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Chapter IV Of course I'm anxious Although we had stayed up well into the wee hours the night before, we couldn't sleep all that late on Saturday because I had so much to do to get ready for my date with Phil. My God! It was probably easier to plan the president's inauguration. And things started off badly. Right after breakfast, I had to run to the bathroom for the second time that day because my bowels were acting up. This had been a problem of mine since I was a kid. When I got really anxious, I tended to get diarrhea. When I was 12, I took a trip with my class to Washington D.C. and almost didn't make it onto the bus because I couldn't get off the toilet. Although I've only rarely had that problem recently, it was now back. I had to laugh. Going on a date with a guy had regressed me to the emotional status of a 12 year old. And that image of vulnerability made me shiver. Because of my little problem, we left the house quite late. Our first stop was to the drug store so I could get some Imodium. From there we ran to the store where I got my waist nipper. "What are we doing here?" I asked. "Just you wait and see," Rebecca replied as she approached a trim older woman with great posture named Dorothy, who led me to a back room where, Rebecca said, they had a surprise for me. I wasn't sure I wanted any more surprises, but Rebecca, it turned out, had bought me new breasts, sinfully expensive Amoena Tria Plus forms. While I hadn't realized it, I had been measured for them at the same time I had been fitted for my other lingerie. After some very unconvincing objections - I mean I had to seem like they were forcing me didn't I - I lay down so they could be attached to my chest. When I sat up, I didn't know what to think. They sagged down with a most delightful bounce and even bulged slightly into my arms. I turned left and then right to see how they moved, and sure enough, there was a slight delay before they caught up with my turn, then some overshoot, and then the opposite on the way back. The women both giggled when I looked up with a big, stupid grin on my face. "Oh my," was all I could think of to say. "Oh my indeed," Rebecca replied, admiration in her voice. "Aren't you something? Let's get your little corset on. I want to see the full look." This was a serious garment, made of what appeared to be satin, but was also very sturdy. Mercifully, Dorothy only laced me in two inches. But still, who with diarrhea would wear even a small, loose waist nipper? What we trannies do to look beautiful! Even for a date we don't really want to go on! "Pull it in another half inch in about three hours," Dorothy told Rebecca, just as I was reconciling myself to the nasty thing, "then the last half inch three hours after that." Then turning to me she said, "You should have plenty of time to get used to it and still be comfortable when you are out tonight." "Uhh, thanks, I think," I replied. Two inches felt plenty snug. If that was enough to allow my skirt to fit, that's where I wanted to stop. I was a little worried about the look Rebecca was giving me though; she looked like she was just dying to squish me down further. After selecting several new bras, because my old ones no longer fit, I redressed. I was only wearing high-waisted jeans and a stretchy turtleneck top, which now encased a busty young woman with a slim waist. We paid for our purchases, now having spent well over a thousand dollars in this little store over the past week, and headed out to have a light lunch before going to the salon. I was due for a complete make over, starting with my toes and ending with the top of my head. With my new figure I was starting to get excited about the prospect. I discovered I had little appetite, and was worried about eating anything that might set me off again in any case. Some toast and yogurt was about all I could handle, and it sure didn't leave me feeling satisfied. *Still, better safe than sorry,* I thought. Sara then drove me about a half hour away to a salon that specialized in makeovers for T-girls. This was a full service operation, almost like a day spa, and they gave me the works, trying to find the butterfly inside my caterpillar. You should have seen everything they did for me. Even though I was nervous, I felt like a princess! Rebecca had set the whole thing up and left me to enjoy myself, which I fully intended to do. The pampering was as delightful as I had anticipated, and being mixed in with real women, who basically ignored me except for an occasional conspiratorial smile, was fun. The only problem was that I had way too much time to think. It seemed that every time I began to relax, images of me and Phil invaded my consciousness. The first time it happened, I was just finishing up with my body waxing. The operator, Rosa, had just finished with my bikini line, leaving only the smallest patch of hair above my penis. "You don't want anything sticking out from the edges of your panties, do you?" Rosa asked when I questioned the extent of the work she had just done, as if I could get the hair back. *Well, no. I guess I don't,* I thought to myself as I simply shrugged to her. And then, as she finished up by massaging a wonderfully aromatic and soothing lotion into my skin, I drifted into a day dream. I imagined myself standing in front of Phil, naked except for my small corset, stockings and heels. My new breasts hung alluringly over the top of the corset, and my slightly engorged penis hung below it. Phil was staring at it. "You really went all the way for me, didn't you, darlin'," he asked, a bit of lust in his voice as he reached down and tickled my remaining pubic hair with his fingers. I giggled from his touch, and looked up into his eyes. "Isn't there something else down there you want to get your fingers around?" "You are just the cutest little sissy," he replied, now hefting my penis, which was beginning to come to life. "Just wait until you see what I have for you." "Sara, this isn't very ladylike. Is it for me?" Rosa giggled. I looked down and could see that the erection I was beginning to get in my daydream was in fact real. I blushed furiously, and could only smile at her with a totally embarrassed look on my face. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her what I had been thinking, which surprised the hell even out of me. "Your touch is quite lovely," I half whispered, half choked out, trying to somehow recover some dignity. "I'm sorry." "Oh don't be silly," she said, flicking her wrist at me to show she was just teasing. If this was going to scare me, I sure as hell wouldn't be working here. And we both giggled. "C'mon, I'm done with you. So I pulled my panties back on, admiring, the smooth, hairless skin that surrounded them, wrapped myself in the baby blue robe with pink piping they had given me, and followed Rosa to my next station. "Big date tonight, hon?" a rather large woman in a crisp, baby blue smock asked me as I settled into her chair. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," I replied, as I realized that Veronica, which is who her name tag said she was, was no more female than I. But even though she was nearly six feet tall and rather large boned, she had an unmistakable air of comfortable femininity about her. Her long, bright, orangey red hair was worn in large, loose curls that bounced when she moved her head, which she did in quick little motions, like a bird. Her makeup was exquisite, emphasizing her large pale blue eyes and ample mouth, and there just wasn't any evidence that she ever had a beard. Because she talked so much with her hands, it was easy to see that she had gorgeous nails, quite long, with intricate airbrushed art on them. I wondered what those might look like on me, but then shook it off because I had already decided that I wanted my nails no more than a quarter inch past my finger tips, and in a simple deep red that I thought would go with my dress. As we discussed what my nails should look like, Veronica, who insisted, "Call me Ronnie," said, "What do you think of this color?" She was holding up a pearlescent dark blue polish called Lustre. "I checked out your dress," she went on, "and this coordinates with it perfectly." And then she pulled out a plummy colored lipstick that didn't exactly match the polish, but complimented it perfectly, and then some earthy-plummy eye shadows. "See?" she went on. "Everything goes together. And I think these colors will be great with your skin. You really should go to a tanning parlor you know. You need more color." I sat there studying the colors as she applied them to the back of her hand so I could see them together. *What the hell,* I thought. *I would never pick anything like these, but there's no harm in being a little daring.* I smiled up at her. "Okay, I love the idea, let's go for it. But I want my nails to be ovals, just a quarter inch past my finger tips, okay?" "Oh that's just wonderful," she gushed. "So many of my clients are just too stuffy to try anything avant garde. The men will all be drooling over you and the women will be jealous." "I guess," I replied, not sure whether that's what I wanted to happen. "You just relax. I'm going to give you a facial, and while your mask is on I'll do your nails. Your wig is already done, but were going to trim and touch up your hair anyway. Then we'll do your makeup and you'll be good to go." "Sounds too good to be true," I smiled at her, and then lay my head back as she lowered the chair to a more horizontal position. The feeling of her fingers on my face as she worked on me was just exquisite, and even though she kept up a constant prattle, by the time she applied the aloe-cucumber mask, I was drifting in and out of a comfortable semi-consciousness. Phil was again in my dreams. This time, he was oohing and ahhing over my beautiful nails as he held my hand in his and lowered his head to kiss it. I shook my long blond hair off my face and looked up at him longingly. His eyes devoured mine, and he reached around my back with his other hand and pulled me tight against his body, kissing me deeply. As I gratefully returned his kiss, I could feel his erection growing against my belly. It was like touching a magic wand, and a warm feeling spread out to the rest of my body from where it touched me. Then, without warning, he pushed me away and in a harshly cutting tone said, "I always knew you were a faggot, you little sissy." And we were surrounded by hundreds of people who were pointing and laughing at me, calling me sissy or faggot. I searched for a way to flee, but I was trapped. I snapped my eyes open and shook my head. I could feel the tightness of the hardened mask on my face, and my heart was accelerating into a range that would give a hummingbird a heart attack. "You okay hon?" Veronica asked. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. I think I just had a bad dream." "Well, let me get you a glass of wine to relax you," Veronica said standing up and starting to turn away from me. "No, no," I insisted. "Don't." I was pretty sure my sore little tummy wouldn't be real happy with alcohol right now. "Oh. You're nervous about your date. How precious," she gushed again (it seemed to be her only way of talking), as her hands fluttered all around her face like escaped butterflies. "Just like a teenager going to a prom." "Well, maybe," I allowed. "Anyway, I'm okay now, why don't you continue." So I settled back down and Ronnie picked my hand back up and started in again on my nails. Now, however, I was rattled. All my fears of humiliation were now dancing wildly in my mind. *How am I going to get through this? I'll come downstairs after Rebecca lets him in, and make my grand entrance as the two of them stand next to each other watching me. I guess Rebecca'll be supportive; she's been great all week. I hope she'll be proud to see what a lovely woman I make. Or will seeing me as a lovely woman threaten her or make her think less of me as a husband, even though she had a big hand in getting me to this point. Aack!* *And Phil?* He'll think to himself, *What a little sissy. He didn't even have the guts to turn down my little offer of a date. What a pansy.* *And that's what I'd be,* I thought dejectedly, *a pathetic little pansy. At the rate things are going, I'll probably have an accident right there in my panties.* And then I thought of Ronnie. *Obviously not a born-woman, but one who seemed to revel in her femininity. She's just herself, even though she's not perfect. Hmmmph. Where does she get her self -confidence?* I was starting to feel even more insecure, realizing that even with all my intelligence and financial advantages, I didn't have anywhere near the confidence she did, or the courage to just appear as I wanted to, something she had clearly done. *You're pitiful,* I thought, and I almost started to cry. And then, to make things even worse, I could feel my stomach start to cramp up, which, inside my corset felt like the build up to an explosion, and I knew I had to get to a toilet, fast. So I started to get up again. "Veronica, I need to go to the bathroom, now," I said urgently. "Oh! Oh! You poor dear. Here let me help you up. It's right over there next to the changing room. She hurriedly escorted me to the restroom and then stayed there, repeatedly asking if I was all right. Actually, this was the easiest it had been all day, and I had a hopeful feeling that this might be the last time I needed to go. Surely, there couldn't be anything left. I emerged from the restroom feeling embarrassed. l really didn't need anyone witnessing the humiliation of my anxiety driven bowels. But Ronnie was right there, looking very concerned and hovering around me like a mother bird at her nest. "Well," I said. "I think that might have been the last one. There couldn't possibly anything left inside me." "That's great!" she replied, as if I had just won the lottery. This woman's enthusiasm knew no bounds. "Now you won't have to douche your pussy to get ready for tonight." She really seemed to be pleased for me. "Here," she said, handing me a tube of anti-inflammatory cream. Use this. It'll help." "Do you have diarrhea a lot?" I asked, surprised that she was so prepared for this particular eventuality. "No, silly," she said blushing and turning her head down and away in a most fetching manner. "I keep this for when my dates get really hot and fuck me till I'm raw." My eyes widened at the image, but I couldn't be sure if she was putting me on until a moment later when she wiggled her ass at me in a most kittenish way (*What a great move,* I thought. *I've GOT to learn it.*), with a look on her face that was a priceless mixture of pride and embarrassment. After a moment's hesitation, we both started to laugh. "What are you telling me?" I squealed. She leaned in close as if we were long time confidants. "Well, honey, don't tell me you're going to all this trouble to get ready for a date and that you don't intend to get laid?" "What?" I squealed again. "No. I don't intend to get laid! I'm going to do everything I can to avoid it." "Huh?" Her face fell, and it was obvious that she was truly confused. "Oh shit," I muttered, raising my hands and dropping them to my sides in frustration. "Veronica, it's complicated. The truth is, I'm a happily married, heterosexual and the guy has promised to be a perfect gentleman." She still looked confused. "Ronnie, you seem to be a dear, but I don't really know you, so I'm not quite ready to dish everything. Just know that I love to dress, and this make over is like the coolest thing I've ever done." Disappointment now shared her eyes with the already present confusion, but she took my hand and led me back to her station. It didn't occur to me till later that I had been holding hands with a guy. As I sat down, I felt like I had to tell her something, "Ronnie," This is my first real date with a guy, but the circumstances are kinda weird. I mean I've always dreamed of going out on a date just to see what it was like to have a guy treat me like a woman, but..." "You mean, be careful what you wish for, or you may get it?" she interrupted. "Exactly," I replied, relieved that I didn't have to tell her any more. "And on top of everything else, I've got diarrhea." She looked at me, her face grave for about two seconds. Then her hand flew up to her mouth as she tried to hold in her laughter. But it was no use. It came out in gales. And a second later I was laughing too. When you thought about it, it really was ludicrous. When we had both calmed down, Ronnie got a glass of wine for both of us and we shared a few sips before she settled back down to work, and I settled back down to figure out how I was going to handle the evening. Before I settled fully back, I lifted my head and said to Ronnie. "You know, I'm wearing $100 panties, but I'm not letting anyone see them. Seems too bad, somehow." "Honey," she replied. "It's downright sad. I've always thought that there's nothing sadder than a transsexual who's afraid to be who she really is." She said it whistfully, as if she wasn't talking about me; after all, here I was getting a make over so I could go out on a date. But it stunned me like a slap across the face. Without knowing it, Ronnie had effectively gutted me. A deep gush of shame ran through my soul, and I didn't want to talk about it any more. So I put my head down, saying as I closed my eyes, "Why don't we finish up. I still need to get home before I go out." I grimaced inwardly at how harsh I sounded, but I was too upset to really care. Lying there, again near tears, I thought to myself, *You're a hypocrite. A hypocrite and a fraud.* *No, my life is okay the way it is,* I argued back. *No. You're a wimp, a wimp and a coward. You never commit wholeheartedly to anything. You're afraid to give up being comfortable, even when a little risk will lead to something really fulfilling.* Now I was on a roll, punishing myself. *What you are is dishonest and sneaky. You've pushed the envelope just a little by dressing at home, but you never reveal your true self. You feel embarrassed, shamed even, not only of who you are, but because you sneak around too. You feel humiliated because you're afraid to stand up and be who you are.* A sob caught in my throat. I tried to cover it up by pretending it was a cough, but Ronnie apparently caught it. "You okay hon?" she asked, her brows going up in alarm. When I didn't answer for a moment, she went on, "Don't be sad that you won't be sleeping with your date. If you two like each other, there'll be plenty of time for that later." "Yes, yes, of course," I mumbled, trying to avoid a conversation. *Its amazing how she gets things to totally wrong, yet seems to see right through me anyway.* She looked at me dubiously, so I closed my eyes and she went back to work. I continued to think. *Stop being a fool. Be what you are and like yourself. You're not a bad person. Why do you treat yourself like one?* I knew the answer, of course. I was projecting onto myself how I thought my family and society would judge me if I let them know about Sara, as if being transgendered was somehow an inherently evil thing, like looting damaged stores after a hurricane. After all, hadn't Rebecca just told me that she had been "absolutely mortified" when Phil handed her the picture of me at Southern Comfort? Why would she be humiliated by that if there wasn't something dreadfully shameful about it? *Oh shit,* I realized suddenly. *Rebecca's part of the problem. Until this past week, she had hidden Sara at home in the same way that people used to stick their crazy relatives in the attic or the barn, as if they were a stain on the family. I wasn't just my own stain, I was hers as well. We both bought into the shamefulness of my very nature. I never had the courage to face the potential scorn that being an admitted trannie would certainly bring (wouldn't it?), and neither had she.* Not only would my expensive panties stay hidden, but now they were starting to feel like a brand on my ass. It said coward. Chapter V My Date with Phillip "Phillip! So nice to see you," I said as brightly as I could. The butterflies in my stomach argued otherwise. I had decided to call him Phillip because Michael called him Phil, and I wasn't Michael. I was Sara, and Sara hadn't met him before so being more formal was appropriate. Besides, I thought the use of his full name would make me sound more like his sister or his mother, rather than his girlfriend, which is what I was afraid he was thinking, or at least hoping, I would become. Phillip and Rebecca had been standing next to each other watching as I descended the staircase, my long blonde hair hiding my face as I looked down and turned slightly sideways, hiking up my tight skirt so I could actually navigate the steps without falling. I trailed a navy blue and silver chiffon scarf in my other hand. Walking down the stairs like this was first and foremost a safety measure, but the whole scene made me feel deliciously feminine, and, I thought, made for a boffo entrance. And now, as I closed the last few yards towards them, carefully placing one foot in front of the other so my hips would sway, they both shared a slightly stunned look. I wasn't sure whether I wanted it to be a reaction to my apparent confidence and assertiveness or how terrific I looked. Ronni really was a genius with makeup, and they had curled the ends of my old blonde wig, the one from the picture that Phil had found, the one that he had requested that I wear, so it looked really romantic. I enjoyed the view for a moment, and then, shaking my head to throw the long blond hair off my face - even though I just loved to have it fall by my eyes - I held my hand out to Phil to shake his. I angled it slightly down, as many women do, with my arm fully extended, and waited for him to take it. He hesitated for a second, and then broke into a big grin while his giant paw swallowed up my hand, with its lovely, sparkly blue nails. Once he had me in his firm yet gentle grip, he said, "Sara, you look lovely. I'm so pleased to meet you at last!" And with that, he pulled my hand towards his face, dipped his head, and kissed the back of my hand, just like in my day dream. He allowed his lips to linger just a bit longer than necessary, and then he continued to hold onto my hand. I have to admit it: the lingering touch of his lips and hand on my skin made me shiver and I think I might even have blushed a little. At the same time, I thought, *At last? How long has he known?* But even though I was somewhat surprised at his warm and familiar greeting, I could see he was delighted. I was obviously more attractive than he had anticipated. *Score one for me.* I had spent my time since getting home from the salon really working on my attitude, and at least for now, it was paying off. My encounter with Ronni left me looking gorgeous, but in a miserable mood. In an attempt to chill out, I spent some time surfing the web before my bath. While scanning the site of a post-op transsexual who I had always admired for her simple, open, farm-girl good looks and stick- it-in-your-face positive attitude about who she is, I discovered this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." "Yeah, right," I had muttered. It wasn't until I was sitting in the tub, luxuriating in a deliciously aromatic lavender bath oil, that the import of that quote hit me. For the second time today, I felt like I had just been slapped across the face. *Of course!* I thought, *How could I have been so stupid? When I played racquetball with Phil, he almost always won, sometimes he creamed me. But I never felt embarrassed about it. Why not?* It only took a moment for the answer to become clear. *Because I knew that losing didn't make me any less of a person. I once even encountered someone who had been watching who sniggered at me as we left the court, shaking his head as if I should be taken out with the trash *What,* I wondered,*is his problem? It never occurred to me that something might be wrong with me.* But I was afraid that if someone sniggered at me while I was out as Sara I would fall apart, feel absolutely humiliated and look for someplace to run. I wouldn't have to ask, "What's wrong with me?" The answer would be obvious: I was a trannie. But sitting in the tub after my little lesson from Ronni, and some reinforcement from dear old Elanor, I had decided that it was stupid of me to buy into society's view of my transgendered self. If I couldn't be proud of who I was, I should at least not be ashamed of it. I now understood that it had always been me who humiliated me. I was like the long-gone cartoon philosopher Pogo, who once said, "We have met the enemy and they are us." The only person I had to fear tonight was me. I vowed that tonight would be different. I was pretty sure Phil wasn't going to be a problem. In fact, he would protect me if I needed it. And, surrounded by the smell of lavender, and with water beading up on my brand new tits, I had decided that I was going to enjoy this evening, going all out to be my most feminine self. Tonight, Sara would have her first date, and just like the morning sun signaled the day lilies and morning glories to open their petals, this date was going to be my signal to blossom. "You look absolutely beautiful," Phillip went on. "I'm a lucky man tonight." "You are," I replied lightly, using the back of my index finger to flick my blonde hair off my face before I shook my head again. "What do you think of my dress?" And I gave a quick spin in my four-inch heels, letting my hair fly around my face. The dress, of course, went no where. There really wasn't anything soft or flirty about it, although it was gorgeous and did have a spectacularly smooth satiny lining. With that, he burst out laughing. At first I was appalled, thinking I had completely misjudged him and he was making fun of me. But before I could really react, he grabbed my hand, lifted it over my head, and spun me around again. "Stunning," he said, obviously admiring what he was seeing. "Absolutely stunning. Rebecca, did you know about this." "I didn't know. I just didn't know." Rebecca replied, looking at me like a proud parent. But then she broke into a big grin, and said to me, "Sara dear, you're amazing." I looked at her for a second trying to see if she was putting me on or not, but the glint in her eye made it clear she was just enjoying the show. I couldn't help but give a small dig in return. "There's lots about me you don't know, darlin'." As she turned to the closet, she admitted, "I guess so. Let me get your coat and you two can be on your way. I have plans tonight too, and I need to get goin'." So as Phillip and I stood there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do now that we were past our initial greeting, Rebecca disappeared for a couple of seconds before returning with my new fake fur. A few moments later, I had slipped the scarf around my neck, Phillip had helped me on with my coat, I had slung my bag on my shoulder, pulled on my new red gloves, and we were out the door. Phillip gave me the full gentlemanly treatment, holding my arm as we made our way down the walk, opening the door of his 740i for me, and then helping me into my seat. He was full of good humor as we drove along the two lane country roads towards the inn where we were to have dinner. He praised my looks and my behavior, and really seemed thrilled to be out with me. I mostly kept quiet, except for the thank you's I had to offer because of all his compliments. I kept telling myself that there was no reason for me to be ashamed or embarrassed. I was a good man and a lovely woman. The world was lucky to have me in it. I almost had myself convinced. When we got to the restaurant, Phillip helped me out of the car, easily pulling me up from my seat as soon as I had swiveled my legs onto the pavement and laid my hand in his. We left the car for the valet, and as we turned to walk up the few broad stone steps towards the well lit entrance of the large, white, Federal-style building, he surprised me by wrapping his arm around my waist. I froze for a moment, my feet locked to the ground as I looked up at him, alarmed. But he offered me a slightly crooked, sort of embarrassed-asking-permission grin that totally disarmed me. How could it not, coming from a big rugged face that jutted out from a cap of brown hair that was just long enough to show a little of curl? I had no idea he could be so charming. So I thought, *Sure, why not,* and I threw a bright smile up at him to let him know it was okay. With his big arm around me, I couldn't help but lean into him slightly, and as we walked through the huge oak doors, which he easily pushed open with one hand, he put his hand in the small of my back to usher me inside. Phillip was so big, this was all really rather comforting, and I kinda liked it, even though he was a man. The inn had been built in the early 19th century, though it had been extensively renovated and modernized. It was warm and woody, with built in cabinetry and antique-looking nick knacks on just about every surface except the tables. We followed the formally dressed maitre d' through a small warren of intimate dining rooms that each held six or eight tables. Each was decorated somewhat differently than the others, but in each, the diners checked us out as we passed by. I loved the admiring looks I was getting from the men, and better yet, some of the not so happy ones from the women. I couldn't help but put a little extra strut in my walk. I could just imagine what Rebecca would say if she saw me now, "You are such a tart!" And I loved the very idea of it. At the back of the Inn we reached a wonderful round parlor that overlooked a small pond, which was surrounded by trees hung with strings of glistening white lights, giving it a sort of fairyland look. Eight tables, each set with starched white table clothes, were evenly spaced along the windows. All but three already had diners seated at them. Despite the spectacular view, with the lights mirroring themselves off the glassy smooth surface of the pond, the highlight of the room was a huge fireplace, which dominated the wall opposite the windows, filling the room with that special light and warmth you simply can't get from any other source. The setting was totally romantic. Phillip had really selected well. Michael was a little intimidated, but Sara was thrilled. "Oh Phillip," I said, as I turned to take in the whole scene, "This is just scrumptious." Once we had reached our table, which was not right next to the windows, but instead in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace, where everyone could see us, the maitre d' first held my chair for me, and then pulled my napkin from the water glass with a big flourish, folding it into a neat rectangle before handing it me with a slight bow. "Madame," he said. I almost giggled. He then took our drink order. I was still really anxious, so despite my tender tummy, I decided that I just had to have one of my favorite Grey Goose l'orange martinis, while Phillip asked for a BIG glass of Johnny Walker Black. The maitre d' took his leave with a, "Very well, sir." As soon as he was gone, Phillip leaned forward over the table and looked at me earnestly. Without hesitating, he said, "Look Sara, I really want this to be fun for you. You're a good friend and all I'm hoping is to explore another facet of our friendship." "I don't know what to think," I replied. "This may open another facet but what's going to happen to what we had? I punctuated my question by tossing my head to throw my hair behind me, in what, I realized immediately after I had done it, could only be seen either as flirting or a silly little feminine gesture of pointless defiance, which probably looked like flirting anyway. "I had that picture for quite a while, but I was afraid to say anything" he went on, trying to look a little like a sad puppy, and, surprisingly, pulling it off despite his size. "I knew what could happen to our friendship if you had gotten angry and turned me down." He looked and sounded totally sincere, including the small embarrassed grin that flitted across his face as he finished. Just then a neatly dressed busboy came to fill our water glasses, and he fell silent, although it was obvious he had more to say. I just sat there quietly, my hands in my lap, waiting for him to continue, and hoping that I wouldn't do anything to embarrass myself. Phillip just looked at me and shook his head slightly. I wasn't sure what that meant, and in response, I reflexively looked down and tucked my hair behind my left ear. I was just too nervous to sit still. *Where IS my drink? * I fretted. When we were alone again, he went on, his voice even lower than before. "Look, you know now that I'm bi, more gay really, but I work in a very conservative industry and both men and women look at me as some kind of super macho hero because I played pro ball for a few years. The men want to take me out drinking so I can tell football stories, and the women just want to get me into bed to see if my cock is as big as the rest of me." It was. I had seen it when we showered at the gym. "They both convince themselves that they are somehow better or more important by basking in my supposed celebrity. They're both using me," he went on sourly, crinkling his nose in disgust when he finished. He was either a really good actor, or he really did feel used. "While my life may seem ideal to most guys," he said as if the way he lived was the heaviest burden in the world, "it's not for me." He looked up plaintively, and then lowering his voice even further said. "I'd rather be with a cute guy who was unabashedly after my body and could care less about football or all the rest of it," he finished up, waving his hand like a magician trying to make the world around him disappear. "But because of all that other stuff, I just can't be seen going out with guys. So over the years, I've sorta collected a few companions. Some are female, but more recently they have more and more been convincing T-girls, who I can take to parties and stuff. I share something with even the most femmy transsexuals that I've just never found with a real woman." He pursed his lips and thought for a second. Then he took a sip of water. "But you know what? I've never been able to find a T-girl who was bright, clever, and not running her own agenda. Just like the men and women who think my fame projects onto them when they're nearby, they're all looking for something from me; they're not really friends." I could see this was hard for him. "Yeeaaah?" I urged gently, pointlessly resetting behind my ear hair that was already there, and hoping he would continue. He gave me a small smile and went on. "You and I have always gotten along; we share a lot of the same interests, and you're certainly not overwhelmed by my so-called football heroics..." He hesitated and I could see a questioning look in his eyes so I nodded. He gave me a small smile and went on, "And when I discovered you were a really attractive cross dresser, I just couldn't resist asking you out." He looked at me for a moment and then nodded in a way that was scarily like Rebecca's nod. "I need a friend," he said quietly. "Someone I can talk to, someone I can do things with, someone who I know won't try to take advantage of me. We've been like that haven't we?" "Sure, but..." He held up his hand, to stop me. "I just wish I had a friend who I can take to fancy parties, and plays, and ball games as a date so the men think I'm straight and the women won't hit on me." And knowing that I loved steak, he went on, "We could go to Peter Luger's, or Smith and Wollensky or the Palm every time I'm in town and you'd never have to pay for it!" I think my mouth fell slightly open, and I know my stomach lurched at what he was implying. "You mean this isn't a one time thing?" I started to hyperventilate a little, a sure sign I was anxious. Of course, with the stupid waist nipper on, I couldn't take a deep breath in any case, and my breathing was already a little rapid. At that moment a lovely young woman with long, straight, shiny dark hair, and wearing a short black skirt, white blouse and starched white apron, approached with our drinks on a small round tray. I nodded for Phillip to shut up. As she put our drinks in front of us, she gave us the usual kind of restaurant greeting, "Hi my name is Emily, and I'll be your yada, yada, yada..." "Oh you don't have any bread!" she exclaimed, seemingly as agitated as if she had just spotted a dead rat in the middle of the table. "I'll get it for you right away." I immediately reached for my martini. My plan was to down it in one gulp, even though it was quite large. That way I could order another as soon as she got back. Phillip put his hand on my wrist and said, "Hey, slow down there. Don't you think we should make a toast?" "Phillip, if I don't get at least two of these into me really fast, I think I'm gonna totally freak out." And just at that moment, dear little Emily came back to place a basket of hot rolls on the table. The smell was heavenly. I again surprised myself when I gave Phillip an imploring, apologetic look while Emily worked to rearrange the table so the basket could go in what was apparently the only proper place for it. "Would you like to hear the specials now?" she asked, nodding her head as if she was answering her own question. Seeing the look on my face, Phillip said, "Tell you what dear, why don't you go get each of us another drink, just like the ones we have now, and when you come back, we'll order." "Okay?" she chirped, as if that was the best idea she had ever heard. She turned prettily on her heel and left. I envied her unconscious grace. I grabbed my drink and handed Phillip his. "I have a toast," I said, although I had no idea what I was going to say. After a moment's hesitation, which seemed to me like an hour, I just blurted out, "Here's to the hunkiest guy in the restaurant," and I hesitated for a moment, gave him a half smile, which I hoped he would take as ironic, and in a lower voice went on, "from the cutest." And I quickly took a big gulp of my drink. *What had I just said? I must have shit my brains out at some point during the day because I was acting like a bimbo.* But Phillip was obviously quite pleased. "You really think so?" he asked after taking a hit off his drink. "That I'm the cutest guy here tonight?" I answered preciously, opening my eyes wide and nodding my head just like Emily. "No question." And I held my drink out to the side, my pinky out straight, and raised my other hand, palm up, as if I was taking a bow. Then I tilted my head slightly, deeply shrugged my shoulders, and threw my hair back with a quick flick of my head as I gathered all my body parts back in towards the table. I gave Phillip, who was looking at me with rapt attention, my biggest smile. He had already started to take another hit as I went into this little act, and he almost spit it out as he started to laugh. I was quite proud of myself, and took another hit from my own glass. It was totally yummy. And I was sooo clever! But after he recovered, he replied. "You're not only cute," he said. "But you have a great ass and terrific legs." Now he was beaming at me. "What?" I sputtered, almost losing my drink this time. I somehow thought I should be offended, but couldn't generate any anger at all. In fact, it only took a moment's reflection, and what I hoped was an imperceptible wiggle of my butt, to realize that I actually felt good about what he had said. I didn't even bother to try to keep a smile off my face. "So that's why you spend so much time in the back court when we play racquetball," I said, feeling quite playful all of a sudden. "So you can look at my ass?" At that, he again burst out laughing, and I couldn't help it, I started to laugh too, looking down and hiding my mouth behind my fingertips, although I have no idea why. That really broke the ice, and after that, it just seemed really easy to be with him. "Do you really think I have a cute ass?" "What I'd really like is to feel it," he replied lasciviously. "In your dreams," I shot back. "I have a terrific woman in my life, and even though I can see that you really are quite endearing." He gave me that puppy dog look again. "I don't intend to have any men. They're just not my thing." "But we can be friends? Me and Sara?" "We'll see," I responded, trying to look thoughtful by wrinkling my brow and tucking my hair behind my left ear again. "Let's get through this evening first, and then we can take it a step at a time. I'm not the only one who has to make this decision." "Oh, don't worry about Rebecca. She'll go along with anything you want to do," he said brightly. "How do you know that?" I asked, suddenly suspicious, although the answer seemed obvious: they had discussed it. There had been plenty of time since he had first broached the idea of this date. Still a shiver or paranoia ran through me. What was Rebecca up to? Trying to recover from his apparent gaff he went on quickly. "I mean she loves you and everything, so I just... uhhh... I just figured she would do what ever you wanted." "Uh huh," I replied noncommittally, still suspicious. "No, really, I didn't.... I mean we didn't... we didn't talk about it all. Really." "Phillip," I responded, as if I was talking to a child, "I think you better just shut up. You've done enough damage already." *On the other hand,* I thought, *If what he says about Rebecca is true, this could mark a real turning point in our relationship. Sara could become a much bigger part.* But I decided to ditch that line of thought as Emily came back, looking eager as a puppy. As she placed my second martini on the table, I dug into the menu. We had, after all, promised to order when she came back. Dinner was exquisite, and totally fun. We had the classic caviar appetizer with blinis, chopped egg and capers. Phillip, of course, had steak, and I had a lobster. I didn't even have to go through the effort of getting it out of its shell. Oh no. This they did for me, and arranged it just so on top of some kind of exquisite polenta, with radicchio, and asparagus, seasoned in a way that made the lobster even more exquisite than I had ever imagined. Until this meal, I had thought that melted butter was the only way to eat lobster. Despite the second martini, we had a bottle of wine. By the time we were done with dinner, I was totally lit up, and Phillip was looking like some kind of minor god: he was handsome, charming and funny, and had me totally relaxed. Hell, he was so good, that by the time we got to dessert, he had me feeling almost like a minor goddess. Unfortunately, if I was any kind of goddess at all, I was a drunk one. I discovered this when I decided it was time to pee. As I got up, I teetered a bit. He jumped up to help me, and I accepted his hand as I steadied myself. Then I focused carefully on the door to the women's room, which was just outside the parlor where we were seated, and started off. I don't know what I was thinking, but I somehow fell into my best I-wish-I-was-on-a-catwalk strut, and when I got to the door, I turned over my shoulder to see if he was looking. He was! And he had the biggest grin on his face. Not only that, but each of the three guys in the room whose seats were facing the door were looking too. My face just lit up in a big smile. I don't know what I was thinking (actually, the next day, I decided I hadn't been thinking at all), but I gave them a little finger wave, and then, tossing my head back in the direction I was headed, I swiveled my way out of the room, my hair flowing behind my head I thought I heard one guy almost choke as I left. The women's room was just gorgeous, but I really didn't have time to appreciate it on the way in. Thankfully, the stalls were open, because I had really waited too long to go, and was on the verge of a disaster by the time I got my skirt up and pantyhose and panties down and let go. I sat there with my face in my hands, wondering what the hell I was doing, besides peeing that is. I knew I was doing that. As I sat there, I started to think about the other women in the room. One of them was really tan, but wore a shade of coral pink lipstick that looked just horrible next to her skin. Thinking of it made me wrinkle my nose. Maybe I should recommend that she see Ronni. Her husband was also quite tan, but he had a rather obvious and totally unattractive pot belly. Thinking of it made me wrinkle my nose again. Then there was the woman who must have been nearly 60, judging by the crow's feet around her eyes, but her ultra blonde hair was exquisitely coiffed, making me feel like a dorky teenager with my simple style. Her husband also looked gorgeous: tall, trim and perfectly groomed. If I was into older men. . . . And the woman at the table next to them was rather plain, but she had diamond studs in her ears that were as big as Phillip's BMW. And come to think of it, a shiny deep blue jersey dress that swept around her body in an enviable way. She had curves I could only dream of. And here I was stuck in my well constructed suit. I was really envious. But I didn't much like her date. He was dressed rather too casually for this place and couldn't sit still. He would have driven me crazy in ten minutes if he had been my date. And when I had looked back into the room while strutting out, he was leering at me in a creepy way. I took my time fixing my makeup, being especially careful with my lipstick, which, except for the pencil line had totally worn off. I filled in my lips with a brush, and then, just as Rebecca had taught me the other night, I added a touch of lip gloss right in the middle of my bottom lip so it would glisten. I studied myself in the mirror for a moment, and quickly reached into my purse for a comb. Patting my hair into place, I had a stunning revelation. I had studied the other women, but not as a man might. I was interested in their hair and clothes and their dates, who I had considered as my own potential dates! Sara really was the one out tonight; Michael, was nowhere to be found. With a final look in the mirror, I took a big breath, and promising myself I wouldn't do anything else to embarrass myself, I headed back to our table. As I entered the parlor, I adopted a far more modest version of the catwalk strut I had used on the way out. But no one was looking. Everyone's attention was now focused on our table. Phillip was signing autographs and chatting comfortably with a variety of young men and women. It suddenly struck me that perhaps no one at all had noticed me on the way in - they had all been looking at Phillip, the football star with his rather plain date! And I knew just what they had been thinking, "Why in the world is he wasting his time with her?" At that moment I noticed that a very curvy brunette showing lots of cleavage, was in my chair! That just wouldn't do. "Hi Phillip," I chirped as I got back to the table. The girl who was in my seat stared at me blankly, perhaps thinking I was another fan, so she didn't move. "Would you mind," I asked archly, planting a hip next to her face and staring down at her. "Uh..., uh," she stuttered, before finally deciding to get up. "Thank you so much," I said sarcastically as I pulled the seat out to get into it without ever looking at her, but instead turning a big smile towards Phillip who was still writing. The others had melted away by now, but the brunette was still waiting. After a moment Phillip handed her a piece of paper, and said, "Here you go, Courtney. Thanks for stopping by." She gave him a full smile, turned to me, shot me a disdainful look, and left. "Don't tell me you were jealous," Phillip said with a big smile. "Were you afraid my dear friend Courtney was going to steal me away from you?" Yes, I was, for a moment anyway. But I wasn't going to admit that to him. So, laying my napkin back on my lap with an exaggerated pat of both hands, I said, "I think I'm drunk. Perhaps you better take me home before I try to take advantage of you." He laughed briefly, and asked, somewhat snidely, "Don't you have that backwards?" "No," I exclaimed as quietly as I could, while I reached my foot up and rubbed his leg with the pointy toe of my shoe. His eyes went wide and I quickly pulled my leg back under my chair. Then, I started giggling. "Damn, you are drunk. I had better get you home before you make me do something to break my word to you." So we skipped dessert, and headed home. The cold air in the parking lot must have sobered me up some, because when we got into the car, I felt really embarrassed, but I still couldn't keep my mouth shut. "Phillip, I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't embarrass you in there. I don't know what came over me. I've never behaved like that before," I babbled. After a few minutes of more of the same, Phillip almost shouted, "Sara. Shut up." Stunned, I clamped my hands over my mouth. He burst out laughing. "Phillip! Don't make fun of me! I must have humiliated both of us. I was so anxious I just lost control. I've never been like that. Really! Usually when I drink, I just get quiet." "Sara," he soothed. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, really." He nodded his head at me, just like TV anchors do, although for some reason, when he did it, he didn't look quite as stupid as when they do it. "Are you sure?" I asked, really needing to be reassured. "Yes. I'm sure," he said, patting my thigh. Because I had failed to pull the hem of my skirt down once I had gotten into the car, his hand landed on skin protected only by nylon. I was so startled by the sensation of his hand on my skin, that I felt almost as if I had been branded. I looked down, aghast, my heart accelerating, and my mouth going dry. That was way too familiar! But his hand was already back on the steering wheel, and his eyes focused on the road, like nothing had happened. I myself really wasn't sure what had happened, but he had either just treated my like a woman friend he was familiar with, and who needed a little reassurance, or he had just come on to me, just a little. I had no idea what to do. But I had to ask. "Phillip?" "Yeah," he replied, slowing down to take a curve, and sounding like nothing was amiss. "What did you just do?" "Oh shit!" he exclaimed, turning his head quickly to glance at me. "I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean anything by that. Really." He turned to me again. "It was just a reflex. You were so uptight and I wanted to help you relax. Really. I won't do it again I promise!" And he almost missed the next curve, forcing him to break hard. "Really," he exclaimed again after we had passed through the turn. "I was just so comfortable with you I forgot. It won't happen again. I promise." "Okay," I replied, now much more relaxed. "Don't worry about it. I won't break if you touch me." He looked at me quickly to see what I was talking about. Once he had turned back to the road, I patted his hand. "Really, I'm okay. I was just surprised. I don't think anyone has ever patted my thigh before." "Did you like it?" He asked, his voice betraying a certain nervousness that kept the question from being offensive. "Phillip, don't get your hopes up." "Hmmph," he replied. We were both silent for the rest of the ride. When we got home, he helped me out of the car, and escorted me to the door. As I fished in my purse for my keys, he asked, "You want to play racquetball tomorrow?" "Huh?" I replied as I pulled them out. "You know, hitting balls off walls with a racquet?" he replied, as if talking to an alien. "I need a partner for doubles." "Well, maybe, what time? I need to ask Rebecca." "Uh, we have a court at two, my new club. You haven't been there yet." I nodded as we entered the house. I could hear the TV going in the den. "Well, she's still up, let's ask her," I said as I turned and started to take my coat off. "Here, let me get that," he said, lifting if off my shoulders and then reaching into our closet to put it on a hanger. I loved having that done for me. Then he took my arm and escorted me into the den. "Rebecca, we're home," I shouted, to alert her. "Sara," she squealed as she jumped up off the couch to greet us. "How did it go? Oh, hi, Phil. You're here too?" "Philip wants to play racquetball tomorrow at 2:00. Is that okay?" "Yeah, I want to play doubles with Sara," he added evenly, causing me to choke. "Whaa..." I started to say at the same moment Rebecca said, "You're going to play racquetball as Sara? That's so totally awesome." "No, wait! I didn't say that!" "We can go out shopping for an outfit for you in the morning!" Rebecca went on. That will be so much fun!" "But I never..." "Sara!" Rebecca interrupted. "It'll be perfect - a great experience for you. You've just got to..." I looked back and forth at the two of them. Had they set me up? I couldn't tell. Rebecca was excited and Phillip simply smiled. Did I want to do this? "Call me in the morning Phillip," I said as forcefully as I could. "Let me see how I feel, okay?" "Sure, I'll call around 11:00. I have no intention of getting up before that in any case." "Well, that's something we can both agree on. Why don't you leave me alone with Rebecca, so I can try to figure out what happened tonight." "Sure Sara, you're the greatest," he agreed. Then with a big goofy grin on his face he turned to Rebecca and said, "She's quite the young lady. Who knew?" Rebecca just giggled, leaving Phillip and me just standing there awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. Finally, but in a rather haughty tone of voice, Rebecca said "Sara, didn't your mother teach you any manners? The polite thing for a young lady to do is to show her date to the door. If you're lucky, maybe he'll give you a goodnight kiss." Then she laughed outright, apparently quite impressed with her own sense of humor. Giving her a rather sour look, I turned to Phillip and said, "Don't you dare." He just gave me a don't-be-silly grin, so I took his arm, which somehow seemed safer than his hand, and led him to the door. When we got there, I turned to face him and said, "Phillip, thank you for an amazing evening. I really had fun. Maybe we can do something like it again, but even if we don't, I want you to know it's been one of the highlights of Sara's life." Then, I thought about what Rebecca had told me about how women might end an evening like this, and closing my eyes, I leaned up and gave Phillip a quick peck on the cheek. Thankfully, he accepted it gracefully, saying, "Sara, I really want to see you again. You're terrific." And he turned and opened the door, stepped out and headed down the walk without looking back. "Shit," I sighed to myself as I closed the door. "What the fuck happened tonight?" Even after I had described it to Rebecca in excruciating detail over some hot tea, I still wasn't sure what it all meant. I did know, however, that I really wanted to go out again with Phillip. *** Chapter VI Sara's Got Game When Phillip called the next morning at 11:00, Rebecca and I (which is to say Sara) were already up and dressed and finishing a light breakfast. I was only a little hung over, which, I believed, was because I had started my little binge last night with vodka instead of scotch. Had it been scotch.... Although I was totally sure I didn't want to do it, Rebecca insisted I go play racquetball with Phillip, after I went shopping with her for some "really cute" outfits. I must say that Rebecca always looked totally put together at the gym, while I was totally comfortable looking like I had just arrived from Albania in the hold of a junk freighter. That simply wouldn't do today, so after Phillip, who Rebecca coerced into paying for everything, and I arranged to meet at his new club, Rebecca and I were off to shop for Sara's first racquetball wardrobe. We headed straight to the Ski and Racquet Station, which was well known for its large selection of sexy athletic wear for women. It also had a great selection of racquetball equipment. All the serious local players shopped there. When I left to head for Phillip's club, I was wearing the cutest, hooded, powder blue warm-up suit, with three hot pink strips down the arms and legs, and curved pink panels on the sides of the jacket, which Rebecca insisted gave it a slimming look. Underneath, I had packed my nuts up into my groin and tucked my penis back between my legs, using a gaff to hold them all tightly in place, I hoped. A sturdy black sports bra with a T-back squashed my breasts close to my chest, although, as I turned from side to side, imitating my swing to test it, it didn't seem tight enough. "Honey, Rebecca said, holding up a really cool, printed tank top, "this would look terrific over that bra, really hot." "Not a chance. I've seen too many women wearing combinations like that and they are hot. The only thing you forget is that I don't want men staring at me. I'm sure you don't either." "Well, how do you know you're attractive if men don't look at you?" she asked, looking me up and down and leering like a man might. "Rebecca, stop teasing me! I'm wearing this: I held up a pale pink, cotton-lycra, short sleeve leotard that zipped from the neck to the navel and snapped at the crotch, layering a slightly oversized reddish- purple tank over that. I added midnight blue compression pants, figuring that with those, the leotard, and the gaff, I was pretty sure not to pop out. Deep violet nylon running shorts, and racquetball shoes with hot pink inserts finished me off. This was a lot more complicated than my usual jock strap, ratty shorts, and torn cotton tee, but damn, it sure looked better. Rebecca was thrilled, flitting around me like a hummingbird that had just discovered a dish full of sugar water. Hell, I was thrilled too. Rebecca soon discovered a set of purplish wrist and head bands, which even I could see went perfectly with my outfit, including my nails. I was wearing my own hair, which I blew out carefully before we left home, and light blush, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick, even though almost no women wear makeup to the gym. I figured I could say that I just came from a post-church lunch with my family if anyone asked. Still, I was so well dressed in all new clothes that I felt like a store mannequin, and I knew I would stand out at the gym as one of those "girly-girls," who everyone looked at with both disdain and admiration. But as I studied myself in the dressing room mirror, I didn't care because I decided that I was totally delighted by how I looked. A new black gym bag with purple piping around the edges and some kind of deep purple abstract design printed on the fabric, and assorted other pieces of equipment, like a couple of new gloves, and I was good to go: Connecticut's first ever trannie racquetball star. But once Rebecca had paid for everything (I couldn't very well use a credit card that said, "Michael Cohen," could I?), she pulled me back into the dressing room, and pushed me into one of the cubicles. "Here," put these on," she said, holding out her hand. In it were two rather dark brown nipples, the soft plastic kind that fit on top of breast forms to... well you know. They weren't gigantic, maybe a quarter inch long and twice as wide, but they would show clearly through my bra and leotard. "Not a chance." I shot back, horrified. "Ohhh yes, I insist." Rebecca replied calmly. I looked at her like she was crazy. She cocked her head in that way that she does and smiled back at me in a kindly way, creases forming at the corners of her eyes. "But why?" I asked plaintively, slowly beginning to understand that the argument was in fact over and that she had won. "I'll be embarrassed." "Have you ever stared at a woman whose nipples had hardened under her workout clothes?" she asked, arching one eyebrow at me and again holding out her hand. "Welcome to our world." What could I say? What could I do? I started to undress. A few minutes later we were back out in the store. Under all the clothes I was wearing, no one could see anything, even though I felt like I was wearing a set of flashing emergency beacons on my breasts. I got to the gym a little early, and after parking, walked up to the big front doors. There I was, reflected in the mirrored glass in all my glory. Really, I looked great. But all of a sudden I got really anxious. *What was I thinking?* I thought. *How can I possibly convince anyone that I'm a girl once I start playing? How in the hell does a girl play anyway? * And as my anxiety drove me to start fluffing my hair out with my fingers, I saw, people coming behind me. *Shit.* I rushed to open the door before they could ask me why I was just standing there. I entered the busy lobby with a big, fake smile pasted on my face and those flashing beacons on my chest. For a moment, a very long moment, everyone looked at me. *Oh shit! They can tell.* Of course they couldn't, and after quick, appraising once-overs, the women went right back to what they were doing, as did most of the men. In fact, they turned away so quickly that my smile fled from my face as I suddenly started to worry that I was unattractive, not even worth looking at. But thankfully, a couple of the men looked a little longer, clearly checking me out. One looked even longer than the rest and gave me a big smile when I noticed him looking. Relieved that at least one person found me interesting, but not at all willing to get into a conversation with a stranger, I returned his smile with a perfunctory thin-lipped smile of my own, and headed over to the racquetball courts to watch people play and warm up. I had just straightened up from a calf hugging straight-kneed hamstring stretch when I was enveloped from behind by a gigantic force, which was kissing my neck before I knew what had happened. I almost jumped out of my skin as I spun around, right into Phillip's face. He looked thoroughly amused by my response, and I could tell he was just about to laugh. "Don't you dare laugh!" I said, trying to sound put upon while at the same time keeping my voice in its girl range, as I pushed him away. "And who said you could kiss my neck?" "Darlin', you are just too delicious not to kiss," he drawled, as if he was from Nashville instead of San Francisco Inside I beamed, but I refused to flirt back. "Shit, shuga," I snorted, turning on my own really lousy southern accent, "Y'awl better keep your hands to yourself, or you'll be one lonesome cowboy." In response, he went into that sad puppy look he did so well. Two beats later he laughed, and gave me a big hug. I couldn't help it. I laughed too. *What am I going to do with him?* I thought as I put my arms around his upper back to return his hug as chastely as I could. *He is just irrepressible. And I can't help it; he just makes me feel great. I just wish he'd stop pushing my boundaries; there's no way I can let him go where he wants.* "Hey Phil," a wiry fellow with long dark hair and what was either a short beard or simply a three-day unshaven growth, called out just as I started to take off my warm up pants. I knew him; he was one of the "A" players who hung out at several gyms around the area. He was a