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An Unfinished Symphony Kelly Ann Rogers One of the nice things I've learned about writing is to share the process of creation with others. It's not just that this keeps me from writing badly, but also because it's fun to engage other writers. As a result, there are several people to thank. First and foremost is Jill MI. She's a great editor and put in more time than I could ever thank her for. She has posted many of her own stories (some as Angel Rasch) and edited the work of a number of the writers, and she surely must be one of our community's biggest supporters and assets. Dee West (check out Home on the Range or a Touch of Palm) is a terrific writer and has been my dear friend. She not only helped me avoid mistakes and missteps, but pushed me towards my strengths as well. Dimelza Cassidy, who's Cornering was simply outstanding (read it if you haven't yet) also contributed insight and much needed advice. I also have to thank Ellen Hayes, my sharpest critic, for pushing me closer and closer to reality, even if I don't get close enough for her tastes. Chapter I "Omigod! Michael! That was delicious," Rebecca said, patting her lips clean. "I didn't really think having you work from home would pan out, but it did, and with delicious side benefits as well." She arched a knowing eyebrow at me as she neatly folded her blue, red, and yellow striped napkin and placed it next to her empty plate. When she looked up, her warm, generous smile was all the reward I needed, especially because she had seemed tense and annoyed with me when she had gotten home. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," I replied, quietly thrilled by her compliment. "It's a new recipe I've been dying to try. Didn't you love the way the cilantro and ginger perked everything up?" "Ummm. Yeah." she replied, getting up from the table. She had changed from her business suit into jeans before dinner and I watched with quiet pleasure as her lovely ass unaffectedly swiveled towards the living room. It was Friday night and we didn't have anything planned for the weekend. *Yes,* I thought, as I turned to collect our plates. *This arrangement really is good for both of us.* We'd decided to try it about two years after we had both left our corporate advertising and marketing jobs to start our own company. Rebecca was our CEO and public face. She ran the company, did all the negotiating, and most of the meetings with clients. Her good looks, warm, funny personality, and piercing intellect made her perfect for this job. She was quick to size up both people and situations, and rarely hesitated to make a decision once she figured out what she wanted to do. I, by contrast, was the artistic one. I was by no means a dummy, but I didn't love the negotiating, personnel work and shmoozing as much as Rebecca. Instead, I did most of the actual design work. I had a great eye and confidence in my esthetic judgment, so I was quite comfortable with artistic decisions, but those were about the only ones I made easily. My sister Leah, a corporate attorney, who, if anything, was even more decisive than Rebecca, always told me that I was too passive and too often just waited for things to happen. With our creativity and complimentary skills, Rebecca and I had each been big players at the midtown Manhattan advertising firm where we worked. We met on a big project for a Fortune 100 company, which turned out to be hugely successful because of our efforts. That put us on the fast track, both to corporate success and love. After a year, we married, and started saving up the money we eventually used to bank roll our own company, which we call Mind Games. After nearly three years on our own, we had built a solid client base, mostly of small startup companies. They can't afford the big guys with their plush midtown Manhattan offices, but they wanted edgy, eye-catching logos, ad campaigns and product packaging nonetheless. Now, we had six full time employees and a team of about a ten really good freelancer graphic designers, many women with children, who we brought on as we needed them and they were available. Rebecca oversaw the work of our administrative and copy-writing staff, and I was in charge of the graphic design group. I had always gotten along easily with women, and there was a real feeling of community that allowed the creative juices to flow easily among us. I was really careful to always share the credit with my team, and if one of the freelancers came up with a key concept that helped to make a campaign work, she got a bonus. This kept everybody engaged and eager, and made sure that mine wasn't the only brain on the job. When we had to bring on a seventh full-timer, we ran out of space at our beloved office/studio. We had both instantly fallen in love with it, which helped convince us just how perfect we were for each other. While we were trying to figure out where to move our offices, I suggested that I work from home. That way we could keep our headquarters in the turn of the century loft we already owned. It was in a building that had once been a factory in a small manufacturing neighborhood in the southern Connecticut town where we now lived. Once totally abandoned, this area had now become quite trendy. Artist galleries, fancy shops and chic restaurants now fill up the lower floors of the old factories and warehouses, while the upper floors have newly renovated condos and lofts. With me at home, we would have room for Roger, a clever young copy writer Rebecca had been trying to recruit for six months. In order to convince Rebecca that working from home was a good idea, I had promised to handle the housework, shopping, and cooking. It wasn't such a big deal; I was doing most of it anyway. Sadly, I was the neat one. If I didn't keep things neat, no one would. Rebecca's penchant for dropping things wherever she finished using them just drove me nuts; she was like a teenager. What that meant was that while I loved the sexy lingerie that Rebecca wore, I hated picking it up from wherever she had tossed it the night before. But truth be told, once I had gotten the house in order, it just didn't take that much work on a daily basis to keep things neat. And besides, I hired a wonderfully effective cleaning woman to do the heavy stuff. The other reason I really liked this arrangement was that it gave me plenty of time to dress. I just love women's clothing and the feeling of femininity they give me. Rebecca knew about it; I had fortunately told her not long after we began dating seriously. She wasn't entirely enthusiastic about it, but after we satisfied her curiosity that I wasn't a freak, she was tolerant. She had simply decided it was like a minor disability, something like a limp. We had even made love as women a few times, which she seemed willing to put up with as long as I spent a good deal of time with my tongue in her delicious cunny. But basically, it was my activity, just as teaching Sunday school at our synagogue was hers. She, of course, immediately understood why I wanted to work at home, and my promise to essentially become the homemaker was the quid pro quo for all the dressing she knew I would indulge myself with. But there were ground rules. First, I had to be completely presentable, and as passable as possible whenever I was wearing any women's clothes. That meant no panties under my work suits, no pantyhose over unshaven legs, and no dressing like a hooker. I had gone out dressed many times before we met, and was damn good at it, even though I was hardly model-thin, and didn't have the delicate features of some of the real TG beauties I had met. What I did have were large eyes, a killer smile and almost no bulk. "When you're a man, be a man," Rebecca had said when we discussed it. "But when you're a woman, be a real woman; no caricatures or stereotypes. Take the time to do it right." Given that first rule, however, I thought the second rule was rather strange. Rebecca didn't want me to wear my breast forms when she was home. She couldn't explain why, but somehow breasts on me really bugged her. At first it annoyed me to take them off at the end of the day, but after a while I thought I had figured it out: the more feminine I looked the more uneasy she felt. My hunch was that Rebecca would put up with my dressing as long as my femininity didn't start to bring hers into question, or something like that. With some experimenting, I soon came to realize that if I was in slacks and a simple blouse or sweater when she came home, she was much more comfortable than if I was in a dress. I appreciated Rebecca's generosity in this, and I wanted to make it easy for her. So when she was home, and I wanted to dress, I mostly wore women's pants and simple tops. I especially enjoyed a pair of low-cut Diesel jeans with a big, cream-colored, cable-knit turtle neck sweater. I wore either my white Keds, a pair of pink and blue running shoes or any of a number of flats I owned. Underneath would be panties and a nice camisole. In fact, that's what I was wearing this evening. I hadn't done much with my hair, which was collar length with a slight curl at the ends and long bangs that I could sweep over one eye or the other, for a nice feminine look. When I was dressed as a guy, I combed it straight back with gel. Women seemed to like it that way, and I got many compliments, probably because they could easily see my big blue eyes. My eyebrows were neatly trimmed, with a bit of an arch underneath, but not obviously feminine (at least without makeup!). Tonight I was wearing some smoky brown eye shadow you could hardly see, a touch of mascara, and very light blush, just enough to bring out my rather high cheek bones. I probably looked more androgynous than feminine, but I didn't care. I was dressed in a way that delighted me and didn't appear to make Rebecca feel uncomfortable. Finally, there was the last rule: keep it private. I wasn't, for example, allowed to have a web site, like so many of my T-girl friends. And I wasn't to go out dressed as a woman. The one exception was that I did get to go to some of the t-girl conventions, as long as they were far away. This was all fine with me. I got to indulge myself more than almost all my online friends, and Rebecca and I had found a comfortable compromise we could live with. "So what's worrying you?" I asked as I settled into the blue leather wing chair just opposite the matching couch where Rebecca was sitting. She had her favorite pillow snuggled to her chest, with her legs curled under her. With a shake of her head to throw her softly curled dark brown hair off her equally dark eyes, she motioned to the large manila envelope lying on the otherwise artfully arranged coffee table. I opened it up and pulled out an eight by ten-inch photograph - a photograph of me - in full drag. I gasped. I was dressed to the nines, wearing a bright red spaghetti strap cocktail dress that was made out of tiered layers of chiffon. It was a flapper style that did a lot to hide my lack of waist and hips, and it had the most adorable fabric belt that rode low around my hips, and closed on the left with a big, red, fabric rose. Of course I was dripping in rhinestone jewelry and gorgeous in full make up. My head was adorned with what had then been my favorite long blonde wig, which had a delightfully feminine spray of bangs, but otherwise was parted in the middle and fell straight top the top of my shoulder blades. I was looking over my bare shoulder, my face full on to the camera. I had a big smile on my face, and I looked great, having emerged from a professional makeover just an hour earlier. I knew just where this had been taken. As I looked at it, my unease increasing with every breath, Rebecca said, "Phil Jacobson gave it to me today. He recognized you." "Ohhh shit," slipped softly from my lips. Phil was one of our biggest clients, and a good friend. Losing his account probably wouldn't kill us, but its steady work made it our backbone account, and we'd really have to hustle to make up for it. And how could I face him now? We hung out together a lot, and were even racquetball partners, typically showering together after a match. "But honey," I said, feeling both appalled and full of guilt. "I wasn't out in public. That was at the Southern Comfort convention two years ago. You knew I was there." "Yes, but I didn't know you were posing for pictures. You promised you wouldn't," she said, a hint of anguish in her voice as the fine laugh lines that she hated, but which I loved, showed at the corners of her eyes as she stared at me. "I wasn't," I protested, my voice starting to rise in indignation. "You can see there are people all around who were cropped out. This must have been someone just taking pictures of the crowd." "Whatever, you broke your promise, and now Phil knows." "What can I do? I'll do anything. Did he threaten to drop us?" "No, he didn't say anything like that at all." "Well what does he want? I don't get it." Rebecca let out a big sigh, glanced briefly down at the picture, which I had carefully placed back on the table so I could easily look at it. Frankly, it was one of the best pictures ever taken of me. She then looked back up at me, sadness in her eyes. "He wants you, my dear. He wants to take you on a date." "What?" I squeaked again. "I'm not gay. I can't go out with him." "That's just what I told him. He claims that he only wants you as a companion for the evening. Consider it a business dinner." Her voice was starting to quiver a bit and tears glistened in her eyes. "Rebecca, this is crazy. I can't just..." "Yes... you... can," she said firmly, clipping off each word so they were perfectly clear. "Women do this all the time. They go out with clients, behave like the guy is terribly interesting, and if he's been nice give him a quick peck on the cheek at the end of the evening. And that's that." I sat there staring at her stupidly. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My wife was insisting I go out on a date with a male client, and a friend of mine at that. "I can't," I said again. "You will," she replied instantly, raising her voice. "Your little," and she said 'little' in a way that let me know she meant really big, "secret has gotten out, embarrassing me to my core. How do you think I felt when he showed me that picture?" I looked up, helplessly shaking me head, having not a clue about what to say. She went on quickly, saving me from saying something stupid. "No, don't guess. Let me tell you. I was humiliated, absolutely mortified. My worst fear had come true. You were supposed to keep your 'little' secret, secret. But you didn't. You selfish shit!" Bristling at her accusation, I started to respond, "But I didn't... ," Then I noticed the tears in her eyes and the frustration on her face. I shut my mouth and grimaced, trying to show her with my eyes how bad I felt for her. It hadn't been my fault that the picture was taken, but I didn't have to go to the convention either. My own narcissistic need to show off my great feminine look created the situation that allowed the picture to be taken. Rebecca was right though, and I would do whatever it took to fix things with Phil. "You've had your fun and games, and now it's time to pay your dues. You've humiliated me, and if you have to humiliate yourself to make up for it, then so be it," she said sharply. I flinched at the tone of her voice, and she immediately changed it. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I swore I wouldn't yell at you, and I did anyway. Come here and sit by me," she said with a pained look on her face and sounding really remorseful. So I got up and stepped over to the couch, carefully sitting down beside her. I didn't know what to expect and felt totally awkward. Normally when dressed in women's clothes, I would press my thighs together and shift my feet off to one side, sometimes even crossing one ankle over the other. But given the circumstances, I was afraid to look too feminine, and was caught between genders for a moment. Finally I just sat with my legs apart. Rebecca watched my confusion, apparently amused. But as soon as I was settled, she shifted her position so she was looking straight at me, and took both my hands in hers. "This isn't a punishment," she said apologetically. "It should be a lot of fun, and I've decided to help you. I don't want you to be embarrassed; I want you to get in the mood and do it as a lark. We've both wined and dined lots of clients, and you know it can be fun if you're in the right mood. And Phil promised he would be a gentleman. Wouldn't it be fun to have a real date with a real guy? Isn't that something you've always wanted to do?" *Well, yeah, I've had my fantasies about being out on a date with a guy; but I never actually imagined it could happen,* I thought to myself. And doing it with a guy who knew me just seemed all wrong. How could it not be embarrassing? What would I say to him? I mean, we did all kinds of things together. We had gone to football and hockey games, savored unblended scotch and ogled pretty girls, evaluating their various assets. *One thing's for sure, Phil likes long legs and trim assess - just like mine,* I thought ruefully. I guess Rebecca could see the thoughts flitting through my mind because she pulled me close to her and hugged me. "We'll do it right," she said. "Get you some gorgeous clothes and a full make over - hair, nails, makeup, everything. We'll make you perfect, so no one can read you. You'll love it." "You're going to help me?" I asked unsurely. "I thought you weren't all that fond of this," I said, spreading my arms and looking down at my femininely clad body. When I saw myself, I almost gagged, because without thinking about it, my legs had come together and shifted themselves to my right, and my left ankle had wrapped itself around the right. *Do I do that when I'm dressed as a guy?* I wondered. But I couldn't dwell on it because Rebecca was answering my questions. "I wasn't; it's your thing. It doesn't really do anything for me. But I always thought it was mostly harmless, and often rather sweet." She gave me a small smile. "Besides, I figured out long ago that it's a part of who you are, and it probably helps to make you the person I love. Really, I can deal with it." And she gave me one of those anchorwoman nods, which usually annoy the hell out of me, but in this case felt really reassuring. She went on, "I wouldn't have decided by myself to let you go out, but since the opportunity presented itself, I started to think that maybe things need to change. That it's time for that. Now you can help us both by being the sweetest and most feminine girl you can be. In the past, it was always selfish - what you wanted, whether I did or not. Now that Phil is pushing it, and since I think it might be good for both of us, it's something I want to help you with. Really, it is time." I looked at her slightly askance, not quite sure what I was hearing. Even though I really wanted to believe she was going to help, she was still calling me selfish. Worse, I felt ashamed of myself. Even though I had always known that my dressing was a really self-absorbed thing to do, I had suppressed that knowledge so I could engage in my fantasies guilt free. At the same time, however, I was excited by the prospect of having Rebecca really supportive of Sara, my femme self. I was so happy to hear what I was hearing, I didn't even bother to wonder why Rebecca had changed her mind about me being Sara or what had changed to all of a sudden "make it time." I guess my uncertainty was stronger than I realized because when I asked, "How much time do we have?" I sounded like I was asking how long till my walk to the gallows. "Oh, don't be so glum," she scolded, cupping my cheek in her soft palm. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime for you. You can wear whatever you want, even a pair of those four-inch heels you love. I'll bet you can't wait to show off your legs in some really short skirt and seamed stockings." The idea of high heels perked me up. I loved them at least as much as Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, although I didn't own any of the Manolo Blahnik's she so adored. But at five nine, my favorite four-inch stilettos put me well over six feet. When I wore them out, I towered over just about everybody else. But Phil had to be at least six four. As a guy, he dwarfed me, so as a girl, even in my four-inchers, I'd still be shorter than him. But he wasn't just tall, he was big, a former line backer for the New York Jets before two concussions convinced him that selling high end computer systems was a great career move. No doubt about it, even a tall girl like me would seem dainty next to him, or at least a good fit. My mind started to drift for a moment, imaging the two of us together. As soon as the image had formed, however, I snapped back to reality. *What am I thinking?* I wondered, slightly startled. I had just imagined myself in a little black dress and my favorite black heels, the ones with the t-strap over the arch. I was standing next to him and he had his arm around my waist and I was looking up at him adoringly. And then it hit me. "Wait," I almost shouted, snapping my head up to look at Rebecca. "Why in the world would Phil Jacobson want to go out with a crossdresser?" "He said he likes T-girls. He said he prefers full time shemales, but a hot crossdresser would do in a pinch," she giggled, like a teenage girl telling her friends about the first time she ever held a penis. "What?" I squeaked again. "It's true," Rebecca replied doing that stupid anchor nod again. "That's exactly what he said. He didn't even blink. I think he's telling the truth." "Is he gay? I always thought he had the hots for you." Rebecca rolled her eyes at me just to be sure I understood how clueless I was. "No, my dear, it's you he's had the hots for. I've seen the way he's looked at you. And how often do you two go off without me? And what about all those gifts he buys you? He's even given you cologne and jewelry!" "But those bracelets are copper. They're supposed to keep me from getting arthritis!" A smile spread slowly over Rebecca's face. "And what would you think if he bought me a bracelet?" *Holy shit! Was I that clueless?* "You never said anything." Rebecca paused for a moment and then said, "I just put it together today. The whole thing seemed so far-fetched, I couldn't believe it." "So he is gay." "No, bi. According to him he sleeps with women all the time, and enjoys them, although he'd rather be with a guy. One of the reasons I believe him is that he told me a lot about himself, things that could be damaging to him if they got out. I think he purposefully made himself vulnerable to demonstrate that he was on the level." "Shit, if he likes guys, he's gonna to want to...." "Michael! Of course he won't. Would you sleep with a friend's wife?" I shamefully shook my head no. I don't know what I was thinking to say such a thing. And besides, he said he wouldn't. But he also said that if you want to, he won't say no." Only the twinkle in her eyes gave me any hope she was teasing. "Well that's not going to happen," I said with as much confidence as I could muster. Unfortunately, it sounded hollow when it came out. Still I went on. "First of all, I'm not gay, and second, there's no way I would cheat on you. I haven't and I won't." "I know sweetie, and I trust you," she said patting my knee in what I thought was a rather condescending way. But aren't you in the least bit curious?" Actually, I was curious; it was something I had first considered not long after I discovered my inner girl. But there was no way I was going to admit that! Instead I lied brazenly. "No. I'm not. I've seen hundreds of men undressed in locker rooms and I never once felt the least little bit of attraction to any of them. Women turn me on, especially you!" At least that was true! "Oh you're so sweet," Rebecca replied, this time sounding like she meant it. Then she clinched the deal by putting one hand on my thigh and leaning in to kiss me. Then, with her tongue in my mouth, she reached up with her other hand and started to play with my hair. I spent a lot of time caring for it and it was soft and smooth. After a few moments, I just let myself melt into her. When she emerged for air, she put both hands on my shoulders, cocked her head flirtatiously and looked at me carefully. "Hmmm, if Phil thinks you're hot, maybe I've been missing something. Wanna go get dressed up for me?" With that, she dropped her hand to my crotch, and rubbed gently. There really wasn't much to feel because with these jeans I had to do a complete tuck. Nonetheless, her hand on my crotch had the intended effect and I started to swell. I had to shift my position to try to get comfortable. "Mmmmm," Rebecca replied, her voice soft and sexy. "Does my little Sara like that?" Sara loved what she was doing. As I looked into her eyes, though, I began to wonder whether Rebecca was up to something. She had never given me any reason to doubt her love for or loyalty to me, but this situation was making me a little paranoid. It was one of those things that seemed too good to be true, although I couldn't think of anything she might gain from having me go out on a date as Sara - unless... it was some kind of test, or perhaps she was trying to get rid of me. But there was absolutely no evidence for that, so I let go of that idea as quickly as it had appeared as she continued to fondle me. "What should I wear?" I replied a little breathlessly as I leaned back in to kiss her again. "I just love your little black dress, the one with the mid-thigh skirt," she said, pulling slightly away from me and talking between little kisses. "And put on some sexy lingerie, including a garter belt. Oh, and your breast forms. I'll see if I can find something just as cute and we'll meet back here in half an hour." Then she kissed me once more and said, "Scoot. Time's a' wastin'." Even though I took more than forty minutes - I just had to put a quick coat of polish on my nails - I beat Rebecca back downstairs. So I put on some soft music, set the coffee table in front of the couch with wine and cheese, and sat down carefully to have a glass. *God, a hummingbird's heart couldn't beat this fast,* I thought, feeling small and anxious, vulnerable even. *On the other hand, I do feel delicious.* As I settled onto the couch, I rubbed my thighs together to feel the sensuously luxurious joy of one stocking caressing the other. Rebecca came down ten minutes later. By then I had finished the glass of wine, and gotten up and was standing in front of the three quarter length mirror in the foyer, admiring myself, turning to and fro so that the chiffon skirt of my dress swished around my legs. In addition to the dress, I was only wearing my black pumps and black nylons. I had underdone my makeup except for my red, red lips and darkly lined eyes. My nails matched my lips. Since I wasn't watching the stairs, the first I became aware of Rebecca was when I heard, "Hey babe, lookin' good." I spun around, deeply embarrassed to be caught admiring myself, and saw Rebecca standing before me with a smirk on her face. But she wasn't dressed "cute." Instead, she was wearing tight black jeans, a stretchy, figure hugging, black turtle neck sweater and a short black leather jacket. She was wearing her ankle boots, which had sharply pointed toes and a spike heel. She had on no makeup and her hair was pulled severely back into a pony tail low on the back of her head. *Omigod! She's a dyke.* "Whatsa matter babe? You too good to talk to me?" "N..n..no," I stammered, trying to get my voice right. "I...I'd love to talk with you. Would you like to join me for a glass of wine? I hate drinking alone." I pointed to the living room. *I can play this game. If she wants to role play, I'm willing to see where it goes.* "Sure babe. What's your name?" "Uhh.., uhh, Sara," I finally replied. *Why am I so nervous?* "My name's Becca," the black clad woman who was trying to pick me up replied. *Becca? Rebecca hates it when people call her that. I guess she's not going to be Rebecca tonight.* "Becca, huh?" I like that. It's a strong name." "You bet babe." *Babe?* I thought. *I'm four inches taller than you.* "And I'm gonna take care of you tonight," she went on. "Just you wait." I didn't have to wait long. After a couple of glasses of wine and a few dances, which we at first stumbled through as she tried to lead and I tried to follow, she ravaged me - first on the couch, and then later in our room. She insisted on calling my penis, clittie, and refused to let me use it for its intended purpose until the very end. By that time, she had me flat on my back, and before she finally impaled herself on me, she made me beg her to fuck me. As we fell asleep, I was still wearing my garter belt and stockings. I was too exhausted and too sated to move from the now wet spot where she had finished me off. Chapter II Preparations In the morning, Rebecca was back. As we sat at the black granite kitchen counter, an unusually bright autumn sun shining through the window over the sink, we sipped our coffee and munched on English muffins, mine with butter, hers with orange marmalade. As she finished her first half muffin she said, "You know Sara, I'm really worried about you. Once someone gets you hot, you'll do anything to get laid. I bet Phil has you on your back and begging for it before you know what hit you." "Rebecca? How can you say such a thing? That was for you, not anyone else! Especially not Phil!" By then, a huge smile had taken over Rebecca's face and I realized she was goofing on me. But thinking back on the events of last night, I must admit that a little doubt was creeping into my mind. I literally had been out of control. Becca had played me like I was a violin and she was a virtuoso. *It had just been for her, hadn't it?* I wondered. Rebecca broke into my thoughts, "We've got eight days," "Huh?" "Eight days Sara, before your big date. I want you in girl mode 24/7 until then. And I want you to wear your breast forms, so having them on is second nature to you." "Uh huh," I muttered offhandedly, because I was already thinking about what I was going to wear after breakfast, along with the clothes I would have to buy to make it through a whole week. I'd need all new stuff! Then realizing what she had said, and that it was a real change in the rules, I finally replied, "I can?" "Oh geez, where is your head? Did I fuck your brains out last night? Did I turn my Sara into a little bimbo," Rebecca teased me. That got my attention. "No," I said, indignantly. I was just trying to figure out if I had enough clothes for a week. I may have to go shopping." Rebecca laughed. "Sara, you have more clothes than I do!" "I do not," I complained. She just smiled at me indulgently. "That doesn't mean you don't have to go shopping, but don't you dare try to go without me," Rebecca shot back. "I want in on this game too. If last night is any indication, this WILL be fun." I smiled up at her demurely. "If Becca visits again, I'm sure it will be," I said as dreamily as I could. *** We spent most of Saturday and Sunday at various malls and shopping centers far away from home. I was dressed as Sara, starting off in a blue denim mini, pale pink, long sleeve tee with eyelet lace around the collar and cuffs, and Rebecca's snow white short quilted ski jacket with fur around the hood. With a colorful scarf tied round my neck and my makeup dominated by pink, I felt like a femmy little (well no so little) pouf. Rebecca, dressed just as she had been the night before, was Becca. She wore heels and I wore flats, so she was actually a little taller than me. I hung on her arm as we walked, just like a woman might do with a man. The two of us had a great time filling in the imagined gaps in Sara's wardrobe. The truth was, I already had a rather healthy collection of very sexy lingerie, more than a dozen fancy dresses, an array of shoes, including five beloved pairs of four-inch heels, and a good collection of jeans, slacks, skirts of many lengths, and tops like the one I had worn yesterday. I mean really, I could have gotten through two or three weeks without buying or washing anything. But you know what? I hadn't bought anything since last spring, and how could any woman (or at least any self- respecting crossdresser) pass up an opportunity to add to her wardrobe when she really needed clothes for a new season? So I updated. I got a couple of skirts, one of them quite short and flirty, and an adorable, red, crinkly broomstick skirt with yellow roses printed on it. There was also a daringly tight black pencil skirt that stopped just at my knees and nearly hobbled me. Becca loved it. I got a great looking silky, white, button front blouse to wear with it. To go with the other skirts, I got tees, twin sets, cotton sweaters and some stretchy turtle necks. Best of all though was an eyelet lace, french cuff white shirt that was hemmed to wear over pants. With a couple of buttons undone, and the way its darts pulled it in at my waist, it was really sexy. I got some low-heeled shoes and a pair of great over the calf black boots with a three-inch heel. Shopping with Becca was just about the most fun I had ever had. At least that's what I thought until I remembered the previous night. That was the most fun I had ever had, for sure, but this was great in its own way. I'd make sure to thank her appropriately. I wanted pants, but Becca would only agree to a pair of really tight, low cut jeans and some capris. I also got some workout clothes, including sports bras, leotards, and tights that would go with my blue and pink cross trainers. I insisted on some nylon running shorts as well, although Becca really didn't approve. "But I want to see your cute little butt," she teased, grabbing it as several women looked on. I hoped they believed they were watching two cute lesbians. "But do you also want to see my cute little bulge?" I whispered, surreptitiously brushing the back of her hand over my crotch to make sure she got the picture. Her eyes went wide for a moment, then she giggled. But without saying anything else, she immediately pulled a couple of pairs of nylon shorts off the rack, selecting more vibrant versions of the navy and cranberry I had selected. Finally, we looked for something for me to wear to my dinner with Phil. We looked at stuff that was either hot and sexy, flowingly romantic, or very dressy, like the long emerald green gown with the stunning side slit that we were now studying. But then I realized that we were approaching this the wrong way. "Becca, this is all wrong," I whispered as I ran my fingers lovingly over the silky fabric. I don't want to make myself alluring for him. I just want to look feminine and presentable. "Huh?" she replied, looking at me like I had two heads. "Your date is taking you to one of the trendiest new restaurants between here and Manhattan, and you're not going to dress up for him?" "That's not what I said; I just don't want to look sexy. Can't I be modest and demure? I mean, what about a Chanel style suit or something like that?" "Hmmm," she considered, cocking her head in a way that was sort of her trademark, and looking back and forth from me to the dress. "Are you telling me that you don't want to be strutting into the restaurant, with your black stocking-clad leg thrusting through this slit while all the men turn and ogle you? What kind of transvestite are you?" "Rebecca! Please! Keep your voice down!" I was still whispering, but she was talking in a normal tone of voice. "I'm a girl," I said, emphasizing the word girl, "who doesn't want her date to think she's available. You can be pretty without being sexy. You do it everyday." "Ahhh, flattery will get you everywhere my dear," she said reaching over to kiss my cheek. "I see your point. I guess I was getting carried away. You want to dress for a business date. I guess I was thinking about how I would like to dress to go out. I wear business clothes every day so I want to dress up prettily when I get the chance." She carefully hung the green dress back on the rack, straightening the skirt as she slid it back between the other long dresses. Then she turned to me and said, "We're in the wrong department. Come with me." We continued to look, but didn't find anything we liked. I was dejected, but Becca wasn't. "That's okay," she chirped. "We'll just have to go out during the week until we find something." I looked at her like this was going to be an impossible task. "Don't give me that look," she said, condescendingly, like she was talking to a idiot. "I simply can't believe you aren't dying to go out shopping again." I gave a guilty smile and a shrug, and with my eyes lashes fluttering, I said, "When?" "Oh you," she responded, throwing her arms around me in a big hug. *** On Tuesday night, I took Becca out with me to look at the dresses I had scouted out over the last two days. I was already dressed in a simple jumper and turtle neck sweater, and assumed Rebecca would wear something casual as well. But she was in her new Becca uniform, tight black pants, this time with a nearly sheer white blouse, black leather jacket, and high, high heels. I took one look at her and I fled back into Sara's room to change. She laughed at me, taunting, "Can't my little girl decide what to wear?" *Now that's a first,* I thought. I guess I had teased her often enough when she couldn't figure out what to wear, so I had to laugh at her payback. "No," I shouted back through the door. "Besides I have no intention of looking like a shlub when you look so hot. I want to look good for you so your eyes don't wander." It was her turn to laugh. She often accused me of looking at any attractive woman who happened to pass by while we were out. While I was still undressing, she knocked on my door, and without waiting for me to answer, opened it. "I want you looking sweet and feminine," she said, "I'll pick your clothes." So that's how I ended up with my brand new pale gray and charcoal abstract print mini, a delicious wrap around chiffon blouse that had no buttons but tied at the waist, and black pumps with two-inch heel. This made us the same height. The blond wig from the picture was tightly pinned to my head, and Becca did my makeup so I looked like an innocent, doe-eyed teenager, with sweet, glossy pink lips. I was a sharp contrast to her bright red lips and other wise severe image. Anyone looking at us could tell who the top was in this relationship. It didn't take us long to figure out that we still had clearly different ideas about how I should dress for my date with Phil. Despite our previous conversation, Rebecca wanted me in a little black dress, something she discovered in a bias cut matte jersey that was flowy, clingy, and sexy. I'm not even sure she was thinking about how Phil might react. Instead I think (I hoped) she saw me as her sweetly feminine, sub lover, and she was dressing me for her own pleasure. I, however, was having none of it. I wanted something structured, in a thicker fabric that would not cling to my non-existent curves. I wanted to look like a woman, not a girl, and like a business woman, not a sex object. The way I saw it, I had to look elegantly feminine, and be passable and attractive. My evening with Phil was going to be hard enough without putting any untoward thoughts into Phil's, or anyone else's, mind. So we struck a deal. I would select what to wear on my date with Phil, my first ever date with a man, but she would select something far sexier, for a date with Becca. *What the hell, What kind of trannie would turn down a sexy dress?* So when I nearly swooned over a short dress with tiers of chiffon over the skirt and virtually no back, Rebecca immediately had me try it on. What made this dress special to me was that it had two long straps of rhinestones that crossed once just after they arose from the rather modest bodice and then ran over my shoulders, only to cross again halfway down my back before attaching again to the bottom of the draped back, right above my ass. I would have to glue my breast forms on to wear this. No way I could wear a bra, but God, what a sexy dress. I had taken only two steps out of the dressing room before Becca made me do a twirl, and then said right out loud for everyone to hear, "You're buying that one, and I'm taking you out dancing tomorrow!" I nearly blanched when I saw everyone who was nearby turn to stare at us. But then I figured, what the hell, and ran to her in slightly mincing steps, throwing my arms around her shoulders and saying, "Oh, would you?" There was a forty something couple directly in my line of sight and I almost laughed out loud when I saw the man's jaw fall open, while his wife rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm. "Oh grow up, will you Robert? It's not like you've never seen lesbians before." she scolded. Not being able to resist such juicy moment, I winked at him, and after a moment's hesitation, he smiled back at me and then turned to go with his wife, who by this point was doing all she could not to laugh out loud. The last thing I heard was his voice saying, "But she was cute." I just beamed. I was so full of myself by that point it never even occurred to me that he might have been talking about Rebecca. I then disengaged myself from Becca, who was looking at me the way a starving man looks at a steak. In a teasing response, I used my fingertips to grab the edges of the dress at mid thigh level, lifted it slightly, and ducking my head, I bobbed a little curtsey, something I had perfected years ago because it seemed like something a good trannie should know how to do. Back when I had first started going out, I and a few of my T-gril friends started calling ourselves trannies even though many crossdressers and transsexuals find the term an insult. We figured that we could use it as a way of sticking our fingers in the eyes of those who used it as an epithet. I'd never call anyone else a trannie even though that's how I thought of myself. "Now that we've got the dress you want, let's find the one I need." We found it two stores later. It was a dark blue and silver satin brocade in a subtle paisley pattern. The simple high-waisted, hip hugging skirt fell straight to just above my knees, and the matching four button peplum jacket, which gave me the illusion of a smaller waist and wider hips, was perfect. Although the neckline didn't show any cleavage, it actually showed a good deal of skin because the notched collar was cut wide towards the shoulders. My fake black pearls would look perfect with it. Becca insisted I buy the smaller size, which I barely fit into at the waist because she said, "The jacket fits better and we can fix your waist." I wasn't sure what she meant. Once I had paid for it and a couple of pairs of stockings to go with it (no pantyhose for you Becca declared), I thought we were done. I already had a perfectly good pair of four-inch black pumps. But Becca declared, "One more stop." We eventually ended up in a custom lingerie store, where I looked around in awe at the absolutely gorgeous bras, panties and other stuff, and then almost gagged at the absolutely earth-shattering price tags. In the meantime, Becca talked quietly with the one saleswoman. "Okay, hun," the woman said turning to me. "Let's get your measurements." With that, she led me into the back and had me strip down to my undies, which didn't even cause her to blink, but which sent my heart rate way up. We left an hour later, each of us with two very beautiful (and expensive!) sets of French lingerie. Becca had wanted to buy me a corset, but I resisted and ended up instead with a less scary looking waist nipper. It took me in almost three inches without much discomfort, but would be cut so that I could be taken in six inches eventually. I made it clear to Rebecca that there was no way that was happening unless it happened to her too. "We'll see," was all she said. In any case, the skirt would now fit easily. I got through Wednesday and Thursday in a state of barely restrained anxiety. I dressed up in a dress and heels each day, as Rebecca had suggested, and spent a good deal of time in front of the mirror, working on my gestures and movements. Dressing only for myself for so long had left me a little rusty. At the same time, I kept up a constant patter of conversation, practicing both my voice and my choice of words, and rehearsing how I would respond to various things I imagined Phil might say. I knew from past experience that when I got nervous, my voice tended to crack, and I wanted to be sure that didn't happen because I knew I would be nothing but nervous around Phil. Chapter III A surprise date At about 3:00 on Friday afternoon, Rebecca called. "Hi, babe, it's Becca." "Uh, hi Becca," I managed to reply in my best feminine voice despite my surprise. "What's up? If Rebecca was going to be Becca, something just had to be up. "I want you to get all dolled up. I'm going to take you out for a romantic dinner." "What?" "Well, sweetie, you're going out on a date tomorrow night and leaving me home alone. If that's the way it's gonna be, I want to have my fun tonight." Then she hesitated for a beat before saying in the most lascivious tone I had ever heard, "And you're it." I've already picked the place. Wear the little black dress along with your new lingerie." Mmmmm, my new lingerie. I knew just which set I wanted to wear. The exquisiite Simone Perele's we just bought, including a full coverage bra (to hold my breast forms securely), full cut panty (to hold the rest of me securely), and a matching garter belt. They were a deep red, open Calais lace, with the softest dark burgundy inserts. I started to get hard just thinking about it. As soon as I remembered what it cost, I got soft again. "Sara? Are you there?" Becca broke into my thoughts. "Huh? Oh yeah. I just got distracted for a moment." "You were thinking about your Simone Perele undies weren't you?" she teased. When I didn't respond right away, she jumped in with a triumphant, "I knew it! You are such a tart!" "I...I'm not. I'm not!" I insisted trying to recover from my embarrassment. "What evvver," Becca replied dismissively. "Just plan to be ready by 7:00. I'm going to change here and then pick you up." *That's weird, but what the hell, she's obviously planned to whole thing already.* "Yes dear, whatever you say," I responded, trying to sound sarcastically submissive. Her snort in reply made it pretty clear that she wasn't impressed. But as I turned to the bedroom to get ready, I realized that I couldn't wear a bra, my new dress was backless. I'd have to attach my forms and they'd bounce with every step. What had I gotten myself into? *** "Sara, I'm home! Are you ready?" I was. In fact, at that moment I was standing in front of the mirror, playing with my blonde wig, turning this way and that to make sure everything was just right. I was a little appalled that I was going out in this dress. My breasts were unfettered, the skirt was short and there was no back. I couldn't imagine where Becca was going to take me dressed like this. I was both scared and loving it at the same time. "Omigod!" I gasped as she walked into the room. Becca was dressed in a black silk, man-tailored tuxedo suit. Her hair was pulled back into a tight chignon on the top of her head, and her make up was dark and steamy. She was in tall, tall heels and carried a top hat in the crook of her right arm. Her nails were longer than I'd seen them in a long time and painted deep red to match her lipstick. At about the same time, she said, "Don't you look adorable? "You really out did yourself tonight." I blushed with pride, curtsying and replying demurely, "Thank you kind sir." Here I was dressed like a sexy call girl looking to get laid, while Becca looked commanding and powerful, and very sexy. The difference between how we looked couldn't have been any more obvious, and I was actually feeling rather intimidated. I decided to try to surf with that feeling and see where it would lead me. Let her take the lead. She came over to me, took my hand, winked, and said, "Give me a little twirl." I smiled shyly and did just that as she held my hand, lifting it over my head so I could spin under it. Of course, my dress fluttered prettily around my thighs as I turned. But instead of stopping me after one rotation, Becca twirled me another half turn until I was facing away from her, and then grabbed me around the waist with her free hand. She let her other hand go and wrapped it around the front of my shoulders, pulling me close to her body. Then she leaned in and started to nuzzle my neck and ear. "Are you my little girl tonight?" she whispered as she suckled on my earlobe, flipping my dangly, clip-on earring with her tongue. "Ooh yes," I moaned in return. I was getting seriously turned on. Maybe we wouldn't go out at all! "And you'll do whatever I say?" "Ooooh yesss," I shuddered under her touch, goose bumps starting to form on my bare shoulders and arms. "Good girl. I'll take care of everything," she whispered. Then she let me go, took my left hand in her right, twirled me back to face her and said, "Come with me." We went into the living room and I saw several boxes wrapped with bright silver ribbons. Becca handed me the first one, obviously a shoe box. I opened it at her urging and discovered a beautiful pair of black leather sandals. A laugh started to burst from my lips, but I managed to stifle it to a single giggle. The shoes were gorgeous, and I was already starting to take off my own 4-inch black pumps to try them on. What had made me laugh were the heels: they were at most an inch high. Becca really wanted to be taller than me tonight! The next box, a really small one, revealed a gold ankle bracelet. It had a small gold plate that was engraved "Becca and Sara.". The two names were intertwined in a heart. "Oh Becca!" I gushed. This is gorgeous. Thank you sooo much." And I reached up to kiss her, which is just what she wanted, for me to have to reach up that is. She looked down at me with a barely contained look of triumph on her face. "Would you put it on for me?" I asked, trying to put a small pout in my voice. "Sure babe, put your foot up here," she said, indicating the cocktail table that was holding all the boxes. So I lifted my right foot for her. "This is to remind you that I love you no matter what," she said emphatically. "Oh, I do so love you," I replied equally as emphatically. And I pulled her into a tight hug as soon as she had finished with my ankle. She returned the hug for a few moments and then broke away. "We need to go soon, so let me give my girl the rest of her gifts." The third box held a white orchard, which she quickly pinned to the right side of my head, pulling the hair back slightly from my face as she did so. I watched intently in the mirror as she worked, my knees weakening as I understood the utter femininity of the look she was creating. Tears started to form in the corners of my eyes, but when Becca noticed them, she quickly grabbed a tissue and blotted them gently, saying, "None of that now. We don't have time to redo your makeup." And then she winked at me! The final box, which was by far the largest, held the biggest surprise. It was what looked like a silver fox jacket that would just cover my ass. I was absolutely floored. "Omigod," I breathed out, my hand over my mouth. "Is that real?" "Don't be silly," Becca said as she held it open for me." "It's just a real good fake. I can't afford a real fur coat! Especially for you!" I was actually relieved. "But it's still gorgeous," I replied, snuggling my cheek into the big soft collar. "And you're just amazing. Doing all this for me." "Yeah, I don't know what came over me," she giggled. "But I wanted to be sure you knew how a man should treat you before you actually start going out with them." "Oh. You mean they should buy me jewelry and furs?" She cocked her head at me and considered me for a moment. "Well, maybe, eventually, if you really get real serious with one. They don't give this stuff away easily, you know." There was a strange tone of regret in her voice. I didn't understand it, and was afraid she meant I hadn't given her those kinds of things, even though she had always insisted she didn't want them. But before I had a chance to dwell on it, Becca reached back into the box, pulled out a long black and silver silk scarf, which she wrapped around my neck so one end was over my shoulder, hanging down my back, and the other hanging down the front. Finally, she presented me with a pair of bright red leather gloves, which I quickly pulled on. As soon as I had slung my small evening bag over my shoulder, she caught my hand in hers, and ushered me out the door. We drove about 30 minutes to Greenwich, where a very hot restaurant had just opened. We chatted aimlessly on the way over and I thrilled to the touch of Becca's hand on my thigh as she drove. She was always a confident woman, but tonight she just exuded strength. I felt protected, and I loved it. I was feeling great until the moment when the valet opened the car door for me. Then I froze, turning towards Becca, for what I didn't know. But she just rolled her eyes at me and flicked her head up in a gesture that said, 'Just get out of the car.' When I turned back to the door, the valet's hand was waiting for mine, so I put my gloved-fingers in his palm, swiveled my hips so my legs were out of the car, and let him help me up. "Thank you," I said quietly, without looking at him, because I was feeling intimidated. But he didn't let go of my hand right away, so I had to look up. Feeling insecure, I first glanced up through my eyelashes before actually lifting my head. He was a young Latino man, neatly groomed and very attractive. After a small smile, I gently pulled my hand from his and turned to look for Becca. She was standing by the back of the car, her top hat tilted jauntily on her head, and a brilliant smile on her face. "Come love," she said brightly, as she walked up next to me holding out her elbow for me to put my arm through. "Stop flirting with that cute young man." I blushed furiously, I could just feel my face and chest heat up, and hurried to take her arm so we could get out of there. "What did you say that for?" I whispered urgently as soon as we were at the door, which was held open for us by a smartly dressed, perfectly groomed man showing just a touch of gray at his temples. He examined us both carefully with a big smile on his face. "Ladies," he nodded to us as we had entered. Then he turned and left. "You little tease," she said with a small laugh. "I can't believe what you did to that poor boy. You've already showed me that you're an easy lay, now I discover that you're a shameless tease. Thank goodness I never let you go out before." Her laughter tinkled like fine crystal, but I wasn't at all sure what she was teasing me about. "He was so rude," I whispered insistently as we entered the spare, Japanese-style lobby. It was done up in pale wood, with a small fountain in the middle. Black sand surrounded the water, with a few rocks scattered artfully about. But a chill ran through my body as I looked up and noticed that seemingly every eye in the place had turned to us. The blood drained from my face and I grabbed Becca's arm even tighter as I suddenly realized what they were seeing: the very femmy lesbian girlfriend of a beautiful woman dressed in a top hat and tails. Not to mention that my breasts bounced with every step. Of course people were looking at us. I wanted to die, or run, or have the floor swallow me up. But Becca held me in place with her arm, and standing straight up, calmly scanned the room, giving everyone a good chance to study us. Then she turned to me, lifted my chin with her hand and kissed me firmly on the lips. "Come love," she said clearly. "Let's see if our table's ready." She sauntered casually to the maitre d's desk, leaving me no choice but to hurry along next to her, my heels clicking along with hers on the pale hardwood floor. "Matti," she said enthusiastically as a somewhat petite, red-head, dressed in a tight black dress and high heels, approached the desk from inside the restaurant. She really was quite striking, with pale skin, rich dark red lips, and even darker eyes. "Rebecca!" Matti smiled back, hurrying over and pulling Becca towards her so she could air kiss each cheek. "And you must be Sara," she said turning an incandescent smile on me. "I'm Matti. I own this place." "Uh, hi Matti," I mumbled, totally confused. "I love your work," she went on, her voice an unusual mixture of breathy, hoarse, and husky. Then, holding my arms, she reached up to do the air kiss routine with me. She couldn't have been more than 5 feet six inches tall, even in her heels. "I'm so glad you're here because I want Mind Games to take over my marketing." *Huh? Mind Games? She knew my work? That could only mean.... Shit.* But I did my best to accept her greeting in the warm spirit in which it was offered, and then turned to allow her to take my coat. Before she pulled it off my shoulders, however, she gently touched the orchard, and cooed, "So pretty." Then when she had slipped my jacket off one shoulder and onto my arm, she bent in and kissed the shoulder. I literally shivered at her touch and turned to look at her. Pale freckles ran over her nose and cheeks as if she had been sprinkled with pixie dust, and a, I don't know how to describe it, a shy but somehow inviting look took over her eyes as she touched my cheek gently, almost lovingly. "You are just lovely, yes, quite lovely," she said so only the two of us could hear. I caught Becca's eye while this was going on and glared at her as Matti finally took my coat and gloves. I had decided to keep the scarf. But Becca only smiled at me benignly, making me even angrier. Then she put her hand low on my bare back, a feeling that totally surprised me and made me shiver. Again, goose bumps rose out of my flesh as I realized how uncovered I was. But that was nothing compared to how I felt as Becca turned me to go into the bar by sliding her hand down onto my butt and firmly guiding me in that direction . As a man I had done that to her because I just loved the feel of her shapely behind and because I thought it was a sexy thing to do. Now that the roles were reversed, I felt really vulnerable. I wasn't a man at all, I was a woman possessed by someone stronger than me. I had to shake my head to clear it of the dissonant images of me as a man holding Rebecca's butt, and me as a woman being held by her. "How could you?" I accused her once we had settled into a small cocktail table in the bar. "She knows who I am." "Yes, isn't she exquisite?" Becca said, leaning in close to kiss the tip of my nose. "Don't do that," I snapped in a hoarse whisper pulling my head back. "This is serious. You were the one who insisted I keep this secret. How could you tell her?" "Oh calm down," Becca said dismissively, as she sat up so the waitress could put our martinis on the table. She had gin with olives. I had Grey Goose l'Orange with an orange slice. Once they were safely on the table she lifted hers, indicating with her eyes that I should do the same, and then toasted me. "To the most beautiful girl in the world - the apple of my eye - may you always get what you wish for." Her face was glowing with love, and I could feel myself falling into her warm dark eyes. "Don't be mad, sweetie," she continued, offering me my martini. "I told you I would take care of everything, and I think I did. Here you are at a wonderful new restaurant where everyone thinks you're a woman and you haven't spent even one moment thinking about passing, have you?" She was right - the sneaky bitch. She had swept me along so adroitly that I never did have a chance to worry. "But they think I'm a lesbian," I whispered back, although I had no idea why I said it. "So? You are, aren't you? A woman who loves a woman?" And she cocked her head and an eyebrow at me while a gentle smile graced her face and the little creases formed at the corners of her eyes, warming her look even further. Could anyone wish for more from his (or her!) beloved? A lesbian - is that what I wished I could be? Is that what I wished for Rebecca? Is that what she wished for? Is that why she introduced me as a woman? I had to ask. "Why did you tell her?" "Matti is interested in hiring us. She's a lesbian and much prefers to work with women, so I thought we would make more of an impression if she saw you like this." "You're kidding, right?" "Nope. She used to be a chef out in LA, but followed her lover, here to Connecticut so she could start this restaurant with her." "God, I'm like the company slut," I moaned, trying to sound aggrieved. "First you set me up with Phil, and now Matti. Next you're going to tell me, 'It's only business.' Right?" "Well, it is," she insisted. "Other than that, you're mine." She seemed quite pleased with herself. We only had a couple of minutes to sip our martinis before we were called to our table, so, I drained mine before I got up, figuring I could get another as soon as we reached our table. I was really self conscious and needed the bottled courage. I was hoping for something in a corner, so we could be all romantic with each other in private, but Matti had other plans. She put us at one of the most visible tables in the place. "You two are gorgeous," she said. "I want everyone to be able to see you. You'll make the place seem really glamorous. I already started a rumor that you were celebrities, and folks are trying to figure out who you are." She giggled playfully at her little joke, but I could only blush at the idea. And as she pulled my seat out for me, she said, "It'll do wonders for business; consider it the first phase of our contract. I'll even pick up dinner." I turned towards her, surprised at her generosity, and as I did, she slipped her hand around my waist, pulled me towards her just a little and kissed the side of my neck. Then she patted my behind, and urged me to sit. I was too dumbfounded to do anything else. We were a little less openly affectionate than I had planned, but had a wonderful dinner just the same. The menu featured wonderfully complex Asian fusion fare, obviously influenced by Matti's many years on the west coast. We sampled the appetizers and split a main course, fire grilled Ahi tuna with some kind of amazing raspberry salsa. The food was the least of it. I discovered that it was kind of fun being the center of attention, at least while I had someone around to look after me. Being here with Becca felt nothing like when I used to go out by myself before we had met, or more recently at the conventions I occasionally attended. Then, all I really wanted to do was blend into the woodwork and hope no one would out me. But tonight there