God of LoveChapter 2 Romance
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Caught In A Good Romance, 5 Of 10 free porn video
© Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
[email protected]
Caught in A Good Romance, 5 of 10
By Leslie Lowe
Chapter 5
Early the next morning, I dressed in jeans, tennies and a white polo
shirt and arrived at the marina on time, having no trouble finding
Lance's boat.
After I announced who I was to several buff guys standing on the deck,
they invited me to jump aboard, which I tried to do, almost falling in
before one of them caught me by the hand and another strong man grabbed
me under the arms and lifted me aboard. They were all good about it,
telling me it happened to a lot of people.
"One of his ladies actually fell in," said a handsome guy wearing swim
trunks who was working nearby putting away a coil of rope.
"Yeah," said the guy who had caught my hand and helped rescue me, "Lance
told us if we ever let that happen again, he was going to throw us
overboard and tow us out to the race."
Lance came up on deck and greeted me as if he really was glad I had
come. He gave me a tour of the boat, saying I could use his cabin if I
wanted to take a nap or go to the bathroom or anything.
I could hardly believe there was a full-sized bed in the room.
"Amazing!" I told him.
He showed me the galley, with food and drinks in the refrigerator, and
the nearby main lounge with an impressive library. He told me to help
myself if I got bored, hungry or thirsty later.
"Would you like to borrow a bathing suit and get some sun?" Lance asked,
leading me back into the bedroom.
"Do you have one to fit me?"
He opened a drawer and pawed through the clothes. "Try this," he said.
"It's the smallest I have."
"Right here?"
"Yeah," Lance said. "There are no girls aboard."
Except me, I thought nervously, preferring not to reveal my shaven legs.
I took off my jeans, trying to stand on the other side of the bed so he
couldn't see all of me.
"You a swimmer or a biker?" he asked. "I see you shave."
I hesitated, not knowing what to say. "I'd love to learn," I managed to
squeeze out. I was a horrible liar. I had no choice but to be myself!
I pulled the suit up over my briefs. It looked ridiculously large on my
skinny body. I had to hold it up, despite the elastic waist. If I had
tied the drawstring to fit, the legs would have ballooned out almost
like a skirt. "It won't work, Lance. But thanks for trying."
"I've got some girls' suits over here," he said, opening another drawer.
"I wouldn't want to--"
"Maybe if we can find a bikini bottom that's not too--you know?" He
held up a pair of what looked like pink panties.
"Never mind," I said in a panic, feeling my face flush. "I would only
get sunburned anyway."
Lance put the suits away. "Well, we tried," he said. "I just thought,
the way you were dressed the other day, you wouldn't care, you know?"
"It's not that," I said. "I just don't want to impose." So lame!
"Sure," Lance said. "Hey, it's time to get underway."
Lance watched me dress, not the least bit embarrassed about staring at
me.
Did I look that funny?
We went up on deck. Lance gave a few orders, and the boat left the
dock. Lance told me where to sit, behind him in the sunken pilot's area
of the long sailboat. I marveled at the incredibly tall sails.
Quickly, the wind took us, and the ship was leaning over so far I could
hardly believe it. As we cut through the water, the men would jump on
the ropes and pull them this way and that to adjust the sails or
whatever, or they would run the ropes through pulleys and winches with
crank handles and lift or drop additional sails into position. I was
very impressed with the way Lance orchestrated it all.
The water was beautiful on this delightful sunny day, and Lance warned
me against sunburn. On his order, one of the boys applied suntan lotion
to my face and arms for me, grinning as if he were enjoying it. I
wondered if he was gay, but there was no sign of any effeminacy in him
or anyone on deck. Except me? I was by far the least macho of the
bunch, tiny, fragile and feminine in comparison to the rippling muscles
and great male physiques surrounding me, including Lance, the reigning
head hunk. I felt almost girlish in comparison, although thankfully I
had removed all my signs of femininity, even my nail polish, in
preparation for being with Lance. The tiny silver hoops I had
begrudgingly worn were a compromise with Samantha, who had threatened to
subject me to several piercings in each ear if I let the first holes
close up.
We sailed out for half an hour and soon after joined several other large
sailboats. Lance gave orders, and the men did things with the ropes and
sails. The boats all seemed to be trying to keep moving around without
going too far from each other. After a while, Lance looked at his watch
and told the crew it was about time for the gun. A few seconds later,
we heard a distant boom, and the pace of activity on deck changed from
leisurely to frenetic.
For several hours, no one paid the least bit of attention to me and I
now understood why Lance had given me the tour and showed me where
everything was. Finally, I asked him if he wanted something to drink
and he politely declined, so I went down and fetched myself a light
beer. He was at work as captain of the ship most of the day shouting
orders and threats and making fun of anyone on the crew who slipped up.
He was definitely in charge.
Lance did stop to eat a sandwich standing at the wheel, which I brought
him at lunch with mine from the fridge. After that, I went to each crew
member and asked if I could get them anything. Serving Lance and the
other men lunch and drinks, I felt that I was at least being of some
help.
I was impressed with the way Lance manhandled the wheel and gave orders
to the sailors in a profane, abusive style that didn't surprise me a bit
after what Elliott had told me. The sailors scurried around and did
their work, always careful to stay clear of me and treating me as if I
were very fragile indeed. Through all of this, Lance interacted with me
as if I were an honored guest, using none of the brusque, naughty
language that he and the men on the crew seemed to naturally adopt with
each other.
Finally, we heard another gun, and Lance said he thought we had won the
race, but we would need to wait for word from the officials. He handed
off the wheel to one of his men and asked me if I would like to come
down and have a drink with him.
"The race was so exciting," I said, trying to be nice but feeling a bit
false, since I had not really understood what was going on.
"Yeah," Lance said, grabbing a Heineken and handing me an Amstel Light.
"It was a good run, even though it's just for practice right now."
"Thank you for having me," I said, offering my bottle to click against
his. "A toast to victory in your next real race!"
"To victory!" he said, clicking his bottle hard against mine and then
taking a big gulp of his beer.
I waited for him to indicate what we would do next, and where.
"Let's sit down," he said, pointing at a sumptuous couch in the main
lounge area near the galley.
I sat.
Lance took another long slug of his beer.
"I thought Elliott said you were going to work me so hard?" I asked
lightheartedly.
"I never thought you were the type for breaking in as a sailor with all
these meatheads," Lance said, chuckling warmly, joining me on the couch.
"Probably not," I agreed, sipping my beer.
"Maybe we could go out on my Snipe sometimes, just the two of us?"
Lance patted me on the thigh.
"That would be so fun!" I said, really excited that he still considered
me worthy of his friendship even though I had turned out to be too wimpy
for this boat. I hoped a Snipe was a sailboat. "Is that a sailboat?" I
said, before I could stop myself, feeling a bit tipsy and carried away
by this rich, powerful man's attention.
"Yeah," Lance said, chuckling. "You have a lot to learn, Kim, and it
would be my pleasure to teach you."
"I do! I'm such a know-nothing about sailing." I said. "Thank you for
not holding my ignorance against me."
Lance waved his hand to the side as if to brush off my apology as no
problem at all. "So," he said, sitting back with the pleased sigh of a
tired working man. "Tell me more about yourself, Kim."
I gave him a quick resume of my life, including the acting and the
waiter jobs. I tried hard to avoid covering or putting on airs, obeying
the advice of my boss to be myself. I mentioned my working parents and
where they lived and what they were like. I told the story of how my
dad had suggested to start at the bottom in a good company. It was an
attempt to get the conversation back on AMI.
"Sounds like my old man," Lance said. "He pushed me pretty hard. I
guess I wasn't as smart as you. I didn't realize I had everything,
afflicted by the classic spoiled rich kid's delusions. After college
and an MBA at Stanford--with honors, believe it or not--I got to
thinking I was too good for this auto parts business, began to dither
around, then rebelled, did drugs and all that, and ended up in prison."
"Wow!" I said. "Was that tough? Prison seems so scary on TV!"
"Oh, it was okay. What you don't see on television is how much money
helps in prison. It's like everywhere else. I had it pretty easy,
actually."
"Elliott says your company is very successful," I said.
"Oh, yeah. We're going great. I think we were smart to get into a new
type of do-it-yourself retail in a big way before a lot of the more
conservative companies did--you know, the single gals or metrosexual
male, nontraditional customers we talked about in the meeting so much.
That was my contribution when I joined the company after my father
retired," he said, looking off into the distance. "He died a couple
years ago and my mother was gone a year later."
"I'm so sorry for your loss," I said.
He shrugged. "They had a great life, and they saw me succeed before
they went. All my sins were forgotten, or almost all of them."
"That's nice, to feel at peace about your parents."
"What I mean," he said, now focusing intently on me, "is that I have a
rather crazy love life that they didn't approve of."
"Really?" I said, so interested in him but immediately realizing it was
better not to ask an important customer to reveal any scary secrets.
"It's probably something you'd rather not talk about."
"Actually," he said, "I asked you out here to discuss it."
"Really?" I said, definitely nervous by now.
"Well," he said, smiling, seeming to search for the right words, "I
mentioned your pretty manicure."
"Yeah?" I said, noting the word "pretty" with some trepidation. Was I
about to be criticized for being gay or whatever? Was this all a setup
to subject me to an angry homophobic's rantings, or worse? Was he a
fundamentalist Christian about to recruit me? Or was he gay himself and
thinking that I was too?
"I also saw your lace underwear that day, Kim."
"You did?"
"I did. And I'm wondering--I didn't want to ask you in your boss'
office, in case it was a private thing--but I'm wondering if you are one
of those guys who likes to play girl?"
"You mean a drag queen?"
"Well, a drag queen is usually gay, doing it for entertainment. Online,
the guys I like, who seem almost like real girls, they call themselves
transgendered or crossdressers, and some of them are transsexuals, like
chicks with dicks or she-males? But that she-male stuff is mostly porn.
Have you seen it?"
"Yeah," I said, trying a little white lie, because I had never been a
big fan of porn. But who could miss all the guys in drag online, in the
news, and so on?
"Well?" he said softly.
"Oh!" I said. "You mean am I one of those guys who wants to be a girl?"
"Yeah," he said.
"No, I don't think so," I said.
He grimaced, as if he thought he might have seriously insulted me.
"I mean, it's fine if somebody wants to do drag, and I have a little!" I
added hurriedly, to ease his mind. "Actors do that, you know."
"Really? Tell me about that," Lance said, very interested.
I decided to lay it on thicker since he was so interested. "I was told
after the one drag role I played in college that I made a cute girl." I
laughed. "But I haven't felt any craving lately to wear a dress." It
was another white lie, since I had genuinely enjoyed the girl play with
Samantha and the other ladies.
"So what's with the lacy underwear and the polished fingernails and the
shaved legs?"
"Oh, Samantha makes me do that. She wants me to sort of understand what
it's like to be a girl, for her work, you know? She even makes me wear
bras and panties, and she got me a makeover, and pierced my ears, and I
have to carry a purse!" I looked at him to see if my desperate defense
to his cross-examination sounded better to him than it did to me.
He hesitated, finally saying, "And you just went along with it?"
"Uh, yeah?" It seemed so lame now! Did I know another guy who would
have let his boss feminize him as Samantha had done me?
Lance looked at me with a satisfied expression on his face. "Kim, you
see what I'm getting at, don't you?"
I did. No wonder he thought I was a she-male! "That most men would not
have let her do that?"
"Bingo," Lance said, holding out his beer for me to click, toasting my
failed argument.
I clicked back, searching for a way to explain. "But I needed the
money, Lance. I need this job. I told you about my parents using all
their money for my college degree?"
"Oh, I understand. I'm just saying it might be something you would--you
know--enjoy?"
"You think so?" Was he just being like a big brother to me, after all?
"I think so," he said. Then, sitting up and fixing me with a firm
stare, he said, "Look, Kim. I'll tell you straight. I like a pretty
boy in a dress and lipstick more than anything. I had some really cute
girlfriends in prison."
"Girlfriends?"
"That's what we called them. They were men, adult men, that I made
deals with, so they would dress and make themselves up like girls and,
you know, be a girl for me."
"And--?"
"Yes, and have sex with me as if they were female, or almost female,"
Lance said, smiling. "They were hot! And very tight, if you know what
I mean."
"That's interesting," I said quietly, not sure where to go with this,
and shocked by this--what was happening, really?
"Kim, you would be hot."
"I would?" I asked, a bit of shock creeping into my voice. "Well, thank
you, Lance, but we're not in prison, thank goodness!" It was a joke,
and in a way it wasn't.
"Kim, I want to take you out."
"Take me out? You mean as a girl?"
"That's exactly what I mean," he said.
"That's not who I am!" I said, finally overcome with self-conscious
shame and humiliation, recalling all the sissy names and high school
bullying I had been through. "I'm sorry, Lance, but I think I need to
leave."
Lance stood up. "Look, Kim. I know this has caught you off guard. But
if you're willing to try--"
"Try being your girlfriend?" I said, somewhat hysterically, I realized.
"Yeah, but--"
"I need to go," I said, trying not to cry but feeling the tears start
anyway, then standing up and rushing out the way we had come.
"But we can take it slow," Lance said from right behind me as I reached
the deck.
I was so relieved to find that we were at the dock already. I found the
best spot and jumped onto the pier awkwardly, almost falling on my face,
and ran off toward my car, stumbling, trying to wipe the tears from my
eyes, thinking what a freak I must be to be propositioned by a man like
him, asking me not just to be his gay lover but to be his woman!
# # #
The next day at the office, I told Joyce I needed to speak with Elliott
about Lance. She said he had breakfast meetings out of the office and
gave me a time right before lunch. I thought about what to say all
morning as I got her coffee and mine and did my filing and other routine
work.
Later, when I walked into Elliott's office, he greeted me with a smile
and a warm, two-handed politician's grip. "My man!" he said. "How did
you think it went with Lance? Did you feel he still likes you?"
"Oh yeah, he thinks I'm great! That's what I--"
"And Samantha tells me you cut a fine figure in one of her dresses with
all the society ladies. Apparently, they can't stop talking about this
androgynous personal assistant of hers who is so versatile! What's up
with that?"
"It was so embarrassing, Elliott! It was the other day at your home,
when she had a meeting with her Harem Fundraiser committee. She put me
in lipstick and hoop earrings first, and made me answer the door like
that, to get the reaction of her friends, and then she made me model a
dress and high heels in front of all those women."
"Oh," Elliott said. "Now I understand. She wants you in the room to
help at the fundraiser, and they won't let guys in until the end. Hey,
consider the upside! You might have fun being the rooster in the hen-
house."
"But I'll be dressed like a hen, and expected to act like one!"
"There is that," Elliott said, laughing. "But you'll handle it. I have
a lot of confidence in you."
"But I need to tell you--" I began.
"Hey, that reminds me. Samantha said I should tell you something.
Look, if she wants you to wear a dress around here, no problem. I think
it will be less conspicuous than going halfway, like the nail polish and
lacy underwear the other day. She says you make a great girl." He was
smiling, shaking his head, as if I had revealed an amazing magic act or
something.
"You noticed that? That explains why Lance--"
"Yeah, Lance even joked that he thought you'd make a pretty girl if you
ever decided to cross over."
"He said that? When?"
"This morning at breakfast."
"You talked to him? Did he tell you about our day on the boat?"
"Oh yeah. He said you seemed to enjoy yourself. He said you were not a
sailor but were a lot of fun to be around, and he would be glad to have
you join us sometime when we get together."
I listened, trying to decide how much I should tell Elliott now. There
was no need to say anything to save the client relationship or my job,
apparently. Lance must not have been offended. Maybe he expected that
reaction? Maybe he asks guys all the time to be his girlfriend? This
was way too weird to get my arms around. I realized discretion was in
order. "That's good to hear," I said. "I'm so glad he didn't find me
boring."
"Far from it," he said. "In fact, I'm going to tell HR to issue you a
$5,000 bonus."
"What?"
"You're in sales now, Kim. You get to share in the rewards. At the
breakfast meeting this morning, Lance added another layer to the
advertising program we're working on, authorizing us to handle all their
online ads as well as other media, and he funded it generously. He's
going all in with us, just as I had hoped, and I think you're part of
that."
"Thank you, Elliott. I can use the money to help my parents."
"Good for you," he said. "But you might want to rake off a couple
hundred for a new sailing outfit. It looks like Lance is going to
invite you back."
"He said that?"
"He did. Or rather he said he hoped the two of you would be getting
together soon. He didn't mention sailing specifically. You seem to be
his new best buddy," Elliott said, turning to his computer, which was
his polite sign of dismissal.
I left the room, feeling confused and dreading my next encounter with
Lance, but somewhat reassured about my job. And now Elliott wanted me
in a dress too? This could not be about me, I said to myself. I had
never encountered this kind of feminizing pressure before. It must be
that these strange people were playing with my mind and my gender,
whether it was on purpose or not, I had no idea.
The only thing I was sure of, after the revelations Elliott had just
shared, was that I could not hope to keep this job without being
Samantha's Barbie doll, even at the office. Not to forget the most
humiliating and yet somehow flattering fact of all: Lance was still
courting me. Oh--my--God!
© Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
[email protected]
Elissa
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