Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Calypso
Title: The Transformation of Evelyn Thomas
Part: Chapter 2
Summary: The erotic journey of a young man through transgender
transformation to a new female self.
Keywords: MF, MMF, TG, cons, reluc, oral, anal, rom, 1st

   Send me your comments at calypso93<at>gmail<dot>com

   CHAPTER 2

   The Fourth Day

   I awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and relaxed, as if I was on
vacation.  I had slept deeply and soundly, so much so that I doubted if I
had even turned over all nght long.  The sound of the door to Karen's suite
opening had awakened me, and Karen was peering at me.  She was wearing
sweaty running clothes and had apparently just come back in for she was a
bit flushed and still breathing hard.  "Hey, you're up...  good!" She
exclaimed.  "Let me jump in the shower and then we'll send down for
breakfast and we can discuss the day ahead.  Here!" She handed me a latte
that she must have picked up at the kiosk in the lobby; it was still piping
hot.

   I lay in bed, luxuriating in the soft sheets and the warm feeling of
being just a bit drowsy, sipping the latte and thinking about the previous
day.  What would today hold?  That made me think about the changes I had
gone through, and suddenly I was filled with curiosity.  I parked the latte
on the end table and hopped out of bed and walked nude to the full length
mirror by the closet.

   A pretty woman with tousled red "bed hair" stared back at me from sleepy
eyes.  A woman with a flat chest, straight hips and waist, and a cock, that
is.  A semi-hard cock at that.  At least my nails were beautiful.  And my
skin was wonderful...  the slight rash from the waxing had disappeared
overnight (apparently the seaweed did its trick) and now my skin was
incredibly, silkily soft and smooth, and tight as a drum.  I tuned from
side to side, looking at my self out of the corner of my eye.  The same was
true all over, as near as I could tell.  I looked like a 10-year old girl,
albeit one with a woman's head and a semi-hard cock.  Hm, I wondered.  How
is Karen going to deal with this?  I climbed into my bathrobe and went in
the bathroom for a quick shower.

   After a bit of fiddling around I got the hotel shower cap on over my
hair (my hair was surprisingly full and heavy, I had no idea) and soaped
quickly with a moisturizer bar and then rinsed off.  That felt good.  The
smoothness of the skin gave me an erotic thrill; My cock hardened the rest
of the way (not very big; my cock was only about 6" erect) so I jerked off
quickly, coming surprisingly hard, the semen hitting the wall and running
down under the spray.  Impulsively, before I even thought about it, I
reached out and dabbed a finger in a glob of semen and stuck it in my
mouth. Did you ever do something and then wonder why the hell you had done
it?  I still can't explain it...  but the cum was warm and thick and had an
almost neutral taste...  just a bit pasty and salty, like a thin
flour-water mix with a touch of salt.  I was shocked but not revolted;
instead I had a feeling of naughty excitement, as if I had gotten away with
something forbidden but fun.  I won't tell Karen about this, I thought as I
turned the water off and stepped out of the shower.

   Karen had finished first and was in her own bathrobe, ordering breakfast
from room service.  We chatted and ate and she detailed her plan for the
day.  "First we'll have makeup and hair styling 101," she said as she
spread cream cheese on a bagel.  "In the afternoon it's time for shopping."


   "How, exactly, am I going shopping," I asked.  "You've stored everything
I own.  All I have is the hotel bathrobe and slippers."

   "Not to worry, hon," She said confidently.  "If you can't go to the
shopping, have the shopping come to you." It turns out she had arranged for
a high-end department store (the one with the beautiful décor and personal
shoppers) to bring a selection of items over to one of the hotel
multi-purpose rooms for display and fitting.  "I estimated for them that
you're about a size 10, maybe 12," she said, "and shoes about 9 or 10." She
wasn't far off.  Producing a tape measure she had me drop the robe (OK I
was naked, but Karen and I have always been pretty close and it was no big
deal between us) and she measured my chest, waist, and hips.  As it turned
out I was a 37-32-38, which indeed turned out to be right on the divide of
sizes 10 and 12, as Karen confirmed on the room internet connection.  I
already knew my shoe size was 8 male (I had been teased about my small feet
before, now I was happy about them for the first time) which indeed
translated as a size 9 female.  So my feet would seem a bit large for a
woman, but at least at 5' 8" I wouldn't look grotesquely out of scale.

   Karen lectured me on sizes as we parked our dishes outside the door and
got set up in her bathroom for "makeup 101." Women's sizes, I learned, were
complex, having to do with an individual woman's height, measurements, and
distribution...  like estimating arm, neck, and chest size form fitted
men's shirts.  A woman whose bust, waist, or hip measurements are unusually
large or small (such as a woman with an acclaimed hourglass figure) might
have to buy a size of dress that was not reflective of her overall size. 
We would see how it turned out after lunch.  Karen had planned ahead,
buying me a set of lingerie for the fitting.  I demanded to see it...  from
an online lingerie store that had originally been based in Hollywood she
had bought me a bra and panty set and a spandex waist cincher with hook and
eye closures that, she said, should get my waist down about 2-4 inches,
hopefully to about the 28" that would be proportionate for a size 10-12. 
Marilyn Monroe, she informed me, had been a size 12.  I felt hopeful to
hear that.  (I was a bit unsure, though, about exactly how I felt.  I
didn't expect to rival Marilyn as a standard of feminine pulchritude, but
on the one hand I did kind of like the idea of being pretty and sexy and
the center of everything as I had never been; having men notice me and
compete for my attentions.  But why?  My clandestine cum-tasting session
aside, I had never considered the idea of having sex either with a man or
with a man as a woman.  I felt like the dog in the old joke...  If I catch
it, what will I do with it?  I wondered.)

   The bra, she explained as I ran this through my head, would be filled
out by flesh-colored silicon false breasts (they did feel real, and with a
fake nipple even) that she had bought from the same store.  The lingerie
was nothing extreme, just basic cream-colored satin (spandex for the
cincher) with full bra cups (size C, along with the false breasts) and a
racer back (where the straps cross over your back, rather than the
straight-down halter style) and matching bikini panties.  She had been
planning this for a while.  Then it was time for the makeup.

   "Makeup 101" made my head whirl.  It would take me, as it turned out,
several more weeks before I was confident to apply my own without help. 
Face shape and lip combinations, eye makeup, complexions and color
blending, foundations...  it was a lot to retain, all at once.  Karen made
it seem easy, but this was definitely going to take some practice.  My
first attempts made me look terrible, as if I had done it in the dark while
in a moving car on a bumpy road.  Karen reassured me that it would get
easier over time; as she helped me scrub it all off with cleanser.  I hoped
so.

   The hair class was a lot simpler.  The instructions for treating the
extensions were pretty basic and ruled out many of the more esoteric hair
treatments, prescribing a gentle shampoo and conditioner, towel drying or
blow drying at low heat with a diffuser (which Karen helpfully
demonstrated), and avoidance of harsh environments like pools and the ocean
(although it wasn't absolutely forbidden...  just recommended.  I wasn't
worried; I generally didn't like swimming anyway.  Wading was more my
style.) Styling, as Karen explained, was simple.  For combing and brushing
I should start with the bottom and then work, gently, up to the scalp.  I
could style a wave with the blow dryer, and then curl the bottom into a bob
with a curling iron (more demonstration).  Then she had me wet my hair and
practice.  I did pretty well for my first try.  I didn't even burn myself
on the curling iron.

   It was too early yet for lunch, so Karen got dressed, I put on my new
lingerie and false breasts under the bathrobe, and we went out on the
terrace and drank bottle water and chatted.  The weight of the "breasts"
felt odd on my chest and shoulders and the bra straps took some adjusting
to get it just right.  The silicone warmed to my body temperature quickly;
almost fully covered by the bra cups they looked surprisingly real.  The
waist cincher made me feel a bit short of breath at first, as if I was
sucking in my gut, hard.  It reduced my waist to about 29", which Karen
decided was pretty good.  The panties were soft and silky, and felt great.
I resisted the urge to play with myself, and discretely tucked my cock back
between my legs with my scrotum.  Checking my self in the mirror again, I
started to think that this was really working out quite well...  and that
it was fun as well!  Go figure.  I had to go the bathroom (ladies room or
powder room, Karen corrected me) and Karen admonished me to, "Pee sitting
down!  And leave the seat down!  You might as well start getting used to
it." She was right; it did take some getting used to.  The weight of my
"breasts" felt odd as I bent over for the flush handle.

   We sent down for a light lunch of cheeses, olive oil, bread, and red
wine and we nibbled as we drank the wine and I felt happier and more at
peace than I had since I could remember.  Karen had done some long range
planning, too.  Now that we had settled on a dress size she could order
"semi-permanent" breast forms to replace the ones I was wearing.  While
these were sufficient, she told me, there were better products on the
market that would affix directly to my chest and so I wouldn't have to
worry about my "breasts" shifting place or falling out of my bra.  We went
inside and she got online and started shopping from an online cosmetic
surgery site.

   The ones we finally settled on had an ultra soft layer of that actually
moved like natural breasts, and included an astonishingly lifelike nipple.
They even jiggled!  They attached directly to the chest with through a
permanently tacky back surface that was skin friendly and provided a more
direct contact, bond, and fit.  There was even a back layer that simulated
muscle tissue to provide a more natural feel.  They could be worn while
swimming, although with a high-necked design of course.  (Real cleavage was
still out of reach.) But they did look and feel exactly like natural
breasts in weight, shape, and texture, and were an extremely close color
match as well.  They were a bit more complicated than the lingerie company
ones, requiring regular care and cleaning, but they did come with a
template and marking pencil to note exact positioning on my chest.  I was
impressed.  This was a lot better than a plain old "falsie." As I was to
find out later, they were perfect for what Karen had in mind.

   Karen had loaned me some black cats-eye sunglasses and she told me, as I
sat in the sun sipping my wine, that I looked "like a Hollywood babe" with
my rich wavy red hair and creamy, glowing skin set off by the white robe
and black glasses.  Karen launched into a series of terribly sexy stories
about some of her "exploits" that made me blush down to my shoulders but
which were also terribly interesting and even exciting....  She had done
just about everything, it seemed, and any way it could be done.  I almost
felt like I should be taking notes, and then wondered why I would think
that?  Have sex with men?  Never!  Or so I thought then...  We chatted and
giggled and the wine gave us a pleasant glow as we eventually set off for
the multi-purpose room and my personal sale and fitting.

   The multi-purpose room had been set up with some comfortable arm chairs,
a small couch, a divan, and a screen, behind which there was a table and
chair; presumably for changing.  The department store people had arrived
early and set up.  They had brought four large rolling wardrobes, three
trunks of shoes, and two trunks of handbags and other accessories.  The
wardrobes opened up to display hanging clothes and pull-out drawers for
smaller items and accessories.  The rest of the afternoon was as much an
education as had been the morning classes in makeup and hairstyling.

   For men, shopping is a chore.  Typically they need one or a few things.
They go to the store wit a list, go straight to the department in question,
pick up exactly what they need (if adventurous they might by two or three
of the same design but different colors) , pay, and then leave.  It's
different for women.  For women, shopping is an art, a social event, and an
activity in and of itself with its own aesthetic and emotional appeal.  The
personal shopper from the store and her assistant were kind, attentive, and
amazingly informed as to taste and style.  They suggested complete outfits
and accessories.  They suggested mix and match items, sets, and ensembles.
They asked my opinions on styles and colors, narrowed my choices, and
presented me with ranges of options.  They considered my coloring, compared
that to my makeup choices (with Karen's input), and coordinated that with
the outfits.  I don't know how many outfits I tried on, but it was a lot.
Some I tried on several times, seeking second opinions, or with different
combinations of tops, bottoms, shoes, or accessories.  I left the lingerie
and fake breasts on to save time, but with their assistance picked out an
entire range of lingerie that would compliment the outfits I was choosing.

   We sent for light dinners from room service and relaxed for an hour or
so, chatting over dinner salads, wine, and some truly scrumptious chocolate
truffles.  Then we continued into the evening.  As we finished, made our
final selections and had the choices wrapped in paper to be taken to my
room, and said our goodbyes and thank yous, I noticed it was after 10 pm! I
was tired but exhilarated.  I felt as if it was Christmas...  and I wanted
to go upstairs and open my presents!  Karen laughed at my giddiness.  "Come
on, hon, you just tried everything on, what, a million times?  Haven't you
had enough?"

   I grinned sheepishly.  "Well...  yeah...  but it was fun!"

   Karen laughed again, and hugged me.  "You're such a dear!  And you're
even cuter now than before!  But I have a better idea." She held me at arms
length and grinned impishly.  Uh oh, I thought.

   Karen's "Better idea" was for us to go to the hotel bar and have a
couple of drinks before going to bed.  She had even saved out an outfit for
me to wear, which she showed me, still wrapped in its tissue paper.  It was
a black chiffon satin-lined dress with big white polka dots.  I have loved
it at first sight, it seemed so fun and flirty.  It was sleeveless, with
wide halter-style straps, a draped front bust line that dropped to just
above my (non-existent) "cleavage," and had a slightly flared skirt.  I was
glad it was demurely knee-lined, I thought with concern approaching fear.
It was dressy enough for an informal summer evening.  But how was I going
to go through with it?  In public?

   Karen had also held out nude pantyhose, a halter-style cream-colored
satin bra, a small black handbag, black clip-on earrings, and some black
calfskin sandals with ankle straps.  I was relived to see she had chosen a
pair with short 1" heels.  I had tried on and bought a number of high
heeled shoes, but I had never tried walking in them.  "Just...  drinks?" I
asked suspiciously.

   Karen grinned mischievously.  "Well, maybe we'll dance a few dances,"
she allowed.

   "Dances!  You mean with men?"

   "Well, of course, silly goose...  who did you think?  The furniture?"

   I felt terrified, but I began to get dressed.  First I rolled on the
pantyhose, a leg at a time to the knee, and then the rest of the way.  I
was thankful that the tight pantyhose over the panties would hold my cock
out of the way between my legs.  Then the transfer of my "breasts" to the
bra, and the inevitable adjustment of bra straps.  Then the dress, which
slid on in a cool silky rush, the straps covering the bra straps nicely.  I
felt so silky and smooth I thought I might slide right off the bed. 
Finally I sat on the divan and strapped on my sandals and clipped on my
earrings.  My discarded bra I stuffed in my handbag.  The dress hung well
on my slender hips, the flair and the tight waist and bodice giving me a
shape that was helped along by the waist cincher beneath.  The bodice was
filled out nicely by my "breasts" and demurely accentuated by the draped
bust line.  My legs were smooth and shapely in the sandals.  I took a deep
breath.  I looked good.

   "Just a minute," said Karen.  She came over, sat next to me, and turned
me into the light.  Then she fished in her handbag and pulled out a
compact, eyelash brush, and lipstick.  For the next few minutes the dabbed
me with powder, brushed me with just a hint of blush, lightly touched my
faint and almost invisible eyelashes, and carefully coated my lips.  I
noted the lipstick was a nice contrast (deep red) to my dress.  She put
everything away, pulled out a small bottle, and dabbed me, just lightly,
with Chanel No 5: on the back of my neck, my inner elbows, in my
"cleavage," behind the ears, and tiny dabs on both shoulders.

   "Ready?" asked Karen.

   "As ready as I'll ever be," I said glumly.

   "Come on, frowny face...  it'll be fun!  You'll see.  Don't worry, we'll
get a table, have a couple of drinks, and see how things turn out.  We'll
be back in the rooms by midnight, promise!  And don't worry...  I won't
leave you alone with any bad men!"

   I blushed and Karen laughed.

   We walked through the atrium and lobby toward the bar, where I could
hear loud music.  My heels clicked lightly on the floor as my legs swished
in their nylon beneath the satin-lined full skirt, which swirled with my
walk.  I remembered that Karen had told me to walk with short strides and
to point my toes slightly inward and place my feet inward, almost one in
front of the other, to make my hips sway.  I felt giddy and excited and
afraid all at once.  I was half expecting someone to yell out "imposter!"
as I walked through the hotel lobby, but no one did.  Several men did look
at me as I passed, though.  I smiled prettily at them.  Karen had told me
to be careful to speak softly and not pitch my voice low; my voice was
naturally a bit high pitched for a man, which made it just a bit husky for
a girl, but not alarmingly so if I remembered to speak carefully.  It was
the first time I was grateful for this...  but not the last.  I can't tell
you how many times I had been called `miss' or `ma'am' on the phone.  I had
hated that previously...  now I hoped for it.  As time went by I got better
at it, as it turned out...  eventually I could manage a pretty good
imitation of Lauren Bacall's throaty contralto.

   As we got closer, Karen gave me some quick pointers on "bar etiquette
for girls." Girlfriends stay together unless they want to go with a man. 
One girl stays at the table and holds it and watches the drinks while the
other dances, and vice versa.  Sit demurely with legs crossed or knees
together.  Don't make eye contact or smile at a guy unless I want him to
come over and buy me a drink or ask me to dance.  Eat bar snacks or
appetizers (let the man get them or order and pay); it slows the impact of
the liquor.  Don't have more than 2 drinks per hour unless you feel you can
hold it.  It's "lady like" to drink slowly.  If you leave your drink and go
to dance, it will get picked up by the wait staff, so watch out for "let's
dance" lines as a ploy to get more drinks in me.  Buying a man a drink or
asking him to dance was the equivalent of asking him to fuck me.  Bear in
mind that the men in hotel bars are generally business travelers and are
usually married...  I would be able to tell by nervous responses to "are
you married?" and attempts to hide their left ring finger, which would
generally have an un-tanned line where a ring had recently been removed. 
Be very careful about giving out personal information, such as address,
phone number, or employment.  Be coy if asked.  Men would view buying me a
drink or dancing with me as the first step in getting me into bed or,
failing that, getting a quick blowjob in the parking lot.  Men like to show
off, let them.  Laugh at his dumb jokes.  Act impressed with whatever
stories he tells about himself.  They especially like to buy expensive
drinks if they think they are getting somewhere, so after he is getting
friendly feel free to order whatever is at the top of the menu...  and
specify the brands of booze or you'll get the cheap house liquor, like
ordering "A Tanqueray and Tonic" instead of "Gin and Tonic." Be rude to the
sleazy ones and get rid of them before they become a major hassle...  but
bear in mind that the nice ones want the same thing, they are just better
company.  Drunks will step on your feet.  Watch out for slow dances, the
guy will try to feel me up.  Unless, of course, I want him to...

   "Oh," she said, leaning over to my ear as we reached the door and
started to walk through into the loud music, "If you swallow when he comes
you won't get semen in your hair or down your front."

   "WHAT!!???" I blurted.  It was too late.  We were inside.

   It was a pretty typical bar scene, just starting to get crowded. 
Hopefully it wouldn't get too crowded; it was a weeknight.  Thankfully
there was no smoke; California has banned it (I hate smoking).  It was
dark, but not so much that you couldn't see.  There was a small dance floor
and a DJ, playing some pop music for about a dozen couples.  Most of the
men were wearing business suits, some of the women were as well.  There
were small tables around the walls, and some slightly larger tables on the
floor; the ones along the wall had a padded bench seat than ran the length
of the wall and a chair with its back to the room.  The larger tables had
four chairs.  A couple of waitresses and a waiter were circulating with
drinks and empty glasses.  A few tables were eating appetizers and finger
food; I noticed menus on the tables.  One side had doors that opened up
onto an outside patio.  I nudged Karen and pointed.  She nodded and we
snaked our way through the crowd to the door and outside.

   It was pleasantly cool outside and the music, which coming over
loudspeakers, was far less jarring.  An outdoor bar was on a raised
platform at the end.  There were two-person tables scattered across the
terrace, they were all occupied.  I was about to give up and go back in
when Karen took me by the hand and walked over to one of the nearest,
occupied by two young men.  "Just smile and go along with me," she
whispered.  Great, I wondered.  Now what?

   Karen walked up to the nearest young man, who looked pleased to see a
tall good-looking brunette and her redhead friend approaching.  Karen was
smiling broadly.  "Hi," she said perkily.  "My friend here has had an
absolutely terrible day and has been on her feet the whole time, and I told
her we could come here and relax but there is no place to sit down, and
could you please give us your table?" She was just about batting her eyes.
I smiled and tried to look tired at the same time.  The two guys looked
like they were going to sit up and beg.  The first one, a good looking
30-ish blond guy in a sport coat and turtleneck stood up like a rocket was
under him and, took my arm, gently.

   "Hi," he said.  "I'm Chris.  What's your name?"

   I caught on to the ploy fast.  "I'm Eve, and than you soooo much..." I
smiled prettily, showing a lot of teeth, and tried to make my voice a
breathy and (I hoped) sexy contralto.  It seemed to work.  "It has just
been a terrible day.  Are you sure it's not too much trouble?" I asked as
he held the chair for me and I sat down, crossing my legs demurely, and
looking up at him.  Across the table the other guy, a 40-ish dark haired
guy in a polo shirt and khakis whose name I had missed, was offering Karen
his chair.  He must have just told her a joke, she was laughing as if he
had said something very funny or witty.

   "You do look tired, but you're still the prettiest girl in here," Chris
said, grinning and squatting next to me, with his hand on the back of the
chair and note quite touching my bare shoulder.  "Can I get you a drink or
something?"

   "Oh, you are so nice," I breathed enthusiastically, smiling broadly. 
"You're like a gentleman in an old movie." This made Chris grin even more.
Bang!  Right in the ego!  "I am kind of hungry...  and I could really use a
drink...  could you get me a vodka gimlet?" I asked, naming an expensive
brand of vodka with my request.

   "Absolutely!" Chris exclaimed heartily, jumping up.  "One snack and one
vodka gimlet for the prettiest girl in the place, coming right up!" And he
was off, looking like he was starting on a race.  I looked over at Karen.
Her man had disappeared too, and she had a self-satisfied look on her face.
She smiled at me and winked.  This was actually kind of fun after all.  The
feeling of effortless control mingled with symbolic submission was
thrilling.  I felt flushed and I could feel my heart racing.  Karen leaned
toward me and I leaned in to hear what she was saying.  "They are talking
about us right now, trying to figure out how to get us in their respective
sacks," she said.  "Fun, isn't it?"

   "Yeah, it is, kind of," I said...  "But how will we get rid of them
later?"

   "Just leave that to me," Karen said, and looked behind me.

   I was surprised to see Chris returning, followed by the other guy. 
Chris was making a big show out of holding a tray over his head, and with a
towel over his arm like a waiter.  Chris was following with two folding
chairs.  If he's back already with food and drinks and all that stuff, I
thought, then he must have bribed a waiter somewhere and maybe hijacked
someone's order...  he's really working it.  I must have made quite an
impression.

   Chris stopped short of the table, swept the tray down (almost banging a
guy at the next table in the head) and, in a ludicrously bad French accent
said, "Voila, cheri!  Your dinner, it is served!" The other guy was setting
up two folding chairs, one next to me, and one next to Karen.  Clearly we
had been staked out, like territory.  I half expected them to howl like
wolves.  I figured I'd play along.

   "Enchanté, monsieur!" I said brightly, offering him my hand, which he
actually leaned down to brush, lightly, with his lips.  My spine tingled
and goose bumps arose at the brush of his lips and the warmth of his breath
on the back of my hand.  I forced myself to go on in a normal voice, "I am
really impressed!  How did you do that so quickly?"

   "Can you keep a secret?" Chris asked in a stage whisper, looking around
theatrically and taking the opportunity to lean closer, I noticed.  I
presented my ear and my Chanel-dotted shoulder.  "We mugged a guy." He
winked at me elaborately, but I noticed him taking a deep breath.  "Gosh,
you smell great," he said, sounding honestly nervous for a moment.  "I uh,
hope you don't mind me saying so...  Uh, Pat here got the chairs," he said
brightly, hoping to change the subject.  Was he blushing?  He was!  (OK,
note to self, the other guy's name is Pat).

   I acted nonchalant.  "Oh," I breathed, looking at him from the side and
through a cascade of auburn hair that was playing its desired peek-a-boo
role, "You're such a flatterer!" I took the opportunity to inspect the
tray. Karen had retrieved a blue-colored drink of some sort and was sipping
it delicately through a straw, her face tipped slightly down, while looking
out from under her bangs and lashes at Pat, who was looking at her like a
kid on Christmas looks at his presents.  Right next to an undoubted vodka
gimlet was a small plate of what looked like tiny egg rolls and a dish of
sauce.  "Oh yum," I said, "I am starving!" Wow, I thought.  Free food and
drinks...  and they really must have hijacked someone's order, probably by
bribing a waiter for the whole tray from the looks of things.  I wonder
what else can I get?  This really was fun!  It was thrilling.

   I munched eggrolls and demurely sipped my drink through a bar straw
while Chris chatted about himself.  He and Pat were defense contractors,
working on a project for the Navy.  They were from the company's base in
Florida, but Chris was from Maryland originally and had gone to school at
the University of Maryland and then the University of Florida for a Masters
degree.  Pat was the project manager and Chris was the technical
specialist. Chris was "married but separated," (bingo, I thought, although
I couldn't see his ring finger) because "my wife just doesn't understand
me." Sigh.  "But sitting here with me and seeing my beautiful eyes was
cheering him up." He was really laying it on thick.  I noticed Karen and
Pat getting up to go dancing inside.  That left me and Chris outside.  I
noticed he had somehow managed to scoot his chair closer and had his arm
`casually' across the back of my chair, not quite touching my back.  I was
glad the warm San Diego summer night air was keeping me comfortable.  If it
cooled off I'd have goose bumps and that would encourage him to try to warm
me up, I thought amusedly.

   "So, what do you do," he asked politely after I had finished the egg
rolls (I'm a little piggy!).  Uh, oh, I thought.  Be careful.

   "Oh, a girl has to have some secrets," I said, smiling mischievously. 
That technique seemed to be working well.

   "Well," he said, making the most of it, "Maybe I can guess...  you're so
attractive, I bet you're a model or actress.  Close?" How lame, I thought.

   I leaned back and smiled coyly, nibbling at the knuckle of my index
finger.  Coincidentally I managed to dislodge his arm from my chair. 
"Nope."

   I needed a distraction.  I made as if I was getting up.  "I think I'll
get another drink...," I started, only to have him jump up.

   "Please, let me get it.  Another vodka gimlet?"

   "Sure!  Thanks!" I smiled brightly, which made him grin as he hurried
off.  Whew!  I was going to have to think fast before he got back.  The
flirting was fun, as was watching him make a fool out of himself trying to
impress me, but I was still scared, deep down inside.  I don't think I
could have taken his scorn had he found me out.  How was I going to keep up
this charade?  I didn't have any ready answers; I was making it all up on
the fly: how could Karen have got me into this and then left me on my own!

   Then I spotted Karen, leading Pat by the hand, on her way back to the
table.  Thank goodness!  Chris must have been held up by the crowd at the
bar; apparently there wasn't a convenient waiter to pay off this time.  Or
maybe I was getting too expensive for him.  Karen sat down next to me and
patted my satin and nylon-covered thigh.  "Hey, left you all alone, huh?"
she asked cheerily.

   Pat sat down across the table from us.  I took the opportunity to lean
close to Karen for a private chat.  Just us "girls." Karen leaned in too.

   "You've got to get me out of here!  I whispered, trying to pitch my
voice so it wouldn't carry.  "Don't leave me here talking to some guy!  I'm
making stuff up!  Sooner or later I'm going to make a major mistake!"

   "Oh, you'll be OK," Karen smiled back at me.  "Girls are allowed to be
flighty and change their minds."

   "Not the kind of mistakes I'm almost making," I hissed angrily.  "If I
screw up your little game this evening the way I think I'm going to screw
it up, I will NOT go through with your hair-brained scheme!  I mean it! 
I'm scared enough without that kind of humiliation!"

   It hit home.  Karen looked taken aback.  She collected herself for a
moment.  "Geez, I'm sorry, kiddo...  I really am.  This is really bothering
you, isn't it?"

   I was mollified a bit by the contrition in her voice.  I could never
stay mad at her and she knew it...  unfortunately.  "It's not that... 
well, not entirely, I said.  I am having fun, to tell the truth." Karen
grinned back.  "But I need more practice before I can do this in
confidence. And in public no less!  And with close contact with someone!  I
guess I just need more time to get ready.  I need to learn how to do this
before I can do it for real!"

   Karen hugged me impulsively.  She whispered in my ear, "It'll be OK."
Then she looked up.  I looked up.  Chris was coming back.  Karen stood up.
She tugged my arm and I stood up too.

   "Well," she said brightly," it's been nice meeting you both!"

   "You're not going!" Chris said, sounding disappointed.  "Hey, stay for
one more drink and maybe a dance!"

   I was catching on.  "Thank you sooo much," I breathed on his cheek,
leaning forward to brush his cheek with my lips and taking the drink out of
his hand.  "You've been such a dear to put up with me after the day I had!
I had a great time!  I hope you both have a good flight back!"

   "Bye now," Karen said, as we started walking.  To my relief they didn't
want with us.  I drank the drink on the way out and dropped the glass on
the end of the bar.  I was feeling a little tipsy but I was glad I was
leaving.  I was even gladder they hadn't followed us.

   The lobby was mostly empty and I caught a glimpse of the time as we
passed through: just after midnight.  Now that I thought of it I was pretty
tired.  I yawned and stretched, feeling the silky rush of the dress, the
vulnerable coolness of my nylon-coated thighs, and the pull of my
"breasts." It felt surprisingly good and natural.  When we got in the
elevator, I noticed Karen pushed several buttons in addition to the one for
our floor.  "Just in case," she said.  "You can never be too careful." I
made a note to remember that technique.

   When we got to the rooms I was so tired and tipsy I just left my sandals
and dress in a pile on the floor.  I was about to climb into bed, but Karen
made me take off my earrings and pantyhose too.  They ended up on the floor
as well.  I climbed into bed in bra and panties and was out like a light.
What a day!