Food Court Frolic
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Feline Frolic 1 free porn video
© Copyright 2012, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
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Synopsis: A sissy is publicly exposed by a beautiful girlfriend with a
wicked sense of humor. The story begins as they meet in a hotel bar.
Feline Frolic 1
By Leslie Lowe
It all started when I took a seat at the bar of the Faraway Hotel near
the giant Oak Hills Mall, about three o'clock on the appointed Friday
afternoon. Donna walked in right on time, as always.
"Hi there, Kitten!" she said, loud enough for everyone at the long,
crowded bar to hear.
"Shhh!" I told her, finger to my lips, seeing people staring at us,
especially at her, a joy to behold.
She laughed, hugged me, and kissed me, a girl-to-girl peck on the lips.
"What's wrong, Miss Kitty?" she whispered into my ear, knowing I was
ticklish there. "Don't you want anyone to know what a girl you are? My
girl?"
"Well, if you put it that way," I said, grinning at this beautiful
blonde movie-star look-alike whom I had been privileged to know for two
decades since we had met in a night class. I whispered back, "I guess
the answer might be yes if I could be all dressed up so no one would
know this girl has serious plumbing issues."
Donna laughed politely on cue at my favorite joke, which she'd heard a
hundred times.
But in reality, I didn't look like anybody's girl at that moment, not
even close. I was dressed in women's clothes, but they were as close as
I could get to men's clothes without actually wearing real guy clothes,
which I refuse to take on a girlish outing. I guess I'm rather
compulsive that way, but I never get to dress up at home.
Which is why I was so excited by Donna's call, setting up this weekend,
and so disappointed when she went on, for the first time in all the
years we had known each other, to insist that I wear "jeans and a long-
sleeved boy shirt."
I had, however, rebelled slightly by taking the liberty of wearing my
silky green Victoria Secret thong with the white lace around the pouch,
my most comfortable panties, which sadly, no one would know about except
for me. With my skinny jeans and turquoise shirt, which actually looked
more like a ladies' blouse if someone looked carefully, I was wearing my
black Ecco Classic Moc loafers, very masculine. Ho-hum, yawn.
Still, I was deeply grateful to be with my good friend for a longish
weekend, far away from our troubled lives. After years of being best
girlfriends, so to speak, we now lived in separate cities far apart and
had not been together in almost a year. "It's so good to see you,
Donna!" It really was. Looking at her provoked in me both arousal and
envy. I wanted her; I wanted to be her. She was my paragon.
She sat down. "Thank you for having me, and paying for the room and
all."
"No problemo," I said, "I'm doing OK for a change." We were both
perennially in financial trouble of various kinds, nothing criminal but
stressful enough. Financially, we had always been total dutch-treat
girlfriends, including one memorable, sumptuous champagne brunch that
she funded entirely on her own during one of my broke periods, making me
cry in appreciation of her sacrificial generosity. But I had just
received a rare windfall, a large settlement from an auto accident in
which a drunk guy in a truck had rear-ended me eons before, and had
offered to treat Donna and myself to a much-needed mini-vacation,
"including a pedi." She had always loved having a pedicure. This woman
was crazy about pedicures!
The bartender finally asked us what we wanted. I had been invisible
until Donna arrived. Donna smiled at me and said, "What'll it be,
Kitty?" Right in front of the manly bartender, and not holding back on
the volume at all. She was in a teasing mood.
She had embarrassed me in public before, always in subtle, harmless ways
that only I in my fearful vulnerability probably noticed, and I
treasured those memories, but she seemed to be rather intentional about
it tonight already, as if she were on a mission to take me to the
breathtaking edge. I mean it: I was having trouble breathing, imagining
what this brilliant, creative and very strong-willed woman might do to
me. I was already so scared and so turned on that I feared I might wet
my panties.
"What do you think?" I asked, embarrassed to be semi-outed to the burly
man smirking at me from across his bar.
"She'll have a cosmopolitan and I'll have a Tanqueray martini, please,"
Donna said, smiling at me. "My girlfriend needs to relax."
"Yes, ma'am," he said with restraint, "Cosmo and martini."
I sat there frozen, trying to tell whether the man had taken Donna's
disclosures about me as a joke. After he left, I said, "Donna?!"
She looked at me, put her hand on mine and squeezed, gently, lovingly.
"Oh, you love it, you little sissy!"
"I hate it when you're right," I said, "but couldn't we wait until we're
in the room? This is embarrassing!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Kitty. Would you like to go to a table, where we have
more privacy?" She waved at the bartender, not waiting for my reply.
Pointing at a table in the middle of the room, isolated but highly
visible, she said to him, "Can you have someone bring those over to us
at that table?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Right away."
"Thank you so much," she said, making his day with a single smile,
grabbing my hand and leading me over, sitting me down in a cozy seat
facing away from the bar, thank goodness.
I am a shy person, and she is not, or is that already obvious? I felt
much better not being on display at the bar, even though I was
nondescript and had not been noticed before, so far as I could tell.
"I'm so excited!" Donna said.
And that excited me, because I just loved this woman. I wondered and
hoped that maybe she had landed the perfect job, or that her boyfriend
had popped the question. "Tell me about it?"
"Well, to start with," she said, sitting up straight, which made her
perfect dual endowments nicely prominent, "you know how I love to give
gifts?"
I took my eyes off her breasts before she accused me of acting like a
man, and smiled at her, rolling my eyes. "That's an understatement if I
ever heard one."
"True, but it is your birthday!"
I looked at her. We had not been apart that long. "You know better
than that. My birthday is not for six months."
"Exactly!" she said. "Didn't you go to school, you silly thing?"
"Yes, but--"
"My favorite elementary teacher always had half-birthdays for the boys
and girls who were born in the summer. This is your half-birthday!"
She said the last sentence louder than the others, and looked up over my
head.
I turned to see what she was looking at.
A cute barmaid wearing one of those mini-dress uniforms with a black
tee-top and a pleated, wine-colored skirt was almost to our table with
our tall, frosty drinks balanced expertly on her tray. She stopped at
the side and picked up the martini and put it in front of me. I could
see the tiny chips of ice floating above the olives. The barmaid picked
up the luscious pink cosmo to put it in front of Donna.
Donna said, "Oh no, the cosmopolitan is for the birthday girl!"
The barmaid adopted a confused expression and looked from Donna to me
and back again, still holding the cosmo, not spilling a single drop.
She was a pro. "Pardon me, ma'am?"
"The pink one," Donna said, "is for her," pointing at me, the person
with the furiously blushing face.
"Oh!" said the barmaid. "I'm sorry, I just assumed--" She giggled,
realizing she had been caught in a moment of sexism.
"No problem, uh--" Donna said, and checking the waitress' nametag,
added, "Sandi."
"Let me just give you this," Sandi said to me, as she put the second
drink, the pink one, in front of me.
"I don't know how you do that," I said, trying to put her at ease and
apologize in my way for our causing her confusion and perhaps
embarrassment, "the way you can move those drinks in those elegant
martini glasses, filled to the brim, and not spill a drop. You're
good!"
"Thank you," she said, finishing the switch.
"Yes, thank you, Sandi," Donna said, "I was afraid we'd spill them, and
I don't want to miss even a taste of this!" She said it as she bent
over and reached down with her lips to sip from the martini as it rested
there safely on the short table in front of us, coffee-table high. She
sat up, saying, "Ah! That's so good! You'd better sip yours this way
first, Kitten."
Sandi looked at me, tried to keep a straight face, and finally cracked
up, giggling like a pre-teen.
I just sat there blushing, while Donna laughed long and hard with our
new girlfriend.
I couldn't stand the humiliation of both these beautiful women laughing
at me. I bent over and had the first sip of my cosmo, and it was so
delicious, so sweet and cold and fragrant and feminine that I wanted to
dive in and escape the present, not a very Zen attitude, I thought,
chiding myself. I sat up straight, hearing the last titters of laughter
at my expense.
Finally getting control of herself, Sandi said to me, "I'm so sorry!"
Donna answered for me. "Oh, don't worry about that. She's used to it,
aren't you Kitten? I'm Donna," sticking out her hand. "And of course,
you know this is Kitten," gracefully turning the spotlight on me with a
girlish flip of the hand, like a gay emcee at a drag show. Donna had a
powerful singer-songwriter's voice and she was using it to turn heads,
widening the audience for my humiliating floorshow.
"Hi, Kitten!" Sandi said, working to keep from cracking up again.
Shaking Donna's hand, "Nice to meet you, Donna. You guys are going to
be fun! I can tell!"
"You bet," Donna said. "It's Kitten's birthday!"
"Half-birthday," I said.
Sandi laughed at that and begged to be excused. The bartender had
probably motioned to her. Donna and I were alone again.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked her.
"It's your birthday present, honey. And it's only the beginning. With
that, she pulled from her large tote a pretty little package wrapped in
pink floral paper and surmounted by a fluffy white bow. The gift hidden
inside the gorgeous wrapping and under the delicate bow definitely
looked like a lipstick, a shape I knew oh so well.
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© Copyright 2012, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
Lesley
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