The Count of Monte CristoChapter 58 M Noirtier de Villefort
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Dinner For Two free porn video
Dinner for two (part one)
For a few years I've had an account on a photo sharing website under the
name of Deborah Rhodes. That's not my real name of course. My real name
is Richard. Deborah Rhodes is my feminine name. You see, I'm a
transvestite (or t-girl as I call myself).
By the way I usually refer to myself as Debs.
Although I like to dress as a woman, I can't explain why I like it so
much. I've always regarded myself as 100 per cent straight. I'm married.
I have a lovely wife called Louise. We have three children; two at
university and one who has just embarked on a 'career'.
As I said, I am straight. I have no interest in men. I don't fancy them
at all. No really. Not at all. On my account profile it says 'No male
admirers please.' You can't get clearer than that, can you?
Except that some guys seem to think that 'No male admirers please' means
the exact opposite. They don't seem to understand the meaning of the
word no. They don't seem to believe that I can be a transvestite but I
am not interested in men.
I usually delete messages from male admirers without even starting to
read them. I always delete them if the sender has a name like Eight inch
Phil or Sussex Sex God or if the sender's profile picture shows a photo
of a private part of his body - a part he should keep private.
One evening I was on my computer when a note popped up saying I'd
received a message. It was from someone called Steve Lancs. Can't he
read?
But I was bored. Steve Lancs' profile picture didn't have a picture of
his cock. So curious, I opened the message. It ran:
Hi Debs
I love your photos. You look so feminine and so pretty. My favourite is
the photo #31. Would you like me to take you out for dinner some time?
Just a meal, I promise. I hope you are interested.
Steve
This was different from all the previous messages I'd bothered to read.
They all were on the lines of 'I'd like to pull down your frilly panties
and ...' I think you can probably work out the rest.
I was intrigued. Could I really go out for dinner with a man? Photo 31
was one I'd taken at home with a tripod and self-timer. I was wearing a
denim mini- skirt, black fishnets, stilettos and a pink top. Could I go
out for dinner with a man who liked me wearing a short denim skirt? That
denim skirt is probably my shortest skirt and barely covering my
panties. I'd never dare go out in a skirt that short. Still photo #31
was rather tasteful, though I say so myself. Quite artistic.
I clicked on Steve's profile picture. Steve's photostream opened. There
were only about six photos. I was impressed.
Firstly there were certainly no cock pictures - a good start.
Secondly there were no pictures of other t-girls that Steve was
pretending were all his friends, i.e. his conquests.
Thirdly the pictures were clear - unlike the usual blurred and heavily
cropped photos.
Fourthly all the photos were of the same man - presumably Steve. One
photo was taken of him in front of the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin,
another in the mountains of Switzerland. I couldn't recognise the other
locations but I could see our Steve was obviously a bit of a traveller.
Steve was, I guessed, in his mid-forties like me. He was slim and wiry.
Flecks of grey appeared in his hair but he had no signs of premature
baldness. No middle aged paunch either. He was casual but smart and
looked athletic. Did he work out?
He looked a nice guy - the sort of guy who would be a friend of my male
persona, Richard. I could imagine going to a pub with him on a Friday
night, having a couple of pints and chatting about football, the
economic crisis or the latest films.
But could I go for a meal with him while I'm wearing a dress, wig,
makeup and heels? If I'd said yes straight away, I might have looked too
keen. If I'd said no straight away, I might have sounded too snooty. I
decided to think about it.
Louise wouldn't be problem. I often go for a tranny night out. I
normally tell her a few days in advance that I'm going out in Manchester
or Leeds or wherever. I didn't need to tell her about Steve.
She doesn't seem to mind me going off on tranny nights. Maybe she's
happy to have some time to herself. She asks me no questions about my
cross-dressing and I tell her no lies.
Sometimes I go out just for the evening. At other times, particularly if
I can wangle the next morning off work I stay over in a cheap hotel.
Staying in a hotel is best. No driving home so I'm able to have a few
drinks. As long as Steve doesn't think he can share my room.
And what would I wear? In most of the photos of me posted on the web I'm
wearing a short mini-skirt. If I wore something as short as that, it
would send out the wrong sort of message to Steve.
I'd love to have the chance to wear my PVC dom dress but maybe I'll save
it for another occasion.
There was that turquoise sweater dress I bought last autumn but it
really is short even if it is cute. I know I look hot in it, but that's
not the image I want to portray.
That black pencil skirt was knee length and begging to be worn. But when
I sit down it rides up so high.
I hadn't the time to go shopping.
What about my little black dress? I've always liked how my legs look in
that dress. With the hem three or four inches above the knee it's not
indecent and it looks good with black tights or stockings and black
court shoes. It would be fine for dinner with Steve if I was careful
sitting down.
Two days later I still hadn't made up my mind. I'd better reply now, I
thought. Any longer and he'll know I've been debating it in my mind.
He'll know that I've been seriously considering it.
I read his message again. I really wasn't interested in men but I was
curious. Was this too good an opportunity to miss? Or was I being set
up?
I know he looks a nice guy but that still might not be him. He might
really look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. He might say he wants just
a meal but really want something else. How do I know he's telling the
truth? Within a minute of meeting him, he might have his hand up my
dress.
I decided to decline. I hit reply.
Hi Steve
It was very sweet of you to offer to take me out for dinner. I'm very
flattered but I'm just not interested in guys.
Sorry.
Debs
No kisses. No hugs. Nothing leading him on. I hit the send button. I got
a reply within the hour.
Hi Debs
If you were just not interested in guys, you would have replied straight
away. You've been thinking about it and are curious. Go on. Change your
mind. Say yes. I promise you'll enjoy yourself.
Steve
xxx
P.S. The little black dress in photo #14 would be just right.
Thinking about it and curious? OMG he can read my mind. Three kisses?
The little black dress in photo #14? This was the dress I'd been
thinking of wearing. Better reply straight away this time.
Hi Steve
When I say no, I mean no.
Sorry.
Debs
Within a few minutes I got a reply:
Hi Debs
When you say no, I think you mean yes. You know you want to. That black
dress will be just perfect.
Steve
xxx
You know you want to? He's reading my mind again. The black dress? Well
why not. It is one of my favourites.
I decided to leave it 24 hours and then decide. I was decisively
indecisive. I genuinely couldn't make up my mind. I had half a mind to
discuss it with Louise but that would have been a bad idea.
I made a list. Good points and bad points.
Good points:
* Satisfy my curiosity
* A tranny night out
* He was very keen
* He was paying
* He said he wasn't interested in anything other than polite company
over dinner
Bad points:
* All men are lying bastards
* I knew nothing about him. Was it him in the photos? Was he married?
Would he be good company?
I got another message from him:
Hi Debs
You know you want to. You'll look gorgeous in that LBD.
Steve
xxx
I really was in two minds. I decided to put myself in the hands of fate.
I'd toss a coin. Heads means yes. Tails means no. I picked up a 50 pence
coin and spun it into the air. It hit the floor with a metallic clang.
Heads!
Heads! I'd be going out for dinner dressed as Debs. With a man. Was I
pleased or disappointed? I must confess that I was glad it hadn't landed
tails. I was intrigued. I wanted to meet Steve. I was already looking
forward to it.
I went back to the computer. There was already a new message from Steve.
Debs
You know you want to wear that LBD
Steve
xxx
I sat down to draft my reply. It took me about half an hour - the
wording had to be just right.
Hi Steve
After a lot of thought I have decided to accept your kind offer of
dinner. Thank you. But it must be on my terms:
1. You will be smartly dressed in a suit.
2. I will be dressed appropriately as Debs
3. It will be in Manchester
4. It will be on a Wednesday (t-girl night)
5. We will meet up in Canal Street at 8 o'clock
6. We will go to a restaurant and afterwards we may visit a bar or a
club
7. You will pay for all food and drinks
8. You can look but you can't touch
9. No afters
10. I said you can look but you can't touch.
Debs
I hit send and imagined Steve at the other end reading my reply. Would
he accept my terms? Would he haggle over any of them? Were they
negotiable? Having got this far I would have been disappointed to have
called it off now. But I would have done if he didn't accept my terms.
I hibernated the computer. I didn't want to sit there waiting for a
reply. I went to the kitchen. I made Louise and myself a cup of tea. We
chatted about going away for a weekend in Scarborough. I returned to the
computer and checked my messages.
Hi Debs
You'd better take that LBD to the dry-cleaners.
Thank you for accepting my offer. I am happy with all your terms. I can
do the 12th or the 26th of this month.
Steve
xxx
OMG. The 12th. That's next week. Only 8 days away. I switched to
Outlook and my electronic diary. I had no problem with either date. The
sooner the better. Is eight days enough to plan what to wear, make sure
it's all clean, plan my makeup and hair.
I couldn't see why not. I could have a dry run at the weekend just to
make sure everything was OK, trying out clothes, wigs, makeup, etc.
Hi Steve
Let's go for the 12th, shall we? We will meet at the corner of Canal
Street and Sackville Street at 8 p.m. prompt. Don't you dare be late.
This girl doesn't like to hang around on street corners. My mobile
number is 079** *** ***. Ring me if you have any problems.
We'll walk to a restaurant - not too far or too fast, as I'll be in
heels. Don't forget, you must be in a suit.
BTW I don't know if I'll wear the LBD. I won't decide what to wear till
the weekend.
Debs
Within a few minutes he replied. He would be wearing a dark grey suit,
white shirt and red tie. I put his phone number into my iPhone straight
away. We'd fixed on the 12th. I went online and booked a room in my
usual hotel, just 200 yards from Canal Street. Of course, now I was
regretting my decision. I had cold feet. For the rest of the day,
whenever I thought of dinner with Steve, the palms of my hands went all
tingly and a little bit clammy. Was I really that nervous?
Over the next few days, I told Louise that I would be going to
Manchester the following week. I would go on a regular basis to my
wardrobe, go through about 10 outfits and reject them all! Occasionally
I'd try something on or put a top and a skirt next to each other on the
bed to see if they worked or not.
I could always fall back on the little black dress. Steve had liked it
but when I looked on my photo sharing account, I noticed that in photo
#14 the LBD had risen up my thigh a little. It was little longer than
the minidresses in the other pictures. Was Steve expecting me in a
minidress?
I tried the dress on. It was OK - an appropriate length for dinner in a
restaurant. I just had to be careful sitting down. By Sunday I had
decided on the LBD, black holdup sheer stockings, black court shoes with
a four inch heel. I'd wear a black jacket to keep back the worst of
autumn's weather. I would go for a dark chestnut shoulder length wig
which was one of my favourites but did not say slut or bimbo.
I arranged to visit a customer around 2.30 on the following Wednesday.
The meeting would finish around 3.30 and there would be no need to go
back to the office. So I would head straight for Manchester. In the boot
would be a suitcase of clothes and wigs and a backpack of makeup and
shoes.
I'd also fixed the Thursday morning off work
All went according to plan. It took an hour or so to get to Manchester.
I parked in a car park and checked in at the hotel. By the time I'd got
into my room it was nearly five o'clock. I made myself a cup of tea and
then started to get ready.
I'd done this dozens of times before but never for dinner with a guy. I
was a little nervous. I took off my shirt and went into the bathroom and
shaved. First I did a wet shave, then another shave with an electric
razor and then another wet shave. Soon I was slapping on the beard cover
and the foundation.
I love painting my face. I am a bit of a perfectionist. It has to look
exactly right. If not I start again. That's why it takes so long,
usually a couple of hours. I can do a quick job in half an hour but if I
want to be careful and do eye-liner, mascara, eye-shadow, painted nails
and so on I have to be patient and careful.
I keep my legs and body shaved but I still spent a little time checking
that I had no tell-tale manly hairs. Eventually I was finished. I
checked the time. Nearly half past six already. Now for the clothes,
jewellery and wig.
Even when you know exactly what you will be wearing, it can still take
ages to get dressed. I have to be very careful when sliding stockings up
my legs. I don't want any ladders. I need to get my breastforms in
exactly the right position in my bra.
All the clothes were co-ordinated, i.e. black. Black panties, black
holdup stockings, black bra and of course the black dress. I put them
all on and looked at myself in the mirror. Was the dress long enough?
Too late now.
Then the wig. A bit of glue to hold it in place over my temples. A lot
of hairspray to keep it away from my face. I stepped into my shoes -
four inch black pumps. Then the jewellery; a necklace, a bracelet, a
wrist watch and dangly ear-rings - both my ears are pierced.
Now my handbag (which was also black). I put some cash and a credit card
in my purse, just in case. I put the purse, some tissues, some lippy,
mascara, eye liner and my iPhone in my bag.
A long look in the mirror. How sexy am I? I hope he can keep his hands
off me. Wow!
I put on my black blouson jacket. I picked up the room key and put it in
my handbag too. Ready? You bet. I checked the time again. 7.05. Plenty
of time - time for a drink first, I thought. I opened the door and
stepped into the corridor. Suddenly I was out of my comfort zone, out of
the privacy of my room. Head up, look confident, I tell myself. Swing
those hips as you walk. I've done this dozens of times before - but
never to meet an admirer.
I went down two flights of stairs - carefully in my four inch heels.
Through a crowded foyer where nobody was paying any attention to the
tranny in black. I went through the front door and out on to the street.
Nothing can prepare you for that cold blast of October air blowing up my
dress; thin sheer stockings are no protection against a cold evening.
I could hear my shoes clip-clopping along the hard pavement. Head up,
look confident, I kept repeating. I reached the Velvet bar. I went in. I
have never found it easy to go into a bar on my own, whether as Debs or
Richard but I've learned to look confident even if I don't feel it.
At the bar I ordered a large gin and tonic - to settle my nerves. I took
a straw from the bar and put it in my glass. I can't spoil my lippy. I
sat down at an empty table and took off my jacket. I put my bag in my
lap and took my iPhone out of my bag. Any messages? It would be just
like a man for him to bottle out at the last minute and tell me he
wasn't coming by text. No messages. I was relieved. Of course he could
still bottle out and not tell me. I told myself to calm down. Everything
was under control. It was 7.25, plenty of time to sip that drink.
There were a couple of emails to do with work but they could wait. I
sipped my drink slowly, taking in my surroundings. The bar was half full
and as far as I could see I was the only t-girl in there. It was mainly
groups of guys having a drink. After work? Or before an evening out? I
sipped my drink.
7.45. Now or never, I thought. I took a couple of deep breaths. I
finished my drink, stood up and put on my jacket. Picking up my bag I
headed for the ladies for a final nervous pee and to check my lippy. Was
it OK? Not bad, I thought.
7.54. I walked down the steps out of Velvet and on to Canal Street. It
was dark now and it felt even colder than before. I hope I don't have to
hang around waiting for him, I thought shivering. The lights in the
street were twinkling, making it look enticing. I took short steps in
those heels, swinging my hips, bag over my shoulder. I walked
confidently down Canal Street to our meeting place two blocks away.
Under the dress and the flimsy stockings, I could feel the cold. Guys
have it so lucky wearing warm trousers and sensible shoes, I thought. I
suppose that's why a lot of girls don't wear skirts or dresses. But
skirts and dresses are so feminine.
7.58. I'd nearly arrived at our rendezvous. In the distance I could see
a man standing on the pavement by the canal bridge. Was it Steve? As I
got closer, I could see that he was wearing a grey suit, white shirt and
red tie. He looked similar to how he did in his photos. It had to be
Steve.
I walked up to him, "Steve?" I asked in a soft voice.
He nodded.
"I'm Debs." I held out my hand for a Platonic handshake. His hand was
cold but his grip was firm. In return I replied with a gentle, girly
grip.
"It's great to meet you, at last," he said as if we'd been corresponding
for years rather than two weeks.
"It's great to meet you," I echoed stupidly.
"I've booked a table over there," he said pointing at the Italian
restaurant barely 50 yards away.
"Oh great," I said. I'd been there many times en femme.
We walked to the restaurant, me taking small steps. Once in the
restaurant we were shown to our table. "Let me help you take your coat
off," Steve said. Like a true gentleman he helped me take off my coat
and handed it to the waiter.
"The little black dress, if I'm not mistaken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "I hope you like it. I wore it especially for you," I
lied. I wore it because I couldn't think of anything else to wear.
"Of course I like it." I'm sure I blushed at this point, unused to
compliments. "You look fantastic. Come on, sit down," he said.
Blushing again at the compliment, slightly awkwardly I pulled back the
chair and got into position between it and the table. Then I performed
the awkward task of sitting down in a dignified manner and at the same
time pulling my chair underneath me.
This was harder than I thought. Whenever I'd been to a restaurant with a
group of t-girls I hadn't been too bothered about how I sat down. After
all it was the same for all of us and I wasn't too bothered if there was
a little flash of panty. But being with an admirer it was difficult. Any
action could be interpreted by Steve as some sort of signal.
I straightened my dress. As I feared it revealed my thighs and I tugged
the hem down a bit. Fortunately Steve couldn't see my legs from where he
sat on the other side of the table. Otherwise he might have got the
wrong idea with me revealing too much leg.
A waiter handed us each a menu.
"I didn't think you were coming," Steve said.
"I'm a girl of my word," I replied. "But actually I wasn't sure you were
coming."
He smiled at me. "That dress is even better in the flesh," he said.
"Thank you," I said. "You can't go far wrong with an LBD."
"We'd better study the menu."
"Of course."
We ordered the food and continued our conversation over a glass of wine.
Throughout the time in the restaurant, Steve was the perfect gent. He
was polite, charming and good company. He made no attempt at sexy
innuendo or double entendres. He treated me like a lady - which was
exactly what I wanted. Not once did he refer to the fact that I was a t-
girl.
We discussed a number of issues and he never enquired into my personal
life and I didn't pry into his. He was just a friend.
After coffee, while he was settling the bill I did what all girls do. I
slipped upstairs to the ladies to check my hair, my makeup and make sure
I had no bits in my teeth. When I got back down again he was waiting for
me, holding my coat.
"Where now?" he asked as we went out into the cold of the street.
"What would you like?" I asked him. "You're paying."
"I fancy a quiet drink in a quiet bar," he said.
I was wondering if we could avoid bumping into any of my t-girl friends.
Where might they be at this time of the evening? What would my friends
think if I went in there with an admirer? Would they believe that he was
just a Platonic friend?
I suggested we go to a bar at the far end of the street. It was quiet
and none of my t-girl friends would be in there. Steve ordered a beer
for himself and a gin and tonic for me and we sat on stools at the bar.
I deliberately crossed my legs ostentatiously. The dress rode up again
and he could clearly see my thighs and probably my stocking tops.
Flagrantly I slowly tugged the dress hem down as if I wanted his full
attention.
OK so it might have sent the wrong signal but can't a girl be a little
tease? After all I had said he could look, he just couldn't touch. As we
sipped our drinks Steve couldn't take his eyes off my legs and I didn't
mind at all. I was flattered.
We had another drink and continued our polite conversation. I looked at
my watch. It was gone twelve.
"I think it's time for me to get some sleep," I said.
"I'll walk you back to your hotel."
"Really there is no need," I said.
"No I insist."
"OK." I gave in. It was only five minutes' walk away.
When we had nearly reached the hotel he said, "It's been a great
evening. Thank you."
"Surely I should thank you," I said. "But you were right it has been a
fun evening."
"We must do it again," he said.
"Yes we must," I replied.
"Maybe next month?"
"Yes. I'll check my diary and let you know."
"Will you wear that denim mini-skirt? Pretty please."
I smiled. "I'll think about it but it is a bit short."
We stopped close to the front door of the hotel. Suddenly I found myself
looking into his eyes. In my heels I was about the same height as him,
maybe a little taller. His face was only inches from mine. I could feel
his breath on my cheek. And then it happened. His lips met mine. First a
tender brush then something more serious. I felt his tongue against
mine. We were kissing, desperately kissing.
I put my arm around his waist and pulled him towards me. Now he had his
hand up my dress at the back. Then his hand was underneath my panties
and was fondling my arse. Did I hear a tearing sound? I could feel a
firm bulge just below his waist. Then I realised that I had a hard on
too and it was pressing against him.
I'd never kissed a man before. I could feel his bristly face, the warmth
of his breath, the strength of his arms. I was kissing a man and I was
enjoying it. In the busy street, a man had his hand up my dress and
under my knickers and I'd done nothing to stop him.
I needed air. The kiss ended. My dress was all rucked up at the back and
my panties had fallen down around my thighs.
I took a step backwards, my emotions a mixture of horror and pleasure.
Oh m god, what had I done? I felt a tear slide down my cheek. I ran. I
just ran. I tried to pull up my panties and straighten up my dress as I
ran. I ran as fast as I could in my heels. "Good night," I shouted over
my shoulder. Not looking behind me, I ran into the calm of the hotel
foyer.
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