Renaissance free porn video

Renaissance A note at the beginning. This is the start of a long piece. I plan to slowly develop the characters and take them through as realistic journey as possible. If you are from the Northeast and interested, Janskill is modeled mostly after Cold Springs, NY with a bit of Mt. Kisko, NY thrown in for good measure. Redemption Part 1. Introduction: I like Wittmer's Caf?. It can't make up its mind if it is a coffee shop or a restaurant and is conveniently situated in the small group of stores that make up the center of Janskill, my home town. Depending on the time of day the crowd varies. In the early morning there are business types grabbing coffee while waiting for the train to take them to New York City and local shopkeepers having breakfast. During the day, shoppers, students from the local community college and others keep the place full. In the evening families stop by for a light meal and the arty types turn out for the open mike nights. I was sipping my coffee and listening to my sister while watching the crowd reflected in the mirror that covered most of one wall. Specifically I watched two women having coffee together and thought about the image they presented. The one doing most of the talking was in her mid-thirties; definitely a business type. Her tweed blazer, dark skirt and short hair combined with the leather portfolio she carried were like a uniform. She might have been a lawyer, maybe a banker. She was the shorter of the two, a little overweight but still attractive enough to catch the eye of most men. Her companion was almost a direct opposite. Tall and thin, almost to the point of being skinny, she was as casual as the other was conservative. The second woman's light brown hair was tied back in a pony tail; she was dressed in a grey and pink running suit. A canvas bag and a tennis racket leaned against her chair. While the shorter woman's body language and demeanor spoke of control and self-awareness this woman, with her gangly build and bony wrists, looked awkward and uncertain. The two were in deep discussion and I watched as the shorter member of the pair pushed a gift wrapped package across the table. A few more words were spoken and then, exchanging quick brush-by kisses, they parted with the gangly one looking at the gift while the other went off to the bank or the brokerage or wherever she spent her time. I stared straight at the mirror and my reflection stared back at me. I looked at my tied back hair and the grey and pink running suit. Then I looked down at the gift. As my sister left she made sure she had the last word. "Remember, you promised to write it all down. Why not get started now. You said you had nothing planned this today except picking up Emily. I'll see you later Sis. Bye." I had promise to "write it all down" and had been procrastinating. To write things down meant to remember and I had as much bad as good to think about. But I had promised and someday my niece Emily would need to know about her aunt. My sister had given me a beautiful note book and a fountain pen. I had the rest of the day free. All I had to figure out was where and how to start. This is a story of redemption, a story of rebirth. Stories of redemption start with a fall. I picked up the pen and wrote down the first few words. "I fell down the stairs of the gazebo in the town park and felt the rough wood tear the skin on my left cheek." Chapter 1: The Fall I fell down the stairs of the gazebo in the town park and felt the rough wood tear the skin on my left cheek. My shoulder banged against the sidewalk and I lay there looking up at the night sky. I talked to myself, debating whether I should just lie there until sleep overtook me or try to get up and walk home. Grabbing the railing I managed to stand but my wobbly legs would not support me and I sat on the stairs, not noticing the blood on my face. I tried to remember why I had come to the park in the first place. Patrolman Lawrence found me there and after talking on the radio for a few minutes decided to just help me walk the remaining fifty yards to the house I shared with my sister Anne and her husband Alan. He knocked on the door and rang the bell until Alan opened the door. "Evening Dr. Feldman, sorry to bother you but Mike here is drunk again. I can bring him in to the station or call the ambulance but that means charging him and..." My sister's voice could now be heard and she took over, her lawyer's mind clicking quickly. "Thanks Pete. Just bring him in, oh Christ he really cut himself up. Let me look. Alan, do you think he needs to go to the hospital? No? Good, no put him in the chair there. Yes, we'll take care of it. No, it's OK. Thanks. Hey that's why we live here. Night." They cleaned me up and helped me up the stairs to my small apartment. Anne lectured me a little but I was far too drunk, sick and in pain to hear much of what she said. Then she and Alan left me sitting on my couch trying to decide if I wanted another drink. I debated this until, slumped over, I fell asleep to waken later feeling as though I had been beaten up and poisoned. Like most drunks I am adept at getting up in the morning, pouring coffee and aspirin down my throat and somehow making it to work despite the prior evening's abuse. I said good morning to my co-workers and made up a story about helping my brother-in-law install a cabinet when the door swung open and caught me on the cheek. I drank more coffee and was settling in when Mr. Duffield asked me to step into his office. First he asked about my cheek and muttered some words of sympathy. Then he complimented me on a series of plans and graphics I had done for an upcoming project. I was starting to relax when he changed the topic abruptly. "Michael you can't keep on like this. Oh you are young and very intelligent so you can somehow produce good work despite the fact that you come in hung over and sometimes drink your lunch. It won't last though. Your work will suffer and then it's a nasty slide downhill." I started to protest but was shut down quickly. "You can't bullshit me Mike. You are a drunk, a fall down drunk. I know you are and the reason I know is because I am an alcoholic. Oh, I've been sober almost eleven years now but it's always there. Now listen to me. I hit bottom in my forties. You are twenty seven and you are not likely to reach forty at this pace. You are still managing to come in just sober enough but sooner or later you'll show up shit faced and how long do you think you'll keep your job then. I can't force you to get help but I urge you to." He reached into his desk and pulled out a brochure from Alcoholics Anonymous and tossed it at me. Left speechless by the tone of his voice I just held the brochure and stared at him. "Now go home. Don't stop at the bars on the way. Get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow. If you need to talk about this I am the wrong person, but you have to find someone. Now go home." I made my excuses to some people, grabbed my jacket and left the office. It was about a fifteen minute walk home and the cool fall air helped my head. As I walked I looked over at the Stop Light Grill but they wouldn't open until noon. Jack's was a block out of the way. Playing a game I had played many times before I moved from bar to tavern, finding excuses not to stop at any one, until I reached the residential section of Janskill and made it up the stairs to my apartment. Upstairs I tossed my jacket aside and poured a drink before I even noticed what I was doing. I cursed a bit and tossed the drink in the sink. It was then that I noticed a small envelope on the floor. It must have been shoved under the door earlier. I picked it up and pulled out the message inside. "Mike. We have to talk. When you come home tonight don't go out drinking. Alan and I will be back about 6:30. Have dinner with us. Anne." "Christ" I snarled. "First Duffield and now Anne. OK so I got drunk, big fucking deal. I am not an alcoholic. I..." I sat down and wadded the message up and tossed it at the wastebasket missing my target. I knew what I wanted to do and it wasn't to drink. I tried to pass time by neatening up the apartment or watching the TV. Finally I said the hell with it, changed my clothes and feeling sorry for myself sat in front of the dresser, brushed my hair and looked at the red scrapes on my cheek, now glistening with tears. Chapter 2: The Future Tense My phone rang a few times that afternoon but I ignored it. Caller ID let me know that Anne was calling. I knew she would have called at work and now was trying to reach me at the apartment but I did not feel like dealing with it. About six I changed into presentable clothes and tromped downstairs to join them for dinner. I was sober, depressed, thirsty and itching for a fight. Anne kissed me briefly on the cheek and Alan, just back from his dermatology practice, waved at me in a distracted manner. As I sat down at the table I noticed that the ever present bottle of wine was missing. I made a sarcastic comment and thereby opened up the gates. I sat as I listened to a description of all the problems I was causing, how much they loved me, how much I scared them. Anne reminded me how I had put a pot of soup on the stove and then drank myself into oblivion while the pot burned and filled the apartment with smoke. Alan brought up the times I had left the front door open when I stumbled in. I was getting angrier by the moment when Anne dropped the bombshell. "We have particular reason to be worried now Michael, you see I'm pregnant." "What?" "I'm pregnant and I can't see raising a child in a house where her or his uncle is drunk all the time and possibly burning down the place." I sat there speechless. Finally I had to say something. "Wow, when?" Alan gave his short barking laugh. "You mean when due, not when conceived I hope. It's early and we aren't telling anyone, but Mike we have to settle some things with you. If you can't turn yourself around by the time Anne gives birth, you will have to move out." Anne nodded and I could see the tears in her eyes. I tried to think of something to say but I had made promises before. What good would another one do? Anne leaned forward. I could see the 'older sister" look on her face. "Mike, Alan and I can deal with a lot. We will do what we can to help you but all you ever say is that nothing is wrong. Please, now is the time, please tell us what is making you so constantly depressed, so unhappy." Alan chipped in "Pissed off." I sat back and stared at the ceiling. I was twenty seven years old. As best as I could tell I had spent the last fifteen of those years pretending and hiding. Anne was right. Now is the time. "OK, OK. Give me a minute." I started to cry and Alan and Anne just waited. Then I started to talk and it flowed out. My dressing in women's clothes, "borrowing" stuff from Anne's and Mom's dressers, buying clothes from catalogs then throwing them out and promising myself that I'd stop, and then buying more. Mostly I talked about how much I hated myself. Hatred due to feeling I was perverted. Hatred because I knew I was a coward. When I was done I was exhausted. Alan got up and brought me a box of tissues. Anne just stared at me. I didn't know what to expect and got ready to be angry and defensive. "Wow. Do Mom and Dad know?" "No." "I remember wondering when I was in high school if someone was going through my stuff but I figured it was Mom searching for drugs. You know how paranoid she can be." Alan tapped his fingers on the table for a moment and then laughed. "I almost asked if you wanted a drink; sorry." He looked at me for a moment. "A while back I suggested you go for counseling. That was for the drinking. I am not going to pass judgment on cross dressing but I still think you should see someone." Anne nodded and we sat quietly for a moment. When she next spoke I could hear the little girl coming out. "If Mom or Dad find out they'll have a fit. I mean they went berserk when I married out of the church and this will, I don't know." Anne then brought the subject back to where it started. Up until that evening the lectures and complaints had fallen on deaf ears. Now all I could think about was that I was going to be an uncle. "Alan, so who do I see?" "Huh?" "Who do I see for counseling? I am not going to go to AA. Where do I start?" Alan thought about it for a bit. "There is a psychologist in my building. He'd be wrong for you, you'd hate him, but I can ask him for suggestions." We talked a bit further and then Anne actually blushed. I looked at her. Her face was red and I could tell she was strangling an emotion. "OK big sister, out with it." "Oh Mike, I'm sorry but I have to ask. Which of my outfits did you like to wear the most?" I was the one who blushed then and Alan catching the mood muttered about having some sports to catch up on and left me and Anne to talk until late that night. A lot of what we talked about had nothing to do with clothes, or parents, or pregnancy. After years of talking around each other we just talked and when we were talked out I finally made a promise to get help and stop drinking. That night I emptied the bourbon and beer down the drain and took the empties to the recycling bin. Then I undressed and showered. Earlier in the day I had dressed in a skirt and blouse and felt guilty. Now I pulled on panties and pale blue pajamas. I stared at myself in the mirror but could find nothing to say. I turned off the light and stared at the darkness. In six months I was going to be an uncle. Wow. Chapter 3: In The Mirror I poked my head in Mr. Duffield's office. When he looked up I nodded my head, said "thanks" and walked away. It seemed the best thing. I was able to submerge myself in work but as the workday drew to a close I had to face going home. In the emotion of the prior evening telling Anne and Alan about my perversion had seemed inevitable. Now I had to go back to the house knowing that they knew what I dreamed of. They knew I had some clothes upstairs. I felt the desire for a drink growing. It was more than a thirst it was like a full body itch. I pulled on my jacket and deliberately took a route that passed none of the bars I normally went to. I forced myself passed a barbecue place that served beer and wine and managed to make it home. Upstairs I desperately started searching for a bottle convinced that I must have missed one during my cleaning but the place was dry. I was actually starting to panic when I thought about my future young relative. I slowed down my breathing. I was going to beat this and be a good uncle. I actually stumbled, struck by a thought as solid as a slap across my face. I stood there with my mouth open. Negative fantasies swirled through my head. Alan would demand I leave the house. I would lose my job. I'd be beaten up. I'd have to, horrors of horrors, quit the tennis club. Oh my God, I would have to face my strict Methodist parents. It didn't matter. I was shaking as I took off my clothing and walked to the closet. My clothes collection was small because I was on the downside of the purchase clothes and then throw them out in disgust cycle. I had a few things left though. I pulled out a knee length denim skirt and a pink and blue western shirt that could be a man's or a woman's. From the back of a dresser drawer I took out a pair of cotton panties and a pair of light blue knee high socks. I had to dig a bit before I found the one bra I had left and I tossed that on the bed as well. I washed my face and pits and pulled my dirty blond, light brown hair out of its pony tail. Staring at the mirror I wished I had some makeup but I had thrown that out a few weeks earlier. I shrugged. What I had would have to do. Pulling on the panties my erection began to grow and I sat and breathed and relaxed until it subsided and I could tuck myself in. Then I clipped the bra straps around me and slipped my arms through the straps tugging it down. I put on the socks and went into the kitchen. As I had done so many times before I let the water run until it was lukewarm and put two cups of water in two plastic bags and spun the bags securing the twisted plastic with ties. I stuffed these in the bra cups feeling the comfort of the weight and the warmth. I could feel my penis swelling again, this time entrapped by the smooth cotton. When I had done up the snaps on the shirt and slipped on the skirt I brushed my hair and put on some sneakers. I had a simple necklace and put this around my neck and went to stand in the middle of the room which served as dining room and living room all in one. "I am going to beat this" I said. "I will stop drinking. I will see a shrink. I will stay in this house and when Anne gives birth I will be there for her and Alan and the kid and I will be a good aunt." I reluctantly changed back into my normal clothing and went shopping. I deliberately loaded up on healthy food and back home forced myself to eat a salad along with the chop I broiled. I kidded myself that giving up booze was easy but I knew that one day was nothing. I was cleaning up when Anne knocked on the door. I let her in. She looked me up and down with a blank stare and then she turned on the electric kettle while I finished putting away dishes. We made small talk for a few minutes and then faced each other across the table. "Anne, when I promised last night that I would stop drinking I meant it." "I know." "Anne if my cross dressing bothers you that much I'll find another apartment." "No Mike you don't have to move. Oh we're upset. Actually Alan is really upset. He feels guilty." "Guilty?" "Yes. He kept going on about how he should have seen something and as a doctor pushed you harder on getting help." "Anne, he's a dermatologist. It doesn't show on your skin." "Oh I know. He'll beat himself up for a few days and then get over it. No, don't think about moving. I, well I, I was wondering if I could ask a few questions?" "Uh, I suppose." The questions and answers moved back and forth. Anne didn't ask overly personal questions, it was more the "have you ever gone out dressed up" and "where do you get your clothes" variety. I was almost relaxed when she asked two final questions in quick successions. "Mike are you gay and what is your name when you dress up?" Finally I caught my breath. I had to admit I just did not know. At least I just did not know if I was gay. I had hidden everything away for so long, include my own sexuality I couldn't answer. The second question was easy to answer but for some reason I felt shy tell Anne. "Does it matter?" "Yes. It does. Please." "I call myself Deborah." Anne thought for a bit. "Debbie?" "No not Debbie. Deborah." I drew a deep breath and held it for a second. Anne watched me closely. "Anne, I was thinking that maybe, I mean if..., well..." "Sure" she interrupted "the munchkin could have an Aunt Deborah. I assume that is what you were preparing to ask." "God you sound like a lawyer." We laughed and I poured Anne another cup of tea. As I got ready to go to bed I turned on all the lights and stood in front of the mirror. I was shaking with fear. For years I had prayed that God would miraculously change me. I had fanaticized that some magic event would occur. Sometimes I dreamed about dressing up and just walking out the front door. I had never had the courage to so much as stand in front of an open window. I looked at myself. My cheek was scratched and red. My limp hair hung around my face. I was too tall, too skinny; I had big hands and feet. I knew I couldn't do what I had implied I wanted to do. But the alternative was either slow self-destruction or suicide. I shook myself. "You do not talk about suicide. Now shut up and look at yourself." I showered and changed into the panties and pajamas. Checking to make sure that the alarm was turned on I climbed into bed. I thought about Anne's next to last question. Was I gay? Well I certainly fantasized about sex with men. I also fantasized about sex with women. Most often when I dreamed about being a woman I fantasized about the type of car I would drive. "Oh well" I laughed "I guess that counts as autoeroticism." I turned off the light closed my eyes. I felt sick to my stomach and my head hurt but that was normal. Sleep would come. Chapter 4: Two People A few days while later I was reading an alumni newsletter that I had a brilliant thought. It was as if a light bulb went off in my head and I could almost see the cartoon character reaching into the balloon above his head to grab hold of the glowing orb. When I was in college there was a graphics design professor name of Andy Cooper. There were a couple of special things about Andy that made me think about him now. I was one of his favorite students. He was known as being a good person to talk to if you were going through some kind of college angst. Finally Andy was gay and open about it. I sent a note to my private e-mail to look up Andy and continued reading. I had been wondering who I could talk to. Sure it had been five years since I graduated but I had visited the campus twice and both times made a point of dropping by his office to say hello. Until a few days ago I had hidden everything, now I had to take a baby step and Andy would be a good person to talk to. First though I made an appointment with my primary physician. By emphasizing the urgent nature (I didn't call it an emergency) I was able to get in in less than two weeks. Alan gave me the name of a psychotherapist but he had no times available that I could use. The point is that I actually started taking steps to turn my life around. The first two weeks weren't easy though and one night found me slumped against my couch with half a bottle of Jim Beam in me. The next day I was hung over, remorseful, filled with disgust and feeling I had to start from scratch all over again. That doesn't mean that I didn't have any fun. One evening I opened my closet and drawers and laid out all my articles of women's clothing and took a long hard look at them. I tried to view them with a critical eye but it was only until I phrased the question properly that I could get started. "OK, Mike. Assuming that you have the guts to walk outside as Deborah and also assuming you want to look as presentable as possible, is any of this salvageable?" I was brutal with myself but it was fun as well as scary. I held up the pink and blue western shirt and gave it a look. "Right; now what is the image you are trying to project? Is Deborah a cowgirl? Not likely. OK then, into the toss pile." And so it went. My small collection of clothing shrank as wishful but impractical pieces joined items that did not fit. When I was done I had a few bits of underwear, a pair of pajamas, a robe and the denim skirt. I put the rest in a bag to drop off at Goodwill and sat down and stared at the meager pile on the bed. Automatically I got up and went to the fridge for a beer. Of course there was none and for a long minute I fought with myself. It would have been so easy to go to the convenience store and grab a six pack or two. I distracted myself by making coffee and managed to calm down. The rest of the evening was trying to decide what would go into a practical wardrobe while keeping in mind my limited budget and, to be frank, less than wonderful body and face. As I hit snags or began to worry about the ugly things that could happen I became more and more fixated on have something to drink. Finally I was in a frenzy and called downstairs. Anne and Allan were in and watching a movie. I asked if I could join them and sat in the living room trying to become absorbed in a DVD of the new King Kong. It helped me get through the evening. When I left Anne asked if I would be OK and I nodded and went back up stairs. I looked at the list of clothing I had written down. Sitting at my kitchen table I read it again. I divided it into things I needed now, things I would need and things I wanted but hey, one step at a time. Then I took out a blank piece of paper and started to sketch. My designer background helped me and when finally I turned off the lights around 1:30 I had a sketch of Deborah Gustin. I gave it a last look and passed out exhausted. One day at work I was sitting with Mr. Duffield discussing a layout when he sat back and motioned for me to close the door. "I am not going to get involved in your life Michael. I just wanted to say you have looked, oh I don't know, clearer these past few weeks. It's tough, but stick with it. It gets better." Back in my cubicle I thought about drinking, Duffield and my life. I had been kidding myself saying that once I had told people that I was cross dressing I wouldn't want to get drunk. That wasn't the case but I was able to say in truth that the aunt of my new niece or nephew wouldn't get drunk and that meant that Deborah wasn't a drinker. "Well Mike, you are basically healthy. Cutting out the alcohol of course will help a lot. I want you to start on multi-vitamins. We've discussed this before. Your bloods look pretty normal. You are underweight but as you start eating better that should improve, but better skinny then fat." Dr. Moretti made some notes as I got dressed. Then he looked back up. "You said that as well as a physical you wanted some time to talk to me. Alright, I've set aside some extra time. What's bothering you?" That evening I rewarded myself for going eight days without a drink, 15 days since coming out to Anne and Alan and finally being truthful with Dr. Moretti. I went to a Barnes and Nobel book store and splurged on magazines and books and then went into a local coffee shop to sit, eat and read. It was my first time in Wittmer's and the first time in year's I had gone out alone without the intention of getting ploughed. I was laughing at a cartoon in the New Yorker when a thought came to me. I had read about people with multiple personalities. What if I were to pretend that I had two personalities? Both would be planners and designers but one of them was sober, not self-destructive and perhaps most important of all, female. Back at my apartment I put away the books and tossed the magazines on a side table. Then I pulled my clothing list out of the desk drawer. Clipped to the list was the sketch. The woman was tall and slender with large hands. Her face was bony and masculine. I grabbed my pencil and changed the hair. I drew in a loosely tied scarf and took another look. Then I printed on the bottom "Deborah M. Gustin". That evening I went online and looked up the amounts in my money market and checking accounts. I totaled up the funds and drew an imaginary line through them; that money was Mike's and that money is Deborah's. I didn't have a lot to work with but I was far from broke. I picked up the list again and started highlighting the items I needed to buy first; panties and brassieres, some blouses, another skirt and some slacks, a sweater... For the first time as I prepared to purchase women's clothing I didn't feel furtive. Normally, even behind locked doors, I am looking over my shoulder. That night I just made plans. There were things Deborah needed. There were things she would buy. Later as I slipped into panties and a pair of light cotton pj's I took another look in the mirror. I couldn't imagine I would be very persuasive. It bothered me and scared me but that was the future. I shivered and hugged myself, climbed into bed and dreamed I was part of a jewelry heist that turned into a trip to Japan. Over breakfast I thought how nice it would be to have the money to visit Japan. Then I opened the paper and got on with my life. Chapter 5: Big Jimmy "Christ, I don't know. I expected more. I built it up too much I guess. But... hell, oh the hell with it." I was sitting talking with Jimmy Pierce a college friend of mine who lived in New York. I had come down to see Professor Cooper and now was in Jimmy's apartment grousing. Cooper had been nice. He had made sympathetic noises but he also made it clear that I was out of college, not his student and had to find my own way. "Damn it. It's my fault for expecting too much but I thought he would make an effort for someone who was one of his favorite students." Jimmy looked at me, offered me a beer, grew flustered, apologized and offered me a coke. Until the evening I talked with Anne and Alan, Jimmy was the only person who I had ever told about cross dressing or ever even came close to admitting that I had a drinking problem. He sat there, all six fooot five inches, two hundred something pounds of ex- college athlete and then said a phrase that I had heard hundreds of times before. "What ever, I'm hungry; we need to get something to eat." I nodded. Even as upset as I was, the thought of going out with Jimmy was good. He told me that he was not calling his current girlfriend and that we would just be two guys on the town. "No drinking for me Jimmy." "No problem Mike. Hey, I've got an idea. Don't take this in the wrong way but with the things you've been telling me over the years and tonight, I think I know the right place to eat. It's in Manhattan. Grab your coat." He wouldn't tell me where we were going and on the subway we talked about college friends who we had kept in touch with. Jimmy was the type who never lost a contact or dropped a friend. It served him well now that he working in a brokerage house. The energy he had put into crashing the backboards was now spent on networking, selling stocks and bonds and making money. As we walked from the subway stop I let Jimmy do most of the talking. We ended up in front of a bar and grill and he spread his arms. "Voila. The Charles Dodgson Bar and Grill, Charlie Dog to its friends and customers, opening up its arms to all types from the loathsome advertising executive to the high toned banking and stock market types such as myself. They also have a large gay component and serve a full selection of soft drinks." "You brought me to a gay bar?" "Nope. Mike I brought you to a place that accepts anybody as long as you don't spook the rest of the herd. Come on in." We walked in and I looked around a large room that blended the traditional look of a New York bar with the tables and menu of a restaurant. Jimmy waved at a few people and we grabbed a table. I ordered a coke and Jimmy a beer and we talked as we scanned the menu. While we waited for our drinks I looked around. If this was a gay hangout it was hiding it pretty well. I saw a few people I thought might be gay and two couples who just had to be. Sitting at a corner table holding hands, were two women; one a tall Scandinavian blond, the other a short, plump, dark colored woman. At the bar were two men dressed in identical jeans, engineer boots and leather jackets. Other than that it was the standard city crowd I remembered from my days at NYU. As we sat and talked people dropped by and said hello and I marveled at the ease with which Jimmy made and kept friends. We drank our drinks, ate our burgers and talked about nothing in particular. Then Jimmy leaned forward and in his expansive English began talking earnestly. "Look around you my dear friend from college and see the different types who have come here for their evening repast. Over there are Sid and Walter, two accountants who wish they were bikers. The elegant woman in the corner talking with the grey haired man in the grey suit is both a high end financial consultant and gay. On some nights we have the "trips" a trio of, I must admit, somewhat nasty and in your face dykes. And even someone as mundane as I am accepted here. All they ask is you smile and not tear other people down." I nodded. "Your point Jimmy?" Jimmy gave me a long look. "The point is Mike that most of the world is not like the Charlie Dog. You could walk in here with a moustache and a sequined ball gown and people would do their best not to laugh at you. But laughter is probably the worst you'd get. Once you are out on the street it is a whole different world." "New York City is a pretty cool place, but gays get beaten up here and discriminated against. I don't know what your Northern Westchester town is like but I am sure that it is much more conservative than the city." Jimmy took a pull on his beer and stared across the room as I waited for him to finish. "Mike, I am not saying that you are wrong, or that you shouldn't do what you want or need to do. All of us in some way or the other pursue our dreams be they gigantic or piddling. I guess what I am saying is go slowly, be careful. Also, if you need somewhere to run to you can always call me." "Thanks Jimmy." We finished our drinks and went back to Jimmy's apartment. There, while he listened to a message on the machine, I stared out the window at the city streets. I thought for just a moment about moving to the city but tossed the idea out. I liked Janskill and I didn't like the noise and congestion of New York. "Hey Mike, I'm turning in. Carol will join us tomorrow and we'll hit the Met. I laid out clean towels in the bath." I sat on the couch late that night. The lights were turned off and I thought about what Jimmy had said. I also thought about one comment that Professor Cooper had made. Maybe he had told me something important. "I don't know Mike. I can't really relate because while I am gay I am glad that I am male. You are talking a different stratum of experience and challenge. You need to find someone who can talk to you on even terms." Even terms; I thought about that wording as I turned off the light and stretched out on the couch. For the first time in weeks I was going to sleep in boxers and a t-shirt. I stared at the ceiling. Even terms; who would be on even terms, except maybe another transvestite? Damn I had to find someone to talk to. Someone with some idea of what I was heading towards. Chapter 6: Packages. Anne was starting to become something of a pest now that she knew about Deborah. As I became more determined in my path I also felt less urgency about doing things. Anne on the other hand seemed to get some kind of a thrill out of the idea of a brother who cross-dressed. Maybe it was the effects of her childhood during which our mother enforced the strictest of rightwing Christian values. I mentioned this to Dr. Clark, a therapist I was starting to see, and his first reaction was to remind me to focus on myself. Then he suggested I make use of Anne's enthusiasm because I was going to need a friendly critic. It came to a head one evening. I finally placed an online order with Bloomingdales for some clothing. I suppose I could have shopped better and cheaper somewhere else but it seemed the safest place. After all they also carry men's clothing so a Bloomingdales package delivered to my door wouldn't look that odd. I brought the box upstairs and shivering with anticipation laid out my new clothing. First I spread on the bed a black skirt with patch pockets. Then I put on top of it the white blouse and the oatmeal/tan turtleneck I bought to go with it. I stepped back and looked at them. After that I pulled out a deep red skirt. It was sort of an oversized long sleeve t-shirt with a sewn in belt. The rest of my purchases were some panties, two more brassieres and some pantyhose. I was so excited that evening that I forgot to eat and tried on the skirt and the two tops and the dress and caught up in the moment flung myself into my chair with some paper towel and pulling down the pantyhose masturbated until I came sobbing and panting. Later I made some dinner and ate while wearing my new red dress, with a black brassiere, black cotton panties and pantyhose. I looked in the mirror and felt good about myself. Maybe when I got some makeup I would even look persuasive. I slept well that night. The next evening Anne was all over me to see what I had bought. She had seen the delivery and now wanted in on the excitement. I tried to put her off feeling both embarrassed to be seen by anyone, and most of all by a sister who knew I had at one point dressed in her clothes. It was no good however, and keeping Dr. Clark's suggestions in mind I led her up to my apartment. I dithered a bit trying to find some reason why we should just sit and talk but Anne is a lawyer with a lawyer's logical forcefulness and finally I, telling her she better not laugh, went into the bedroom. Then I came back out immediately, filled two plastic bags with water and retreated again to the safety of my room. I undressed, taking the time to hang up my clothes. I pulled on a pair of panties tucking myself away as best I could. The black brassiere was still clean and I clipped it, swiveled it, shrugged my arms in and placed the water bags as best I could. "Hey Mike, what takes so long." "Shut up Anne, this is hard enough." "Sorry." I rolled up and pulled on the pantyhose and cursed the fact that I had no shoes that I could wear. Then I pulled the dress over my head. I let out my ponytail, gave my hair a quick brush, placed my hand on the doorknob and froze. As I looked at mirror on the door I realized that for the first time in my life someone was going to see me dressed in women's clothing. I realized that my older sister was going to look at me. I expected to roof to fly off and the hand of God to come down and crush me. I took a deep breath and opened the door. I'll hand it to Anne, she did not laugh. I could see her suppressing the laughter and she actually turned red. She turned away and I watched as her shoulders shook. Finally she gave me a twisted smile. "Sorry Mike, but I couldn't help it. That dress is so wrong for you and I just heard Mother screaming in the back of my head." "Why is it wrong?" "Oh the type of dress is OK. It's the color. You've got Dad's colors; you know, pale skin, not really blond hair. That dark red just washes you out." I went back to the bedroom and looked at the full length mirror on the door. Anne came and stood beside me. "Damn it I really like this dress." "Sorry." I sighed "I can return it. Give me a moment and I'll show you something else." Anne approved of the skirt and tan turtleneck and I made tea as she babbled on about places I could shop and clothes I should buy. Finally it became too much. "Hey Anne why are so excited about this?" "Oh I'm not excited, I'm just trying to help." "Bullshit Anne. Since I came in this evening you've been jumping up and down like a kid waiting to open a present. You're more excited by this than I am." Anne opened and shut her mouth a few times and for the first time in years I saw her stuck for words. She stopped and then looked very shaken. That night we sat and drank tea for a long while. We talked about growing up, being the odd ones at school because we couldn't go to movies, went to church twice a week, couldn't go to most parties and the rest of what it was like to grow up in an ultra-strict household. About ten, Alan showed up and I could see no way not to let him in. His face was priceless and Anne and I managed to laugh a bit and relieve the tension. I was glad when they left shortly after that. I cleaned up and packed the dress to go back. The exchange/return form gave me some options and I requested that it be exchanged for one in medium blue. When I was done I sat down in my armchair and thought about what Anne and I had discussed. She had the harder time growing up because our mother was more intense than Dad and came down harder on Anne than on me. I asked myself if my desire to cross dress was rebellion or something more logical. When I started yawning continuously I undressed, hung up the skirt and folded the turtleneck. Suddenly I was faced with a choice. I shared the washer and dryer with Anne and Alan and usually laundry hung around in the basement for a day or two. Until now when I had to wash some of my "other" clothes I did it in my bathroom sink and hung it to dry. Oh well, there is a time for everything I realized and I tossed the brassiere and panties into my hamper. Then I went to bed. The next morning I packed a gym bag and grabbed my tennis rackets because I was going to play after work. With a clearer head I discovered how much better I played but also how much I had lost over the years. I left college having played on a top varsity team. Now I was out of shape and rusty. Drying off after my shower I wondered what other passions had been washed away by bourbon and beer. It was when I got home that the full realization of the wastage struck me. I used to listen to classical music all the time, now my CD player was rarely used. I used to read a number of magazines cover to cover. Now I browsed them and sometimes read an article. I had brought home some Italian food and I shoved it in the oven to keep warm. In my bedroom I took off my clothes and tried to decide what to wear. In the past I would have made some kind of ceremony out of dressing, but no longer. I grabbed some jeans and a flannel shirt. Then I took one of the new panties, a new white brassiere and my slippers. A few minutes later I was eating eggplant parmesan, reading Newsweek and dressed casually. Part way through the meal I leaned back and felt the straps of the bra pull on me. I smiled. I had actually forgotten how I was dressed. It felt good. It felt right. I took another sip of juice. "You know Deborah, you don't have to rush this. You can just relax and dress up at home for a while." I finished the food and sat reading for a bit. Then I pulled out my shopping list and looked at the items to purchase. I had the basic lingerie, two skirts, some tops and the dress would come back in a better color. Next on the list, breast forms and shoes. I had dreamed about them for years. I went to my desk and turned on the computer. Time to check out my options. Chapter 7: The Ladder Even hung over I was better than most of the members of the tennis club so I managed to stay on the A ladder. Now that I was sober and starting to jog and stretch most mornings my game improved and my ranking began to climb. I started to hang around the club in my spare time. For one thing they didn't have a liquor license. I played pickup games, was a spare player for doubles and even helped out in the pro shop on occasions. Mack, the pro, was glad for a hand and insisted on paying me in tennis balls when I tended the counter or restrung a racket. I was sitting in my apartment one evening. I had gone out with some people from the office for drinks and dinner after work and was now sorting through the mail. Going out was fun and I accepted the gentle joshing about my "going on the wagon" and "becoming the office health nut" as I drank iced tea and ate a salad with sliced chicken, "dressing on the side please", instead of my usual burger. As I looked at the Bloomingdale charges on my credit card statement (how did I manage to spend 380 dollars?) my phone rang. The caller ID didn't display a number I knew so expecting either a sales call or a political call I answered it warily. "Hello?" "Yes this is Mike. What, Oh yes. Sure, let me grab my calendar. Let's see, Monday after work, say 6:00. You'll arrange the court? Right, yeah I look forward to it. See you then." Now I had a match on the tennis ladder between me and the person next up on the list. Paul Moore was a name I knew but I had never played him. Over the weekend I called up Mack and he told me what he knew about Paul. Mack told me about Paul's game and arranged to play a few games with me early Saturday morning to help me prepare. I did something else that weekend. On Sunday morning I got up, tossed my PJs in the hamper and dressed casually in panties, a bra, my denim skirt and a flannel shirt. Then I got ready to spend the rest of the day doing laundry and other chores around the house while dressed and living as Deborah. I stuffed one load of clothes into the washer, wondering as I did what I would wear when I started playing tennis as Deborah, and headed back upstairs passing through the common foyer that led to my apartment and Anne and Alan's area. Their door was open and Alan, unseen around a corner, called out. "Hey Mike, is that you? Do you have a moment?" I took a breath and then walked into their living room where Alan colored and stammered for a moment. Then he indicated the picture he was holding. "Tell me when this is level with this one over here OK?" When Alan had marked the wall and tapped in the hook, he hung the picture and turned around. He looked at me for a minute and shook his head. "What?" "What Mike? What is that you don't look like a girl, I mean a woman." "I know. Right now that is not important to me. No, that's a lie. Right now, while I really want to look, act, feel and be treated like a woman, what is more important is that I become comfortable and I guess that home is where I start." Alan gave me a wry smile. I thought about opening up the "Do you want me to find another place to live" discussion again but I was enjoying being Deborah too much to have a dark cloud start to build. "Where's Anne?" "Out for a bike ride. It's getting colder and she always gets hyper before the winter trying to get in as much as she can before it snows. Now that she is gaining some weight she is also trying to stay in shape while being pregnant. I tell you it is starting to get a little crazy around here." The rest of the day was a joy. I cleaned a bit, did two loads of laundry and sat down with a book and music to laze away the afternoon. Anne came up for a few minutes to say hi and carefully avoided talking about what I was wearing. It was only as she got ready to go that she raised the question I was waiting for. "Uh, Mi.. uh, little brother. When you are, well when you are dressed up, what should we call you?" I was ready for this one. "You call me what you want. I would prefer Deborah but until I decide that I am going to live full-time as Deborah I can't complain if you call me Mike." After dinner I sat down at the computer and pulled a sheet of paper from my desk drawer. The heading was "Shoes and Forms" and I had been putting off these purchases because I kept being scared by the expense. I couldn't put it off any longer. I started getting the internal shakes I used to have when I ordered stuff, feeling as though someone was watching me and feeling the guilt left over from my childhood creeping up my spine. My thoughts wandered for a minute to tomorrow's game and it occurred to me that just as I had to fight my way up a tennis ladder I had to fight my way up the "Deborah Ladder". I had to do little things, then bigger things and then really major things; each rung taking me closer to the state of being Deborah and being content, or as content as I could be. I opened the computer to TheBreastFormPlace and started to go through the choices. Many times before I had done this pretending I was going to make an order. This time however I had my wallet lying next to the keyboard. The selections were confusing but in the end I purchased a pair of asymmetrical forms that would give me a B cup and nipples without being aggressive. I also ordered a pair of shoes while I was online. Most of the shoes advertised for cross dressers tended towards the high heel fetish types but I found a slightly fancy pair of ballet flats for less than sixty dollars. I was breathing hard when I pushed the final button approving the order and closed my eyes and swallowed. Another step, another rung. The match came and I won 6-4, 6-4. It was a hard played match and I enjoyed it. Afterwards Paul and I sat and drank some juice as we watched others knock the balls around. Mack wandered by to say hi and others waved as they went to and from the courts. I showered in the locker room and then as I was drying talked some more with Paul. We agreed to another match and exchanged numbers. Paul might have thought he was being subtle but I could see him in the mirror as my back was turned and saw the way he looked me up and down. Or else I was imagining things and he was simply thinking about the shape I was in and wondering if he lost a little weight how much his tennis would approve. I drove home listening to the radio and nearly crashed when I became aware that I had turned into the Turnpike Bar and Grill's parking lot without even think about it. My car stopped with its bumper about six inches from a parked car. I was so shaken I couldn't drive for a few minutes. Then I pulled back onto Route 9 and carefully drove home. I sat at my kitchen table and shook. I was feeling good about myself. Work was going well. I had beaten a good tennis player in straight sets. I was dressing more often and a bit more openly. Despite all of this without a second thought I had almost walked into a bar for drinks. I felt the rungs of the ladder slipping through my fingers and paced the apartment repeating to myself "Deborah does not drink. You can beat this." When I calmed down I made a sandwich and went through the mail. A flyer from my hometown church announced a "Raise the Faith" day and I thought about the family I had grown up in. Sometime, and it would have to be soon, I had to talk to Mom and Dad. It might just be the last talk we had and I wasn't looking forward to it. Chapter 8: Plusses and Minuses. "Let's see, plates, napkins, silverware, flowers on the side board, it's 6:10, I think I'm ready." I went and stood in front of the mirror for the tenth or twelfth time and tried to think of something else I should be doing. In a few minutes Anne and Alan would be coming up for dinner at my place. I had invited them as formally as I could without mailing an invitation and wanted this to be a good as it could be. I looked at my reflection. I was wearing a pair of checked slacks that had arrived a few days before. The gray background contrasted with the light brown lines forming window panes. My new shoes and transparent knee high hose peaked out from below the hems. A white blouse and a simple necklace completed the outfit. Anne had agreed to get me some makeup and after shaving very carefully I applied a little foundation, the slightest touch of eye shadow and lipstick. It didn't matter that Anne and Alan had seen Deborah more than a dozen times by now. This was different. This time I was looking for, if not approval, at least affirmation. I thought about putting on a little more eye shadow and the doorbell rung I was nervous as I opened the door and let them in. Anne gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and Alan came in carrying a vase full of flowers. We awkwardly stood there for a minute or two before I could think of something to say. "Gee if you had come from a different house I could ask you for your coats and we could discuss the weather. Come on in." As Anne went by she whispered "looking good." The dinner went well and Anne and I could joke how we were both "on the wagon". She was starting to show and we managed to keep the discussion centered on her pregnancy and some renovations Alan was making to the spare bedroom. It was only when Anne mentioned a leave of absence from the law firm that it grew tense. I innocently asked if she foresaw any friction because she was pregnant and planning to take off at least three months. Anne said she didn't and then turned the question around. "When, or I guess it's still if, if you tell your employers you intend to live as a woman what do you think the reaction will be?" I felt myself choke up because I was certain of the answer. "There is no way I can't tell them and I know they will ask me to leave. I like working there and I like the people I work with, but I've heard Duffield and his boss Cramer talk about gays and liberals. They'll pretend to be nice about it but if I don't leave on my own they'll find a reason to can me. The company is too small to be covered by a lot of the laws and anyway transgender isn't a protected minority." Anne and I talked for a bit strategizing before Alan interrupted. "You two have the stick by the wrong end. Instead of trying to figure out how to save Mike his job why not ask a different question. Mi... Sorry I mean Deborah. What do you want to do?" I just stared at him. "Come on. Surely you have something you want to do. This is a chance to make a change in more ways than one. Do you want to stay in contract management? Do you want to take courses; pursue an advanced degree? You live upstairs from us and while we welcome the rent I think we could withstand the loss of two hundred and fifty bucks a month. So you have some wiggle room." I thought for a moment. "I'd like to work in a tennis store or a racket club. It doesn't pay a lot though." The two of them looked at me very hard. "Well it wouldn't." "Deborah." "Yes Anne." When I was in law school and you just graduated and got a job do you remember loaning me some money?" "Sure." "Did you have the money to loan me?" "Not really." "Right. You told me later how you had had to skimp and live on mac and cheese for months because of that. So don't worry about how much you will earn. You helped me and now you have a doctor and a lawyer to help you in return." I started to cry and Alan made a stupid comment and Anne laughed at him. Then I laughed and the dinner got back on an even keel. The next evening I played Paul again and beat him though it was harder this time because he figured out he had to be aggressive at the net. Again we sat and drank juice and watched the other players. I sat and waited to see if anything developed. It started with small talk. Who was single, where we lived, comments about the bar scene (I mentioned that I didn't drink) and places to go for vacations. I was amused by Paul's delicate dance as he tried to figure me out. After a bit he stood up. "I'm off for a shower. Got any plans tonight?" "Nothing special." "I have nothing at my place so I was planning on going to the 55 Steak House. Want to join me?" The invitation was simple. Paul said "dinner" and I accepted. We showered and changed and I followed him to the restaurant. It was a pleasant meal but I had trouble keeping a straight face for Paul, unconsciously, was saying the same things and acting the same way I had many times before. The difference is I was trying to impress a girl. Now I was hearing it come back at me. I smiled. We laughed. We traded jokes. I suggested we should enter as a team for the doubles tournament coming up and we parted with a handshake agreeing to more tennis at a future date. "And what if he asks you for another dinner, and what if he makes it clear it is a date?" "Hell, I don't know Dr. Clark." "I asked you before and you avoided the question, so I'll ask again. Have you ever been out on a date with another man?" "No, just fantasized." "Ever had a homosexual experience." "Naw, not even as a kid." "Alright then, what will you do if he asks you on a date? What if he asks if you are gay?" Like a surgeon probing for a lost bullet, Dr. Clark pinned me down and made sure that I thought and responded. The problem was I didn't know what I would do. I liked Paul a lot and I certainly had dreamt many times of a man taking me out to dinner and then taking me home and then... I smiled feebly and shrugged. I just did not know. As I left the session I turned and tossed a throw away line at Dr. Clark to see how he'd react. "I am going to try going out as Deborah this week. I don't know if I have the guts. Wish me luck." Dr. Clark just nodded. On the drive home I played a mental game to make my life seem more logical and less personal. "OK Deborah. Three points for ordering the clothing. Three more points for inviting Anne and Alan up for dinner. Minus five for putting off visiting Mom and Dad this weekend. One point for considering going out with Paul on a date. Two points for asking Mack if there might be a job at the club. Minus one for not telling him anything about why you were asking. Two points for..." Chapter 9: The Cold Air of Reality. The message on my machine was clear. "Hi Mike, this is Paul. I was wondering if you wanted to come over on Saturday. Nothing special; I thought I'd toss a steak on the grill one last time before it gets too chilly and maybe watch the UNC game. Give me a call." Now I had to face the question, did I want to see how much further things would go between the two of us? I had to consider the possibility that I was reading everything wrong and that Paul was just a friendly guy. Somehow I just couldn't make myself believe that. In the meantime I spent all of my spare time as Deborah. One evening Alan and I assembled a crib and stenciled the upper edge of the nursery walls. I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt wearing my B-cup forms firmly taped to my now hairless chest and a plain brassiere. When we were done and Anne had approved the work, Alan got busy cleaning up. In an offhand voice he started to talk. "Hey Deborah. Look I didn't think you could do so well. I mean with the drinking. I actually went and scoped out some inpatient therapy places for you. You're doing great and Anne and I really appreciate it." He finished squeezing out a sponge and turned. "You're also doing pretty good as Deborah. I mean you can tell you're not a woman but, well you don't look outrageous. Anne will kill me if you let her know I said this but the first few weeks you were a laugh." "Oh thanks Alan." "No, think about what I am saying. Anne will give you nothing but encouragement. She might criticize a dress or something but I'm not like that. I will tell you what I think. She made me promise to keep my mouth shut but what the hell. You didn't look good then. You look pretty good now." "But not persuasive." "Not in a bright light or up close; no." I knew Alan was correct and had said the same thing to myself a number of times. Oddly what he told me made me feel better not worse. He wasn't trying to be diplomatic. He was being polite but honest. I felt that I could trust him that I while couldn't pass I wasn't a laugh. We talked for a while as we put away tools and paint cans. What started as a discussion of me morphed into Alan talking about his dermatology practice, Anne's law firm, memories of their honeymoon and then back to me as Paul made one last observation. "Could I make one criticism?" "Uh, I guess... yes please." "If I were looking at you as a man looking at a woman I'd notice that your legs are both very thin and very muscular, like a runner or a cyclist. I guess that I'm saying you look better in slacks or a longer dress or skirt or something." Later that evening I stood in apartment and posed for my digital camera. I set it on some books on my table and pressed the button. With eight seconds to get in position I stood on a mark on the floor and turned three quarters towards the camera, put a hand on my hip and smiled. I was wearing my grey checked slacks and a new blouse. The colors are hard to describe; it wasn't green and it wasn't gold or brown, but it was nicer than casual and went with a lot of other colors so I liked it. The soft material draped over my faux breasts and the loose cut flowed around my arms and shoulders hiding my wiry build. After wearing the slacks I took a picture wearing the denim skirt, which definitely did not go with the blouse. I followed that with a calf length tobacco brown skirt. When I was done with the three poses I downloaded the pictures to my computer and printed them off. As I waited for the printer to chug its way through the job I stared out the window. It was Thursday evening. I had accepted Paul's invitation and was still arguing with myself it I had done the right thing. I liked Paul, I liked steak and I tolerated football. Those things were fine, but what if Paul came on to me? What if he touched me? What did I want? The last picture slipped out of the printer and I put them side by side and walked away giving the ink a bit of time to dry and for the colors to set. I paced a bit catching a glimpse of my reflection. I stopped and looked again. Once in a while I would see myself in passing and the woman I wanted to be briefly showed through. I couldn't make those moments happen, but when they did it was a jolt and a bit of magic. It had just happened. For a split second I saw femininity in the hall mirror. Then it was me again but I treasured the second or two when I could see my dream. I sat down with the photos and stared at them. Back and forth my eyes moved; slacks, long skirt, knee length skirt. I grabbed a piece of paper and tearing it into three pieces I covered each picture from the neck up and looked again. Alan was absolutely correct. I liked wearing short skirts but the hard delineation of my leg muscles made the longer skirts and slacks a better choice. The phone rang interrupting my concentration. I picked it up and scribbled some notes as I arranged my next tennis match on the ladder. Hanging up, I thought for a moment about myself. I was hiding out here. That's what I was doing. I slipped back into the slacks and grabbing a sweater and my car keys I went out into the darkness. For an hour I drove around. Looking back it was silly. Even if someone were to have looked at the car there was nothing to see. When I pulled back into the driveway I hurried from the car to the house and scurried upstairs. There behind my locked door I shivered and hugged myself. It wasn't much but Deborah had gone outdoors. Next I had to do it where people would see me. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. I'm sorry. Oh God. I mean..." "No I just assumed that well..." Paul and I sat side by side on the couch. UNC was walking away with the game, the steak was marinating and because of the rain would be cooked indoors and when Paul made a move and placed his hand on my thigh I had moved closer to him. Then when he kissed me I froze and panicked and pushed him away. Now we just sat. I reached over and grabbing the remote viciously jabbed at the buttons until the TV turned off. I tossed the remote between us. "Christ I thought I was ready, I mean that I wanted this." Paul put the remote on the table carefully. The motion was deliberate. He was removing a boundary between us. He did not move closer to me he just sat. The silence built and I had to speak. "Paul". "Yes Mike." "Don't apologize. I sort of thought this was going to happen. I mean I thought you might be, well interested. I am just not sure of myself." "This is your first time with a man." "Uh huh." "Oh. I was so sure you were gay. In fact I thought you were sending me a signal back at the club. I'm sorry." "I said don't apologize. I don't know. I like you and I was looking forward to this afternoon. I just, well I froze. You're not pissed off are you?" Paul shook his head. "No. A bit confused, that's all." I stood up and walked away so I could lean against a wall. I looked at Paul while thinking of my parents, Anne, Dr. Clark, the many bottles of bourbon and wishing I had one with me now. I could say goodbye and go home or suggest we cook the steak. I didn't know what I wanted but I had fantasized about this moment so many times I knew what was supposed to happen. I went back over and sat down, this time close enough so our thighs were just touching. I touched Paul's hand gently and he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I didn't move my head away and he brushed my lips. I felt my stomach turn over but I couldn't tell if it was excitement or revulsion. "Let's cook that steak." said Paul. He stood up and taking my hand pulled me up from the couch. "I tell you what. Give