by L.H. Cosway
I did my best to hide my irritation when Nora answered for her. “She's a baker. She makes cupcakes.”
So that was what I’d smelled today. Her cupcakes. I knew baking was a time-consuming profession, so I gave her a little conciliatory look. “Early mornings, I presume?”
She nodded, swallowed, and looked down at her plate. God, this woman was infuriating in her ability to avoid meeting my eyes.
“Very early mornings. It's the one flaw in a perfect occupation. I also work in the charity shop down the road. It sells all sorts of clothes and knickknacks.”
“Two jobs — I'm impressed.” I smiled at her affectionately.
“I'm an industrious young lady,” she answered smartly, and my smile deepened. Slowly but surely, she was warming up to me. I gave her my most smouldering stare when I said, “Oh, I bet you are.”
Almost of its own accord, my gaze wandered to her ample bosom, which was hidden beneath a loose shirt. She could try to hide it all she wanted, but I knew her body would be exactly what I craved. I’d always been drawn to curves. As I dug into the spaghetti bolognaise, I complemented her on her cooking while also flirting.
“This is brilliant. You're a great cook. I haven't had a meal this tasty in a while. Can I take you home, and you can cook all of my food for me?”
“Of course you can. Just put a cardboard box under the sink, and I'll sleep in there.”
Her response spurred me on.
“Nonsense. You'll share my bed. I wouldn't agree to anything less.”
“Great, so I can be your cook and your bed warmer. What a convenient setup.”
“My thoughts exactly. I could fall asleep on those wonderful breasts each night. I couldn't think of anything more relaxing.”
I probably should have kept my big mouth shut. I had a gift for speaking inappropriately, but thankfully, as Phil often told me, I had enough charisma to charm my way out of a maximum-security prison. Fred spat the mouthful of wine she’d just taken right out onto the table. It was both hilarious and awkward in equal measures. I couldn’t help but laugh, and so did Nora. The fact that even uptight Nora could find humour in what I’d just said made me feel a little better.
Her voice was sweet when she said, “I can't believe you just said that about Fred's boobs. You're terrible.”
“Yeah, just terrible,” Fred put in, her pretty eyes narrowed to slits and pursing her lips.
“I wish I had ones as big as yours, Fred. Mine are like little fried eggs,” Nora went on, clearly angling for a compliment. And I liked to think I was an accommodating (though often lewd) gentleman, so I told her, “I happen to admire all shapes and sizes.”
Fred immediately put me in my place when she said, “What, even square and rectangular ones? You are a true connoisseur, my friend.”
She was passive-aggressive and cynical, but strangely, I enjoyed her barbs. And unlike Nora, I could tell that once I freed her from her uptight prison, she would be wild in the way I adored women to be wild. I laughed and gave as good as I got. “Triangles, too. Oh, and octagons. I'm an equal opportunist for breasts.”
She gave me a reluctant smile, shook her head, and focused her attention back on her food. Once we’d finished eating, Nora swiftly left for her shift at work, and I couldn’t deny that I was pleased by her departure. It gave me the perfect opportunity to work on Fred. I was determined, although it was clear that she wanted nothing more than for me to leave. When I began helping her clean up, she said firmly, “You can go now, you know. I've got this.”
I couldn’t seem to tell if she really didn’t want company or if my presence made her anxious. I got the distinct impression that she was unused to men being as forward as I was being with her. Which was a damn shame. This girl was pure femininity and beauty, and she deserved to be told as much on a daily basis.
“I'd like to stay for a while, if that's okay with you?” I said to her softly.
My tone seemed to work in loosening up her resolve as she shrugged and quipped, “Sure, if you want. But be warned, I usually go to bed pretty early, so there'll be no late-night shenanigans, if that's what you're after.”
Oh, she had no fucking clue the kind of shenanigans I was after. I think she might have blushed right down to her toes if I’d told her. And I wouldn’t have minded witnessing that. I especially loved it when women got all flushed during sex.
I put my hand to my chest, feigning offence. “Ah, you wound me, beautiful lady. I had been hoping to romance you. Late-night shenanigans are not my forte.”
She eyed me like she was onto my game and it wasn’t working on her. She was a tough cookie, this Fred. As we tidied up, I found my eyes trailing over her whenever she wasn’t looking. She struck me as one of those women who had absolutely no clue how appealing they were, and because she’d probably gone out with a few dipshits over the years, she’d built up a wall of defence.
In my opinion, the vast majority of men in this world were clueless, lazy arseholes. I’d known so many who didn’t appreciate the beautiful women they had by their sides. In fact, it could be said that I was one of them on occasion. But I guessed I was more in touch with these things than the average bloke because I straddled a line. As Vivica Blue, I tried to plunge myself into the role of a female, trained myself to embody her spirit.
Once the dishes were all done, Fred went to sit on the couch in front of the television, and, like the smitten kitten that I was, I followed her. We sat in silence, her eyes trained on the screen, my eyes trained on her wonderful hair. I took a strand of it between my fingers, savouring the feel, and forgot to censor myself when I said, “This is some great hair, Fred. It's so silky. I'd love to get it in a wig.”
I was so used to speaking openly about my profession that the comment about the wig came out of its own accord. Biting back a wince, I plastered a confident look on my face and waited for her to respond. One thoughtful eyebrow went up.
“I think you might have a few kinks in your armour there, Viv.”
What she said caused a breath of relief to escape me, because although there was teasing in her tone, there was no judgement whatsoever. I grinned, pleased.
“Lots of kinks, lots of quirks. My sexuality is multifaceted.”
“Right. And wigs are your thing. Each to their own, I guess.”
She didn’t realise that if I were to get my way, that’d be a philosophy she would have to truly embrace. I was nothing if not unique. My grin widened as I corrected her. “Isn't it supposed to be chinks in your armour?”
She shifted in her seat, which I noticed brought her a fraction closer to me. I chose to take this as a sign that the ice queen was thawing.
“Well, that wouldn't have worked as good as kinks.”
A companionable silence ensued, and I became fidgety. I wanted to touch her, so, like any boy faced with the girl he fancies, I chose to start a tickle war. In terms of methods that would enable physical contact, this was the lowest common denominator. She asked me to stop, her tone annoyed, but at the same time she was laughing. Before I knew it, I was straddling her, and she was lying flat on the sofa, her chest heaving for breath after such vigorous activity.
I paused when her chest brushed mine, dominating her as I held her hands down over her head. Sucking in a slow breath, I shifted my body, savouring the feel of all her lush softness beneath me. My eyes traced her features, and I wondered what she was thinking, wondered if she could feel me hardening against her thigh. I wanted her now, and my impatience to have her meant I didn’t have time for wooing and romance. My mouth spoke before my head could intervene. I leant down and ran lips over the shell of her ear.
“You're very pretty, Fred. I'd really like to fuck you.”
She gasped, and her reaction to my words was immediate as she scrambled out from under me. “Christ, Nicholas!”
If I hadn’t seen her blatant interest and the way her pupils dilated at what I’d said, I might have been disappointed. Instead, I simply saw this as a small blip on
my road to bedding her. I sat up and gave her my full attention as I told her simply, “We're both adults here, Fred. Are you really that offended by my proposition?”
She glanced away, not meeting my eyes for a substantial period of time, and fiddled with the shirt she had on.
“Um, what...yes, of course. I hardly know you.”
“You've been flirting with me all night, darling.” My tone was tender, cajoling.
She seemed surprised by that statement. “Have I? Oh, my God, you're seriously mistaken. I absolutely have not. I was being friendly, joking around. Do you say you want to...to have sex with every girl who talks to you?”
“No, not all of them. But I can tell we'd be very compatible in bed. What's the problem if I'm direct about it?” I gave it to her straight. I didn’t want to beat around the bush. As I studied her, I could tell one thing for certain, she was immensely embarrassed. She really hadn’t met a man as forward as me before, had she? In a way, I was pleased. I wanted her all for myself, and I had a feeling that unlike some women, one fuck was not going to be enough with curvy, passive-aggressive Fred. It was definitely going to take a couple of shags for me to get her out of my system, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Marathon sex sessions were one of my favourite pastimes.
She bit her lip, then joked, “This coming from the guy who said he wasn't interested in late-night shenanigans.”
The joke was brittle, though, and I could tell I was wearing on her, so I decided not to push her further. Not tonight, anyway. Instead, I gave her full honesty when I replied, “I apologise. I just thought we could keep each other company for a night. We're both lonely. It makes sense.”
“I'm not lonely,” she protested weakly. It was a lie, and she knew it. I had a gift for knowing when humans were hungry for another’s touch, when they felt completely isolated in the world. Perhaps because I often felt that way myself. Seeking comfort in the physical was actually something of an addiction for me.
“You seemed lonely today, all soaked from the rain with your shopping bags in your hands.”
“I was more annoyed than lonely.”
I stared at her for a long time, then let her have it her way. “All right, my mistake. You're not lonely, Fred. I’d better go. I've got my first show tomorrow night to prepare for. You should come along. I already mentioned it to Nora. The club is new — it's called The Glamour Patch. It's not too far from here.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah I might come. I'd like to see you perform. By the way, you probably should have put the moves on Nora instead of me. She likes you, if you hadn't noticed.”
I smiled at her indulgently. She was going to have to learn very quickly that I was used to getting what I wanted, and her resistance only made the challenge that much more thrilling.
I cut straight to the chase with my closing line. “I noticed. I'm not interested in Nora, Fred. I'm interested in you.”
And with that, I left her standing in her living room, a look of absolute bewilderment on her face.
June 29th, 2012.
Soundtrack: “Sweet Transvestite” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show / “I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor” by Arctic Monkeys
“What has you so excited tonight?” Phil asked me, one hand on his hip, the other holding Pickles under his arm. The tiny dog struggled to break free, and Phil finally let him down.
I sat in front of the mirror in my dressing room at The Glamour Patch, using some mousse to slick my hair back away from my face. My lips were red, and I’d gone for a smoky grey eye shadow that highlighted the blue of my irises.
“My new neighbour’s coming to see the show. I can’t wait for you to meet her, Phil. She’s quite something.”
His lips quirked. “Ah, I was wondering why you were going all Frank-N-Furter tonight.”
I glanced at him as I topped up my mascara. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He raised an amused eyebrow and folded his arms. “You always whip out the Rocky Horror when you want to get a lady all hot and bothered. They love that androgynous shit, not to mention those hot pants leave very little to the imagination.”
I grinned mischievously. “I do believe I’ll take that as a compliment, Philip.” A pause before I continued, “So, does it usually work?”
“Depends on the lady. If she’s that way inclined, yes, it works a charm.”
His answer pleased me. “Good to know.”
Phil was right — I was definitely going for androgyny tonight rather than full-on female, and it wasn’t because my head was messed up. It was because my own vanity was surfacing, and I wanted Fred to find me sexy. I wasn’t certain that a dress was going to do it for her, but once she saw how little my hot pants left to the imagination, as Phil so graciously put it, I was sure she’d be shifting in her seat.
Yeah, that’s right, my package, for lack of a better word, was well on display. Are you regretting picking up my diary yet, you nosy little things? No? Well, let’s see if we can change your minds. I will find a way to make you tug uncomfortably at your collars yet.
This was my outfit in a nutshell: lacy black gloves, black heels, hot pants, black waistcoat, fishnet stockings complete with suspenders, a full face of makeup, and no wig. I allowed myself one drink before my performance, because, strangely enough, I was nervous. I didn’t think I’d been this anxious about performing since I was a teenager.
No, anxious was not the right word. Anticipatory was probably better. I was anticipating the moment when Fred realised exactly what I did for a living with great excitement. I was dying for her to see me as I really was.
It was slightly unnerving. Normally I didn’t give two hoots what people thought of me. I’d been doing this for so long that I knew I was strange, and it wasn’t something I ever planned on changing. I’d spent far too many years as a boy trying to hide my true self as it was.
Once it was time for me to take to the stage, Phil stepped out and made the introductions. I’d completed some vocal warm-ups earlier, ensuring my voice was in top form. Before I knew it, the house band was starting up, and I was confidently strutting out into the club on my six-inch heels. Immediately, I spotted Fred, Nora, and two of their friends sitting just shy of the stage.
I fixed my eyes firmly on Fred as I lifted the microphone and began to sing, giving her a little smirk. The audience was in fine form, rowdy as you please. I turned and focused on the other side of the club for a moment. All the while I knew Fred was watching me. I loved thinking about how her eyes were probably drinking me in. When we’d locked gazes only seconds ago, she seemed entirely intrigued, and that was the exact reaction I’d been hoping for.
Intrigue leads to curiosity, which leads to exploration, which leads to providing me with the opportunity for getting her out of the pretty purple dress she was wearing. Nora sat beside her, her arms folded and her mouth drawn into a thin line. Well, if Fred was intrigued, Nora was the opposite of intrigued. In fact, I could tell she had immediately written me off.
Too bad.
I had no time for close-mindedness.
Further into the song, I made my way back to Fred, coming to a stop directly in front of her. She was smiling, which was a good sign. I crouched down low, my thighs open, as I sang the final part of the song. Her smile fell, her mouth dropping open as her eyes went straight to my crotch, and I purred inwardly. Call me an exhibitionist, but I liked it that she was looking there.
I made sure to give her a smouldering look when I sang about showing her my favourite obsession.
The rest of the performance went swimmingly. In fact, I hadn’t enjoyed singing for an audience quite this much in quite some time. Having Fred there made it exciting. I loved the element of surprise, not knowing what she could be thinking, but I could tell from her face that she was extremely pleased with the revelation of my profession.
I just knew from the moment we’d met that she was the kind of girl I could be friends with. It was too bad I wanted to put my penis inside her, becaus
e where I was concerned, sex often led to the destruction of friendships. A lot of the time I wanted to keep the women I slept with as friends; the problem was that they wanted more. Unfortunately, it didn’t sit right with me to foist all my issues on one woman. Nobody deserved to be stuck with a head case like me.
They thought they wanted me for keeps, but that was only because they saw the fun, flirty, happy-go-lucky Nicholas. They would be running a mile if they could see me on my bad days, sitting in my own filth and drinking my weight in hard liquor.
After my performance, I went to my dressing room, wiped off most of my makeup, threw on some jeans, and went in search of Fred. I was so eager to see her that I forgot to put on a top, and was instead still in the waistcoat I’d been wearing onstage. Oh, what a pity that was. Poor Fred would have to contend with the sight of my bare chest. (And yes, I was grinning deviously.) When I spotted her, she was sitting at the bar by herself, sipping on a cocktail.
“Well, what did you think?” I asked, sliding onto the stool next to hers and leaning closer. I allowed my bare arm to brush against hers for a second, and I saw her eyes trail to the small contact.
“It was brilliant!” she replied with gusto, and some of the tension inside me instantly evaporated. It was a relief to know that she’d enjoyed the show.
“I was a little gobsmacked when you first walked out in that getup, but I was kind of expecting it, given the venue,” she continued, and took another sip of her drink, her golden eyes alight. This was good. She was just as excited as I was.
“I knew you'd like it — I just had a feeling,” I said, and then remembered Nora. I’d seen her when I was looking for Fred, and she was pale as a ghost. “Although when I waved hello to Nora a minute ago, she seemed less than impressed.”
Fred brushed away my concerns. “She's just put out because she had you down as her new potential love interest. Little did she know you'd turn out to be gay.”
