Caught In A Good Romance, 3 Of 10 free porn video

© Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved. [email protected] Caught in A Good Romance, 3 of 10 By Leslie Lowe Chapter 3 The next morning, I wore khaki slacks and a blue blazer to work. I was forced to wear a jacket, because I was scheduled to help Samantha in the afternoon, and she had insisted I wear my thong, panties and bra under my "boy clothes," as she called them. Without the jacket, my dress shirt revealed the padded bra with silicone breast forms, as well as the straps on my back. What the hell was Samantha doing to me? After I got Joyce and I our coffee, she put me to work handling Elliott's expense report for the trip he had just taken. She told me how to pull up the form on the network and vaguely how to do the report, adding that she would check and correct, and that was easier than giving me a class on how to do it. So I was working on that when Elliott came in and said hello to us as he passed, immediately going into his office. Before long, meetings with employees ensued, and later with one client from outside the office. During the morning, Joyce checked my work on the expense report, gave me compliments overall and made a few corrections, and had me send it to accounting via email. "That will be one of your regular tasks from now on, Kim," she said. "You will do the first draft of every expense report, and make sure I check it before you send it. For some of them, I'll review them with Elliott to make sure we read his mind accurately." "Got it," I said. I liked Joyce. She was all business, but much more pleasant than most of the bosses I had experienced. It was still early, only my second day on the job, but I was hopeful that I had found a place. There was just the nagging doubt surrounding Samantha's weirdness about the girl stuff. The anxiety hit me as I remembered my scheduled time with her that afternoon beginning at three. I could only imagine what Samantha had meant, upon releasing me after our lingerie binge the day before, when she promised, "We'll get serious about the style lessons tomorrow, sweetie." She was pleasant, but so controlling! I tried to look at the bright side: With Samantha, all I had to do was listen and do what she said, and she was happy. Joyce's work was much more demanding. When would I find out about Elliott? "Joyce," I said after lunch, "Samantha wants me to meet her at three." I had told her, but a reminder couldn't hurt. "Right," she said. "I told Elliott about that, and he said he wanted you to check in with him before going. He's available at two for thirty minutes. I want you to get ready to serve refreshments to him then, as practice for tomorrow. " "Tomorrow?" "Yes," she said, not looking up from the papers she was shuffling. "An important client is coming in tomorrow morning at ten. His name is Lance Trotter. He is CEO of one of the largest auto parts companies in the world. They have the Action Auto stores?" "Really?" I said, trying to sound impressed despite never having heard of that company, since I wasn't an auto-parts kind of guy. "So you will serve coffee and danish to Elliott and me at two, before you start your meeting with him. We need to see how you do and train you if you're not ready. The tray, dishes and all that are in the cabinet on the left of the kitchen marked 'Client Service Only.' Get the pastries from French Cakes on Simpson Street a half-block downtown. Use your credit card and put in an expense report, but I have to sign off on it first. That's the way we do it. This will be your job, buying what you need, serving any clients Elliott has in for meetings, cleaning up after, washing the dishes, putting them away, and so on. Feel free to ask any of the other girls for help, especially Kim. Sharing our work is so much easier." This time, she didn't even notice she was including me with the women. "Okay," I said, looking at my watch. "I'd better check what's in that cabinet, if you don't mind." "Yes, that's a good idea. And at two, pretend I'm the client, okay?" "Yes, Mr. Trotter," I said, "Thank you very much, Mr. Trotter." I turned toward the kitchen. Joyce laughed. "Cute!" she said, calling after me. "You just might make it in this crazy job." "You bet I am!" I smiled back at her, feeling wonderful. I waved and took off. After my waiter jobs, this coffee service thing was something I knew how to do blindfolded in my sleep. At two o'clock, I brought the impressive silver tray and coffee and pastry service into Elliott's office, finding him and Joyce seated at the coffee table grouping, waiting for me. "Right on time," Elliott said, looking at his watch. "Good job, Kim." "Thank you, Mr.--uh--Elliott," I said, and I did appreciate his effort to put me at ease, since this was only the third time we had spoken. The man was so busy! I distributed cups and saucers, poured and offered pastries, and cleared away the unneeded things back to the tray, which I placed on an empty side table near the door that might well have been designed for that purpose. I turned and stood with my hands clasped behind my back while Elliott and Joyce sipped their coffee and tasted the pastries. "Perfect!" Joyce said, after only one sip. "I'll go now, Elliott. You have until 2:30 blocked out with Kim if you need it." "Thanks, Joyce." She left. "Join me over here, Kim. I should have told you to bring a cup for yourself." "Thank you, but I had my afternoon coffee while I was getting this ready." He nodded and smiled warmly. "You did this very well. It's what we need for our clients, somebody who can do the job and melt into the background." "That's the job description for a waiter." He laughed. "Good point. Samantha said you were the one. She's seldom wrong about people." "She's a hoot," I said, stopping with that, guarding my tongue. "I know. How did it go with her yesterday?" He really seemed interested. "Great. Her needs are a lot different, more of a social environment than an office thing, you know?" "Oh yeah!" he said. "She takes care of most of that for us and for AMI. Do you think you can keep up with her and Joyce?" "It will be a challenge, but I like them both a lot," I said. "And I like to stay busy." "Good to hear." He waited to see if I was going to say something else, and when I just waited for him, he added, "Now, let's talk about Lance Trotter. I told Joyce that I wanted you involved with him tomorrow. You're going to serve the coffee, like we just practiced, and then you'll be in the meeting and take notes." "Yes, sir." "No need for the sir," he said. "Sorry, Elliott." "Trotter is a casual kind of guy, even a little bit rough around the edges, so dress casually, slacks and shirt. No jacket, no tie. And once I introduce you, call him Lance." "Uh--" "And don't let what he says throw you off. He can be, well, a bit earthy at times. Fuck, shit, piss and asshole are his polite words. He's like a sailor, but he learned his language in prison." "Really? He sounds like a real man's man, and prison on top of that?" "Yeah. His father was rich, one of the early auto parts fortunes, but not rich enough to keep him out of jail on drug charges. So he spent a few years in jail, and it shows. His father's gone and he's the top dog now, and he's good. A very successful company. A lucrative client for the long term if we can keep him." "Keep him?" "He's volatile. He fired his last ad agency and paid off a one-year contract to do it." "Oh, wow." I said vaguely, not sure I understood everything Elliott was saying. "Right. But we made it through almost a year and he hasn't shown any signs of leaving. If we can survive six more months, our program will be in place and it will be very difficult and costly to remove us until the campaign runs its course, for three to five years." "I see." Actually, I didn't see. Why was he telling me all this? What could I do but serve refreshments and maybe take notes? I didn't know the first thing about advertising at this point. "All you have to do is be nice to him, and I'll be nice to him. This is a status conference, more social than business at this point, although he will control the content as he usually does. I found out he was going to be in town and asked him if he wanted to have coffee, and I would make our people available to him if he had any questions." "Should I know who?" "Good question. I'll let Joyce give you that list early tomorrow. He's not coming in until ten." "That's fine," I said. "Is there anything else?" "No, unless you have a question?" Then it hit me. "Well, no, but--" I hesitated. How much should I tell him, and how could I possibly--but Lance Trotter was a very important client, I thought, aligning my priorities. "Don't be shy. Say what's on your mind. I've got a thick skin and I like to hear things straight." "Well, it's about the shirt? I mean without a jacket?" "If you need time off to shop, just tell Joyce. That's what the clothing allowance is for." "Oh, no sir, uh, Elliott! The allowance is more than generous, and I have plenty of shirts, it's just that--it's about Samantha." "What about Samantha?" I felt myself blushing fiercely. I decided to give it to him straight, as requested. "She's--she's got me wearing a bra," I confessed. Elliott laughed out loud. "Goddam that woman is fast!" he said. "Hey, don't worry about that. I don't care if she makes you wear a dress for her ladies. I wouldn't be surprised. She tries to make me over, too, but in more subtle ways. I'm too big for a bra. She did make me get a pedicure once, when my toenails scratched her in bed." I laughed in relief. "Thanks for understanding. I'm willing to play along with her feminine games, but I'll look pretty funny with Mr. Trotter--" "Call him Lance, because he's that informal. We all use first names, and that will include you. But why will you look funny?" I stood up and took off my blazer. I turned around and reached my arms forward, tightening the shirt on my back. "Oh, right," Elliott said. "You've got tits!" I laughed. "Nice ones too!" "Yes, and she's got me in a girdle so I won't have a 'boy lump' as she calls it, and panties." "What's next?" Elliott asked, obviously amused and fascinated with what his wife was doing to me, not at all put off. "I have no idea! We'll find out at three, because she wants me to meet her at the TJ's for a drink first!" "At the Oaks Mall?" "Yes." "Sounds like more shopping with the girls." "I'm afraid so." "All right," Elliott said, checking his watch and standing up. "I'll tell you what. Negotiate with Samantha on this. You might as well get used to us pulling you both ways. It's part of the job." "Yes, sir." He let the "sir" pass. "Tell her what's happening tomorrow. She'll get it immediately. Tell her I need to have you in slacks and shirt, without breasts. Don't--and I repeat--don't fucking say the word tits to her, or tell her I used it, got that?" "Got it," I said, "thank you, Elliott." I smiled, shook Elliott's proffered hand, and quickly carried all the dishes and other stuff out. It dawned on me as I gathered the things that Elliott was really good. He had made me feel like he was treating me as one of the guys, somehow, even while I truly felt like a gal being treated as one of the guys. Joyce was at her desk. She looked at the wall clock. "Samantha called. She has an appointment for you, so don't be late. Let me have that, and I'll get the other Kim to wash up. But you'll owe her." "Right," I said, grabbing my Coach bag and heading out. "Oh, Kim?" Joyce said. I stopped and turned around. "Samantha said to leave your blazer in the car, and not to forget your bag." "Got it," I said, trying to go. "And Kim?" "Yes, Joyce?" "I love your purse," she said in a teasing voice. "Thank you," I mumbled, as I turned to escape, embarrassed as could be. # # # I found Samantha at TJ's, at the bar. She turned to the bartender and said, "My girlfriend will have a cosmo too." A frosty drink was in front of her, with a few sips gone. I sat down. "You love to do that, don't you?" "What?" She said, as she slipped off my tie and crammed in my purse, unbuttoned my top two buttons, and rolled up my sleeves to make my pinstriped shirt look like a lady's three-quarter-sleeve blouse, in no small part because of my prominent boobs. "That's better!" she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a tube of lipstick and opening it, revealing a pale pink shade and brushing it onto my lips. "Do what?" she asked. "Tease me about taking on this female role as your PA." She fluffed my hair and looked at me as if I were a girlfriend she was preparing for a grand entrance. "Oh, you know you love it. Every man craves attention from a woman, and I am a woman, in case you hadn't noticed?" The grinning bartender brought my tall, pink, girlish drink. "A cosmo for the lady!" Thanking but otherwise ignoring his teasing, I took a sip. It tasted sublime! I looked at Samantha. "So, now I'm a man who craves attention, even though you have the bartender calling me a lady?" "Only when I need you to be," she said. "Mostly you're my girlfriend and loyal assistant." She touched my hand in a warm and intimate gesture. "You are having fun, aren't you, Kim? Be honest now, babydoll." "I am!" I said, with even more enthusiasm than I would have thought was justified, so I guess it was genuine. But this made me realize I had been totally captured by everything about this job and these people. I hardly knew them, but already they felt like family. No, better than family! And the work was interesting. Hell, even the dull parts seemed a necessary respite from all the weirdness. "That's a good girl," Samantha said, now patting my hand. "Because I want you to enjoy your makeover this afternoon." "Makeover? Oh my God, Samantha! You're not going to--not in public?" "Of course, dear. At the counter. In Sak's. Just like all the other girls. Why should you be so special?" I took a sip, actually more like a slug. Maybe I should get myself so drunk I couldn't feel the humiliation? "I'm a lot different. How many men get makeovers?" "Oh, who cares? Besides, you don't really look like a man, you're so cute now with just a few feminine touches. The thing is, if you're going to be my sidekick and companion while I do all these feminine things, you have to know what women do. You have to do them, walk a mile in our shoes, as it were." "Right! You'll have me in high-heeled pumps soon!" "Now that you mention it--" "Oh my God!" I shrieked, and we both laughed. "By George, I think she's got it," Samantha said, hugging me. We chatted amiably about work and personal things, even getting around to her telling about her younger life, as a college cheerleader who married the most desirable jock on campus, Elliott. Finally, we wound our way back to work and my meeting with Elliott. I told her about Lance Trotter's visit tomorrow and how my bra could not show. "Not a problem," she said. "I should have thought of this. We'll stop off at the Saks lingerie department and get you a couple of sexy camis." She leaned back and looked at me. "I'm thinking of something in lace and pastel shades, maybe apricot or strawberry cream. It won't show a bit, but you'll be able to feel your feminine side." "I will feel like a fruit," I deadpanned. Samantha giggled musically at my awful pun and took a sip of her drink. "No, my little strawberry princess, you will feel like a woman, and that's the point." "You can't let me just be a boy for now?" "Where's the fun in that?" she asked. "How can you grow and become more versatile, more feminine while pretending to be male, if we don't keep you challenged?" I let the "pretending" crack pass. "So that's your objective?" "Growth? Of course! That's the way Elliott and I live, darling, and we want you to be an intimate part of it. Now say it, 'Change is good!'" "Change is good!" I parroted, then took another gulp of my drink, thinking Buddha would turn over in his grave to hear us using one of his favorite aphorisms to justify gender play while imbibing alcohol in mid- afternoon. Such decadence! "That's my girl," she said, looking at her watch. "Look at the time! We'd better run, or you'll be late for your appointments." I slugged down the rest of my drink as she paid. We hurried up the mall and into Saks, finding the Chanel counter. Samantha got the attention of one of the sales ladies and said, "Kim Spencer is here for her makeover appointment." "Hi, Kim," the salesgirl said to Samantha. "You'll be with--" "I'm not Kim," Samantha said. "She is?" She looked me over. "Oh really? A pretty boy who wants to be gorgeous woman? How fun!" Her exclamation caused several ladies who were milling about, trying on makeup and chatting with other salespeople, look over at me with very amused expressions. I just stood there defenseless, feeling humiliated, feeling like I was being stripped naked, put on display, and tortured with feathers. A few minutes later, an incredible-looking redhead walked up, tall and athletic and as beautiful as Samantha herself. She wore a stylish black smock like the other women, but she wore it better. "Here's Dawn," the first salesgirl said. "Dawn, this is Kim Spencer here for, uh, his, uh, makeover." "Hi Samantha!" Dawn said, returning Samantha's hug and air-kiss. Samantha turned to me. "Dawn is the daughter of one of my really great friends, Kim." Dawn stuck out her hand and shook mine firmly. "It's nice to meet you, Kim. Will you please follow me?" She moved off toward the front of the display, where two other makeovers were being done on women sitting at two high chairs, as crowds of other shoppers walked by on their way to all parts of the store or mall, a few of them hesitating to watch the makeup techniques for a while. The third chair was empty, and Dawn patted the seat. "Hop up here, please, and let's get you started!" "Samantha," I said, "must I do this? Out here? It is so embarrassing!" Dawn ignored my plea and took me by the arms and maneuvered me into place in front of the empty chair. "Up, now. Come on, sweetie. Be a brave little soldier. Samantha told me all about you, and these other girls could not care less if you want to be beautiful. We all want to be beautiful!" Samantha just grinned at me. "Better do what the lady says, Kim. She means business." I slid up on the seat, feeling like I was a new manikin in a store window, undressed and on display. Everyone was looking our way and smiling at me, and all of them seemed to be talking about me. My protests had created a bit of a scene. Far from helping, the alcohol seemed to have made me into a diva. I decided to try to shrink myself into a low profile and limit the embarrassment for which I was destined during the rest of this makeup session. After all, it wouldn't be the first time I had worn makeup, even female makeup, thanks to my drama experience and the one drag part. "So what did she tell you about me?" I asked. Dawn thought a moment, while she arranged her tools on the nearby counter. "Well, let's see. That you had a very pretty face, and I totally agree. That you were brave enough to take a woman's job and even dress as a woman if necessary to perform. And that you were, uh, a little sweetheart, who would cry and complain but eventually you would do as we say." I just sat there, blushing and mortified. I did want to cry. She and Samantha had me down to a tee, and there was nothing I could do about it, and now about five or six other women knew my story. It was like we were one big family, or rather the women of one big family. The men were not here, but somewhere in the distant background, smoking cigars or something, while we girls plied our arcane arts. I took a deep breath, smiled at Dawn, and felt my little soldier tingle. She was so sexy! "Bingo!" I said, adding in my best over-the-top drag-queen lilt, "I'm your girl!" Several people laughed, Dawn hugged me, and Samantha just beamed as if she were a mother seeing her three-year-old daughter trying on mommy's heels for the first time. I did feel like one of the girls, sort of, and it was sweet and fun, so I just relaxed into it while Dawn began to work and everyone else went on about their business. Soon, I no longer felt conspicuous at all. Thanks to the cosmo, which had totally kicked in, I didn't even worry about how I would look walking back to my car in makeup wearing boy clothes. By the time I had calmed myself enough to pay attention to what Dawn was doing, she had finished applying the concealer around my eyes and a very light coat of foundation over the rest of my face. "I love your skin, Kim." "Thank you," I said, hardly moving my lips, because her hands were moving all over my face. "Is she going to be--oh, I'm sorry, Kim," Dawn said. "I don't mean to tease. Are you okay with just being a she, a girl, while we do this? You're just another dear client to me. I've already forgotten you're-- uh--a special girl." "Sure," I said. With this goddess caressing my face, I would have done anything she asked. Samantha nodded and gave me a conspiratorial wink. "So," Dawn said to Samantha, "is she going to be wearing this daytime, nighttime, or what? What's the plan for her girl-time? This is a work thing, right?" "Well," Samantha began, "have you been to our Harem Fundraiser?" "Yes!" Dawn said. "So fun. Such a good idea. Keep the men out!" "That's one thing. We're planning this year's event now, and Kim will be a key member of my team for that." I listened with attention. Thanks to the divine Miss Dawn's curiosity, I was learning more about my future work with Samantha than anyone had told me before. "So he, I mean she," Dawn said, "needs to be a girl for that?" "Right," Samantha said. "But I want her to be a complete woman. I might need her to dress for a daytime meeting, or we might have a pre- party luncheon at the pool. You never know. That's why I begged you to fit her in, Dawn. I know how good you are. You would be working on a movie set somewhere if your mean husband would let you." "He is mean," Dawn said, laughing. "I just love makeup! And there's not much real makeup-artist work here in town. But I make do. With sexy clients like Kim here." "That's the spirit," Samantha said. "We all have our row to hoe. We might as well accept what is and make the best of it. That's what women do. Isn't that right, Kim?" Dawn was finishing up my mascara when Samantha asked the question. "Uh- h-h," I said, my mouth open. I didn't want to move and get poked in the eye. "Never mind," Samantha said. "God knows you're an accepting person. I'm so proud of you!" She touched me affectionately on the shoulder girl-to-girl. Dawn finished my mascara, and I said, "Thank you, boss. It's so sweet of you to say it!" And I meant it. I was touched. "Better enjoy it," Dawn said. "She's one tough broad. Ask my mom. Samantha will be making you cry soon." She pulled out a lip pencil. "I'm going to line your lips because they make us do that here. You don't really need it with your perfect skin." I stayed still, unable to talk, as she drew on my lips. She continued coloring my lips in and then leaned back to look. "Full enough, Samantha?" "Perfect," Samantha said. "Kim has nice lips, doesn't she?" "They would have been wasted on a boy," Dawn said, winking at me and beginning to apply a rose lipstick with a brush. "Isn't that right, Kimmie?" "Mm-hmm," I hummed, trying to be agreeable without interrupting her work. I was dying to see how I looked. I knew I could be a very realistic woman when made up, or so the girls in the cast had said, but I was curious as to just how good Dawn was. Her own look was flawless, so I was rather excited about the prospect of seeing her work on my face. "Let's see," Dawn said, thoughtfully. "Got the tiny bit of foundation, eyes, brows. Got the lips--really pretty! A little blush, Samantha? Whatcha think?" "Just a bit." Dawn worked with the blush and a poofy brush for a few seconds. "Done!" she said, holding out a hand mirror to me. I looked. I loved what I saw. It was me, but barely. My mother would not recognize me without a heads-up, because there was not the slightest hint of male about this face. "Wow!" I said, caught off guard. "You are good, Dawn!" "Thank you, sweetie. But it's you. You're a natural. Samantha could have done this if she had the fresh makeup." "Very nice job," Samantha said. "Both of you, artist and canvas. I am surprised just how pretty and feminine you look, Kim. I'm so happy this is working out!" She hugged me. And finally I knew why she was doing this to me. She had a party planned where no men were allowed. It all made so much sense now. "Am I ready for the harem?" I asked her. "You are!" Samantha patted my hand, and turned to my new personal makeup consultant. "Dawn, did I tell you we don't even let the caterer use men as waiters or busboys? It's all girl!" "I had not noticed. But it is so popular. I enjoyed myself last time, especially the belly dancing lessons!" "Would you like to do makeup for it this year?" Samantha asked. "We have a couple of open booths from late cancellations, but they'll be snapped up fast." "Could I? I would love to!" Dawn gushed. She hugged Samantha. Samantha pointed at me. "Well, all you have to do is call Miss Kim here and tell her you're my good friend and she has my permission to move you to the top of the waiting list!" "May I have your number, Kim?" I gave her my cellphone. "Text is okay too," I said. "I think we're going to be friends." "Totally!" Dawn said. "Okay," Samantha said. "Why don't you gather up all the products you used on our little Kim doll and let's get a large makeup bag and a set of brushes for her. And I want a little atomizer of Chanel No. 5 for her purse." "We have newer fragrances too," Dawn said. "She'll try a couple of your sample packs if you like, but can we wait and think about that later? We have a nail appointment, both of us." "What?" I said. "I look like a man in makeup!" I was shocked at Samantha's assertiveness and was now thinking of what I would look like walking around to other places in full makeup with male clothes on. "Actually, you don't, dear. But anyway, I have a top for you in my bag," Samantha said. "Grab your purse and let's go change while Dawn gets your makeup ready. Okay, Dawn?" "Good idea," she said. "I'll hurry. Do you know where the ladies' is?" "I do," Samantha said, grabbing my hand and dragging me away. As we walked, I watched for double-takes and laughter from other people in the store, and was amazed that very few seemed to think I looked strange. We reached a back corner of the store and went into the ladies' restroom. A woman was at the mirror doing her lips. She smiled at us as Samantha pushed me into the large handicapped stall. "Take off your top," Samantha said. I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off, folding it for my purse. I was standing there wearing only my bra and boobs on top. Samantha handed me a pink tee with scalloped neck and sleeve openings, very feminine, and with a tiny floral design in darker pink and white. "Isn't this pretty? I got it for you at Talbot's this morning." "Yes, thank you so much, Samantha." I was glad to have it and hoping I could attract less attention going all the way to the distaff side. I slipped it on. It fit perfectly. It went well with my black skinny slacks and my black loafers. "Wow!" I said, "How did you know it would go?" "I asked Joyce what you were wearing. Take off your socks, too. Put them in your purse with your boy shirt." I did it. Samantha stood back and looked at me. She fussed with my hair a bit, fluffing it up and bringing down the bangs, and adjusted the drape of my top over my boobs. "Cute! You'll do just fine. Oh, I almost forgot your earrings!" She searched her purse and pulled out a little purple velvet pouch with a pair of elegant white-gold earrings in a pineapple design, very heavy, and clipped one to each of my ears. "These, my dear, are definitely not a gift! They were my mother's, and you can use them only until we get your ears pierced." I didn't even bother to argue with her. I was a helpless pawn in this game of feminine transformation. The sooner I accepted it, the less painful it would be. I was paid well to play this role. Two hours later, I was with Samantha in her closet, trying on girl things. I was having fun, and she seemed to be totally in the moment, enjoying the way her new toy--that would be me--was working out. Someone's voice sounded downstairs. "Oh my God," I said, "look at me!" It wasn't just the strapless sequined retro cocktail dress in a bright blue chiffon fabric, or my dangling earrings hanging from somewhat bloody newly pierced ears, or even the stilettos I hobbled around on. It was my hair. "That's Elliott," Samantha said. "Don't worry about him. He's cool." "But my hair is still up in rollers!" I said. "So?" she said. "As if Elliott hasn't seen a woman with her hair in rollers?" "I'm not a woman, and he's my alpha male boss!" I almost shouted, my voice sounding distant through the alcoholic fog Samantha had inflicted upon me. She had taken me from Dawn's makeover to the spa for our mani- pedi session, to a shoe store for a pair of wedge-soled flip-flops not to ruin my cherry red toenails, to her hair salon for a "do," where they also did my ears for me, to a trendy restaurant where we both sat at the bar and drank another cosmo with one to go. "Where to, ladies?" the cabbie had said, not even considering that one of us might be male. Since she had changed me in that restroom stall, I had experienced no problem passing. Everyone assumed only a woman would go through all the tortures Samantha was inflicting upon me. "Samantha?" Elliott said, not far away. "You up here?" "In here, darling," she called. "Kim and I are trying things on." Elliott appeared in the door. He stared and smiled at us. He got a confused look on his face. Finally he said, "Is that you, Kim? You look hot!" The halter dress I wore came down only to my thighs, my hairless thighs that had not needed a shave but which had been waxed at Samantha's salon "just to be sure, girlfriend." I looked at Elliott and tried to smile. "Yes, Elliott, it's me. Sorry this is so weird." "Hey," he said, "it's not the first time Samantha's played dress-up with a new girlfriend. So, one guy to another, what's the attraction?" "Don't ask me," I said loudly--too loudly, I realized--"I'm a g-i-i-i-r- l!" Elliott laughed as cued, but then considered me thoughtfully. "Have you ladies been drinking?" he asked. "Of course," Samantha said, before adding, "Aha!" and holding up a blue bejeweled clutch. "Try this, sweetie." She handed it to me. I attempted to hold it like a lady out on the town with her dainty purse, elegant and oh so sophisticated. I struck a pose, and promptly fell down on my tush, on top of a pile of purses and other accessories Samantha had created while dumping out shelves looking for the bag I held. "My God," Samantha said. "I'm glad Maria's coming tomorrow to clean up this mess we've made. Elliott?" "Yes dear," Elliott said, leaning against the wall and watching us with amusement. "Will you make Kim and I just a little cosmo to finish off the night? Then we can send her home safely in a cab, so she'll be ready for your meeting tomorrow." "I'll be glad to," Elliott said. "Kim, may I help you up?" "Thank you," I said, accepting his large hand and awkwardly getting to my feet with his strong arm supporting me. "I'm sorry about this," I said, grateful for the way he steadied me by putting his hand in the small of my back as I gained a little control over my wobbling high- heels. "Don't worry," Elliott said. "I feel privileged to have caught you two girls having such fun. Samantha, I think Kim is going to work out, don't you?" "Without a doubt, dear. Without a doubt!" Elliott headed downstairs. Samantha stepped back and looked at me up and down with great care. I stood there like a statue, only occasionally lurching from side to side to recover my balance. Finally, she said, "I like it!" We followed Elliott. I had no pride left. They could do whatever they wanted to me, and I would go along happily, just being what they wanted me to be. I was in hog's heaven, or perhaps doll's heaven, feeling like the consummate character actress, or I thought, "actor," to be politically correct. I didn't want to think how I might feel in the morning, but for the time being, I was happy. Or drunk, or both. Samantha and I reached the living room downstairs holding hands, giggling and struggling to keep our feet. That's really the last thing I remembered before the headache the next morning when my alarm went off. © Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved. [email protected]