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Caught In A Good Romance, 7 Of 10 free porn video
© Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
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Caught in A Good Romance, 7 of 10
By Leslie Lowe
Chapter 7
The next morning was Saturday, and I was really excited to have a day
off to do a few chores around my apartment, which had been woefully
neglected in the frantic run-up to our Harem Fundraiser. I was
scrubbing the filthy kitchen floor when my cellphone rang. It was nine
o'clock.
The call was from Lance's driver, Ralph, asking what time I wanted to be
picked up. I told him ten would be fine. He thanked me. Nice man. No
sense at all that he was rubbing in the fact that I had been a total
sissy and more the night before when his boss escorted me home as he
drove, but he had to know that that girl and I were the same person,
right?
At ten, I was ready when the call came, and I went out to Lance's limo,
deciding in the last steps to sit in front with the help, since I was
the help too. But before I could reach for the door handle, the back
door opened, and there was Lance grinning at me.
He scanned my body, dressed in male clothes for a change. "You look
good both ways," he said, smiling warmly, and not at all as if taunting
me. "Hop in, Kim. I've got something to show you."
I complied, feeling less vulnerable in my venerable jeans, scruffy
Cornell-red tee-shirt, and my well-worn Adidas Samba soccer flats.
Flats? I asked myself. Only a girl would say flats. I wondered if a
real girl felt the relief I did at dressing down, not wearing her
makeup.
The car rolled away. The driver glanced back and said, "Good morning,
sir."
"Good morning, Ralph. Just Kim, okay?"
"Sure thing, uh, Kim."
Lance patted my knee possessively but more like a buddy than a predator.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Fine," I said. "Lance, I really appreciate it, but you didn't have to
come your--."
"Hey, it was the least I could do after teasing you so much last night."
"Well, I was a soft target in that costume," I said. "I'm sorry I was
so, you know, snippy about it. Usually, I'm a pretty good sport."
"I agree with what Elliott said, that you have enormous courage to pull
off that role amidst all those other women."
"He told you that too?" I asked rhetorically, letting the "other women"
remark pass. He really did seem genuinely proud of me. "So what's this
you wanted to show me?" I asked, hoping it had something to do with
business, then deciding to try to move him that way, adding, "Something
about this great business I've heard so much about in our meetings?"
"Yeah. How did you know?" Lance asked. "I'm headed out to check our
new regional headquarters jobsite. They're not working a full crew
today. I want to make sure they're getting my own office right. We can
have lunch too, if you'll let me buy?"
How would I explain a declination of Lance's invitation to either of my
bosses? Did I want to succeed, become rich like them, and buy my
parents their dream-home or not? "That sounds like fun!" I said
brightly, realizing only too late that I had lapsed into my girl voice.
Lance said nothing, but I could tell from the pleasure on his face that
he had heard it too.
Ralph drove us toward the western suburbs along beautiful, tree-lined
secondary roads, no four-lanes. The pace was leisurely. Lance began to
tell me all about his plans for this regional office and how he was
going to make it his own main office and build himself a new house,
"when I find the right girl, so she can help me design it."
That made me blush, since he told me with his eyes that I was definitely
one of the candidates for that position, to be his--no, I told myself,
it couldn't be! I would just be a bisexual one-night stand to him at
most, a curiosity, a war story. I tried to shake off the silly thoughts
of our future together--as if we had one--and just listen as he drew a
picture of his plans in words.
At first, I had to pretend to be interested in this talk about the
office building. The truth was, his business held no fascination for
me. But I realized later in his monologue that his way of expressing
the plans and how and why he intended to make it all happen were
intriguing when viewed as a window into the soul of this man, especially
the part about the palatial new home.
He wanted something fabulous, something that would proclaim to the world
how successful he was, something uniquely his--and his life partner's.
Both the office and the home--even the yacht--were business
considerations to him, all about exuding success to others at his level
of competition and using these structures as tangible, three-
dimensional, graphic evidence that he was someone whose association
would be valuable, gaining support from those who could help him achieve
even greater success. All these plans were about toolmaking, not social
showboating.
Even though I was more of an artistic person than a business type, he
was a man with consummate social skills--despite his demonstrated rough
side--so he managed to entertain me immensely.
Trying to be sociable in return, I asked a few questions about the
office, the home and the type of woman he wanted to be his wife. The
latter turned out to be a mistake. His answer was, "Adaptability is
really the key, Kim. I want someone who can handle any situation,
someone who is always changing, trying new things, someone who will
never bore me, and someone who will complement me, surprise me."
"You're so handsome!" I said facetiously, in my girl voice, trying to
deflect him with humor. "A compliment like that?"
He laughed. "You have an English degree. You know that's not the word
I was using. I'm just telling my new friend the kind of woman I want."
"I think I've got it," I said, maintaining the jocular tone. "Flexible,
adaptable, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound? Sort of a
modern Supergirl?"
"Yes, Kim. Like you."
Uh-oh! I thought. There he goes again. No escape from Mr. Forcible.
"You're embarrassing me," I said.
"I don't mean to. I like you. I have a proposition to make over lunch.
I want to be upfront with you. It's all benefit and no risk. You can
run it by your parents and your bosses and your financial advisor."
"Financial advisor?" I said. As if.
"Let's take it slow and enjoy the scenery," Lance said. "Enough talk
about me. Tell me more about yourself."
So I did, trying to emphasize the macho side of my life--Ha! But as I
talked about playing sports like tennis and volleyball and working on
residential construction, leaving out the bullying and other
embarrassing moments, part of my mind played critic to what I was doing.
Who was I fooling? Not Lance. He had seen what a good waitress and
secretary I could be even dressed almost as a boy at work. He had seen
what a beautiful and natural woman I could be at dinner the night
before. He had asked me for a date, for God's sake! Yes, I was riding
with a billionaire in his car solely because he wanted to develop our
relationship romantically, a man who was apparently sexually attracted
to me in some homosexual or really different heterosexual sense, a man
who had been in prison, which had taught him to enjoy sex with guys who
could play girl.
I realized then that this man who thought he wanted me to be his
girlfriend must be seeing me as a woman dressed down for relaxation, not
a man out of costume. My hair was in a ponytail. Experience had
already proven to me that if I redid my lovely locks into a girl's high
pony and added earrings and lipstick, nothing more, I would be taken for
a girl, because I was necessarily sporting the more-or-less permanent
feminizing changes Samantha and Dawn had made, such as pierced ears,
arched eyebrows, and smooth, moisturized, hairless skin on my bare arms,
ending in carefully, professionally shaped nails, resplendent in their
feminine delicacy, even without polish. Yes, I told myself, I was about
as macho as a high-school cheerleader on her day off. Oh well. The
show must go on. And as acting roles went, this one was rather
pleasant. Lance knew how to treat a lady. I caught myself then. What
the hell was I thinking?
"Just as I figured," Lance said, as I finished my tales. "You've been a
pretty active guy. Me too. I love the competition of sports. When I
can win."
"Really?" I said. "I never was bothered about losing, although it was
so fun to try really hard to win. Being too focused on winning seems to
create anxiety and take a lot of the fun out of it, you know?"
"Yeah," Lance said, sitting back and smiling. "I got you." He shifted
his eyes outside. "Here we are!"
Ralph pulled the big car into a massive construction complex sprawling
over about ten acres.
"Get us as close as you can, Ralph. I don't want our guest to be
walking around in this mess any more than necessary."
Delicate flower that she is, I thought, finishing his sentence, reading
his mind. Could this really be happening? I asked myself. Is this man
actually putting the moves on me, as if I were a real girl? That's what
it felt like, and the scary thing was, since Lance had learned to handle
me with more sensitivity, not pushing so hard, I found myself really
enjoying it. Oh my!
"You got it, boss," Ralph said. He drove up and stopped at the circular
drive in front of the new partially constructed central office building.
He walked around and opened my door, from which both of us exited.
An hour later, we sat down to have lunch on the deck of a lakeside
restaurant a couple miles from the office site. The hills in the
background were lush and green.
I relaxed after a few sips of the mimosa Lance had ordered to refresh me
while he surveyed the wine list. We resumed our personal conversation
over the bottle of chilled champagne, waiting for my salad and his
steak, both of which he had ordered after asking if he could order for
me. I should have been miffed about this controlling behavior, but he
must have been winning me over, because I felt not controlled but taken
care of, and it felt good and right to me, even though I wondered if a
real man would stand for it and what I was revealing by just going
blithely along. Obviously, Lance was a man who knew how to get what he
wanted, who knew how to treat a lady. Did I think that was happening?
Oh my God, I did! It had to be the champagne, which was delightful.
And besides, the salad was exactly what I wanted!
Lance asked me how I felt about him, and I responded that I thought he
was a good guy and was very impressed with his success and his ability
to turn off the hard business edge with a friend like me.
"I like you too, Kim," Lance said, shifting in his seat, sitting up
straight and leaning over close to me. "Look, Kim. I want to show you
something, and tell you something. I need you to promise not to say
anything until I've finished. I'm too clumsy with words to handle this
if you interrupt me."
Clumsy? I thought. Sure he was; as clumsy as a retired NFL player
winning "Dancing with the Stars." I looked at him, a bit confused.
"Okay?" I said hesitantly, somewhat fearfully, but we were in a crowded
public place, so I knew he couldn't get too weird on me. It occurred to
me that he had chosen this spot for the same reason! It would be
difficult for me to leave in a huff; my car wasn't waiting at the pier
this time.
He reached into his sports coat and pulled out a small package. He put
it on the table between us, a spot that was private enough, since we
were sitting each on one side of a corner of a secluded table, looking
out onto the lake. He didn't say anything.
I looked down at the package. It was a small present, box-shaped and
beautifully gift-wrapped. The wrapping was in a matte-silver paper with
a blue tint and the tiny loop of ribbon was a darker, shinier metallic
blue, and it was held on by a small label that said Tiffany's.
I looked up at Lance, who smiled at me warmly, with no hint of malice or
even mirth, his expression saying only that we were friends.
"For me?"
"It is."
"Thank you, Lance. Should I open it now?"
"Please."
I did. Inside was a clamshell jewelry box. No surprise there. I
lifted the lid. A pair of white gold princess-cut diamond stud earrings
winked at us in the sunlight. My heart thumped with desire. "Oh!" I
said, sighing as if I were fainting--I was that surprised. How could he
have picked the one thing that I would have a very difficult time saying
no to? How could he know that I wore my CZ studs that Samantha had
bought me so often that I had felt something missing all morning? I
cleared my throat. "You shouldn't have, Lance!"
"It was the least I could do for being such an asshole about us," he
said.
"I'm not sure what you mean. You don't owe me anything, Lance. I don't
hold grudges. Surely you know that much about me now?"
"Meaning I should have realized that if we are to be friends, and more,
I had to treat you--well, I had to not be the pushy auto parts salesman
I usually am."
"Thank you so much!" I said. "But I can't accept this. These are
diamonds, right?"
"Of course," he said, laughing, "but only a carat each. They're not big
enough for some gang-banger to bother taking them off you on the
street."
I laughed with him. "That's a relief!" I said. "But you're also our
client, and the conflict of interest--"
"Hey now," he said, enclosing my hand in his on top of the table, "I've
already discussed it with Elliott. There's no conflict if there's full
disclosure."
I looked at him, searching his face. I was totally stuck. I did not
know what to do, pulled as I was toward the gorgeous diamonds, which I
could wear every afternoon being Samantha's Girl Friday, and which could
be sold in a pinch if I lost my job or my parents needed some cash. But
accepting a gift like this would mean I owed this man. What would he
exact in return? Maybe not a business favor, since Elliott was aware,
but how would I be able to say no to his next request for a date with
Kim-the-girl?
"No obligation," Lance said, reading my mind. "This is for past sins,
not future favors."
"But--"
"And I'm not finished. Remember you promised not to interrupt me?"
"Sorry!" I said, giggling.
"Put them on, Kim."
I complied, smiling at him, noting that I had not a hint of the shame,
or the feeling of being the conspicuous sissy, that I once had when
donning something feminine. Of course, thousands of men wore diamond
studs, but not too many pretty, long-haired white boys like me.
Clipping the second holder onto its shaft, I took a deep, satisfying,
cleansing breath, and sitting up straight, turned my head back and forth
gracefully, showing off my new jewels to my benefactor, watching them
sparkle in his eyes.
"They look spectacular on you, Kim."
"Thank you so much, Lance. But I'm only trying them on. I--"
Lance squeezed my hand gently, interrupting me. "Kim, I still have the
floor, don't I?"
I smiled and blushed, looking down. "Yes, you do. Sorry!"
"This is a little show and tell, my dear. What I want to tell you is
this. I was as happy with you last night as I have ever been in my
life. It might seem strange, but I think I'm falling for you."
I looked at him, watching for signs of con-man intent. I saw nothing
that warned me off. "Really?"
He continued. "Yeah. I'm surprised too. I thought this was about a
conquest, doing what I had done a few times in prison--but don't look so
crazy. I never raped anybody. These were relationships with young men-
-adults--and I was helping them stay alive in there and not get abused.
I took care of them and they served my needs, but it was never forced,
never brutal, unless they wanted it that way."
"Really? They did?"
"Sure, a few of them did. But just so you know, any brutality was all
an act for me. I never really hurt anyone. I didn't enjoy pretending
to hurt anyone. I'm not into S&M."
"I believe you, Lance."
"And I played rugby and had more than my share of bar fights. So I know
how to hurt a man. But only someone who's trying to hurt me or someone
I love."
"But these, uh, sexual partners? They wanted to be hurt?"
"Okay, maybe they didn't believe me and were thinking I liked it, since
half the guys inside were psychopaths. Or maybe they were kinky--kinky
gay or kinky whatever. Who knows? It's not a crime to be a masochist,
last time I checked."
"I didn't mean that. I was just interested."
"No, I got that. But Kim, I don't want to talk about the past. I want
you to understand how I feel about us. You're not going to run me off
easily. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a stalker. If you insist, I'll be
more careful about contacting you. No more tricks, okay?"
"That's a relief!" I said, laughing brightly, realizing I was totally
flattered by this approach, the care and attention this rich and
powerful man was bestowing upon me.
He got the joke, and smiling, added, "So to conclude my pitch, I just
want you to be open to our having what we had last night. Can you do
that for me, Kim, and let's see what happens?"
"So it's like the earrings for a date?" I said, smiling to let him know
I didn't really feel that way, but also intent on being clear, since he
was after all, a valuable client I could not afford to offend by a
misunderstanding on top of a negative reply. If--not when--I made a
negative reply, I caught myself thinking.
"I can tell you're joking," Lance said. "You know what I'm saying. But
just to be clear. Please accept the earrings even if you have decided
you hate me and never go out with me again."
"Oh, Lance! I don't hate you!"
"Somehow I knew that," he said, patting me on the shoulder, letting his
hand mold into a downward stroke of my arm, caressing me, but in a non-
obvious way. "So will you keep them?"
His touch felt really nice to me. "I'll think about it, okay?"
"Sure. And will you think about letting go a bit and allowing me to see
if I can win your heart?"
"You are a very persuasive man, Lance. And yes, I'll think about that
offer too. I am flattered. You aren't making me feel like a freak or--
what do you call it in prison?"
"A bitch? A prison sissy? A turned-out sissy bitch?"
"Ouch!" I said, laughing. "That's so crude! But you don't make me feel
that way. And I appreciate that, Lance. So I will think about your
gift and your invitation, I promise."
"But separately?"
"What do you mean, separately?"
"I'm saying that those earrings mean nothing to me, Kim. Not to brag,
but I want to make it clear to you. The cost of this gift is trivial to
me. The sentiment is not. You owe me nothing except the consideration
you'd give any friend. I want you only as a volunteer date, not a
coerced one."
"I really appreciate that, Lance. You are so sweet!"
"And by the way, if you say no to either or both, you're still going to
be my little buddy and we'll still work together. I've got some ideas
how to make our stores even more appealing to women and, uh, metrosexual
men, without alienating the traditional men. Either way, whether we
date or not, I want your help with that, along with Elliott's other
people. There is no compulsion here. Am I being clear?"
Maybe not from his side, I thought, the conflicting emotions and
thoughts crashing around inside me. But at least Lance was doing
everything he could to reduce the coercive effect, the intoxicating
effect, of wealth, power and diamonds. A part of my mind whispered to
my champagne soaked self-awareness that I was thinking like a girl, but
at that moment, I did not care a bit. I was in girl's heaven!
# # #
Samantha was being extraordinarily bossy with me the next workday
afternoon. "No, Kimmie, I am not going to let you in until you do your
lips."
"You can be so mean sometimes, Samantha!" I said, chiding her from
outside the door while reaching into my purse for my compact and
lipstick. I opened them both expertly, rolling the lipstick out with
one hand like all the ladies do, rather proud of myself and also rather
amazed to be proud of such a silly thing.
Samantha stood there, blocking the door to her penthouse, with her maid
standing behind her smiling at me. Maria the maid had been a surprise
after all the speechifying about wanting to act like the common folk,
but it didn't bother me that much, because Samantha and Elliott were
really good bosses and fun people, and after all, who in life was ever
really consistent? Look at what I was considering--agreeing to become
the girlfriend of a man! I had made up my mind to ask Samantha's advice
about it, if she ever gave me the chance.
I finished up, rolled my lips together, checked them one last time in
the mirror, kissed my reflection to make Samantha laugh, and put my
things away.
"Very pretty!" Samantha said. "Entrez vous?" she said, stepping aside
and seeing that Maria was behind her. "Maria, will you please get to
work on the silver?"
"Yes, ma'am," Maria said, sounding hurt, reluctantly leaving the little
drama Samantha and I had been putting on for her.
"Love your new diamonds, my dear," Samantha said, as she led us back to
the sunroom that gave a spectacular unobstructed view of the nearby
park. "We'll work in here today. It's so nice out."
"I love it out here," I said, wondering how she knew they were diamonds.
"Can I ask you for some advice before we start work?"
Samantha poured us each a cup of tea and handed me mine. "Sit down,
sweetie. What is it?"
"You already noticed the diamonds."
"How could I not? They are perfect for you! Have you been saving your
pennies?"
"Lance gave them to me."
"Really?" She smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly.
"What?" I said.
"I suspected as much."
"Why?"
"You need to pay attention, young lady. He has been lusting after you
from the beginning, and Friday night, he was almost drooling. He is
totally hooked. All you have to do is reel him in."
"Samantha! What makes you think I'm fishing?"
"Oh, you poor dear," she said, shaking her head. "You haven't figured
it out yet, have you? You don't have a clue."
"About what? What are you saying?"
"It's time you knew, Kim. Elliott and I are not going to be part of a
seduction that is done in an ulterior way. That's not who we are. If
you had not asked, I would have brought it up today."
"So--?"
"Kim, I knew about the diamond studs."
"You did? How? Did Joyce call you, or Kim?"
Samantha laughed. "Kim! Don't you see yet? Lance has been talking to
Elliott and me about you from the beginning--"
"He what?" I shrieked.
"--just as we planned?"
"P-p-planned?" I said, standing up, feeling the anger rise in me as it
all became clear. They had set me up! The girl stuff wasn't about
Samantha's need for me to be a girl. It was about Lance's desire for me
to be a girl. "You have been pimping me out?" I screamed at her. "How
could you? How could Elliott do that to another guy? You are both
horrible!"
Maria appeared at the door, obviously disturbed by my shouting, but also
wildly curious.
"Come on in, Maria," I said. "You might as well know what kind of boss
you work for, the kind I used to work for! You are such a bitch,
Samantha!" I grabbed a napkin and wiped off my lipstick. I took off my
earrings and dropped them in my purse. "That's it for this masquerade.
I'm out of here!"
"Kim," Samantha said, coming over to me and hugging me.
I tried to shrug her off, but she held on.
"Oh, my poor baby. I'm so sorry to have hurt you, but would you rather
I had continued to hide this? Doesn't this show I love you?"
I realized I was crying.
Maria was standing by the door looking very sad, a shocked expression on
her face, what I could see of it over her hands, which covered her wide-
open mouth.
"Sit down, Maria," Samantha said. "Here, let me pour you a cup of tea
for a change." She did so, handing it over to her maid.
Maria complied quickly, taking a ridiculously upright posture on the
edge of a nearby chair, looking as if she might bolt any second. She
accepted the tea and took a sip, still looking cornered.
"Kim baby, I want you to sit down too. There, there," she said, wiping
the tears from my cheeks. "It's a good thing you don't have your eyes
done yet!"
"Oh!" I said in anguish, and the tears came again. I was thinking about
what these people had done to me, feeling so ashamed, so ridiculous,
seeing myself through their eyes clearly now, what I must have looked
like trying to pretend to be a guy when they had already decided I was
not just a girl but a slut.
Samantha pushed me back down in my seat and poured me another cup of
tea.
I looked at the mess on the floor. Someone seemed to have dropped her
teacup. Her? Me! I started sobbing again. I was now thinking of
myself as a she.
"Stop being so hysterical, Kim. Wait until you hear the whole story."
Samantha said this with so much caring, so much quiet dignity, that it
brought me back to my senses.
I tried to ground myself in the present. I felt my butt on the firm
couch cushion. I hefted the dainty teacup. I sipped my tea. I took
three deep breaths.
"Now, now, my dear. That's better, isn't it?"
"Yes. I'm sorry. I should let you finish before I--"
"Yes, you should, because you are a very lucky g--uh--person."
"What do you mean? I feel so ridiculous, Samantha! I feel so--so
used."
"Oh, I know you do. And we feel bad to have used you. But don't you
see there was no choice? Don't you see that if we had put the deal to
you tit-for-tat we would have been guilty of the grossest kind of
solicitation and sexual harassment ever?"
"I don't understand." But actually it was beginning to dawn on me that
it could have been worse. Maybe she did have a point. How else could
they have done it?
"We had to know if you could pull off being a woman, and see if Lance
found you attractive. Hell, we weren't even sure that he was telling
the truth about liking boy pussy!" She laughed, one girl to another.
Maria was laughing.
I wasn't laughing. "Boy pussy?"
"That's what he called his little dalliances in prison, sweetie. I'm so
sorry. But I think it's rather cute. You'd understand if you had been
a woman longer, living your life as a sex object. The earthy names come
with the role, as much as we hate it."
Maria nodded emphatically.
"So what's next?" I said, still feeling hurt and trying to sound
skeptical. "Lance said he was only interested in me if I--quote--
'volunteered' to be his girl."
"We feel the same way. It will not affect your job if you say no. It
might even make Lance more malleable, if you ask me, because he'll still
have hopes of seducing you in the future."
"So I don't have to say yes?"
"No, dear, not at all."
"And you don't have to keep making me dress up?"
"No," Samantha said, laughing, "but I just love it! I do enjoy your
girl side so much, and I actually do think it has helped you be more
effective as my PA."
I did too. She was right about that. But I still wanted to confirm it.
"And it's all up to me?"
"It is."
"Wow!" I said, shaking my head, confused and confronted by the reality
of my situation.
"Still," Samantha added, "it is an opportunity for a young lady who
wants to make her way in the world."
"But I'm not a lady!"
Samantha pulled out her cellphone and showed me a picture of her, Dawn
and me at the Harem Fundraiser. "Really, honey?"
What could I say? I did look feminine and cute, able to keep up girl-
wise even in that fast company. I did not look like a guy in a dress.
And I realized that just at that moment I was wondering if I needed to
fix my lips and was searching my frazzled mind for what I had done with
my earrings. I just didn't feel right anymore without my feminine
trappings.
© Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
[email protected]
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