First And Ten, Part 1 free porn video

First and Ten Nancy Cole Chapter One Families are both a blessing and a curse. One day they can be the source of your greatest joy, the next an endless wellspring of grief and misery. I suppose that's just nature's way of preparing us for the real world we all must all face one day. After all, if you can find a way of dealing with your family, especially older siblings, you can handle just about anything. For me my staunchest ally and cruelest foe, foil and role model, greatest supported and harshest critic was my older sister who, at the beginning of this story, was an up and coming accountant, a profession that was anything but glamorous even if you took into account that her employer was a well respected Wall Street financial firm and her small, two bedroom apartment was located but a hop, skip and a jump from midtown Manhattan. With an over abundance of determination, oodles of charisma and enough chutzpah for both of us Emma, or "M" for short, was the sort of girl who loved a challenge. My parents used to joke that her first word wasn't "no." Instead, they claimed she spoke in full phrases from the get go, with, "You just watch me," being her favorite. I, on the other hand, was the easy going one, more interested in getting along. If I were awarded my very own coat of arms, its motto would be 'Cooperate and Graduate.' That doesn't mean I was a wimp or anything like that. It's just that rarely did I feel the need to buck the system, a predilection my sister was in the habit of exploiting. I suppose you could say it was my way of avoiding fights with her whenever our parents gave us a choice of where we were going to eat or what we were going to do as a family. Whatever the reason, it made my childhood whole a lot easier and, needless to say, far less contentious than it could have been had tried to match her stubbornness. Of course, the flip side was also true. Had I been just a little more tenacious, I would in all likelihood, avoided embarking on a journey that was destined to change my life, and me, forever. Unlike most great journeys, this one started out quite by accident, that is if you can call a theft an accident. At the time I was a twenty-five year old sophomore attending New York University. The disparity between my lowly academic standing and my age was due solely to a four year break I took between high school and college, four years spent doing what Emma euphemistically called my 'God and Country' time. Of course, my decision to enlist in the Army was far less noble then my parents choose to believe. It was the benefits, in particular college tuition that lured me away the pursuit of academic excellence. But even those reasons, like so much else in my life, changed as the promise of a brighter, more secure future lost its allure in the harsh reality of war torn Iraq. That I didn't totally loose my bearings as well as my mind while serving as a combat medic was due, in no small part, to Emma who conducted a yearlong crusade to keep my moral up by sending me weekly parcels filled with my favorite snack foods, the latest DVDs, industrial grade sun block, oatmeal based moisturizers to relief my chaffing and all the little things that make life on the edge of hell semi-bearable. I guess it was this selfless demonstration of sibling loyalty and love, not to mention her wondrous tales of life in the Big Apple, that led me to pick NYU when it came time to bid the U.S Army ado. When it came time to settle in I wisely opted to turn down my sister's offer to live with her while attending college, much to the bemusement of my parents and Emma's relief. We were, after all, adults, each seeking to build a new life, one which had a place for the other, but not as roomies. That doesn't mean I didn't take advantage of the amenities that my sister's superior accommodations offered, in particular the free washers and dryers in the basement of her apartment building. Since this cost her nothing and gave us both an opportunity to catch up with what the other had been up to during the previous week at a time when my presence wouldn't interfere with her busy social life, Emma was more than happy to oblige. The routine didn't vary much from week to week. Being an early riser, every Sunday I would bundle up my laundry, take the subway uptown and let myself into my sister's apartment, taking care not to disturb her as she took advantage of the weekend to catch up on her sleep. After stuffing two or three machines with my dirty laundry I took advantage of the privacy her place permitted me by indulging in some serious pampering, which usually amounted to nothing more than a long, relaxing soak in the tube of the guest bathroom. I was in the middle of doing so one Sunday morning in mid-October when I was quite taken aback to hear a soft rapping on the bathroom door. Remembering all the times she'd come barging into the bathroom when we were children without waiting to find out if I was decent, I sat up, grabbed the nearest thing I could find and covered my most private parts before answering her. "Emma?" Without bothering to respond, the door, which I'd failed to lock, swung open. "And who, exactly, were you expecting?" she asked as she waltzed in, fully dressed in fashionable jeans and a white, form fitting New England Patriots jersey sporting the number 12 in bold, pink numerals. "A little privacy?" With a smirk, she brushed aside my show of modesty with a wave of her hand before taking a seat on the toilet lid. "Need I remind you, dear sweet brother of mine, that there isn't a thing you have that I haven't seen before." Making a show of shifting the washcloth I was using to cover myself, I snickered. "That doesn't mean we should go around au natural." Taking a moment, Emma studied my body, leaving me a wee bit uncomfortable. I could tell by the expression on her face what she was thinking as she did so, the same thing she'd teased me about for years while we were growing up. Lifting my right arm, I pointed my index finger at her. "Don't you dare say a word, not a single word. I took more than my fair share of ribbing while in the Army about my dearth of body hair." Ignoring the mock scowl on my face, Emma ran her fingers through my long, auburn hair. "And what's all this?" she asked incredulously. "Trying to over compensate for your inability to grow any hair to speak of anywhere else?" "No, just trying to fit in. A boy with a ponytail gets by a lot easier on a college campus than someone with a buzz cut." "I imagine that would be true if he was, well..." "And don't go there, either," I snapped. Realizing that she'd over played her hand, Emma knelt down on the floor next to the tub, affecting a chastised expression as she did so. "I'm sorry Jordan. I know how sensitive you are about your looks and your inability to grow anything more substantial than peach fuzz. It's just that I can't help it," she sighed whimsically as she gently stroked my cheek with the back of her hand. "You're almost too pretty to be a boy." A devilish grin crept across my lips as I reached down and grasped a corner of the washcloth covering my privates. "Well, if you've any doubt about that, I've got the proof right here." Feigning shook, Emma stood up, giving me a playful slap up the side of the head as she did so. "Jordan Allen Wallace! You should be ashamed of yourself." "And you, dear sweet sister of mine, should be more sensitive to my fragile ego. Instead of mocking this puny, frail frame our Irish ancestors cursed me with, you should be doing your best to help me foster a more positive self image." Ignoring me, Emma walked over to the medicine cabinet where she retrieved a plastic bottle that she tossed over to me. "Here. It's conditioner. Use it." Rolling my eyes, I sighed. "And how, exactly, is that suppose to help me achieve a more virile persona?" "Sorry, dear boy, but I'm afraid if four years with Uncle Sam's green machine didn't do the job, there's not a whole lot I can do. So, until you can afford pec and bicep implants, I suggest you work with what you've got. Contrary to popular mythology, women do notice it when men take care of their hair." Though I made of show of grumbling, after Emma had left I did use the conditioner on my hair, knowing full well that if I ignored her advice, I'd never had heard the end of it. Besides, now that she was up and about I had more to worry about then whether or not I'd conditioned my hair as she'd instructed. As was my habit whenever I did my laundry at Emma's, I threw just about every stitch of clothing I possessed into the machines, including the cloths I had worn over. Since she always slept in till noon on Sundays, I never had any qualms about borrowing a pair of her running shorts or sweat pants and a non-descript top to wear. On this day I was wearing a pair of light grey sweat pants and a lime green tee, an outfit she'd left hanging on a hook on the outside the guest bathroom door. Since the odds of her not saying anything about this were something less then zilch, I decided my only recourse was to march out and take it like a man. And while it was true that I was a wee bit on the willowy side and wearing cloths that were decidedly feminine in cut, but I had no doubt I was all male, all the way. The look on Emma's face when I sauntered out into the kitchen to join her search for breakfast was priceless. To her credit, she said nothing as we went about fixing something to eat. No doubt she was saving all her comments for later. At the moment she was content to tell me about her day, which went a long way toward explaining why she, a diehard New York Giants fan, was wearing a Patriots jersey. "Connor MacMasters, a guy I met at a party a few weeks ago invited me to watch the game at his place this afternoon." "So why that jersey? I thought you were smitten with by Elijah?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. An impish grin lit up her face as she dipped her chin and looked up at me through her lashes. "Elementary, my dear Watts. He's a big New England fan." "So, for the affection of a man, you're willing to jettison your loyalties and betray the home team." Emma tilted her head. "You'd be surprised what a girl is willing to do for a man." I was in the midst of thinking up a good come back when Emma's phone rang. Without having to ask, I could tell she didn't want me to overhear her conversation. By the expression on her face and the way her voice took on a soft, almost sensual tone, I concluded it was her afternoon date. Since I was expected to make myself scarce, I headed down to the basement of the building to check on the progress of my laundry. It was only then that this rather ordinary day took a sharp detour into the Twilight Zone. Chapter Two Emma was in the throes of scurrying about her apartment, madly dusting furniture when I came bursting in. "Do you have a number for the police!" Thrown off guard, she stopped what she was doing and turned to where I was standing, clenching and unclenching my fists as I seethed in anger. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath. "No, I'm not hurt. Just damned pissed and royally screwed." Still unsure how, exactly, to react, Emma kept her distance. "Jordan, what's wrong." Throwing open my eyes, I made no effort to hide the anger I felt. "Some A-hole decided to steal my laundry." I guess she'd been preparing for something far worse, for her initial response was one of relief. "Oh, is that all." "Is that all?" I shot back. "Is that all? Emma, someone took just about every stitch of clothing I own. Isn't that enough?" Setting aside her dust cloth, she came to me and wrapped me up in a hug. "What I mean is that you're okay, that you're not hurt. Cloths can be replaced. Heck, they might even turn up again once whoever took them figures out they've made a mistake." Far from pacified by Emma's efforts to mollify me, I looked her in the eye. "And what, pray tell, do I do until then?" With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she took a step back and gave me a once over. "And what's wrong with what you're wearing?" Closing my eyes, I dropped my chin down till it was almost resting on my chest as I struggled to contain my anger. "Emma, please. I'm not in the mood." "Okay then," she sighed as she took my hand and headed for the door. "Let's go." "Go where?" "To the super's. We'll tell him about the laundry." "And what good will that do?" "If someone took your things by mistake but don't know where to return them, they'll either leave it in the laundry room or turn it over to him. This has happened before," Emma explained as he went bounding out the door, dragging me along as she had often done in the past. It's not nice to stereo-type people or the sort of people you expect to find in certain jobs. But in the case of the superintendant of Emma's building, you couldn't possible have gone wrong if you had. His name was Ebrahim and yes, he was very Pakistani. When he opened the door of his first floor apartment, he took a moment to study Emma, then me before asking, "What can I do for you ladies?" Whatever venom I still had left evaporated in the blink of an eye as I regarded the poor man wide eyed. My sister, on the other hand, found it all but impossible to hold back an unlady like guffaw. Confused by our responses, the super looked back and forth between the two of us. When I finally did find my voice, I explained my problem, doing my best to ignore the fact that in my haste I'd neglected to pull my hair back into a ponytail. Though he was still bewildered over our behavior, he told me the same thing Emma had. "Dear girl," he patiently explained as if talking to a child, "calling the police would do you no good. They would do nothing but glower at you for taking up so much of their valuable time. If someone does return your cloths to me, be assured, I will be very happy to return them to you. I have no need for women's things." Deciding that any effort by me to pursue the matter any further with Ebrahim was fruitless, I thanked him, making no effort to muffle the sarcasm in my voice before tromping back upstairs with Emma in tow. She waited till we were back in her apartment before turning to me and asking why I hadn't bothered to inform her super that I wasn't a female. "And what good would that have done?" I stated flatly. Unable to think of a reason, she just shook her head. "I was just wondering, that's all." Those words were no sooner out of her mouth when I noticed a twinkle appear in her eyes. I knew that look. It was one that I'd come to dread, the look that told me that an idea had suddenly popped into my sister's mind, an idea that I, in all likelihood, wasn't going to like. "Well, since I can't help you at the moment," she announced crisply before turning away from me and making her way over to the sofa where she perched herself at one end, "perhaps you can help me." Making no effort to hide the concern I harbored over her cryptic statement, I followed her, taking a seat in an overstuffed chair across from her. "Okay, out with it." "The call I got before you went down to the basement was from Connor," she explained taking her time as she carefully picked her words. "It seems some yutz was trying hook up his TV to the building's cable one his own and screwed things up for everyone. The cable company is refusing to fix it till they find out who the miscreant was." "And this is important to me how?" "Conner is coming over here." "Oh, I see. So I need to disappear." "On the contrary, dear, sweet, kind sibling of mine." Leaning forward, Emma took a moment to bat her lashes a few times. "It seems a neighbor and friend of his is also bereft of cable." Not needing her to spell things out, I reeled back in horror. "Emma, don't even go there." Playing coy, a skill she'd perfected as a teenager, my sister tilted her head as she looked down to study her nails. "Go where?" "You want me to stay and... and..." "Oh please," she groaned. "We're only going to be watching a football game. What's so terrible about that? Besides," she quickly added, "it's not like you haven't done this before. Remember the fun we had at Sarah Roth's party when you went dressed as my cousin from Kansas?" Narrowing my eyes, I leaned forward and glared at Emma, waiting until she'd put a lid on her little miss innocent act and met my stare. "That was different. We were playing a practical joke on Sarah." "How is it different?" "You want me to entertain, no, I mean distract, your boyfriend's buddy, don't you?" "What's so terrible about that?" Jerking my head back, I blinked in disbelief. "What's wrong with that? Earth to Emma, I have flash traffic for you. He's a man. And despite evidence to the contrary, so am I." Deciding to take a different tact, Emma reached out and took my hands in hers. "Jordan, it's only going to be for a few hours. I mean, it's not like you were going to be doing anything different. Am I right?" She was, of course, spot on. In addition to making use of her building's laundry room, during football season I took advantage of my sister's hospitality to watch Sunday afternoon games on her 42" HD plasma TV. I'd been planning on doing just that, with or without her that very afternoon. Sensing that I was thinking things over, Emma piled on. "Oh please," she pleaded as she gave my hands a squeeze. "It's not like I'm going to ask you to do this every week. I just don't want to be stuck here all afternoon with two guys." Raising an eyebrow, I regarded Emma. "No, you won't. You'll be spending it with three guys." Unable to contain her excitement, Emma jumped to her feet without letting go of my hands. "You're wrong. I'll be spending it with two guys and my cousin." Despite my better judgment, I did what I always did whenever my sister got an idea lodged in her head, I gave in. Standing up slowly, I found I was unable to look Emma in the eye. Not knowing what else to do, I shrugged. "Please don't make me regret this." Squealing with glee, Emma wrapped her arms about me and gave me a big hug. "This is going to be so much fun. You just wait and see." Chapter Three In my life I'd done many a strange thing. But this, I thought to myself as I studied my reflection in the mirror, was the closest I'd ever come to pegging out the weird-o-meter. My previous outing as a girl, the one M referred to when she'd been cajoling me into doing her bidding, had been a lark, a silly prank dreamed up by two bored teenagers with too much time on their hands. Sarah Roth, the butt of the joke, and all the other girls at the all female affair enjoyed out little stunt almost as much as I did. My current foray into the magical and mystical world of women was different, a fact that M didn't quite seem to appreciate as she fussed about, getting me ready. To her credit, my sister had gone easy on the makeup and the outfit she'd given me to try on. Much to my relief it wasn't all that different than what she had on except that I was wearing her white Giants jersey that sported a big, powder blue '10' and a pair of tight fitting jeans. Oddly enough, when she told me they were her 'fat' jeans I found myself becoming a wee bit upset. Never having had an issue with my weight, the idea that I was condemned to wear 'fat' jeans irked me more than the mascara that coated my lashes, the blush on my checks or the berry flavored lip gloss I couldn't keep from licking with the tip of my tongue. Only when it came to my hair did she insist that we go for something a little more dramatic. "It's your best feature," she kept insisting as she added some styling gel to it before shaping it. "I've always been insanely jealous of your hair. I mean, I don't know a girl alive who wouldn't die to be a redhead." "If you remind me when we're finished today, I'll shave it off and give it to you." "You'll do nothing of the sort, Jordan Wallace. Who knows," she quibbled as she was finishing up. "By the end of the day you may find yourself enjoying being a true redhead for the first time in your life." Though I'd did my best to give her my best imitation of John Wayne's famous line from the Searchers, "that'll be the day," when all was said and done I had to admit, she'd been more than right. Rather than being totally freaked out, I truly was enjoying the experience, false boobies and all. That all changed in the span of four-point-five nanoseconds when I heard the buzzer to the door down on the street. Standing up, I swallowed hard as Emma answer the intercom with a cheerful, "Come on up." Emerging from her bedroom, I must have looked like the proverbial deer standing in the middle of the road, for my sister came over to where I was standing and took my hands in hers. "You'll be fine," she cooed reassuringly. "Just be yourself." Doing my best to muster up some semblance humor, I gave her a funny look. "Excuse me, but if you wanted me to be myself, why did you spend over an hour in there turning me into something else?" Emma gave me a playful slap on the arm. "Don't be such a dolt. You know what I mean. You can be quite personable when you've a mind to." "Jordan can be," I countered. "Despite the makeup and hairdo, you're still Jordan you know." Her statement triggered a sudden alarm. "My name! What were you, I mean are you planning to call me?" "Why not Jordan? It's a girl's name as well as a boy's name." I nodded. "Good thought. Even I should be able to remember that." "And just incase you should happen to forget, drop you chin a bit." Confused, I furrowed my brow. "How will that help?" Chuckling, Emma poked one of my falsies before dancing out of reach. "I expect one look at those should be sufficient to jog your memory, don't ya think?" Before I could take off and retaliate, there was a knock on the door. They were here. Once more I came to a screeching halt, physically and mentally, unable to do anything more than unconsciously wring my hands before me and watch as Emma opened the door and let Conner and his friend in. It didn't take them but a second to notice me standing off to one side, nervously shifting my weight from one foot to the next as I did my best to be as inconspicuous as a five foot, eight inch redhead could be. Connor was the first to break this most awkward silence. With a grin that would have made the Cheshire Cat green with envy, he looked over at Emma. "Well, I see you brought in some reinforcements." "Not really," Emma stated trying to be as nonchalant as she could be. "That's Jordan, my cousin. She's a student at NYU who finds it more economical to drag her laundry all the way uptown in order to use the machines here." Ignoring the way she'd emphasized the word 'cousin,' I took her cue, placing one hand on my hip and giving her a mock look of feigned disgust she'd used on many an occasion when she found herself being teased. "Machines that just happen to eat my clothes." "They didn't eat your clothes," she countered as she finished hanging up the jackets she'd taken from the two men. "I'm sure they'll turn up once someone's figured out they've made a mistake." For the first time Conner's friend spoke up. "Well, I'm so glad to hear that I'm not the only person in this city that looses their clothes to laundry room bandits." Realizing that he'd forgotten to introduce his friend, Conner stepped aside and motioned toward him. "Everyone, this is Aaron Stone, an old college buddy who followed me to New York in search of fame and fortune." Not knowing what else to do but feeling an overpowering urge to say something, I gave Aaron a nervous smile as I once more clasped my hands tightly before me. "And have you found it yet?" Returning my smile, he shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I fear fame and fortune, like my missing laundry, continue to allude me." Ambling his way over to the sofa where Emma was already seated, Conner chuckled. "Don't you belief a word of that. My partner in crime over there is a hair's breath away from becoming the youngest partner in a major midtown law firm." Not knowing what else to do, I made my way over to an overstuffed chair, one that was strategically situated as far from its twin as I had been able to manage before Emma had dragged me off to her bedroom to turn me into her cousin. From the expression on Aaron's face as he stood there in the middle of the room, surveying the lay of the land, I had no doubt he put two and two together and came up with the right answer. Resigning himself to being stuck about as far away from me as the room permitted, he plopped down in his chair as the four of us settled in for a long afternoon of football, snack food and friendly banter. The first game up was Buffalo at New England. Though I didn't have any dogs in that fight, I quickly took to rooting for the Bills, if for no other reason than to bug my sister. At first she just ignored me, which only served to egg me on. Eventually, unable to help herself, she took to mocking the hapless Giants who were scheduled to play later that day in Washington. Conner, caught in the middle of this sibling banter, took every opportunity he could find to add his two cents, though he did so in a manner that kept him in M's good graces. For his part Aaron, feeling very much the outsider, thanks in no small part to the way I'd positioned his chair and my failure to engage him in conversation, pretty much kept quiet throughout the entire game. That's not to say he remained uninterested in, well, me. On far too many occasions that I was comfortable with, I caught him looking over to where I sat, curled up in my seat in much the same manner that I'd seen Emma do on other, less trying occasions. It wasn't until we switched over to the late game that things got really interesting. Insisting that she couldn't possible put off yielding to the demands of her bladder for another second, Emma asked if I'd pop the frozen pizza she'd bought into the over while she dashed off to the necessary room for a minute. That Connor followed her toward the back of the apartment didn't escape my notice. Nor, for that matter, did Aaron miss that slick little maneuver. I guess he figured that this was as good as any time to see if he could overcome the wall of ice I'd manage to maintain all afternoon by following me into the kitchen on the pretext of fetching a fresh bottle of Coors Light. As expected, the situation I found myself in was exactly the sort of thing I'd been doing my damnedest to avoid, for Emma's kitchen wasn't much bigger than a walk in closet. It was efficiently laid out and all, sporting everything one needed except room, leaving me little choice but to turn my back on Aaron and squeeze by him whenever I needed to retrieve something from a cabinet or draw on the other side of the room. It goes without saying that Aaron, who was either oblivious to my efforts to shun him or was purposefully ignoring my attempts to do so, did his best to engage me in conversation. "So, you're a college student." Knowing that I could only go so far with my 'frosty bitch' routine without spoiling the day for Emma, I found I had little choice but to respond. "Ah, yeah." "What are you majoring in?" "History." "History?" The disparaging tone with which he responded irked me. Unable to help myself, I spun around and faced him for the first time. "Yes, history. Is there a problem with that?" Realizing that he was careening head long toward an abyss, Aaron did some very serious back peddling. "Nothing, nothing at all. History is, ah, well it's interesting." His response caused me to smirk. In the past, whenever I mentioned I was majoring in history the other party I was talking to usually responded with a comment like, 'What on earth can you possibly do with a degree in history?' or, 'Are you serious?' No doubt Aaron, determined to find a way onto my good side for reasons I didn't even want to think about, was doing his best to recover from a faux pas that was, in all likelihood, a reflection of his true feelings on the matter. "So," he started again with more caution that before, "are you one of those girls who follow the Giants because of the quarterback or do you seriously believe they have a chance to go somewhere this season?" Unable to help myself, I once more turned to face Aaron, wondering as I stared into his eyes if he thought a question like that would save his already sizzling bacon from the fire he was hell bent on leaping into. "The Giants are my team. Aren't they yours?" I added, over playing the incredulousness tone of my voice. This time Aaron chose not to back away, taking an entirely different tact in the strange and rather uncomfortable psychological dance that I found myself engaged in. "I'm a Cowboy's fan, you know, America's Team." Unable to help myself, I rolled my eyes. "Oh - my - God. My sister actually let a Cowboys fan in her apartment? I mean, cheering for the Patriots were bad enough, but the Cowboys?" Without waiting for him to respond, I spun about and turned my attention back to what I had been doing. "I take it the two of you don't much care for the Cowboys." "That," I answered without bothering to look back at Aaron, "is an understatement." Before he was able to respond to my comment, I resorted to a ploy I'd seen my grandmother use many a time on. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me to my chores here. You know what they say about too many cooks. Besides, I don't want to miss the opening kick off." Unwilling to yield his ground without delivering a parting shot, Aaron snickered. "Given that it will be the only time the Giants will be ahead in the game, I don't imagine you'd want to." Before I could turn about and give him a good what for, he was gone, chuckling to himself as he left the kitchen and leaving me to wonder if he really thought his approach to engaging women in conversation was somehow endearing. Never having found myself engaged in a situation like the one that I'd just participated in, at least from my current point of view, I found myself wondering if it was. Silly question, I told myself, one that I had no need to answer since this would be the last time I'd ever find myself playing on the wrong side of the street. By the time I returned to the other room, Emma and Connor were already back on the sofa. While he was able to play it cool, I could tell by the guilty look on my sister's that she'd been doing more than simply tending to basic biological functions. To let her know I was onto her, I flashed her a knowing smile and a wink. She, in turn, blushed but managed to return my smile with one of her own. Aaron, who'd been watching this out of the corner of his eye waited till I was seated before turning to Conner. "Did you know we're in the presence of a pair of dyed in the wool Giants fans?" Before answering, Conner made a show of looking down at Emma's New England jersey. "Oh? Is that so?" Wincing, Emma looked up at Connor. "Well, I do like the Pats as well." "You can't fool me," Conner shot back. "I'll bet you're one of those girls who just like watching Tom Brady run around in tight fitting pants." "Can you blame a girl for that?" "No, I guess not," Connor snickered. "Of course, I can do something that he can't." Coyly, Emma tilted her head. "Ho? Like what?" After draping his arm about Emma's shoulder, Conner leaned over and planting a quick kiss on Emma's lips. "Can he do that?" he stated smugly after pulling away. The chime on the oven interrupted this silly little flirtation as I was called me back into the kitchen where I retrieved the pizza. Upon my return with pizza in hand, I was greeted with an announcement that my sister, Conner and Aaron had agreed to a bet. "It seems," Emma explained indicating the two men with a simple nod of her head as she helped me serve up the pizza, "they have no faith in the home team." Suspecting that I wasn't going to like what followed, I responded with a rather cautious, "And?" "Aaron suggested that we put our money where our mouths are." At the mention of Aaron's name, I became even more suspicious as to where this was going. "And what did We agree to?" "If the Giants win, we fix dinner for the boys." Despite the alarms that were already sound in my head, I managed to remain calm. "And if we loose?" "They buy us dinner." "Buy us dinner? As in go out someplace? In public?" "Of course," Aaron announced smugly. "It's better than having us replay in kind since Conner and I are culinary klutzes." Unable to help myself, I came to my feet. "Ah, Emma dear, could I have a word with you, now?" Without waiting for her to answer, I made a beeline for the kitchen. Once there, I whirled about, planted my fists on my hips and thrust my face toward my sister's. "Just what in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" I hissed louder than I should have. Brining her hands together as if in prayer, Emma leaned forward and began to plead with me. "Jordan, please. I couldn't help it. I so want to get to know Conner." Reaching out, I made a great show of wiping away a smudge of lipstick from around her mouth. "I dare say the two of you already seem know each other quite well." Embarrassed but unrelenting, my sister continued to press her case. "Jordan, this is important to me. This is the first chance I've had to go out with him for dinner. I mean, sure we've spent some time together but both those occasions were little more than hanging out, like we're doing today. This would be a real date." "Exactly my point," I exclaimed, doing my best to keep my voice down while standing upright and crossing my arms across my chest. I think for the first time Emma managed to understand what I'd been trying to convey to her, for her eyes widened as she pulled back slightly. "Oh!" "Yeah, oh." "Well, it wouldn't be a date, not for you and Aaron. It'd just be dinner." "I doubt if that's how Aaron is going to see things. You weren't out here in the kitchen before with him." It wasn't until Emma tilted her head and gave me a suspicious look that I realized that I'd let out more than I should have. "Oh. And do pray tell, dear sweet cousin of mine, what did happen out here?" Flummoxed and not quite sure what to say, I tried to brush her off. "Nothing, really." "Then what's with the crimson cheeks?" Unable to help myself, I brought my hands up and touched my cheeks with the tips of my fingers, imagining as I did so I could feel the glow of acute embarrassment. "Later," I stuttered. "I'll tell you all about it later," I repeated as I tried to push my way past her. Sensing that she now had the upper hand, Emma blocked my way. "Oh no you don't. You're not leaving this kitchen until you tell me or..." "Alright," I muttered. "I'll do it." "Say it." Barely able to contain my anger, I glared at Emma. "If the Giants loose, I'll stick around and help you with dinner." "And if they win?" Reaching out, I grabbed the arm she was blocking my way with and lifted it like a toll gate. "Alright, damn it, I'll do it." With that, I stormed out of the kitchen and marched over to my chair. Plopping down in it, I folded my arms across my chest, planted my chin on my cheast and, for the first time in my life, found myself praying the Washington Redskins would beat my beloved Giants. Chapter Four "Stop fidgeting." "I will if you tell me again why I have to suffer through this. As you keep reminding me, it's only dinner." Emma smirked. "I do think the lady doest protest too much." As long as I could remember, it'd always been next to impossible for me to fool my sister. The only thing more difficult than that was finding a way to resist her demands whenever she'd set her mind to doing something that she needed my help with. Realizing that my half-hearted protests were falling on deft ears, I tried a different approach. "I understand why you want to go all out with the hair, makeup and outfit. But why do I have to get all dolled up?" Instead of answering, Emma took my chin between her thumb and forefinger in an effort to steady my head. It felt strange to have someone applying eyeliner. Not unpleasant, just strange. Only when she was satisfied with her efforts with that chore, but before moving onto the next step, she paused to answer me. "Why do you need to get dressed up like this? So you can do what you always do; blend in, to go with the flow, become mister invisible. Or," she added as an impish grin crept across her face, "should I say misses invisible." "At this point, I really don't care what you call me. Just tell me that this foray will be the end of your made plans to turn an average, Joe Cool College into M. Butterfly." In the twinkling of an eye the smile disappeared from her face, replaced by a rather enigmatic expression I couldn't quite fathom. "Only if you want it to," she murmured softly. Spooked by the sudden change in her demeanor and having no desire to dwell on the point she was attempting to make in a rather indirect manner, I cleared my throat. "Ah, Emma? Are you done messing with my face yet?" Shaking her head as if to banish a stray thought, she blinked. "Almost. Just a few little touches." Those touches were the culmination of a process that put my previous makeover to shame. Rather than build up her earlier efforts, Emma had insisted on starting out fresh and giving me the works which included foundation, eyeliner, eye shadow and several coats of mascara in addition to the obligatory blush and lipstick. Unlike before, however, those last two items were several shades darker. She even took time to add a bit more style to my hair, something I thought was unnecessary but came across as more than appropriate when I was finally allowed to see myself in the mirror. "Somehow I get the feeling I'm never going to manage to live this down," I muttered absent mindedly to myself as I took a moment to examine the finished product. From across the room, where she was laying out the outfit shed picked for me, Emma asked what I was saying. "Nothing, nothing. Just admiring your handiwork." Those words had no sooner left my mouth when I realized that I had blundered. Turning away from the mirror, I looked over to where my sister was regarding me with a strange look on her face. "You're really are enjoying this," making her question sound more like a statement of fact. Throwing up my hands up in mock surrender, I did what I always did when it was just my sister and I; I told the truth. "Okay, guilty as charged. As weird as this has been so far, it's been fun in a twisted, alternate universe sort of way." From where I sat I couldn't quite tell if Emma was relieved to hear my confession or concerned as she stopped what she'd been doing. Whatever it was that gave her pause quickly passed as she managed to regain her balance after giving her head a quick shake. With time becoming quite short, she handed me a long, full skirt that came just below my knees and a white satin blouse with a wide, notched collar. Only the black, low heeled leather boots that Emma gave me to wear were a little tight. When I was finished dressing, Emma took a step back in order to get a better look at the final product. "I'll bet you're glad you're not eligible to stand in for the Incredible Hulk." "I don't know about that," I responded ruefully as I turned this way and that while admiring my reflection in a floor length mirror. "I did, after all, have to use your fat jeans. So I guess I'm not exactly perfect." "Oh, away with you," Emma chuckled as she shooed me out of her room. "I've got a lot of catching up to do if I'm going to look as good as you and not a whole lot of time." Her statement, delivered without hint of irony or sarcasm, and its implications didn't quite register with me. I guess I was just having too much fun, an admission I was finding easier to deal with as the day wore on. Given the late hour and the way we were dressed, Emma insisted that we take a cab instead of the subway, an idea that I went along with. The plan, agreed to by Emma and the boys shortly after the Giants defense made a spectacular goal line stand during the waning minutes of the fourth quarter, was for Conner and Aaron to head back to their place, change and met us at the restaurant when we were ready. That they would be there long before us was a given. Their grooming habits, after all, paled in comparison to the ritual that Emma had introduced me to. We found the two of them waiting for us at the Gotham Bar and Grill on East 12th Street in the Village, yucking it up over drinks at the bar. That my sister was determined to make an impression on Connor was quite obvious by the way she slowed her pace as she approached him, affecting a rather exaggerated saunter in the process. I, on the other hand, was more than content to follow several paces behind, head slightly bowed and eyes darting from side to side doing a rather terrible job of hiding the acute anxiety attack I felt coming on. It's not that I was afraid the transvestite police were going to jump out from behind the bar and arrest me or that someone would suddenly jump up and yell, "Look, there's a guy in a dress." This was, after all, New York City and the clientele of the Gotham Bar and Grill was far too sophisticated for that sort of thing. I did, however, expect people to stare and maybe even enjoy a good chuckle over the way I was dressed. Fortunately, I think, that didn't happen. Instead of scorn and ridicule, the attention I attracted was the sort I'd seen my friends and other men displayed whenever they spied a particularly attractive woman passing by. This was especially true when Aaron finally caught sight of me. The smile that lit up his face and the twinkle in his eyes, while encouraging in a way, was, at the same time, more than a little unnerving. While I had no idea what he was going to order for dinner, I had little doubt what he wanted for desert. With this thought foremost in my mind, I made every effort to keep as much distance between myself and Aaron as possible. Doing so in a crowded New York eatery turned out to be something of a challenge. It started when it came time to be escorted to our table. Conner, quite naturally, placed a hand in the small of my sister's back as he guided her through the maze of tables and diners, a gesture she was quite comfortable with. I, on the other hand, did a quick side step when Aaron tried to do the same when I stepped off to follow Emma and Connor. This little maneuver accomplished two things. It erased the self-satisfied smile he'd been sporting and it served notice that touch was strictly verboten. That didn't mean he lost interest. On the contrary, he followed me to the table like a predator stalking its prey, a fact that left me more than a little self-conscious. Despite the fact that I was blending in, as well as a five foot eight, 140 pound redhead could, my mannerism and responses didn't always match the image. Emma, who was aware of these deficiencies based on what she'd observed during the afternoon, gave me some tips while we were getting ready and during the cab ride. Still, as far as I was concerned, it wasn't enough. The best I could do was to heed her final word of advice, which was to follow her lead and mimic what she did when it seemed appropriate. That proved to be easier said than done. M, after all, was a woman with years of experience dealing with social situations such as the one I suddenly found myself dropped into. The grace and ease with which she handled herself and interacted with Conner were second nature. I, on the other hand, carried myself off with all the finesse of a non-swimmer thrown off the end of the dock. Thus, when I wasn't doing my best impersonation of a bumbling fool, I kept my hands tightly clasped in my lap, my head slightly bowed and my eyes riveted to whatever dish the waiter placed before me. For his part Aaron was bound and determined to engage me in conversation, spending the better part of the meal skimming through a wide range of subjects in the hope of stumbling upon something that interested me. With a resolve that was equal to his, I did my best to keep from being drawn into a protracted t?te-?-t?te with him by limiting my responses to "yes", "no" or "that's interesting" in the hope of frustrating him or, failing that, boring him to tears. Unfortunately, rather than tiring of my deliberate evasiveness, Aaron came to view my efforts as something of a challenge. With all the tenacity of a devote knight on a grail quest, he kept at it until I could stand no more. In one final and desperate bit to put an end to his attempts to draw me out, when he asked me how it was that I was only two years younger than Emma, a fact I know I didn't provide him with, and still only a sophomore in college, I hit him with an answer that I was sure would shut him up. Looking up from my plate, I gave him the best deadpan expression I could muster. "I was in the Army, as a medic, in Iraq." My response, delivered with a cool, unflinching deliberateness seemed to have its desired effect, for he returned my stare but for a moment before blinking twice and then, without comment, averting his eyes. Across from me Emma took note of Aaron's sudden change in demeanor. While still trying to keep up with what her dinner partner was saying, she cast fugitive glances in my direction, furrowing her brow as she tried to figure out what had happened. Aware that he no longer was enjoying M's complete and undivided attention, the ever attentive Conner stopped talking and looked over at me, then Aaron and finally back to me. To her credit, Emma's assessment of the situation was spot on. Without take her eyes off of me she came to her feet, excusing herself as she did so and making it clear to me with nothing more than an arched eyebrow that I was to follow. Whatever reservations I had about going into a woman's restroom were more than counter balanced by the opportunity to flee, if only briefly, Aaron's attention. Once in the female sanctuary, Emma immediately took to parading down the line of stalls, bending over and peeking under the partially open doors to ensure that there was no one else there. When she was satisfied that we were alone and she could speak freely, she whirled about. "What just happened in there?" Still a wee bit uncomfortable with my surroundings, I didn't answer her at first. Instead, I folded my arms tightly across my chest, turned away from her penetrating gaze and instead, took to studying my reflection in the mirror as wondered how best to answer her. I could take the easy out, I told myself, and strictly limit my response to a simple chronicling of what had gone down. That, however, wouldn't have appeased Emma. She knew me too well. As if to confirm this, she sidled up to me and placed an arm about my waist before pulling me as close as she could before she also turned toward the mirror and regarded my reflection. We stood there like that for several long seconds, she, patiently waiting for me to sort through my rather jumbled thoughts and me, madly scrambling to find the words that would accurately convey the turmoil that this little lark had stirred within me. "This whole thing's freaked you out, hasn't it?" she asked in a low, almost hushed tone. On the verge of loosing it, the best I could do was tightly press my lips together and nod. "Listen," she continued, "You stay here and I'll go back out there and make our excuses. When they're gone, I'll come back, fetch you and we'll go back to my place, okay?" As tempting as her offer was to me, at that moment the thought of remaining behind, in the ladies room was almost as unnerving to me as was the prospect of going with her and having to face Aaron and Conner again, especially since it had been my actions that had made a complete hash of the night. Only my male ego and pride, aspects of my personality that rarely governed any of my actions, kept me from taking the easy out my sister had offered. After taking a deep breath and drawing myself up, I turned to face her. "No. I'll be fine. We'll go out together and enjoy the rest of our meal." The look Emma gave me told me she wasn't buying my false bravado for a second. Dipping her chin a bit, she looked up at me through her lashes. "Fine. But when we get back to my place, we're going to talk." The look in her eyes and the tone of her voice told me she was reading far more into my behavior than I would have freely admitted to her, or even myself, had I been given a choice. Not that this was bad. On the contrary, had Emma not been the sort of person she was, one who possess a deeper understanding of me than I permitted myself, I, in all likelihood, would have fobbed this whole evening off as little more than a lark, just as I had done in the wake of Sarah Roth's party. My habit of shoving my true feelings into some dark corner of my mind where, over time, they tended to be forgotten were matched only by M's ability to rummage about in there and bring them back to the fore. It was one of her little habits that I found both annoying and reassuring. Chapter Five The ride back to Emma's apartment passed in silence. Once there, instead of sitting down in the living room and opening up a discussion that I suspected would be a real come-to -Jesus moment for me, M headed off into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. I took this opportunity to duck into the bathroom where, after tending to basic needs, I leaned over the sink. Gripping the edge of the countertop with both hands, I once more took a few moments to study the reflection staring back at me, just as I had back at the restaurant. What was it, I found myself asking, that I intended to say, to admit to? Was there more to this little foray of mine than met the eye? Even as that thought was coming to the fore, I found myself unable to keep from chuckling to myself. "Daah," I muttered as I shook my head. Of course there was something more going on inside the confused little brain of mine that was hidden behind a face that was unmistakable feminine. In the wake of Sarah Roth's party I'd been able to explain away the thrill I'd experienced while dressed in my sister's clothes as nothing more than a teenaged boy's wildest dream come true; spending an entire evening alone surrounded by good looking teenaged girls. That little excursion up de- nial wasn't going to hack it this time. No, there was more at work here than I cared to think about but would, in a very few minutes, have to. By the time I returned to the living room, Emma was already curled up on the sofa with coffee in hand waiting for me to take a seat across from her. Without saying a word, I took up the cup of coffee she'd placed on the small table between us, taking a sip while my sister watched me with an intensity that was quite unnerving. There would be no long, tortuous interrogation. That wasn't her style. When she had a mind to, she could pry my deepest, darkest secrets out of me with nothing more than a steady, penetrating gaze, much like the one she was regarding me with at the moment. It was far more effective than water boarding, though I expect no less painful. Holding my cup with both hands under my chin, I curled my feet up under me, much in the same fashion that she'd done before bowing my head slightly. The whole time I was settling in, we never broke eye contact. Whether the posture I assumed was an effort on my part to subconsciously confirm what I think she already suspected or nothing more than an attempt to become comfortable, she gave me a half smile and nod, encouraging me speak. "I enjoyed myself today," I stated in a low, almost whimsical voice. "Even dinner was fun, though I don't imagine anyone who was paying any attention to me would have thought so." "Oh, someone was paying attention to you," she stated in a manner that was neither mocking nor accusatory. Unable to say what I was about to while looking my sister square in the eye, I averted my gaze, contemplating the cup of coffee I was holding. "Yes, I know. As disconcerting as that was," I stated in a quite voice, "it was also quite thrilling to have someone admire me like that." After waiting several seconds for my sister to respond, I peeked up at her through my lashes, once more becoming aware of the thick layers of mascara that she'd coated them with earlier that evening. When I realized that she was waiting for me to continue, I heaved a sigh, looked back down at my cup and continued. "All my life I've been content to hang back, to be part of the pack, just another faceless figure in the crowd. I'm not smart enough to know whether or not that's just the way I was built or," I stated before pausing a second to mull what I was saying over in my mind, "if my efforts to be mister invisible was simply my way of coping with being a puny, wretched specimen of a male." This time, when I looked up at Emma I could tell that she was trying to find a way to reassure me, to tell me that I was being too hard on myself. Unfortunately, like me, she knew any effort to do so would be futile. So she remained silent as she waited for me to continue. "I'll not lie to you," I finally confessed. "I really don't know what it is that I find so fascinating, so enjoyable about being like this. All day I felt as if the clouds that had been hovering over my dull, dreary life suddenly parted, allowing a small ray of sunshine to smile down upon me." "I can understand that," Emma stated with a hint of a smile. "There've been more than a few blue days in my life that I was able to banish with nothing more than a little lipstick or the feel of a silk blouse against my skin." "But you're a girl," I quickly countered. It was the way she regarded me in the silence that followed my outburst that really unnerved me. Though I think she was tempted to do so, she kept herself from saying, "Oh?" Of course, she didn't need to. My mind had already made that leap. * It would have been great to set aside the events of Sunday for a few days and give my troubled mind an opportunity to dissect in its own peculiar way what it had all really meant. Unfortunately, the circumstances that had set the entire chain of events in motion were still in play. Someone, it seems, had grown rather fond of my clothes, leaving me little choice but to borrow some of my sister's things. In all fairness to her, she gave me jeans, tops, socks and other odds and ends that were pretty much unisex in cut, color and style. Except for the fact that the zipper was on the wrong side of the 'fat' jeans she leant me, they weren't all that different than my own dearly departed apparel. No one in the dorms or on campus, of course, paid the slightest bit of attention to that sort of thing. I expect had Godzilla or the Cloverfield monster could have taken up permanent residence in Washington Park across from the University, half the student population wouldn't notice and the other half would ignore them. The only person in the entire city that was aware my gender inappropriate attire, it seemed, was me and I, unfortunately, was very aware of it, causing me to dwell on the issues that the events of Sunday had brought to light far more than I cared to. Since I was a student attending a major university, my default response was to turn to the world wide web and the campus library where I rummaged about in search of information, information that could help explain what, exactly I was dealing with and perhaps provide me with some ideas that would help me develop a reasonable course of action to guide me toward an effective resolution. In my pursuit for answers I toyed with checking out the University's office of lesbian, gay, bi and transgender affairs but quickly abandoned that idea. Until I had a better handle on my own feelings on the subject, I didn't want anyone else to know what was going on in my head. One of the creepier aspects of having a sibling that is far too attuned to the way you think and respond to problems is that they can pretty much anticipate your need for their help long before you do. It was this quirky attribute that led Emma to call me early on Wednesday morning and suggest that I meet her for lunch. Since she was well aware that I had no classes in the afternoon and I was always more than willing to let her treat me to a free meal, she knew I wouldn't turn her down. We met shortly after noon at a neighborhood delis that was just a round the corner from her place. There wasn't anything spectacular about it. Even the food wasn't all that different than what you'd find in a similar establishment elsewhere in the city. The only thing that made this particular deli different was its familiarity. The d?cor, the food, the staff, even many of the other patrons who were regulars contributed to a coziness that made a person feel almost as if they were dining in their own kitchen. Finding M there already, I took a seat across from her. "Well, dear sweet sister of mine, what inspired you to take pity on this poor wayward soul? A forgotten wrong you committed against me when we were children that you suddenly felt the urge to atone for?" Feigning offense, Emma touched her right hand on her upper chest. "Well, that's a fine how do you do. Can't a sister show a little kindness to her favorite syb?" "M, I'm your only sibling. Besides," I added before she could respond, "I know you too well. You're up to something, aren't you?" I could tell by her expression that she was wavering, trying decide if she wanted to continue with her charade or simply fess up to whatever it was that motivated her to invite me up town to join her. Never having been particularly good at playacting and quite the accountant when it came to no nonsense efficiency, Emma confessed. "Okay, you win. I checked back with the super last night in the hope that someone had returned you laundry." Though I more or less had given up any hope of recovering my motley collection jeans, Tee shirts, sweatshirts and threadbare underwear, her news deflated me. Slumping down in my seat, my mind immediately latched onto the realization that I now had little choice but to begin the arduous task of collecting what amounted to a whole new wardrobe, one I could ill afford. Expecting this response, M reached across the table and patted my hand. "Oh, don't get you knickers in a twist. Things could be worse, you know?" Before I could answer, the waiter ambled over to our table and asked for our orders. Without having to consult a menu both M and I both could recite from memory, we placed our orders. When he was gone, I leaned over the table, looking about out of the corner of my eyes before answering her in a low voice. "And how, exactly, could they be worse? Emma, I'm wearing your clothes." An impish smirk lit up her face as she arched her eyebrows. "And has that been so bad?" Caught off guard, I sat there with my mouth agape for a moment as my mind frantically scrambled to formulate a coherent response. Before I could mount a reasonable defense, my sister opened a discussion on a subject I'd been doing my best to ignore. Not that I was sorry that she did. Left to my own devices, in time I probably would have succeeded in filing the events of the previous Sunday away in the corner of my mind labeled 'Items to be Forgotten,' just as I had done to the feelings that had been stirred within me during Sarah Roth's party. So, instead of denying the undeniable, I did what I normal did when dealing with my sister; I eased back in my seat and asked her what, exactly, she had in mind. ----------------------------- Note from the author: This is the first part of an ongoing story. Enjoy!