by L.H. Cosway
I was still on a mission to unwind her, drive her wild. After I was done with her, she’d be a whole new woman. I did have something of a charitable nature.
“Best friends don't do that sort of thing,” she told me, half haughty, half teasing. The other day I’d announced that she was my new best friend, and she seemed to be clinging to the idea. I did want to be her friend, but at the same time I was regretting providing her with such a safe way to label our relationship. I kept on staring at her as she finished up my nails, and then Sean dropped into the dressing room with some drinks for us. Fred appeared relieved for the interruption and knocked back a long mouthful.
“It's past nine, Viv,” she said then. “We'd better get your makeup started if you don't want to be late, late for a very important date.” There was a tremor in her voice that alerted me to the fact that she was uncomfortable. Perhaps she really wasn’t interested in me sexually, and what I’d just said had put her on edge.
It was disappointing, but I chose not to let the idea get me down. “All right, then, have your way with me.”
“I thought you said you were going to take the lead, and I'd just watch for my first night?”
I had said that, and it was what I’d planned, but all of a sudden I wanted her to do my makeup. If I couldn’t have her fully, then I was at least going to enjoy being close to her. “Might as well throw you in the deep end. Do your worst.”
She swallowed nervously. “Okay, um, I'll start with foundation.”
She began to put the base on using a sponge, but I stopped her when I said, “I find it better if you use your fingers instead of the sponge. It gives a more natural finish.” This was true, but I also wanted her to touch me. I was craving her touch the way I used to crave sex with multiple strangers. There was something about Fred that soothed me, and I was willing to take any little morsel of contact I could get.
When she started to use her fingers, smoothing foundation over my skin, I kept my gaze on her. Her eyes wandered to mine and then away, never holding the connection for very long. She was skittish, and I desperately wanted her to relax. Her pupils narrowed to pinpoints as she concentrated, her face mere inches from mine. I could grab her right now and kiss her, but I didn’t think she’d welcome it.
She surprised me when, instead of continuing to stand before me, she settled herself onto my lap. I inhaled sharply, since I hadn’t been expecting it. I gave her a hot, questioning look, not breathing a word for fear I’d say the wrong thing and scare her off again.
“My neck was hurting, bending over,” she told me in a quiet voice.
“Mm-hmm.” I nodded and lowered my gaze to her chest. She was at least a D-cup, perhaps bigger, and those full breasts were sitting directly in my line of sight. The bra she was wearing was actually quite thin, so I could see that her nipples had tightened beneath the fabric. Was it turning her on to be this close to me? Perhaps all was not lost after all.
My next move was both brazen and overstepping the line, but I was impulsive, and sometimes I simply couldn’t help myself from grabbing what I wanted. In that moment, that’s literally what I did. I slid my arm around her waist, resting my hand at the base of her spine so I could pull her closer. Then I brought my other hand to her breast and pinched her nipple through the fabric while murmuring, “Thank God for thinly padded bras.”
My eyes locked with hers as she sat there, still as a statue, her mouth open in shock. She shifted ever so slightly on my lap, squeezed her thighs together again, and I knew that she had to be turned on right now.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Giving you a thrill,” I told her, my voice dropping low. I was rock hard, and I knew she had to be able to feel it. Her arse was pushing right into my crotch.
She straightened a little, then said, “Very kind of you, Viv. You can let go now.”
I leaned into her. “Say please.”
She worked her jaw. “Please.”
Finally, I did let go, but I was grinning widely because, despite what she’d said, I knew she’d enjoyed it. Beneath my satisfaction was a small touch of annoyance, because she was still trying to ignore the chemistry between us. It was going to drive me crazy.
She hardly breathed a word as she finished off my makeup. There was less tension in her body now, thinking my advances were over. I smirked to myself, because I wasn’t done with her yet. Not by a long shot. Getting up from the chair, I began to undress right there in front of her, whipping off my T-shirt and then going straight for my belt buckle. Fred blushed furiously and quickly turned away so she wasn’t looking.
I let my pants drop to the floor and began to chuckle. “You're going to have to get used to the sight of me sans clothing, Fred. It's part and parcel of the job.”
Slowly, she turned back around, and her pretty eyes widened at the sight of me in nothing but my undies. Her gaze was levelled firmly on my crotch as she gulped. I was going for shock value when I searched for the women’s lingerie I’d been keeping in my bag. I didn’t always wear female undergarments when I performed. Sometimes a good tight pair of briefs did the job, but if I was feeling particularly in the mood to fully immerse myself in my role, I sometimes donned a pair of knickers over my briefs.
Aha! I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? Don’t deny it — I just saw you tug at your collar.
The world was full of all sorts, and I was definitely one of them.
We human beings are strange creatures, and that strangeness makes us fascinating.
I went all out when I finally removed the boxer shorts I was wearing until I was bollock naked. Fred blushed bright red, glancing quickly at me, and then levelled her gaze on the safety of my upper body. She swallowed again before asking, “So you go the whole hog, then, with women's underwear and everything?”
I gave her a detailed explanation. “I might not be as flashy as traditional drag queens, but I do like to think of myself as being authentic, although I don't stuff my bra or put on a lady voice. I also don't tuck my dick. I'm not trying to fool people into believing I'm an actual woman in that sense. I think being somewhere in between male and female is just as intriguing.”
Then, deciding to put her out of her misery for fear she might die of a blushing overdose, I pulled on some briefs and the knickers.
“Um, can I ask another question?” she went on.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, I was just wondering about how you classify yourself. Are you a drag queen, or a transvestite or a cross-dresser? Or are they all one and the same thing?”
I smiled, liking that she was interested enough to ask such a question. I wanted her to want to know everything about me. It was unnerving how desperately I yearned to bare my soul to her, expose my flaws and have her accept me anyway.
“Everybody has their own opinions on it, I suppose. For me, a drag queen dresses as a woman purely for performance, and that's what I think of myself as being. A transvestite or a cross-dresser could be a man who wears women's clothing because it's a fetish.”
“So it's not a fetish thing for you?”
I gave her a hot look. “Nope. Cross-dressing is often related to sexual preference. I like to be a man in the bedroom, but a woman on the stage.”
“Oh.”
“Don't be afraid to ask me things. I'm willing to answer all of your questions, Fred.”
She nodded and then helped me finish dressing. Once I was done, I grinned at her and asked, “Well, how do I look?”
“If I was into girls, I'd do you,” she blurted, and it made my grin widen, because I didn’t think she’d meant to say it. Still, I was going to take full advantage of the fact that she had as I moved close to murmur teasingly in her ear, “Psst, I'll let you in on a secret, Fred. I actually have a cock. Don't tell anyone — it would ruin my reputation. But feel free to do me any time you want.”
“Good to know,” she replied flatly, and went to finish off her drink from earlier. I had been hoping my flirty
comment would prompt her to flirt back, but something had flickered in her eyes, and she’d immediately shut down. I began to think that she was definitely attracted to me, but that something inside her thought it would be too weird to have sex with a drag queen. It irritated me, but I tried not to let that irritation show. I could have been reading too much into it.
When I took to the stage that night, I recognised a woman Fred and I had met briefly in the park earlier that day. Her name was Dorotea, and she was from Italy. She was also quite sexy. I’d casually invited her to come see the show, but I hadn’t actually expected her to come. It looked like she’d even brought some friends along. I didn’t have a very strong attraction to her, not like I did with Fred. However, as was my habit with most women I met, I had definitely wondered what she’d be like in bed.
This sort of musing was something of a hobby of mine. It was actually quite interesting, because sometimes the women I slept with were nothing like what I thought they’d be. Often, the shy ones could be surprisingly kinky and wild, while the extroverts turned out be quite shy and demure in the bedroom.
If nothing else, it was a fascinating study, and I was fascinated by the fairer sex.
I was performing “Cell Block Tango” from Chicago as my first piece, and Dorotea looked like she was having a roaring good time. In fact, she was eye-fucking me from her place in the audience like you wouldn’t believe. Well, that was interesting.
As I sang, my mind wandered to Fred and I was irritated again. I wanted to have her so badly, and my lengthy period of sexlessness was taking its toll. Perhaps I could seize advantage of Dorotea’s interest and relieve myself of all the sexual frustration. That way I wouldn’t be quite so horned up around Fred. Perhaps I was being too available to her, and playing hard to get would force her into taking action.
It might have been an awful idea, but I had to do something about my need for release, so I went all out in my efforts to seduce Dorotea that night. I made a quick change to the set list, deciding to sing “Be Italian” from Nine, since I thought it’d sweeten her up.
I could feel Fred standing by the side of the stage, watching me the entire time. I wondered if she’d noticed that Dorotea was there. I also wondered if it made her jealous. It was petty, but I wanted her to be jealous. I wanted her to feel as strongly for me as I felt for her.
After my set, I went back to my dressing room with Fred, and I was beginning to think my plan to make her jealous was working, because her demeanour was stiff. She helped me remove my makeup and costume in silence, then broke it when she asked, “What age were you when you started doing all this?”
I gazed at her. I hadn’t expected her question at all. Her curiosity still burned strong, and I was gratified by that. “I was in my late teens when I began performing properly, but I started experimenting with wearing bits of women's clothing and makeup when I was very young, eight or nine years old.”
“If your mother was still alive, she probably would have found the whole thing fascinating,” she said.
I’d told her about Mum today, about how she passed when I was a small boy. Her mentioning my mother made emotion squeeze in my chest. It wasn’t often that the subject came up with other people, even though I had a large tattoo dedicated to her on my upper arm. Mum was something that I was quite precious about, so it was difficult for me to say anything in reply to Fred. She seemed to notice my discomfort and quickly began speaking of other matters.
“So, Dorotea huh?”
Her statement brought on a smile. She had noticed Dorotea sitting in the audience and the fact I had been paying her lots of attention as I performed. My plan just might have been working.
“I invited her along when we spoke in the park. She's quite something, isn't she?”
“She certainly has the perkiest breasts I've ever seen for a woman in her late thirties.”
The moment she said it, I took hold of her wrist, because there was definitely a hint of annoyance in her tone. I beamed at her. “Is that a note of jealousy I detect?”
She bristled. “Of course not. I was just commenting on her perkiness. Besides, I think you two would make a very intriguing couple. It'll look like you're one of those young male escorts with a sugar momma.”
Oh, yes, it was definitely working. I brought my face closer to hers. “Oh, my God, you are jealous. This is just brilliant.”
“I. Am. Not. Jealous. And why would it be brilliant if I were?”
“Because it would mean you're trying to hide the fact that you're attracted to me.”
“You really do need everyone to be in love with you,” she snapped.
“Come again?”
She looked like she wished she hadn’t said anything, but she explained anyway. “When I was watching you on stage, I came up with a theory about performers and how they need everyone to fall in love with them, even if it just lasts for the duration of the show.”
“How philosophical of you, Fred,” I mused, and got straight to the crux of the situation. “Would it bother you if I said I was planning on taking advantage of Dorotea's attraction to me tonight?”
“Nope.” Her reply was immediate — too immediate, almost.
“Are you sure about that? Because you only have to say the word. You are, after all, my first choice for a fuck.”
Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath before whispering, “Jesus Christ. You don't mince your words, Viv.”
She took a few steps away, putting a large amount of distance between us, and disappointment overtook me. We weren’t making any headway at all, and it was infuriating.
I let out a long sigh. “I take it that you're not going to say the word, then.”
Before she could reply, Phil, Dorotea, and two of Dorotea’s friends entered the room. I silently cursed the interruption, but Fred seemed to be glad for it. I wanted to talk to her more, but she was retreating again. I didn’t want to come across as rude, so I greeted Dorotea and the others graciously, and offered them all drinks. Fred had slunk into the background, making one or two passive-aggressive comments. I wanted her to stay, but after only twenty minutes, she made her excuses and went home for the night.
Dorotea was all over me, and it was kind of my own fault. When she’d been eye-fucking me from the audience tonight, I’d been eye-fucking her right back. My heart hadn’t been in it, my head too consumed by Fred, but I’d thought it was the best thing to do in terms of finding some relief. We stayed in my dressing room for an hour or two, then decided to go to a nightclub.
In all honesty, I just wanted to go and get some sleep, forget about Fred for a while, but I felt guilty for leading Dorotea on, so I obliged her. I didn’t drink much, but I danced the night away with her until the early hours of the morning. When she finally made a move and kissed me, I felt it would be hypocritical to push her away, so I kissed her back.
Soon we were making our way back to my apartment, where she gave me a blow job, and then I fucked her on my couch. I’ll admit it wasn’t my finest hour. I’d partaken in all sorts of shagging in my time, and this was not my first experience of guilt shagging.
Sometimes I just didn’t want to say no. I didn’t want to make the woman feel bad.
When she fell asleep, I left her on the couch and went to take a shower before retreating to my own room. It was four in the morning, the vague light of the coming day seeping past my curtains. If there was a loneliest hour, then this would be it. Lying on top of the blankets, I reached over to my drawer, pulled out Mum’s old vanity mirror, and held it up to my face. The mirror was pretty and silver, and I moved it from side to side as I stared at my own reflection.
I was sleepy now, my eyelids drooping, and my vision was a little blurry. My dark hair hung slightly over my face, and, not for the first time, the last thought I had before I drifted off was how strange it was that the out-of-focus face I stared at could almost have been Mum’s.
July 1st, 2012.
Soundtrack: “Grounds for Divorce” by El
bow.
The next morning when I woke up, Dorotea was still asleep, wearing nothing but smeared makeup and a G-string. Delightful. I had been hoping she’d leave before I got up. I wasn’t in the mood to share breakfast with her. There was nothing wrong with her, of course. In fact, she was a beautiful woman, but my stomach was twisting with memories of us shagging.
I desperately didn’t want Fred to find out.
I knew my choice to be with Dorotea was a bad one, because even as I fucked her, I still couldn’t stop thinking of Fred, comparing the two women. I’d wanted it to be Fred’s soft body beneath mine last night, rather than Dorotea’s.
I put the kettle on to make some tea, and the noise of it caused her to stir. She sat up on the couch, rubbing at her eyes. Her pert breasts bounced with the movement. It was a revelation how little the sight of those breasts did for me.
I vaguely thought I must be broken, and it was all Fred’s fault.
“Good morning, Nicholas,” Dorotea purred, and came toward me. She wrapped her arms around my middle and began planting kisses along my neck.
“Morning, darling. I hope you slept well,” I said to her.
I was about to offer her a cup of tea when she gasped, looking at the clock. “I’m late. I have an appointment in an hour. I have to go.”
She sounded disappointed. I, on the other hand, was relieved. I didn’t want to have to entertain her for the morning. She quickly threw on her clothes, and I walked her to the door. She kissed me goodbye and I winced, because at the same moment the door to the next apartment opened, and Fred stepped out. I pulled away from Dorotea before Fred could see the kiss. Still, it was pretty obvious what had gone on between us the night before.
Even though I wished she hadn’t chosen this moment to leave her place, my eyes still drank her in. Her hair was tied up in a messy bundle, and she wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup. It was strange to admit that she’d never looked more appealing. She was carrying a delicious-looking cake in a container, and her eyes met mine in the narrow hallway.