, and command of one's body determined how I structured the approach to the day. Their profile directly translated to the way a student operated the motorcycle. In most cases students who didn't have control of their bodies had difficulty. "Dan," Tim said carefully as if he'd rehearsed it. "While we train these riders I'll be assessing your performance. We've received a number of complaints from some trainers you've worked with accusing you of changing the curriculum. The assessment will be in accordance with the Code of Conduct and you'll receive a copy of my report once it's finalized." "I don't change the curriculum," I said in defense. "My delivery might be different than what's outlined, but I don't change anything. I know the rules." "My hands are tied." "What happens if you write a negative report? "You'll be suspended." "Well thank you, Tim. I need that hanging over my head today." In my own strange way, I'd gotten off on watching students who had never ridden before slowly acquire riding skills and watching the pre-course nervousness gradually convert to eager smiles. It all had become harder for me when the state took over the training from the independent schools. Government employee mentality made it nearly impossible to meet the needs of the students. I'd also begun to fear for their lives. The new curriculum no longer included maneuvers that I deemed necessary to the skillful operation of a motorcycle. It de-emphasized step-by-step skills training and replaced it with whole skill training. The new buzzword was "they'll get the bits on their own." The students who finished the government's course willingly judged themselves "riders" due in part to not having crashed on the training range. A review of the registrants revealed one woman in the morning class, Margaret Collins, forty-four. Two other students bore the surname Collins, Sean and Jason, eighteen and seventeen. ~Probably a mother and her two sons,~ I thought. ~What would possess a parent to join their kids in something like this? ~ If the opportunity presented itself I'd ask her. The Collins arrived together. Sean, the older of the two sons, appeared distant and not sociable. "I'm only here because my mother won't let me ride my bike unless I take this course." Choosing to ignore his comment I extended a hand and a nametag. "I'm Dan and I'll be one of your trainers - enjoy your day." He ignored me and moved to one side with a scowl on his face. Jason's handshake, though firm, hadn't yet become forceful. He also dipped his eyes when speaking. "Could you show me how to corner with my knee touching the ground?" "I can't. It's not part of the course, and ?Big Tim' over there would stroke out if I did. Tell you what, though.. When we practice cornering, I'll explain it." I spoke with what I hoped were bright eyes and a toothy smile. Someone was actually showing up to learn something. "I'm Dan, by the way." The two boys reeked of prep school -- budding young All-American boys, squeaky clean and despite Sean's sulking, they were generally polite. "Hi, I'm Margaret Collins." A diminutive well-dressed and well- preserved woman, she greeted me with a soft grip that spoke of openness. "I see that you've met my sons. Sean can be a bit of a challenge at times, but Jason is very much reserved. My ex-husband bought his sons motorcycles and they want to ride them, but I won't allow it until they are fully qualified." As I shook her hand thoughts of the Lennon-McCartney lyrics buzzed behind my eyes. "...I've just seen a face I can't forget the time or place where we just met...." It had been another day and I would look the other way as dating students was not in my nature, but I would "...dream of her tonight...." A former trainer acquaintance of mine had dated a female student who turned out to be married. It got ugly when her husband found out about it and sued the state. My acquaintance, damned fool that he'd been, got dismissed. He hadn't been included in the state's defense and ended up paying a six- figure legal bill. "Are you learning to ride so you can go along with them?" I asked. "No," she replied. "I'm worried about them and concerned about the type of training that they'll receive. I want to take the course so I can remind them about being safe each time they ride." Her voice, although melodic, had the sound of deep concern for her boys. I handed her a nametag and said, "How thoughtful" before moving on to the remaining students. The remainder of the twelve ranged in age from the mid twenties to late forties and displayed a degree of grace in their movement. I addressed them with Tim by my side. "Welcome to the program," I said. "Tim and I will be your trainers and we hope your experience will be enjoyable and memorable. As a way to get to know you all a bit better we ask you to wear nametags so that we won't have to refer to you as ?Hey dude' or ?Yo -- you with the red helmet' or ?You with the fringed jacket.' " All of the students except Margaret uttered laughter from their stomachs and chests. Hers was a polite conversational laugh. "What's your name?" I asked of a student dressed as if he stepped out of a Harley-Davidson Motor Clothes catalog. "Hey Dude," he chuckled. Everyone laughed again, and the banter seemed to be relaxing the group. "Okay," I said, as I handed him a nametag with "Dude" printed on it. "We'll get your real name when we collect the permits before the skill test next week." "Gather around again," I said calling to everyone to get their attention. "Those of you who have been riding around a bit think of today as an alternative to what you've already been doing. Somewhere between what you know and what you learn today will be your riding style, so let's all keep an open mind and have some fun." Tim stood by with a stone face and greeted each student with a handshake and a forced smile. I wondered if his assessment of me had begun. "It's not necessary that you befriend each student," Tim said, as we walked slightly ahead of the students toward the training bikes. Obviously my "test" had started. "They're more than asses in the seats and numbers on an annual report," I said in disgust. "They're people and we should respect them by at least attempting to learn their names. Didn't you notice that they relaxed a bit when I got them laughing?" "We're trainers, not entertainers," he said as his rigid gait gained a stride on me. Setting aside our differences for the sake of our duty, we assigned the students motorcycles. I took particular care to give Margaret one of the more rider-friendly bikes in the fleet -- fearing her "petite-ness" would hinder her operation of anything too large. She'd also be disadvantaged because she was the only participant who hadn't ridden prior to taking the course. Tim took it upon himself to be the lead trainer, and then guided the students through the first exercise with military efficiency by barking out instructions. Margaret struggled with the location and operation of the motorcycle's controls. Unable to just stand by and watch her confusion, I moved to assist her. At Tim's instructions, the students moved the bikes into position for the next riding exercise. "Dan," Tim said as he dragged me aside by the chain that attached my wallet to my belt. "You have to let the students learn on their own. It's the new way of doing things." "What, you're telling me I should've let that woman struggle?" I felt my frustration growing and feared that no matter what I said or did Tim would find a reason to criticize. "What I'm telling you is that she'll eventually get it." "What if she doesn't?" I asked, knowing full well that I had him in a position where he had to think outside the curriculum box. "Some do and some don't. Those that don't will have to leave" Our conversation occurred away from the students, but they knew there was friction between the two of us. My hope was that it wouldn't interfere with their learning. With the students huddled around Tim, he read instructions while I demonstrated the three parts of the next exercise. After dismounting and positioning myself, I observed my half of the divided class who had been spread out in twenty-foot intervals. It hadn't been by design, but Margaret and Jason became part of my group and were positioned next to each other. As the exercise unfolded I noted that Jason, comfortably sitting astride an on/off road dual-purpose bike and the four other students mounted on cruiser-styled bikes, quickly grasped the operation of the throttle and clutch. Margaret grew frustrated as she repeatedly stalled. Mindful that the curriculum frowned on excessive one-on-one coaching, I approached her and asked if she wanted help. She nodded and from the look in her eyes, she welcomed it. A quick glance to where Tim had positioned himself approximately fifty feet away showed he was immersed in observing his six students, which buffered me from comments. I took a moment or two to manipulate her smallish, gloved hands while they were on the controls to try to establish a muscle memory. She nodded; a warm thank you radiated from her eyes. Jason's eyes welcomed my attention to his mother's needs, and if he hadn't been wearing a full-faced helmet I might have seen a smile on his face. With minimal stalling she made it through the second portion of the exercise. Her breathing had become rapid and shallow, which I knew from prior experience represented extreme nervousness. When we moved on to the third part of the exercise her tenseness interfered with the operation of the motorcycle. I approached her and reminded her to breathe slowly and to relax. She again nodded. Her son and the other four students made the first pass with both feet on the motorcycle's foot pegs. Margaret managed to pick up her feet, but fell over as she attempted to stop. Anxiety had caused her to attack the controls and lock the motorcycle's brakes. I helped her to her feet, checked that she hadn't been hurt, picked up the bike, turned it around, and then asked her to re-mount and try it again. Minimal attention and a word here and there corrected any significant flaws for Jason and the other four students leaving me more time to spend with Margaret. Her next two passes resulted in additional falls. Each time she fell I waved off Jason's attempt to dismount his motorcycle and come to her aid. "She'll be okay Jason. It's just a tip over -- happens all the time. It's all part of the learning process." Tim signaled to me that the time allotted for the exercise had ended. I motioned back that two more passes should be made and ran them despite his signal. "You didn't allow that woman to work it out on her own," Tim chastised during the mandatory break. "Her name's Margaret, remember? She's wearing a nametag." "You should have coached her the same way you did the others. I don't care if she is a strikingly good-looking woman." The difference in our height made it appear that he was literally and figuratively talking down to me. "Didn't you listen to the introductions? She's never ridden before. She needed additional coaching and her looks have nothing to do with it. If it had been her son or one of the other guys, I'd have done the same." "Why did you run two more passes when I said to end the exercise?" "They were necessary for her development and it didn't hurt the others either. Why don't you watch the students instead of your stopwatch? You might learn something about their development." "You're not helping yourself." Margaret continued to struggle and fell over a few more times. She never really managed to overcome her nervousness. Tim and I continued to struggle as well. Each attempt to further explain a minor muscle movement resulted in chiding and reminders that the students would acquire the skill on their own. I knew better than to argue despite knowing full well that they wouldn't understand why they did what they did -- or compensate for what they didn't know was missing. During another break Paul, Dude, and "red helmet" called me aside. Paul frowned. "He's really riding you, isn't he?" "I wouldn't take that from anyone," Dude said, directing his anger toward Tim. "He's okay," I quipped between sips of cold coffee. "He just has a funny way of showing affection." There was no reason to share my possible suspension with the students. Nor did I want to put them into a position of choosing allegiance. "Red helmet" shook his head. "It's nice to know that you care. I think that it's great that you're helping Margaret. Somehow, I know that if it were one of us you'd do the same." Little did he know that the things they liked about my approach would be my downfall. After the last exercise of their riding day the group headed for their cars. I grabbed a stack of marker cones to re-set the training site for the afternoon group. "Dan," Margaret called as she headed toward me. Definitely "...I'll dream of her tonight...." "Thank you for spending additional time with me. I know that Tim scolded you about it." "Don't worry. We've had a love/hate relationship since the day we met. He loves me because of my training skills, but I hate him because of his inflexibility. Come back next week and finish what you started. I want you to do me a favor though." "Name it," she said with a smile. "Relax, do this because you want to, and breathe every once in awhile." "I'll try," she said while turning and heading toward a luxury SUV. Her teardrop-shaped butt encased in designer jeans momentarily hypnotized me. "Dan," Sean shouted as he left the portable toilet. "Yes," I answered, rudely snapped back to consciousness. "Stop hitting on my mother. You've done everything but sniff the bike's seat." His attack took me by surprise. "I'm not hitting on your mother. I'm trying to teach her to ride." "You're hitting on her, and I want you to stop. If you do it again next week, I'll file a complaint." I wondered if his anger had been toward me -- or toward his mother and her growing skills. "File it now - wait - I'll help. Tim, could you come over here for a second? Sean wants to file a complaint. He's accusing me of hitting on his mother." A complaint of that kind could seal my fate and my suspension could be immediate. I left Tim and Sean and continued to re-set the riding range. I glanced back and watched as Tim wrote something in his ever-present notepad. Sean stalked over to his mom's SUV, got in, and then the three of them drove off. Before the afternoon group began Tim gave me an ass-ripping. "Dan, he's made a serious charge against you." "I didn't hit on her. I worked with her a little more that the others because she needed it. The kid's got an attitude because he resents being here with her. Believe him if you want, but I know what I've done and it wasn't hitting." "Suit yourself, but I have to report this." "Do what you have to - I won't fight it. Plus, I think that you've already decided to suspend me regardless of what I do from here on." "If I can line up someone else for next week, I'll do so." "Knock yourself out," I said fully resigned that this would be my last group of trainees. Everyone in the afternoon group had ridden for some time and the course, for them, was a licensing formality. After they finished we packed up the cones, put the bikes away, and then called it a day. "I'll e-mail you about your status for next week," Tim said as he headed to his truck. "You were much better this afternoon." I'd been "much better" because no one in the group needed special help. I headed toward the toilet and walked out of it wearing a black calf length pleated skirt, pantyhose and two-inch wedge, knee-high boots, and then headed toward my car as fast as the skirt and heels would allow. Thoughts of the day crowded my mind during the homeward trip. It bothered me that my teaching techniques had been questioned by both Tim and that jerkwater kid. I'd been teaching motorcycling for more years than that kid had been alive and my original certification date exceeded Tim's by five years. The kid didn't bother me as much as Tim's chastising and the threat of suspension. I wondered if he could've taught a person to ride without the curriculum. My thoughts would be for naught because I wouldn't change my methods, due to the fact that they were far superior to anything that the state could work out. As my anger with Tim, the state, and the curriculum subsided, thoughts of Margaret filled me. Her tight body belied her age. Forty-four year old women didn't look like her. Under different circumstances I might have tried to date and bed her. Unfortunately she'd be "G/U" Geographically Unacceptable, but aside from the distance, I wondered -- could I fall for her, and she for me? *** I spent the week performing my usual tasks at the dealership and toward the latter part of the workweek my schedule demanded that a car had to be delivered to a customer who lived in one of the mansions adjacent to the golf course. Upon approaching the gate a security guard greeted me and after identifying myself he opened the gate and granted passage. After driving the car into the customer's garage and handing the key to a uniformed chauffeur, he handed me a twenty-dollar bill and a cold glass of lemonade. I thanked him and walked down the drive to await my ride back to the dealership. I recognized the name on one of the brick gate supports while entering the chase vehicle. "Collins." My three students came to mind. Margaret had been divorced and the name had probably been her husband's. That evening seated at the kitchen table of my apartment eating dinner, I wondered if Mrs. Margaret Collins would date a motorcycle trainer, car humping guy wearing a charcoal gray three piece suit with a calf-length pleated skirt, white silk blouse, a navy and gold tie, knee-high three-inch heeled black boots, make-up, painted nails and a honey blonde wig. It would be for naught as she lived on the other side of the state and the name on the brick gatepost in front of the house that triggered the thought had probably been a fluke. After dinner I switched on the computer to check my e-mail. Tim's screen name flashed. Dan, In light of everything that happened last week I would like to give you one last opportunity to redeem yourself. If you follow the curriculum to the letter I'll withdraw the threat of suspension and re-certify you for an additional three years. Think this over very carefully, because the state does not want to lose a trainer of your caliber. The room will be reserved in your name at the Motel 6. See you on Sunday morning. Timothy T. Belmont, IV Chief Trainer and Regional Site Coordinator. *** "Dan, we need you as a trainer. I spoke to my superiors and they agreed that last week wasn't a real threat because of the boy's bad attitude - Sean Collins." "He's not a bad kid. . .," I started to say. "There was nothing to his claim of harassment, you and I both know that. I called him two days later, after he'd cooled off, and he withdrew it." A smile crossed my lips. "Kids - never know what they'll do." "Dan, I've been authorized to give you a clean slate. If you stay reasonably within the curriculum today - none of this crazy stuff that isn't in the handbook - I'll recommend that you be given a five-year trainer's license. "But, the state curriculum. . . ." Tim would never understand how important it was for us to teach them how to ride the right way. "Dan - please don't push me. I'm on your side on this, but you don't sign my paycheck." The students began to arrive and greet us. They expressed surprise that I remembered their names. Sean didn't acknowledge me, however Jason and his mother greeted me warmly as did the remaining students. "I helped my mom a bit this week with her throttle/clutch control and her shifting and stopping," Jason said calling me aside. "She's really nervous and doesn't want to do badly in front of you. She feels that she's letting you down because she's not doing well." "Tell your mom that. . . . No wait. . . . I'll tell her. Margaret. . . ." As she approached I notice that her gait caused her bottom to sway and her conservatively sized breasts to bounce. "Jason mentioned your concerns to me. Ride the motorcycle today and have fun. Okay?" "Okay." "Hello, Sean," I said, extending an un-accepted hand. "Did you take your bike out at all this past week?" He ignored my greeting and question, choosing instead to mount the motorcycle he rode the previous week and wait for further instructions. The remaining students mounted and started their motorcycles in anticipation of making a few warm up laps of the range. Some struggled to get their bike running, but all managed. Tim went through the instructions as I performed the demonstration lap on the motorcycle that Margaret rode. "The bike knows the way Margaret, so just hold on and tag along." "Yeah, right," she said while mounting the bike. She struggled through the remainder of the course; and after the mandatory riding exercises, Tim and I set up the licensing test. "Dan," Margaret said. "It's not necessary for me to take the test. I have a fair idea of what to re-enforce when the boys ride." "You've come this far, so give it a shot," I counseled. Sean and his mom argued over something while Jason stood quietly by with his hand on his mom's shoulder. After a moment Sean stormed off and mounted his training motorcycle in anticipation of the licensing test. I was too far away to hear what they argued about, but guessed that Sean was upset that his mother had decided to give the test a shot and that Jason had supported the decision. Tim gave the signal for all of the students to mount up and ride over to the testing zone. "Yes," I said, with satisfaction, when Margaret joined the group. The two boys did well, as did Paul, "Red helmet" and "Dude." Some of the others struggled, but were successful. The last to try would be Margaret. As tense as she seemed to be sitting on her bike, she would certainly fall over. I went to her, sat on the front fender of the bike, and then looked her in the eyes. "You don't have to do this. Your sons won't think any less of you if you drop out. I can't speak for Sean, but the expression on Jason's face each time you fall over shows his fear for your safety" "I have to do this," she said with scared determination. Tim, standing with hands on hips, had noticed what had occurred and had an ever observant and non-too-happy expression on his face. I smiled to gain Margaret's attention. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but you're apparently competing against your ex-husband. You want the boys to see that you can do anything he and they can." She looked at me; and the beginnings of a smile formed. I went on. "Do this because you want to - not because you think you have to." She started the motorcycle and, riding with caution, she made her way through the zone. She lost points, but not enough to cause her to have an unsuccessful test. Tim gave each student their individual score and then stamped and initialed each learner's permit. There would be twelve additional licensed motorcyclists on the highways and byways of the state. I moved to set up the afternoon class and Margaret followed. "I'd like to apologize for my son's behavior" she said. "In many ways he's picked up the habits and attitudes of his father." "Don't worry about it. He's a good kid and he'll learn that there are times when a parent's love and concern are good things. At his age it's taboo to have mom tag along. He'll outgrow it. And don't be surprised if you do get an invitation to ride with them." "I'm in no way ready to go out and ride on the street with other traffic. Thanks to you and Tim, my sons got the best training available. I won't stop worrying when they ride, but they now have a good foundation." "Well you take care of yourself." As I watched her walk toward her sons and the SUV, I wondered what it would be like to touch, date, and make love to her. "...falling, yes I'm falling..."and "...I'll dream of her tonight...." The afternoon group would be an exercise in keeping the group's attention long enough to process them through the licensing test. Their goal had been to obtain the much-coveted stamp and the tester's initials on their permit. I loathed those groups. After storing the training bikes and equipment, Tim motioned to me to join him at the tailgate of his truck. "Dan," he said. "Let's talk a bit. "Suspend me and get it over with," I said while untying my boots. "You're a damn fine trainer. You ride picture perfect demonstrations and you have a unique way of relating to the students, but your attitude toward the curriculum and those who administer and monitor it is deplorable. You're a loose cannon and the program can't afford to have one. All of the trainers have to teach the program the same way. We need continuity." "So that's it." "For awhile today I thought you'd gotten it, but giving that woman special help to pass the test broke our deal. If we treat one person that way, we have to treat them all that way and we just don't have the resources. I stared at him wondering how we could be the same species. "I'm done?" "For the time being, yes. You're suspended indefinitely." "Indefinitely? What exactly does that mean?" "That means that anytime you want to write a letter to me stating that you will follow the state curriculum and not go off on your own little excursions I will reinstate you; until that time you will not be allowed to teach a class." I nodded and then walked over to my car, gathered up the materials and put them on the tailgate of his truck along with my sweaty state-issued t-shirt and hat. He couldn't have been clearer. "Later, Tim." "?Loose cannon' my ass," I grunted as I drove home. *** "Let me get this straight," Annie said, showing a bit of amazement. "You taught two classes with twelve motorcycle riders in each one." "Right, but I wouldn't call them ?motorcycle riders' just yet." I munched on the bran muffin she'd brought as I recalled my disappointment in Tim's edict. "Okay, let's call them ?motorcycle rider wannabes' -- will that do?" At times it seemed like Annie was the only one who took time to understand me. I nodded. "Out of the two dozen riders, only one of them really caused you to stray outside the state's curriculum -- and you lost your certification over that?" Again, I nodded, my mouth full of muffin. She gave me a look, and asked, "did you ever think that maybe you could have helped a lot of others the way you helped her, if you just did it the way the state wanted you to ... once?" I shrugged and swallowed. "Start crossing lines, and where do you stop?" Annie just shook her head and looked away. *** Summer became fall and legions of cars in need of winterization flowed through the dealership's service area. My afternoon delivery list noted that there would be a stop at the Collins mansion. As in the past, I announced myself at the gate of the mansion and drove the vehicle to the garage area. The chauffer had been dusting one of the cars upon my approach and greeted me with currency and a drink. While turning to walk down the drive I heard a familiar voice. "Baker? I'll be using the SUV. Has it been delivered? Oh, it has? Great." The SUV and I arrived at the front gate at the same time. "Dan?" "Yes," I said, turning to face the open window. "It is you," she said with surprise. "Do you remember me? I was one of your motorcycle students." "Vaguely," I said with a bit of a smile. How could I not remember her? "...A face I can't forget...." The body of a model -- and a voice that would make the dead swoon. "How could you remember me? You must see dozens of students over the course of a summer." "You look a little different - not wearing a helmet and the fear of god in your eyes," I joked. She tried to hide her embarrassment. "Did I look that bad?" "No - just teasing." Intent on her reflection in the rear view mirror she asked, "What brings you here?" "I delivered the SUV." "Well it's in good hands if you care for customers cars the same as you care for your students," she said removing a speck of wayward lipstick. "Thanks. I'll tell the service manager that you're pleased with the service." She waved goodbye and drove away as I climbed into the chase vehicle for my ride back. "What was that all about," the chase driver, a burn out from the sixties, and my sometimes riding partner said. "Do you know her?" "Not really. We met by chance during the summer." "High maintenance, that one, with a higher profile divorce - newspapers - magazines - television." Chuck said with a slight stutter. "She caught her ex-husband screwing her friend in one of the cabanas at the country club. The divorce dragged on for years. Her ex contested the pre-marital agreement, and there'd also been this big thing over custody of the kids and changing their names to Collins. Daddy's money paid for it and now she and the boys live with her parents. The father gets to see them for a week each summer at their lake house." "Interesting, I guess - if you follow gossip," I mumbled. My day ended with three additional deliveries and a trip to the convenience store to pick up my previously ordered dinner. After a shower I submerged myself in taffeta and lace before eating a dinner of sausage, peppers and onions on a Portuguese roll - washed down with a glass Chianti. It'd been a long and enlightening day. The mansion was in fact the home of Margaret Collins and her boys. Despite her nearness and the opportunity to occasionally see her - there'd be little opportunity to talk to her -- let alone date her. I'd once again "...dream of her tonight...." *** We employees of the dealership decided to work in costume on Halloween. Everyone laughed when I showed up as the Wicked Witch of the West sporting a green face, stick on warts, big nose, pointed hat, broom, and a black dress five sizes too big for my size fourteen frame. The impromptu costume contest winner ended up being the service manager who dressed as a pregnant Mother Theresa. With no deliveries I spent most of the afternoon as a valet. Margaret Collins drove her two-seat sport model up the drive. "Dan is that you? You look hideously gorgeous," she said with laughter just short of tears. "Yes, it's me," I said through a smile that included three blacked out teeth. "How may I help you?" "My windshield washer fluid level light came on and I wondered if one of the technicians could top it off for me." "I'll do it - pop the hood." "No don't," she grinned, while checking her vanity mirror and tending to her disheveled hair. "I wouldn't want you to get your dress dirty." "I'll be careful." As I placed the top back on the reservoir, she accidentally sounded the car's horn. It startled me and caused me to bump my head and bend the top of my hat on the hood of the car. "What the fu...? Dumb bitc...." "I'm so sorry." Her apology caused spirits to rise from the grave, just listening to her voice. "I reached for my cell phone and my elbow touched it." I closed the car's hood. "You're all set." She pulled away, stopped, and then backed up. "Have dinner with me tonight?" "No, not tonight. It's amateur night like New Years Eve and St. Patrick's Day. I don't want to be out on the street with a bunch of drunken fools and neither should you." "Tomorrow then?" she asked in anticipation. "Sure" "Come to the house. The boys are still in school at the academy and my parents are in London on business. It'll be just the two of us." She threw me a smile. "Eight o'clock, then. And, one last thing -- dinner's formal." After checking her hair in the mirror one more time she drove off. With my witches hat in one hand and an empty bottle of wash fluid in the other I mumbled, "A dinner date. That should be interesting - could turn out to be an awkward evening talking about learning to ride a motorcycle, but maybe...." *** "What to wear - what to wear - what to wear," I said as I looked through my bedroom closet. A formal dinner -- just the two of us -- with probably a servant or three. The man tailored woman's tuxedo . . . the red silk empire waist gown with its crinolines . . . the hand painted Japanese styled dress . . . the mid thigh length black satin and velvet strapless cocktail dress . . . the blue sequins gown with its white chiffon boat neck . . . or jeans and a sweatshirt. Whatever I wore, I wanted to look and feel special. With the exception of the witches costume she'd only seen me in the dealership's uniform of a blue oxford shirt with the logo and navy blue slacks or the state's motorcycle training long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. If I showed up wearing the cocktail dress the worst that could happen would be that she'd ask me to leave. The words weirdo, freak, faggot, sissy, and he-she had all been heard before. The battle to dress full time en femme had been won years ago. If it offended her, then so be it. I descended the four flights of stairs wearing the black satin and velvet dress with fish net stockings, three-inch heeled black suede pumps, opal bracelet and rings over black satin elbow length gloves, earrings, necklace, black velvet clutch bag, honey-blonde shoulder length loosely curled wig, and a mink stole draped over my shoulders. "Don't we look yummy tonight," Annie said. "I wish I could wear a dress like that." "Be thankful you can't. It's a size fourteen." "Where are you off to this evening?" "I have a date with the woman I told you about. You know, the one from the course?" "You're going on a date with a woman dressed like that?" she asked, her tone somewhere between shocked and astonished. "Does she know about this part of you?" "You know me. This is who I am, take me or leave me." "Aren't you asking a bit much of her on a first date?" I shrugged and she returned it with one of her own. As she closed her apartment door, she said, "Have a good time." My stylish appearance contrasted greatly with the twenty-year old Monte Carlo I drove to the Collins's Mansion. A startled guard announced my arrival. The doorman greeted me, opened the car door, escorted me to and through the front door to the foyer, and then departed, leaving me alone. A moment later Margaret entered the room swaddled in chiffon and dripping in diamonds. "Dan?" she asked, her face registering shock and something else I couldn't quite read. I was ready to leave the minute she raised an objection. "Chambers, please serve the champagne," Margaret said regaining her composure. "I could use a drink." "I could use one too," I said awaiting her verdict with some anxiety. "Halloween was yesterday," she said taking a glass from the tray that Chambers held in his right hand. "Why are you dressed like that?" "This is the way I dress during my non-working hours. I'm a cross- dresser," I said accepting a glass of champagne from the tray that had been placed before me by an openly distracted Chambers. Between gulps she said, "I would've never expected this." After draining the first glass she motioned Chambers to refill it. With the world set right with Moet and Chandon she seemed able to move on. "Chambers please take Dan's wrap and serve the hors de oeuvres and champagne in the study." The crinolines beneath her pale blue, floor-length, chiffon gown coupled with the clatter of our heels against the tiled and then oak floor broke the decreasing un-easy silence that enveloped the foyer and study as we made our way arm in arm. "Chambers," Margaret said. "Leave the bottle. Dan and I want to share a quiet conversation." "Yes Ms. Collins," he responded as he backed out of the study, closing the two mahogany study doors in the process. "Have you ridden a motorcycle since taking the course?" I asked while sipping my champagne. "No, but the boys rode all summer. When their father arrived, the three of them rode the fire roads and trails that surround the vacation house." As she spoke, she seated herself on one of the leather couches, and then gestured to me to take a seat by her side. I watched in envy as her gown engulfed it. One day my wardrobe would feature such a magnificent dress. "Is that why you took the training course where you did?" I asked following her lead toward a "normal" conversation. "That training site was only thirty minutes away from the vacation house." "Do you stay at the house when he arrives?" I asked. ~ What was more exciting, sitting next to her dress --- or what was in it.~ She slid closer to me. "No, - I come back here for the week. I'm not at all interested in the women he drags up there when he's with the boys." "Was the divorce amicable?" I asked, wondering if Chuck's story had been valid. "It was horrid." She placed a hand on my cheek to position my face toward hers. "I felt bad for the boys, but they're getting used to the idea. At first they blamed me, but then realized that their dad had a string of women; and when they found out that he'd beaten me, they refused to see him at all. I had to force them to spend the annual week with him -- after all, he is their father." "What about you? Do you have a string of well to do bankers, attorneys, and accountants beating down your door?" "I date occasionally." She shrugged. "No one special." There was a knock at the study door, and Chambers poked his head into the room. "Ms. Collins? Dinner is served." We headed toward the dining room. In the center was a table that rivaled the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. When Margaret had been seated, a napkin placed on her lap, and after filling our wine glasses with the first of a variety of different wines, Chambers took a statuesque position near the sideboard in anticipation of serving the first course of our dinner. "So what possessed you to ask me to dinner?" "It's my way," she paused to take a sip of wine "of saying thank you for helping the boys and me when we learned to ride." "Where's Tim?" I chuckled. "He's a bit over the top, isn't he? Your opal earrings are lovely." There'd been more going on with her look than just earring envy. "Thank you," I said simply. "Speaking of the boys, what was Sean's problem?" "He was embarrassed by my presence. He's trying to be grown up, but at times he's still a boy." After the appetizer of stuffed shrimp followed by Manhattan clam chowder, our main dish of filet mignon, potatoes, broccoli, and salad had been served. The desert of chocolate mouse brought the meal to a close. Each course had its own special wine and by the time the aperitif and espresso had been served, I'd become quite light-headed. Even though my appearance bothered him, Chambers performed his duties and demonstrated the courteousness of his station. "At about this time, my father would invite the men to accompany him to the game room for cigars and brandy. Would you like to do the same?" "I'll pass on the cigar and say ?yes' to the brandy. I would like to get some air. - Care to join me?" I folded my napkin and placed it on the table while attempting to rise from the table without falling off my heels. "Chambers, please get Dan's mink and bring mine as well - we'll be going out to the patio. Serve the brandy in the study and please draw the patio drapery." He returned with the furs and helped Margaret with hers, while leaving me to fend for myself. As we stood amongst the moon shadows she turned and kissed me. I kissed her back. She submerged her tongue into my mouth. We held each other tight. I hadn't been kissed in such a manner - or even kissed - in a long, long time. "Mmm," I moaned as we broke our embrace. "That was delightful. I never kissed a man who wore lipstick. For that matter I've never met a man who could look better in a dress than me. It's funny, after the initial shock of seeing you as you are; I haven't given it a second thought. Shall we go to the powder room to repair our faces?" Arm in arm, we re-entered the dining room and made our way to the study where a bottle of brandy and two snifters awaited us. "The powder room is through there," she said, pointing to a door behind a teak desk and high backed leather chair. I repaired my face, returned to the study, and then took a seat on one of the couches that faced the gas-burning fireplace. She joined me shortly thereafter. "Where'd you head off to?" "I went to my private bath to repair my face. It would be awfully cramped in there with the both of us jockeying for mirror time." "Yeah, right." "This is nice," she cooed as her head rested upon my false breast and her arms around my waist. "I'd better be going. It's getting late," I said, freeing myself reluctantly from the welcomed capture. "Stay the night. You've had a fair share to drink and I don't want you to get stopped or risk an accident. The motorcycle course classroom trainer said that we should know our limitations and I'm quite sure that you know yours. Chambers...." "Yes, Ms. Collins," he said, re-entering the study. "Please prepare a guest room for Dan. He's staying the night." "Yes Ms. Collins." Chambers' professionalism had been in high gear as he responded to his employer's request. I poured us one more brandy and then re-took a seat. "Dan," she said. "I have to admit that I thought about you quite often after the class. In fact I was tempted to have one of Father's investigators hunt you down." "Why didn't you?" "I didn't want Father to interfere. He's grown quite protective since the divorce. When I saw you in the drive the other day I believed that we were destined to get together." "So fate dealt us a hand?" She gently stroked my cheek with her hand. "Fate can be so kind." When we finished our brandy she led me to the guest room and then headed off to her room. I undressed and retired to the bath to remove my make-up. With the ritual complete I turned out the light and crawled into the down- turned bed. Pajamas that appeared to be unisex had been placed at the foot of the bed, but I chose not to wear them, electing instead to sleep in my Haines briefs. "...falling, yes I'm falling...." Bathed in the glow of the light from the room's fireplace, I stared at the ceiling wondering about the difficulties involved in dating a wealthy divorcee. Her kisses told me that this had been more than a thank-you dinner. Her parents' reaction to her dating an employee of a car dealership, coupled with the openness of my cross- dressing, would surely be a cause for heated discussion. The door opened and Margaret entered the room dressed in a navy blue cathedral-length nightgown. Its plunging neckline revealed a sufficient amount of breast to excite. She crossed the room and crawled into my bed -- placing her body upon mine amidst a barrage of kisses. "You're attractive dressed in a t-shirt and jeans," she moaned as she searched my body. "You're absolutely erotic cross-dressed. We spent the remainder of the evening taking turns as the aggressor until exhaustion took its toll. I awoke alone. A note had been taped to the bath mirror. Dan, I'm off to see the boys. Wear this warm up suit and this pair of pool shoes for your drive home. Use the tote bag by the foot of the bed to pack up your dress, etc. Speak to you soon. Margaret. "What the hell happened?" I asked my reflection in the mirror. Once home and after showering, shaving, applying light make-up, and then dressing in a cable knit off white sweater, gray "A" line calf length wool skirt, one-inch heeled boots, and a gray fedora, I took a seat at my kitchen table, and then prepared a shopping list. As I wandered the aisles of the grocery store looking for food and other necessities, thoughts of the dinner filled me. She had magnetism. A relationship with her would be an absolute joy, but the baggage could be troubling. *** After reporting to work the following Monday and beating back the morning attack of vehicles requiring service, I'd been asked to report to the service manager's office. "What's up?" I asked after knocking on his office door before entering. "Dan," he said. "I need you to go up to the Collins's house and pick up their sports car." "Okay." "Mr. Collins called me this morning and said that his daughter is having trouble with it. Take Chuck with you." We headed to the house and at the gate I announced myself and then walked up the drive. I arrived at the garages where Baker greeted me and handed me the keys. "Ms. Collins said that there's a hesitation when she attempts to accelerate." His voice would have dried the ocean. "I'll tell the service manager. We'll try to get it fixed and bring it back to Ms. Collins by tomorrow." Seating myself in the smallish car, I started it, backed it out of the garage, and then headed down the drive. Margaret appeared at the front door and gestured to me to stop with a big wave. "I have to apologize to you for leaving so suddenly. I'd forgotten that I had to work the refreshment booth at the boy's academy. Soccer and football games you know." "Oh. I thought that it'd been a one night stand." "You weren't a one-night stand. I have to run, but I'll call you." I watched her butt wrapped in pencil skirt sway as she headed up the three steps that led to the front porch and the front door. The sight of it caused me to re-adjust my seating position. *** Margaret's car had been serviced and returned. I dropped it off with Baker and headed back to the dealership. It'd been a long week and I'd looked forward to a quiet evening alone with a favorite dress. While sipping wine and seated in my recliner in the un-lit room thinking about Margaret's comments about our evening, a knock at the apartment door startled me. I flipped on the kitchen light, unlocked, and then opened the apartment door. "Margaret! What are you doing here?" "I came to apologize again and offer you a peace offering," she said handing me a bottle of Australian Merlot. She wore a little black dress that I wouldn't dare wear. "Thank you, but it's not necessary. Care to have a glass with me?" Her smile and the little black dress told me that she expected to share it. "I love your dress. Where did you get it," she said while taking a seat at my kitchen table in anticipation of sipping her first glass of wine. "The church thrift shop at Waverly and Green." "Really. I wouldn't have thought that such elegant things found their way there." "Who knows, it might have belonged to one of your friends." "It could have. It looks like something one of my mother's bridge partners would wear." "Thank you -- I think." "Seriously, their bridge games are events. I think they're veiled fashion shows." "So I look like an old woman about to play cards." "No silly. I'm saying that you look deliciously feminine and...." "And what?" "I'd better stop." "Stop what?" She grew pensive as she momentarily stared at the table's placemat and then faced me. "This is a first for me. I never met a cross-dresser and it's confusing me. I don't know if...." She paused for a moment and picked at the edge of the partly frayed placemat. "I don't know if I'm turned by it -- or you." "Would we have ended up in bed if I wore a tuxedo to dinner?" "I don't know. Maybe." "Do you want to find out?" "Right now all I want to do is kiss you." She moved to my lap, put her arms around my neck, and then began kissing me. Kissing led to foreplay which led to love making which led to exhaustion, and then sleep. I awoke to the touch of her hand upon my penis. When erect she mounted me. "I think that you like being on top," I said placing my hands upon her breasts. "It seems I do, too -- more so with you than with my ex or with others. Does it bother you?" "Not really," I said trying to discover what she was thinking through her facial expressions. "Can I ask you something?" She cooed. I felt her muscles tighten against my penis. ~ I thought of Jim Morrison's words "...Wrap your arms around my neck...your hands around my feet...your hair around my flesh...."~ "If I were to ask you to Thanksgiving Day dinner, would you come?" "Sure." "What would you wear if I said it would be formal?" "I don't know. If something strikes my eye that's hanging in my closet, I'll wear it. If not I'll comb the thrift shops and come up with something special." "Could I ask you to come up with a man's tuxedo?" "Whatever for?" "It would be easier to explain." Despite my fantasy and the pull of her muscles my erection subsided as we spoke. "If I come as I am I'm not welcomed, but if I come as you want me to then I'm welcomed." I lifted her off me, rose from the bed, and then stood over her. "Why should I compromise myself to accommodate you? You already told me that you're confused by me. Why should I succumb to your current whim when I've spent a lifetime evolving to where I am today?" "It's not a whim," she said pulling the sheets up over her firm breasts. "I care for you and would like to spend the holiday with you, but...." "But what? You only want to spend it with me if I wear a pair of pants with a satin stripe down the side?" "Could you compromise just once? I want to know if I'm attracted to the man or the man in the dress." "They're one and the same," I mumbled while stepping into a pair of briefs. "No they're not," she demanded. "Your manner of speech is much different when you're wearing men's clothing. I noticed it when you delivered the cars. It's overly structured, stiff, and formal. I think that the real you is somewhere in between; and I want to get to know the real you. The real me. No one ever wanted that. Maybe there was something to her after all. "I don't know. I'll let you know." She rose from the bed and hugged me. The touch of her breasts aroused me. We returned to the bed and made love once again. ~ "...Wrap your arms around my neck...your hands around my feet...your hair around my flesh...."~ *** We saw each other weekly and talked on the telephone daily. When we'd be together it was either at my apartment or in her parents' house when they'd be away. "You're afraid to be seen with me in public aren't you?" I asked as we took a break from our lovemaking one Friday evening. "It would all be different if I'd wear slacks instead of a skirt, wouldn't it." "Why do you always throw the cross-dressing in my face?" she asked. "It's like this big defense mechanism. Whenever I try to get close to you...you seem to use it to drive me away. You did it when we first had dinner - thinking that it would scare me off. You're using it to get out of joining my family and me for Thanksgiving dinner. You probably used it to lose your motorcycle training job." "What do you know about that?" "How unobservant do you think I am? A blind person would realize that you and Tim were at each other's throats during that course. What did you say? ?Tim - I cross dress - what are you going to do about it?' Or was it some other stupid holier-than-thou stance? I stood silent before her. ~Was this her way to get to know me better, or did she see through me? ~ "Tim and I have fundamental differences and I chose not to follow his mandate." "So I'm correct - it was a holier-than-thou stance." "Says you." "So what's it going to be -- Thanksgiving dinner with me, or sitting at home alone with your alleged principles?" *** I watched parts of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade while dressing for the dinner at the Collins's house. She'd said that there would be in excess of twenty-five people consisting of friends and family. I chuckled as Santa ended the parade, thinking that my opportunity to smoke a cigar and sip brandy in the game room with her father and friends would end the parade that would be my day. Uneasiness grew as I drove to the house. My experiences with the rich had been limited to brief encounters at the dealership and many of those discussions had bordered on hostile. Their frustrations with the overly computerized micro-processed cars brought out hidden traits. On many occasions I empathized with them. Cars costing in excess of six figures shouldn't spend as much time in the shop as they'd experienced. The guard at the gatehouse recognized me and granted passage. The doorman greeted me while the valet drove off with my car. Upon entering the foyer Margaret greeted me. Chambers took my coat while she gasped. I chose to wear a men's tuxedo with patent leather men's shoes. "Don't you look handsome," she exclaimed. "I'm here." "Come with me," she said after a playful slap upon the cheek. "I want to introduce you to my parents." As we walked arm-in-arm through the foyer and into the great room she pulled me close and said, "Thank you." The great room had been decorated for the occasion and the house staff wore first Thanksgiving pilgrim garb. A tray steeped with champagne glasses had been presented to Margaret and me. We took our drinks and headed toward her parents. As we made our way across the room I took note of the string quartet as they performed some form of chamber music. I wondered if the violin player would have felt better scorching her instrument with a Charlie Daniels or a Stephan Grapelli tune. "Dan I'd like you to meet my father, Horace, and my mother, Grace. Dan taught the boys and me how to ride motorcycles this past summer." I couldn't determine if the sparkle in Margaret's eyes was from standing next to me, the champagne, or from pride in her parents. Horace Collins was one of the riches men in the country, the son of a sole practitioner small town lawyer who set out to build a major, influential, law firm. Not satisfied with the law, he branched out into accounting and consulting. Using the law and accounting as a base, he ventured into investment and merchant banking with offices in New York, London, Tokyo, Paris, and Berlin. "A pleasure to meet you, sir," I said, mustering a firm handshake to match his. "Your daughter and grandsons were excellent students." I shook the offered hand of his wife as well. She too had a firm handshake. I held back laughter as I recalled Margaret's comment about her mother's bridge playing friends. "My daughter can be a challenge at times. There had been no logical reason for her to learn to ride those wretched motorcycles with the boys, but she put it in her head that she had to do it," he said, giving me one of those pat on the elbow approval gestures. "She did a good job," I responded. "A little cautious a times, but that's a good thing." Margaret chimed in. "I was awful." "It was silly," Mrs. Collins said. "You competing with that wretched ex-husband of yours for the affection of the children." "Mother, please ... not now. Dan doesn't need to hear about that. Come, Dan. I'd like you to meet some of the other guests." "Where are the boys? I'd like to say hello." "They're in the home theatre watching football. I'll get them." "Leave them alone -- I'll say hello later on." We again joined arms and headed toward the French doors that opened to the patio. The weather didn't permit they be opened, but the loss hadn't caused overcrowding. I felt her leg against mine and it started to arouse me. The un-comfortable-ness of the tuxedo coupled with an erection became hellacious. "I'd like to introduce you to Preston Donaldson. He manages Father's New York office." "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Donaldson," I said once again mustering a strong handshake. I'd met the Ivy League second son years ago while employed at Drexel, Burnham, and Lambert as an arbitrager. He'd been a recent Wharton graduate and his dad got him the job as a budding young trainee in exchange for transferring seven figures into an investment account. Preston immediately established himself as a consummate ass kisser. After landing himself in the position of the last man on a deal team, he worked his way up the ladder with his dad and brother's political help. He jumped ship when the Securities and Exchange Commission closed in, as cracks appeared in the junk bond market and insider-trading scandals began popping up. Once again his dad's money saved him, but he had dirt on his shoes and cuffs. I went down with the Drexel ship. Despite being clean -- arbitrage was unethical, but not illegal -- my Wall Street days ended. The mere mention of the name Drexel raised doubt. He bungled his way around the industry and then, after his dad died, used his brother's influence with Horace Collins to land a job. Hoping that he wouldn't recognize me, I didn't relish a trip down a not-so-pleasant memory lane. "Call me Preston. Aren't you the car jockey that Horace was telling me about?" he asked trying to belittle me. "Yes... ah... Preston," I responded trying not to show that his question disturbed me. "I work at the car dealership." "Be nice Preston -- I'll leave you two to talk. I want to say hello to Stewart Long," Margaret said excusing herself. "Nice piece of ass," he said as she walked across the room. "By the way, where did you rent your tuxedo?" I ignored his question and comment choosing instead to sip some champagne and hold myself back from spitting it in his face. "I'll bet her lips feel like velvet when she sucks your Johnson." "I beg your pardon?" I asked, using my eyes to drill a hole through his heart. Sensing my anger, he excused himself. "Dopey bastard," I mumbled as he took his leave. The quartet played Bach as I eavesdropped on the conversations that swirled about me. The BMW owners Bitch, Moaned, and Whined away about their precious cars while the Lexus, Acura, and Infinity owners regaled listeners with tales of quality and fit. The Mercedes owners mourned the merger with Chrysler as two Rich Urban Bikers quoted passages from the text of the Harley-Davidson biker creed. When the testosterone level rose to boiling point, I made my way to the freestanding bar to escape it.