The Wedding Party - Chapt. 3 - Jane Austen Lends A Hand free porn video

The Wedding Party - Chapt. 3 - Jane Austen Lends a Hand By Jeanne Darc The knock at the door set my heart to pounding. There were so many ways this could go wrong. When Natasha called to say we'd be attending the FLR Jane Austen Ball upon her return Friday, I'd had to scramble to pull things together. I opened the door just a crack to be sure of the caller, then allowed Natasha to enter. She removed her hat and bowed. "Miss Bennet, I presume?" she said. "Mr. Darcy. How pleasant to see you." I held out a kid-gloved hand and she kissed it. "You look bemused. Is there something wrong with me?" I did a slow pirouette. She shook her head. "Two women stopped to stare at me in front of your building. I expected that - look how I'm dressed - but one of them tsked me and said she hoped I'd brought my dancing slippers. Then she told me my cravat should be white, not light blue. I picked it out to match the color you told me your gown was going to be." I looked at her knee-high black leather boots. "That'd be Joan. She's a stickler for accuracy." I could see Natasha was confused. "They're members of the local Jane Austen society. They were helping me get ready. It's impossible to dress like this alone." She eyed me from head to toe. "Slipping a dress on over your head requires three people?" "Why Mr. Darcy, first there's the chemise, then the stays over that - laced in the back of course, guaranteed to give a young lady that bursting-at-the-bosoms look-what-I've-got figure, and my cotton stockings must be tied tightly at the thighs, then there's the long petticoat, and I'm helpless with makeup. It's just a little rouge and a reddening of the lips, but I would have overdone it. With their help, I'm the pinup girl of 1820. Thank god I only had to deal with a wig and not real hair." "I'm impressed. And I must say, you're indeed bursting at the bosoms. They're real if I'm any judge. You can do that with stays?" She reached out to touch but I guided her hand away. "Mr. Darcy, behave yourself. Save dessert for later. It took tape and a few other architectural aids, but the end result is a nice set of curves peeking out for all the world to admire. Admit it, you're mesmerized by my charms. I'd swear these regency era gowns were designed just to emphasize that aspect of biology. Joan and Linda were astonished." "Well, you look like a Greek column topped by a Corinthian capital." She grimaced. "That sounded forced. Two simpler words - you're beautiful. And you got dressed like this in front of the ladies. That's brave. They must have had questions." I smoothed down the front of my gown. "I told them I was going to a costume party, but it had a gender bending theme." "Did they believe you?" She pulled a pocket watch out of her waistcoat and checked the time. "Probably. They were scandalized, but insanely curious. Especially Linda. She's a perv at heart. I'm supposed to take lots of pictures." "We should be going," Natasha announced. "Almost forgot." She took a six- inch long, narrow box out of her hat. "Not a pocket worth the having in this outfit," she said apologetically. Inside was a necklace that was an orgy of pearls and diamonds, arranged in choker fashion with a triangular cascade of delicate gemstones. It would be like wearing a neon sign that flashed 'look here' and pointed to my manufactured cleavage. Natasha lifted it out of its container. "I'm afraid it's Victorian, but since Joan and Linda won't be at the ball, we'll probably escape censure." She went to my back and gently draped the necklace around my throat and closed the clasp. The fine hairs on my neck transmitted every unintended caress of her fingers. There was something intimate and sensual about having her touch me that way, and I had to bite a gloved hand to keep from sobbing. She'd been gone five days and I felt flushed and my stomach was in knots, all in anticipation of seeing her again. "Let me grab my reticule," I said, a catch in my voice. "Your what?" I reached for a small velvet bag. "Purse." I placed my cell phone inside along with some tissues and a tube of lipstick in case I had to freshen up. I hesitated, then threw in a few lollipops. She held the front door open for me, then followed downstairs. The car was a sleek black limo complete with driver. "Aren't you overdoing it?" I said. "Why Miss Bennet, this a formal occasion. Anything less might suggest ill-breeding." "Or too much pride." I let her help me into the cavernous interior. "Something I'd expect the prejudiced to say," she said, slipping in beside me. There were two flutes of champagne waiting. We clinked glasses. "I see your plan, Darcy. Booze and baubles. I'm not that kind of girl." "I'll unlock you heart one way or another, missy," she chuckled. The speakers leaked velvet notes that swirled around us thick as London fog. I nestled against my date. "I like your perfume," she said. "Roses, right?" I nodded into her shoulder. Could I admit that roses would always mean something special to me now? She pulled away from me abruptly. "So there really is a Jane Austen society? You're not pulling my leg?" "They have them all over the country. The one here is large. That's where I got the gown. They told me light blue was appropriate for an ing?nue. Everybody loves Jane Austen. I've read all her books." "Why doesn't that surprise me?" I gave her a sharp look and she added "In a good way, I mean." "They're my favorites. What one do you like best?" I said. "Well, you've caught me out," she said. "I've never actually read a Jane Austen novel. I've seen the movie," she added quickly. "But the whole pride and prejudice thing a moment ago?" "I'm afraid that was the only Austen card I was holding. Sorry. But I'm willing to learn. Read one to me on a thick rug in front of a large fire, drowning in champagne and jazz." "Oh, and you pretend there'd be any reading going on?" We both laughed. The ride to the Chateau took thirty minutes. It was mostly known as an expensive venue for society weddings. We were pulling into the long oak- lined driveway that led up to the impressive portico entrance when Natasha took me by the hand. "You're going to get a lot of attention," she said. "But it's not anything you've done. It's me. I'm sure the rumor mill has been grinding away." I nodded. "You're sure to be interrogated by Ms. Fanshel. She's the Grande Dame of the upstate FLR community. You want her on your side. Remember to curtsey." "Curtsey?" I had no idea how to manage that. A flock of birds joined the butterflies already circling in my stomach. "And last warning - watch out for the Bannerman sisters. They think that there's an eleventh commandment that reads 'Natasha shalt marry a Bannerman.' I never got the memo." "Bannerman sisters?" Elephants joined the ruckus going on inside me. "I don't know which characters they'll be at the ball. They were raised in an FLR family, so this has been their whole life. That makes them think they're royalty, and they've cast me in the role of Prince Charming. They don't care which one I marry. It's a package deal, two for one." "That's a little scary," I said. "Growing up FLR must really mess with your head?" She stared at me with her intense green eyes, clearly weighing her words. "I grew up in an FLR family. My fraternal twin brother Frank didn't put on a pair of pants until he was 12. That's the same birthday I first put on a skirt. We got matching training bras on our 13th. He turned out fine - lives happily with his husband in Portland. My mother and father loved each other deeply. Completely. They set the bar so high I often wonder if I'll ever have anything that comes close to what they had. It's what I'm searching for. The Bannerman's can't give me that. The heart wants what it wants." I took Natasha's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry," I said. She smiled, a parting of the clouds, spilling sunshine. "Really, the gentlemen didn't wear boots to the ball? They had dancing slippers?" She gave me a light kiss on the cheek. "Ready to enter Jane Austen hell?" A butler met us at the door and escorted us inside. It was like being on the set of Downton Abbey. I could hear live music coming from the ballroom ahead. It sounded like La Boulang?re. A hum of conversation competed with the music like a buzzing of bees over the sighing of the wind. The butler halted at the entrance to the ballroom. "Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he announced in a loud voice. The conversation dropped a few decibels and was replaced with whispers and stares. Just another opportunity for me to blush. Hopefully the rouge I was wearing afforded some camouflage. Natasha took me by the arm and led me into the melee. She introduced me to a couple playing William Collins and Charlotte Lucas. Collins was a pompous windbag in Pride and Prejudice, and she was no different in person. Had someone tried to match personalities to characters.? I was fidgeting when I felt a hand on my arm. I turned to see three familiar faces. I willingly let them pull me away to a corner of the ballroom. "I'm so glad to see you," Jaqueline said, wrapping me in a hug and kissing me on the cheek. "I was excited when I saw that we'd all be the Bennet sisters. I'm Jane, Denise is Mary, and Lissa is Lydia." "I can't manage all the aliases," I said. "I'm going to stick with Jaqueline, Denise, and Lissa. At least I'll know a few faces here." "That's a spectacular necklace," Denise murmured. "If it's real it cost a fortune. Natasha?" I nodded. "Then it's real," she said. "I like the dress," Lissa said, fingering the fabric. He took a large sip from a glass of party punch. "Satin. And what are these ripe little melons you're displaying here?" He was eyeing my cleavage. "You didn't have those at the wedding. What's the story?" I explained the way I had created the appearance of breasts without the substance. "That must hurt," Denise said. I nodded. "It's uncomfortable, but I wanted to look the part. I feel enough like a fraud as it is. Natasha deserves better." "Oh, the things we boys will do for love," Jaqueline said with a sage nod of her head. "Love has nothing to do with it," I answered, a little more forcefully than I intended. The three of them looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Natasha drifted into our orbit. The orchestra was playing a merry tune and people were gathering in groups on the dance floor. "I'd ask you to dance," she said, "but these can be quite complicated." "That's nothing but a quadrille," I said. "I could do that in my sleep." Natasha looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head. "Where did you learn that?" I took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor. "I've a confession to make. The Jane Austen Society let me borrow this gown because I'm a member. They hold period costume balls all the time. As one of the few guys there, I'm in demand as a dance partner. They dance the soles off my shoes." We found a group of three couples and joined them as the required fourth. The music began and I maneuvered through the steps, exchanging partners and trying to be as graceful as I could, handing out smiles like they were candy at Halloween. The gown was very comfortable, and my feet felt light in the dance slippers I was wearing. I felt relaxed and happy, and a little sorry for Natasha. She was clomping around in her boots and the regency breeches she was wearing looked like they'd been painted on. It was view worth admiring, and I wasn't alone in noticing. A few dances later they announced a Gallopade and I tried to slip off the dance floor. I was breathing with exertion, and needed a date with my fan to cool down, but Natasha looked like she could dance all night. "You're in amazing shape," I said. "I used to do triathlon in college. I have a trainer and I try to keep fit. I'll introduce you to her if you'd like. Stay and dance with me. I like this one." I gritted my teeth and fitted into her arms. The Gallopade is a sea of couples, all twirling madly as they circle to the music's hurrying current. It's more or less mass chaos if the dancers aren't skilled, and that described this crowd to a T. Collisions multiplied until there were couples sprawled on the floor and arguments broke out. One of the fallen was Lissa, who'd had too much to drink and began singing The Wheels on the Bus. It was funny, and I couldn't contain myself. I broke out into loud, uncontrollable laughter. The music ground to a discordant halt and that only caused me to laugh louder. I earned my share of glares. Natasha guided me to a wall and handed me her handkerchief. "You laughed so hard your nose is running," she said. "Not the most ladylike behavior I've ever seen." "Ladylike isn't me. I'm a WYSIWYG kind of guy." I pulled Natasha in close and kissed her passionately. "That wasn't ladylike either," I said. "Which do you prefer?" "I could learn to like WYSIWYG," she said with a laugh. "Just as long as it was you." "Well, it's me now. Just a moth to your candle." I kissed her again. "I've got a surprise for you later," I teased. "Then let's hope later gets here sooner." The orchestra played a few bars, announcing the start of another number. Gently Natasha separated herself from my embrace. "I have to dance with Annie Price. She made me promise. What book is she in?" "It's Fanny Price. Read them and find out," I said. I was standing by a side wall, looking at myself in a full-length mirror, guilty admiring my charms and wondering what it would be like to have real breasts, when two young men in matching gowns took up posts on either side. "So, you're the trollop who's monopolizing Natasha," said the figure on my right. I took a lollipop out of my bag, removed the wrapper, and inserted it into my mouth. "Glad to meet you, too," I said. "I'm Elizabeth Bennet. Or Sean. And you are?" "Your betters. I'm Catherine Bannerman and the young lady to your left is my sister, Abigail." Abigail looked at me with a sneer. "He's wearing a wig, Cathy. Can you imagine that? And what's that disgusting thing he's sucking on?" Before I could respond, Catherine piled on. "It'll never last, you know. Natasha has a new affair as often as some boys change their panties. You'll be abandoned soon enough. You've no money, no knowledge of your proper role, and you probably can't find the hooks on your bra yet. Did she buy you roses? She buys everyone roses." He tapped my swelling bosom with the edge of his fan. "As deceiving as the rest of you." I shrugged as disinterestedly as I could. Did they think I'd overreact to their pettiness? "Then why waste your time badgering me?" I said. "You'll excuse me if I don't understand the rules of etiquette in your circles. Tell me, are you simply cruel or is it just ignorance?" Before either of them could respond, Natasha materialized in front of us. The Bannermans immediately grabbed her arms. "Oh, Mr. Darcy. We simply must have this dance," Abigail said, oozing poisoned honey, and the pair of them led her away. Catherine looked back at me with an evil smile on his face. "We'll get you," he mouthed. I looked to make sure nobody was watching and presented him with my middle finger. Ladylike, of course. I was rarely alone. I tried to dance as often as I could with Natasha, but apparently the custom was to dance with as many different people as possible, so I found myself snared in endless traps woven of boring conversation and roaming hands. I wondered what Elizabeth Bennet would have done in this situation and bolted for the powder room. How to waste time? I took out my lipstick and freshened my smile. Had to make sure that the cupid's bow was clearly delineated. My cheeks still had that healthy rouge blush to them. My wig was fine - a cascade of black ringlets that tickled my ears. Bosoms still standing proud and tall. I was shocked by how much attention was being paid to them. Is that what women went through? The feeling that sometimes they were just a walking pair of breasts? I'd have to be sure never to make Natasha feel that way. A few other boys came in to refresh their appearance. I avoided small talk. Eventually I was forced out into the throng. A woman dressed in a British hussar's uniform was waiting for me outside the powder room. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "Ms. Fanshel wants to see you," she said. "Where?" I suppose this couldn't be avoided. She pointed to a balcony that overlooked the ballroom floor. I hadn't seen it before. An elderly woman was watching me through a pair of opera classes. "Take the stairs next to the exit sign," the officer said. She dropped her eyes to my chest and smiled. I opened my fan and covered my bosoms. "Really, an officer in the British Army shouldn't act this way," I said and marched away. Another soldier was guarding the entranceway to Fanshel's lair. He tossed his head in the direction of the door and I passed through. Ms. Fanshel had arranged her chair to watch me approach. It had a tall, carved back. It reminded me a little of a throne. I curtseyed and nearly tripped. "Young man, you'd best practice that before we meet again." Her hands were folded in her lap. She was wearing a modern black dress cut conservatively. Her face was wrinkled but her eyes sparkled with youth. Or was it malice? "Yes, Ms. Fanshel," I said. "Are you enjoying the ball?" "Yes, Ms. Fanshel." "And how is Mr. Darcy behaving?" She pointed to a pitcher on the table next to her so I poured her a glass of ice water and placed it beside her. "He has a certain reputation." Her eyes narrowed in appraisal. "He's been a perfect gentleman, ma'am," I said. Ma'am? Maybe this Austen stuff was getting to me. "Natasha needs to be brought to heel. She needs to settle down and stop all her rutting. Are you the one to manage that?" She sipped from her glass. "I was told the Bannermans were in the process of settling him," I said. "Those horrid creatures? Never. But I wonder about you." "I've only known Natasha for seven days, Ms. Fanshel. It's premature to characterize our relationship." "Well, when the mighty fall, they fall hard and fast. Tell me about yourself. But don't bore me. I don't have time to be bored, a lesson I should have learned when I was much younger. Take, heed, young man. Time makes fools of us all." "Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid if I skip the boring parts, there'll be nothing to tell." She sighed, a sound laden with exasperation. "Then let me tell you. Your father died when you were seven. You and your three sisters were raised by a working mom who held down two jobs and taught Sunday School for twenty years. She's still alive and you call her every week and talk for at least an hour. You weren't popular in school. In your yearbook, under athletics, you listed chess club. You have a degree in computer science. You belong to the Jane Austen society. In the last year you've dated several of its members but that didn't work out. Is this accurate?" "Yes, ma'am. If you know so much about me, why did you ask me to tell my life story?" "I wanted to see what parts you'd leave out. I'm curious about one thing. Why did your recent attempts at dating fail?" I shut my eyes and massaged my temples. I'd asked myself exactly the same question. "Boredom," I said. "It turns out the women I dated were obsessed with Jane Austen, and everything Jane. They decorate their houses in a faux-regency style. Their most intimate fantasy is to travel back through time to some idyllic English country manor where handsome young men of good breeding and great wealth fall hopelessly in love with them. They wear their hair in a period style just in case that happens. It's all they can talk about. It's all they think about. You're never dating just one girl. Jane is always there with you, sitting between you, judging you. I can't imagine what having sex with the two of them would be like." "Yet here you are, your hair done in a regency style, wearing a regency gown, prettily dancing to regency tunes, all the while hoping that a specific bachelor of good breeding and great wealth will fall hopelessly in love with you. Your enemies accuse you of artifice; your hair is a wig and your bosoms are illusions. They call you a coquette. That wasn't the term that was used, I shrink to use such language in polite company. Isn't life strange?" There was nothing I could say to that. Was that really how people viewed me? Ms. Fanshel rose from her throne and gestured towards the door. "I think we're done here, Miss Bennet. But you need to ask yourself two important questions. Just who are you really, and how far are you prepared to go to get what you want?" I retreated to the dance floor like all the demons of hell were pursuing me. Natasha was parked at the bottom of the stairs. "So how was your audience with the empress?" she said. She opened her arms and I escaped into her comforting embrace. "Terrifying," I said. "I don't know if she likes me or hates me. How was it dancing with the Bannerman sisters?" "Well, they certainly ripped into you. I finally told them the sight of venom dripping from their fangs was not at all attractive." "How did they take that?" We unclutched and I took Natasha by the hand and led her to a quiet eddy in the ballroom. "We exchanged further pleasantries. I think they're finally beginning to understand my disinterest in them. Watch out for those two. You're making them desperate." Our conversation was interrupted by a commotion on the dance floor. Lissa was staggering in circles and shouting at the top of her lungs. "I'll fuck anyone in the room. I'll bang you until you can't stand up for a week!" Denise and Jaqueline were trying to pull her away, helped by her husband. Natasha shook her head. "She's been acting strange for a couple months. Maybe she should see a shrink." "Isn't she having her surgery next week?" I shuddered at the thought of Lissa having her balls removed. "When did she decide to do it?" "Several months ago she -" "That doesn't sound like a coincidence to me," I interrupted. "I think she's terrified. Afraid of what she's decided and the repercussions. That would explain all the hyper-sexuality. Poor Lissa." Natasha scratched her head. "I think you may be right. Can you help?" "Probably not. We're hardly acquainted. And what could I say? I'm not even sure what I'm doing. Denise is out best bet. If you want, I'll mention it to her. Then can we get out of here? All the drama is exhausting." "I'll call the limo to pull around to the front. You track down Denise. I'll meet you at the ballroom entrance in five." Denise was distracted, but once I told him what I thought was going on with Lissa, he hugged me. "You're a great addition to the gang, Shawna. It's like discovering my long-lost sister. Lissa clams up sometimes, and you have to read his mind to get him to express his feelings." He lifted me in his arms and twirled me around, then kissed me on the lips. I wasn't prepared for that and the look on my face must have worried him. "I'm so sorry. I keep forgetting you're new to this. You're such a natural." He rushed off to find Lissa. I maneuvered through the throng and met Natasha. The limo whisked us out into the clear, crisp evening, the stars shining like glitter. I kept thinking about what Ms. Fanshel had said to me. Who was I really? What was I doing? Natasha took my hands. "You looked beautiful tonight, Miss Bennet. Or is it safe to drop the charade now?" "Just plain old me again," I said. "Never plain. Not to me," Natasha pulled me closer and began kissing me. All the doubts and chaos dissolved and ran down a psychological drain. It felt like a cool breeze had tamed the heat of a summer afternoon. I lost myself in our kisses. I couldn't stop. Never wanted to stop. Natasha responded just as eagerly. The next thing I heard was the intercom. "We'll be arriving at Miss Shawna's apartment in two minutes," the driver said discretely. I pulled my dress back down below my knees, smoothing the satin into place. I removed my hand from the front of her pants and Natasha buttoned up the strange six button bib that took the place of a zipper in regency breeches. Natasha leaned over and whispered in my ear. "You're not wearing any panties." "I suppose you think that's a special invitation? Historical accuracy, remember? No proper young lady would be caught in anything like that. Au natural was the rule of proper fashion, for the ladies, anyway." "So those women that were dressing you -" "Weren't treated to a private viewing. I wore boxers until I had my gown on." The limo pulled to the curb. "Wait for me, Danny," Natasha said to the driver. "I'll be a while." Natasha followed me up the stairs to my door. "You don't have to keep touching my derri?re, darling," I said as I unlocked the door. The darling had slipped out as an alliteration, and I wondered if it sounded too bold. "Whoa, after what you were just doing to me, do you think that I can flip a switch and no longer imagine what I want to do to you? What I'm going to do to you?" I pushed her towards the living room. "Take a seat in that chair. Your impure thoughts will have to be put on hold for a few minutes more. I told you, I have a surprise. Give me a little time to prepare." I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and checked myself in the mirror. All the things I needed were ready for me. My makeup needed repairing after all the wrestling we'd done in the backseat. I applied a touch of rouge and redid my lipstick for the umpteenth time, making sure it was thickly applied and unembarrassedly apparent. I removed all the tape and supports that had served me so well at the ball, exchanged my dance slippers for the heels I'd worn at the wedding, and put on the bridesmaid's panties that Natasha had picked out for me. I smoothed down the front of my gown. Had Jane Austen ever imagined anything like this? I wound two ribbons around one arm, a small piece of tape holding them in place. I took a deep breath. This was going to be a disaster. Maybe I should forget it. I'd just end up making a fool of myself. Natasha would laugh. Or she'd disapprove. How well did I really know her? There was a knock on the bathroom door. "Where's my surprise? I want my surprise." I opened the door and led Natasha back to the chair. "You're just a kid," I said. "And you're the candy store." She began to chant "Surprise. Surprise. Surprise." "Alright. Jeepers, keep it down. I don't want the neighbors calling the cops." I woke up my laptop and selected the file I wanted. A steady, hypnotic beat began to play, DUN-ta-da, DUN-ta da, DUN-ta-da over and over. No music, just percussion. I slow-walked towards Natasha, my hips swaying to the rhythm. I unwound the two ribbons from my arm and tied Natasha's wrists to the arms of the chair. She didn't resist. Still swaying to the music, I lifted her chin with a finger and brushed her cheek lightly with the other hand. A brassy come-on intro blared out of the speakers. I wiggle-walked back to the center of the room, stopping once to blow her a seductive kiss. The music slid into the opening measures. I began to sway my hips, a figure eight motion I'd practiced just for this. I did a few provocative spins, looked back over my shoulder at Natasha and batted my eyelashes. With deliberate slowness I took off a glove and tossed it at her. I gyrated a few steps forward, peeled off the second glove. I ran a hand down the side of my dress, enjoying the touch of satin on my skin, grasped the fabric, and teasingly displayed a leg. I let my features display surprise, and let the fabric drop. The music coaxed me along. I'd watched a dozen videos and read as many descriptions of sexy moves. I ran through them all - the peekaboo shoulder dip, the spank yourself surprise, the arched back and enjoy your body caress. I only lost my place once, but covered it up by kissing my shoulders, leaving two red invitations where my lips met skin. It got easier. I fell into the rhythm of the steps, the sensuous, sinewy flow of my body. I thought of cats. Tried to move with the same grace that they possessed. The gown came off in a flourish. Always step out of your dress, no overhead removals, exactly the way the descriptions said. Then the hard part arrived. I tried not to panic. I danced slowly towards Natasha, ran my fingers through her hair. I did a sexy, grinding lap dance. Then I untied her bonds, one wrist at a time, my hips gyrating. Before she could reach for me, I knelt in front of her, my back facing her. "The stay's please, sir?" I purred in my best Marilyn Monroe. I moved my shoulders provocatively to the thrusting beat of the music, inviting her touch. I light kiss shimmered on my neck, then I felt the laces being unlaced, the stays dropping to the floor. I maneuvered away on all fours, being sure to exaggerate the sway of my hips. Sat up, spun to face Natasha, and stripped out of the chemise. I danced a kitchen chair into the middle of the room and used it as a prop, teasing the stockings down my legs. Show a little skin, hide a little skin. The only things I had on now were the necklace, the panties and the wig. Only the panties left to remove. I'd practiced a move where I used one finger on each hand to take them off, shimmying them down my hips and legs. First the view from behind, then the reveal. I finished before the music did, hands held high above my head, my best smile on display. I waited, terrified, for a reaction. "Jesus...Mary...and Josephine," Natasha said. Then silence. I almost crumpled. She began to clap, the sound swelling louder and faster. She whistled shrilly. "No lie, Shawna, I'd stick a hundred in your G-string but I don't carry cash and you seem to have lost your clothing. Is this something they teach in the Jane Austen society? How long have you been doing this? That was amazing. Oh my God. Nobody's ever done anything like that for me. To me. If I live to be a hundred, I'll never see anything like it again." I let the air whoosh out of my lungs. Not a complete disaster. "I learned it while you were away. I wanted to give you something, like you're always giving things to me. I practiced for hours. I had to revise the choreography. There are surprisingly few YouTube videos featuring regency strippers." She got up and went towards my laptop. "I want to copy down the file name. I know some friends who'd like to see their wives take a shot at this." I closed the top before she could get there. Natasha gave me strange look. "At least tell me the name." I blushed. Hadn't done that at all during the performance, but now I blushed. "It's called 'How to Strip for your Boyfriend.'" I wanted to bolt. Here I was, standing in front of someone I cared deeply for, naked, with my heart in my hands, Talk about vulnerability. I hadn't planned this moment. Heartbeats. "Does that mean I'm your boyfriend?" She put her hands on my shoulders. Lifted my chin until I was staring into her face. I wanted to melt into a puddle on the rug. Or fly into her arms. "If you want," I said, my voice quivering. "So, boyfriend and girlfriend...making a commitment. I...I...you know my reputation. Are you sure?" "I also know you want something more. I know what I want. I say yes." My stomach wanted to climb up my throat and strangle me. Natasha smiled. "I'll tell you what I want. I want to make love to you on a bed of lilies. I won't even see them. You'll be the prettiest flower of them all." "Is that how you say yes?" I asked. How exactly was she going to pull off the lily thing? Because we were certainly going to make love in a matter of minutes. "Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, yes. I think you once sent me a text with those very same three words. It touched my heart. You haven't stopped touching it since." She bent down and lifted me up, cradling me in her arms, my legs draped over her right arm, her left around my back at armpit level, my head against her shoulder. I put my arms around her neck. It was the bride carry, and I felt the kind of thrill that a bride must feel. I didn't know she was strong enough to do this. I sighed in contentment. She carried me into the bedroom. The bed was covered in lilies, a yellow carpet that smelled clean and fresh and inviting. She laid me down among them and began to take off her clothes. I'd have to find out how she'd arranged this, but that was a question for later. Now, no more questions. # # # Morning brings with a different clarity. The evening speaks in shadows and candlelight. The shapes that loom large then are revealed as something else when the sun banishes illusion. I looked at myself in the mirror. My lipstick was smeared. I looked like a tart. I'd fallen asleep with the necklace on. The marks it left when I removed it just now looked like brands, a collar. And the lilies - face it. She'd had my apartment broken into. I knew what was happening. The engineer in me was in control. The part of me that liked lists, weighed alternatives, and assigned values had the tiller. Last night I had played a princess. No, the engineer would accept no falsehoods. I was a princess last night. I was no princess this morning. I'd taken an online psychological test in high school. The results said I was one of those rare individuals whose right-brain behaviors were perfectly balanced by their left-brain behaviors. No wonder I was at war with myself. All of me could agree on one thing. I wanted Natasha. I'd known her for a week, and I was totally, helplessly in love. But the rest? I picked the gown, the stays, and stockings off the floor. I didn't agree about this. I was a house divided. Today was Saturday. I had some work to do from home. Natasha and I would be having lunch tomorrow. I put on some clothes and straightened up the chaos. The bed was a wreck. Lilies were strewn everywhere. Lipstick stained a pillowcase. "Let me kiss you," I'd told her last night. "Everywhere." The lipstick had left little butterflies all over her breasts and throat. Romantic. But was there more to it? The engineer asked if I'd been marking my territory. The doorbell rang. A courier delivered a box that said Special Bouquet. I'd told Natasha no more roses. Boundaries were going to be a problem. I'd have to talk to her about this. I opened the flowers, except they weren't flowers, they were a dozen large rainbow swirl lollipops. Even the engineer could smile about this. The card that came with them said "Dear Lollipop - Treats for my sweet - Natasha." That made me pause. Lollipop? No - that wasn't going to work for me. I was most definitely not going to be Lollipop. I opened my laptop and it returned me to the YouTube stripping video. That had been fun. And Natasha had enjoyed it. But this was daytime and such thoughts needed to be put aside. I called up the software development environment I had installed on my computer and began working on code. The testers were going to have a field day with this. There'd be so many bugs I'd hang my head in shame. Coding and disturbances of the heart don't mix. I was eating a bologna sandwich when the phone rang. "Hi, Shawna, it's me, Denise. How's the belle of the ball this morning?" "Fine. How are you?" "I went to Lissa's house and had a long talk with him. He was downing coffee like it was oxycontin. Hungover, yeah? He cried like a baby in my arms. You were right. He's mega stressed out." "So he's not going to have surgery?" I asked. "Why would you think that? He wants this. He's trying to be all the woman that he can be. This isn't about what he's walking away from. He's worried he will fall short." "Oh." "I think our talk helped. Thanks for suggesting it. So really, how was last night?" I could hear the naked curiosity in his voice. "I like to dance," I said. "What a shock. Come on, girl, you left a hundred broken hearts on the dance floor. Jane Austen couldn't have been prouder." "Well, that was a special situation." "What's wrong with you, Shawna? The words out. The Bannermans were waiting for Natasha when she got home last night. Really, really, late last night. They had a knock down drag out fight. She told them that you and she were girlfriend and boyfriend and to stay out of her life. Everyone is talking about it." "I don't want my life to be in the headlines, Denise." "Too late for that. Dating Natasha makes it inevitable," he said. I reacted with a weary sigh. "This is all too confusing. I have a lot of thinking to do. Maybe I'll need to talk to you and the others over the next couple weeks." "Anytime. You can cry on my shoulder, too, honey. It's what we're here for. These kinds of transitions need support. I can even give you the name of a good plastic surgeon when you get around to asking." "Plastic surgeon?" "Not the time to be coy. We all saw how you couldn't get enough of your own boobies. Lots of guys in an FLR relationship don't opt for that. Lissa helped convince me to do mine, and I've never regretted it. It's like being in a special club inside a special club. I told Jaqueline right out that that Shawna was going to end up like Lissa and me. I can tell you all about types and sizes and the best procedure." "Maybe," I said noncommittally. I'd have to work out a lot of other things before I started thinking about boobies. My phone buzzed. I looked at the caller's name. It was my sister Rachel. "Got a call on another line. I have to take this." We said a hasty goodbye and I switched to Rachel. "What's up, sis?" I said. "You tell me. What the hell is going on out there?" "Nothing special." I wasn't ready to talk about Natasha yet. "Mom got an email message and she's hysterical. Couldn't you have at least broken the news some other way?' "I've no idea what you're talking about," I said. "I'm sending you the link she got. Call me back when you get a clue. We can talk about damage control. And really, I always thought you'd end up this way. Goodbye." I clicked on the link Rachel sent me. It took me to a page on an anonymous photo posting site. There were three images. They were labeled 'Newest Transvestite Sean Kelly Thrills Onlookers as Elizabeth Bennet.' The rest of the faces in the images were blurred out, but not mine. In two I was shown dancing, wearing a smile that genuinely said I was enjoying myself. The last shot was a close up of me admiring my constructed cleavage, also smiling. No. No! Mom would be devastated. God knows who else would see this. Who could have done such a terrible thing? And I knew immediately who it was. Those damn Bannerman sisters.