Bridesmaid Bethany Chapter 4
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Bridesmaid Bethany--Chapter Six free porn video
I certainly felt as though there was an extra spring in my step when I
arrived at work that evening, stepping off of the with my new hairdo--my
real hair!--swirling around my head as I clicked across the marble floor
to the gasps of my co-workers.
"Oh my goodness!" Lisa shreiked. "Bethany! Turn around!"
I did.
"I love it!" She scurried over to me and put her arms around my waist.
"But where did you get it done?"
"Carrie's mom took me to the VIP Day Spa," I said.
"That is so cute!" Alice, one of the servers, said. She had apparently
been conferring with Lisa. "Lisa," Alice said now, "why can't Bethany
do it?"
I looked at Lisa. She glanced away from me. "Bethany?" she said.
"Why can't Bethany do what?" I asked.
"You said she couldn't do it before because of her hair."
"Do what before?" I asked.
"Do we have a uniform for her?" Lisa asked.
"We should," Alice said. "Bethany, can you help me out tonight?"
Help Alice out? I usually worked back in the office. "Why?" I asked.
"We need a server in the club room," Alice explained. "A private party
for Zamora & Lersch. Scott was supposed to work it, but he just called
in."
"I don't know if I can."
"It's easy, sweetie," Lisa told me. "It's only going to be a couple of
dozen people. Drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Alice can help you."
"I don't know," I said.
"It would really help us out," Alice told me.
"But I don't know if I'd fool anybody," I said.
"Sure you will," Lisa told me.
"Not if I have to talk with them."
"You're fine," Alice said. "As far as any of us is concerned, you're
not a man at all."
That was what was starting to eat at me. Dressing up for fun was, well,
fun; dressing up in a work uniform and going to work was, well, a decent
way to earn a living for the time being. As I glanced over at my
reflection in the elevator door, at my new hairdo, I felt an odd twinge:
on the one hand, I felt prettier than ever, but on the other hand, I
felt that my masculinity was slipping further and further beyond my
grasp. As I raised a French-tipped finger to move the hair away from my
eyes, I realized that as I was no longer wearing a wig, I was free to
simply run my fingers through my freshly bobbed and fluffed 'do, and so
I did.
"Let's get you changed," Lisa said, motioning for me to follow her down
to the uniform room.
"I'll meet you downstairs," Alice told me. I briefly scanned her
server's uniform and tried not to frown. Female servers at the club
wore matching grey vests and A-line skirts, with white shirts and floppy
red bow ties. At least the men's uniforms looked somewhat normal, with
standard red neckties and grey dress pants. I sighed and followed Lisa
up the hall. What a waste to iron this blouse and skirt, I thought,
only to have to take it off five minutes into my shift.
"Those servers uniforms are so dorky," I told Lisa when we were inside
the uniform room.
"Oh, hush," Lisa said, handing me a white ladies dress shirt, still in
the wrapper.
"Is there any chance I could ever do the club a favor like this as, you
know, a man?"
"Not tonight you couldn't," Lisa said, handing me a skirt on a hanger.
"But ever?"
Lisa shrugged. "Is that what you want?" she asked, as I took off my
jacket.
"Well," I said, "unlike the hostesses, there are males who work here as
servers and dress as men." I reached for my wrists began to unbutton
the little pearl cuff buttons, surprised at how deft I had gotten at
doing so with my long nails.
"Well," Lisa said from behind me as she began to unbutton the buttons
down my back, "you could cut your nails and shave your head, but then
everybody will think you've gotten a sex change."
"So?" I asked.
"It might make people uncomfortable."
"And I don't make people uncomfortable now?" I pulled the tails of my
blouse out of my skirt and let it fall forward before reaching behind my
waist to unzip my skirt.
"Sweetie, you can't grow back your eyebrows overnight either," Lisa
said.
I sighed, and looked over at my reflection in a nearby mirror for the
hundredth time that day. My new hair--well, my real hair--was slightly
mussed, but that only made it look more feminine. But now I could see
my body, encased from the waist down in a pair of tan, control top
pantyhose, the cotton breather absurdly positioned over my penis and
testicles, which carefully tucked into a pair of granny panties. My
upper body was completely shaved and clad now in a pair of breast forms
and a white bra. Who would I be kidding, anyway?
Lisa had removed the plastic from the crisp, white, ladies blouse, and
was unbuttoning the buttons for me. I took the skirt off the hanger and
inspected it. "It zips on the side, sweetie," Lisa told me, and
amazingly, I instinctively knew which side: the left side. Just about
all ladieswear either buttoned or zipped up the left side, rather than
the right.
Lisa handed me the white top, and I slipped my hairless arms into the
sleeves. It was no exception; it was mostly identical to a men's white
dress shirt with a button-down collar, except it buttoned on the left
and contained seaming designed to better fit a womanly chest. I
buttoned it up halfway, stopping to look down at my chest, now somewhat
more provocative what with the hint of shadowy cleavage between my
breasts.
I stepped into the grey skirt, pulled it up to my waist, fastened the
side clasp, and pulled up the zipper. Already I was starting to
resemble a schoolgirl more than anything else; all I needed were white
knee socks.
The skirt was somewhat looser than the pencil skirts the hostesses
wore. I pulled it up and reached underneath to pull down the tails of
the blouse, then began to finish buttoning myself in.
I struggled with the collar button; Lisa reached up and helped me.
"Hold still, sweetie" she said, managing to close the collar tightly
around my neck. It reminded me of how it felt to wear a men's suit, a
feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time.
Lisa had unbuttoned the little collar buttons, and now she turned the
collar up to wrap the floppy bowtie around my neck. It wasn't a clip-
on, but close to it--it was pre-tied, and hooked together on the side.
She adjusted it so that it sat flush against the collar button, folded
down the starchy, scratchy collar, and then fastened the little collar
buttons, securing the bow at my throat.
I sighed, and turned to the mirror again. My hair was still fluffed, my
earrings still sparkly, my eyebrows still narrow and feminine, and now,
for the next few hours, everybody who looked at me would see my face
framed by this silly, floppy red bow.
The red remained in my peripheral vision as I slipped into the vest.
Again, as with the rest of my wardrobe and now, it seemed, my life, it
was for women only, cut to accommodate breasts and buttoning on the
left.
Lisa reached up and gently adjusted the bow. "I love you," she
whispered.
I nodded and buttoned the last button on the vest.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said, staring glumly at my new look. It was but a feminine
approximation of a men's uniform, the material thick and mannish but the
cut interpreted for a woman's body. I reached up and touched the silly
little floppy bowtie with a long nail and realized that I had long ago
resigned whatever male privilege to which I may once have been entitled.
As a server, albeit a temporary one (hopefully), my wardrobe was
designed to be but a feminine echo of the standard male uniform.
"Go down and help Alice," Lisa whispered. "It'll just be till eight.
This works, because then I need you to run by the liquor store and pick
up some stuff for Carrie's bachelorette party."
Ironically, in working the banquet, it was my muscle which was needed
the most, as most of the evening was spent lifting--shuttling covered
plates of food from the alto-shaam to a tray, then carrying the tray out
to the banquet room for Alice to serve to the guests. It was a bit
strange to feel my long nails clicking against the underside of the
tray, but I must admit it did feel good to have a loose skirt flowing
around my knees as I walked--a welcome relief from the somewhat
overheated atmosphere of the kitchen. Alice was very helpful--and
grateful for my help--and other than a couple of the teenaged boys in
attendance who gave me something of an ingratiating smile, I was mostly
treated by the guests as though I were invisible. In this instance, I
welcomed the slight.
After Alice thanked me for helping her, I retreated into a small
employee ladies room that was mostly used by the women who worked in the
kitchen; once inside, I locked the door, pulled up my skirt, pulled down
my pantyhose and panties and sat down, staring glumly across the room at
my reflection in the mirror. My hair still looked rather cute, and my
floppy bowtie still looked charming, but it soon dawned on me as I began
to tinkle that since this was a single-use ladies' room, and that I had
locked myself inside, there really was no reason why I couldn't have
stood to pee this time. I had done so solely out of habit borne of
using the stalls of public ladies rooms, where it was necessary for any
prying eyes to see my toes pointing away from the toilet. As the
process of urination had already begun, I was forced to remain in my
seat until my bladder was successfully voided, allowing me plenty of
time for the metaphor of this squatting potty break to sink in: I was
far too committed to living as a woman, or as a man who chose to live in
women's clothing, to back out now. What once seemed fun, a cheap
thrill, was beginning to seem like a burden; when I had first dressed as
a southern belle for an afternoon, it was somewhat of a relief to know
that eventually I would be able to resume my life as a male, as
uninteresting as those activities were, but as I gently dabbed at my
penis, tucked it back into my groin and pulled up my pantyhose, I had no
idea what sort of masculine existence I had in my future; as I powdered
my nose and freshened my lipstick, I had no idea when I would be able to
remove this disguise...as though it was still a wig and makeup job, and
not my own teased hair and waxed eyebrows I was dealing with.
On Lisa's instructions, I stopped by a liquor store on the way home to
pick up a bottle of Southern Comfort for Carrie's bachelor party. Not
being one to drink, I needed to peruse several aisles of bottles before
finding what I was looking for, as I wasn't in the mood to ask for help.
After taking the bottle, I went up the the front of the store where
there were two people ahead of me in line. I stifled a groan, tucked
the bottle underneath my arm, and reflexively tightened squeezed my
purse between my arm and side. This liquor store seemed somewhat
nastier inside than I had assumed before entering, and the two men ahead
of me struck me as somewhat thuggish. I noticed a TV monitor behind the
counter, positioned above the shelves of cigarette cartons. My shaven
legs were clearly visible below my hemline, and the distinct red of my
floppy bowtie stood out against the drab grey of my vest as well as the
rest of the liquor store interior; a glint of sparkle could be detected
at the base of my earlobe as well. Another man got in line behind me.
I wondered if he was checking out the taut backside of my grey skirt.
The man in front of me was collecting his change, and I looked down from
the TV screen to see the man behind the counter smirking at me. I
stepped forward and put the bottle on the counter, then unzipped my
purse in search of my wallet.
"I'm going to need to see some I.D.," he said.
A proverbial chill went down my spine; of course, I had no I.D. saying
that my name was Bethany, nor any type of card with any type of photo of
myself in drag. I took a deep breath, and without looking up, I fumbled
through my wallet and pulled out my driver's licence.
He took it, studied it, looked up at me, then back down at the card
again. His face, which wasn't the type that seemed prone to smiling
very much, suddenly broke into a wry half-grin. He looked up at me,
nodded, and handed me back my I.D.
"Real cute bowtie there," he said, scanning the barcode on the back of
the bottle.
I just nodded and handed him a twenty.
He took it, opened the register drawer, and began to gather my change.
"Did you want a bag, sir?" he asked.
"No thank you," I said quietly. I felt as though I'd been punched.
He dropped the bottle into a brown paper bag, handed me my change, and
said, "Come again," in a voice that hinted that he was on the verge of
cracking up.
The silly little bowtie felt so tight around my neck just then that I
was finding it hard to breathe. Shaking, I took the change, dumped it
into my open purse, and grabbed the bottle. Without my wig, I felt
especially naked as I caught a glimpse of my reflection as I pushed
through the front door. Behind me I could hear laughter, that was
mercifully muted as the door closed behind me.
As eager as I was to leave, I nonetheless took a moment to gather my
skirt before sliding in behind the wheel.
Virginia
- 07.07.2022
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