Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I recently got invited by a Site Administrator @LoveOn.Me requesting Role
Play Stories.  So, I thought I'd see what I could crank out.  Anyway, check
them out, they could use your support, and who knows?  You might discover
something you like..

   ;

   Ivana {Alias/Anon}

   My name is not important, I prefer no names, but I guess it's true.  I'm
a slut, I went to school, I know what they mean by it, and I refused to be
shamed for my sexual appetite.  It's a healthy appetite, but unfortunately
people, by which I mean men, judge me, and then make all these wrong
assumptions.  I'm a "Rich bitch," as well.  Which is to say professional, I
have a degree, and make good money, on my own.  Without a man, I don't need
to depend on them, to earn a living, knock me up, and give some meaning to
my life.  I just need to fuck one, every once in a while.  However, they
try to take over, insist on taking me out to dinner, or whatever.  You like
the opera?  Because I got tickets!

   I don't have time for that.  For hours of someone singing in Italian,
sitting and listen to them talk about their stock portfolio, or fantasy
sports team, finally get home for maybe 5 minutes in the sack, and find out
if they want to stay the night, or not.  I don't have time for any of that,
I have a libido.  I tried pleasuring myself, bought toys, and while they
feel all right, they don't satisfy what I really want.  A good fuck.  Is
that too much to ask?  Just a good fuck, without all the attempts at
seduction.

   I suppose I was spoiled.  In college I got lucky, a lot.  Sex was new,
and exciting, I liked it a lot, and it just wasn't all that hard to get. 
College boys, they know what they want, hell they'll rape you if you give
them half a chance, but I didn't.  I got condoms, learned how to use them,
and fucked them.  Whenever I want, but then I left.  Graduated, got a
degree, and started working, for myself.  I thought the course load was
stressful!  Finals?  Yeah, that's nothing compared to interning, being sent
for coffee, and lunch, AND having assignments to take care of, I finally
hauled off, and fucked a guy at work.

   Just some guy, I didn't care.  I just found out, for finals, that
nothing clears my head like a good hard fuck.  He was there, he flirted
with me something fierce, there was an empty office we could get into, and
we did it.  Big mistake.  Office romance?  Well, that's not what it was, he
thought it was.  That I finally gave into his charms, and loved him, but
no. I needed it, he was there, then he made it impossible to work there. 
So, I got him fired.  Sexual harassment, that's exactly what it was, don't
think that 1 quicky on break constitutes a relationship.

   I told him to stop, warned him, everyone in the building saw and heard
about, eventually he had to go.  Thank god he never found out where I live,
I moved anyway, but what is it, exactly about sex, then makes men stupid,
and emotional like that?  I was there, it wasn't beautiful, it was just a
quick office fuck.  On the desk, he wasn't even that good at it.  Made me
do all the work, felt up my bra a lot, and that's about it.  It certainly
wasn't worth getting stalked, harassed, propositioned, and groped on a
daily basis for weeks, and that didn't help me at work.

   But, I got some vacation days, and I had to move, without any of that
stress, and fear that he'd finally snap.  Go psycho, and finally try to
hurt me, or kill me, because I don't love him.

   "Wh!" I see it's going to take a lot to get over that.  I usually have
more control over my emotions, but there's a boy, in my building.  Oh,
don't even think that, he's 18, or 19, moved out on his parents and
everything, but I hadn't gotten any for weeks.  He was always so nice, and
respectful, even though he obviously looked at me, and thought about me. 
Romantically, or sexually, it doesn't really matter, he's willing, and I'm
moving, so it may be his last chance.  To get with me, so he'll be willing.

   No strings attached.  I have time for a boyfriend, for about a week.  9
days, a workweek, and 2 weekends, but then, I have to go back to work, and
I didn't mean to break his heart.  I told him, from the beginning, just
sex, then I'm gone, but he helped me move, and get over being stalked and
harassed at work.  I needed it, he got feelings for me anyway, and in the
end, I had to break his heart.  "Huh!" Men.  My theory is they're never
taught to deal with emotions, as adults.  It's "Not manly," so in some ways
a lot of them are still childishly immature, when it comes to romantic
feelings.

   I'm not, I just can't afford them.  Money's not the issue, I don't work
for money either, I certainly don't want to marry up, and owe him kids for
the rest of my life, I even got my tubes tied.  I don't have the time, I
can't afford to just lay around, and wait for things to happen.  I don't
have it in me, I have to stay busy, and work off all this energy I seem to
have been born with.  Keeps me fit?  Guys think I'm nervous on dates,
because I fidgit.  No, I fidget because I have to sit still, and I can't
stand sitting still.

   "Relax." He's nervous.  On my couch, and sweaty from helping me move
boxes, but I kiss him anyway.  When I just want to fuck, but we have to do
these thing first, for some reason.  To get him in the mood, he wants to
kiss, and he turns out to be pretty good at it, when really it just gives
me something to do with my mouth while I get his pants open, and pull it
out.

   "Huh!" Hard.  "Take off your shirt."

   It's, a penis.  Ask me why I need it so, but I need it, so much, and
barely able to get my sweat pants down with my underwear.  "Put this on."
I'm wet, enough.  I have lube, and he has a tongue, but thankfully, we
don't have to stop for that.  Just a quick suck to get him wet, pull it out
so there's a little to slip back and forth, then climb on, and get him
inside me.

   "Huh!" It's not even a particularly large one.  Or small, it's enough.
He gets my shirt up, I dressed for moving.  Dust, and even some mold I
didn't know about in the corner, because I must have spilled something, and
it flowed back in the corner, but "Uhh!" Finally, I had him inside me.  And
I don't care, about anything, like this.  It's nice for a change, a few
moments, I don't even care about being satisfied.  I don't get this enough.
"Huhhhh!" Didn't even wear a bra, and he noticed.  Not that I was trying to
turn him on, I thought about it, but it's my time off.

   My much needed time off, no bra, no makeup, no clothes to look
professional, just comfort, and time to enjoy it.  A good fuck, that's all
I needed to get my head back in the game, is a good fuck.

   PLP!  "Uh!" PLP "Huh!" Shaking my breats in his hands, and hopping to
withdraw enough.  I suppose about half, or not even that, but just enough
to sink back down, and feel him stab deep inside me, again, and again.  He
can't go any deper, with my bottom splashing in my lap, but that feels
magnificent too, and I don't want to stop.  Find a better position for
deeper penetration, just fuck.  Him, harder, and faster, to make up for the
depth, and I get a little, ripple up to my deadend if he can't reach it
directly, but "Ohh, yes!" Huh!

   I needed this, a man.  Any one will do, but that's why a dildo won't do
it.  Even a vibrator, or some high tech gizmo with a vibrating clit brush,
and a butplug.  It' not about the dick, I love it, his is plenty, but
that's not it.  All of it, I need a man attached, with hands, and arms, and
sweat, even a little muscularute in his chest, and don't think I didn't
notice.  He works out, I don't know where, no weights in his apartment, but
he has a bike, gets dressed up in short shorts to show off his hard hairy
legs, a tank-top that hangs out enough I could catch delightful little
peeks in the side.  See the muscle, and even a nipple.

   All right guys, we look too.  I know all the clothes, and stories, and
movies, and advertizing focuses on the women, but we're not just.  Fuck
dolls to be appreciated, and obediently lay down whenever the mood takes
you.  I'm a feminist, there I said it.  That means we can be honest about
it.  I look, at young guys, never did anything about it while we're in the
same building, but now that I'm moving, I can appreciate what I've always
looked on, and wanted.  He has a great body, really nice strong hands, with
rough fingers, and a nice firm pillow, or two on his chest.  With small
hard dark nipples with a few hairs curling out around them.

   Not a lot, I don't really care one way or another, there's definitely
too hairy, and I even been with some who shaved.  Their chest, he has a
little in the middle too, but it's something extra.  A little more to play
with, twirl with my fingers, and hold up to his face.  His lips, his mouth.
"Sock them, get them wet.  Hh, yeah." I switched hands, and rubbed my
fingertips while he sucked the other 2.  On my thumb, so they're wet enough
to slip on his nipple.  Then his nipples, both of them.

   "Oh yeah, that's good." He closed his eyes, but that's another thing. 
Men have nipples too.  They work, just like nipples.  You don't have to
have tits behind them, in fact it's a lot easier in the corners of some
nice strong chest muscles so they don't roll around, and slip out of the
way.

   "Ohhhn," he swallowed, "Ngh!  Huh!"

   I stopped, closed my eyes, to feel it.  "Yup." Nodded.  He twitched,
inside me.  Filled up the rubber.  "Huh!" I got up.

   "But," he sat up, "You didn't get off?"

   "I don't have to," I cleared my head, "I'm satisfied."

   "Well I'm not."

   "Look, son."

   "Just hear me out, all right?  Huh!  I don't, I didn't agree to help you
to get layed.  That was great, but I don't want to just blow a load and go,
like.  I don't know what kinds of guys you're used to, but if we're going
to do it.  Huh!  I want to get you off.  More than anything, I want to feel
you, your orgasm, taste it, and leave you completely satisfied.  That's sex
to me.  Huh!  I love the female orgasm." He looked so excited!  "More than
anything, that's what I want.  You don't even have to pay me for this, if I
can make you cum."

   "Seriously." He just nodded.  "Huh!" I don't know what to say, "Well,"
that doesn't sound too bad, "Uh.  Don't you have to recover, or something?"
He did just get off, still hanging out, in the full rubber.

   "Not to taste you."

   "You mean." Oral sex, of course.  I don't.  No, I do.  In fact, have
time for this.  "Huh!  You can try it.  If it means that much to you, but
honestly, that doesn't get me off." It never did.

   "I don't care, I want to, taste you.  It'll help me get it up again."

   "Fine," I pulled my feet out of my sweats, and the top off.  Just an old
teeshirt, if I hadn't bought it myself, you'd never know what the logo was
before it dried out, and flaked off.

   "Oh!"

   "What?"

   "It's beautiful!"

   "What, my."

   "Huh!  Just come here.  Snh!  Huh!" He was so excited, and his breath
between my legs, felt rather nice as well.  "Huhlumhuh!"

   "Oh!" Ask me what he did different.  I don't know, I even tried it with
girls.  Lesbians, never even turned me on, before.  You would think, they'd
be better at it than some kid that didn't even make it into college, but
"Oh!  Fugh!"

   "Yeah, slugh!"

   "Huh!" My knees went weak, so I bumped my forehead, and his face came
out from between my legs.  "Ngh, khuh!" I cleared my throat, and swallowed
it.  "Huh!  Cummon." I helped him up, and took him by the hand, to my bed.

   For the first time, it wasn't just to get me wet.  Quickly, I can do
that myself, but it can take a while to run out.  But this, it wasn't as
good as fucking, but.  "Mmh!" God, he was good at it.  "Mrrh!  Yeah.  Nh!
Just, uh!  Kepp, huh!" I couldn't talk.  I'm not normally, much of a
talker. I feel lucky enough just to get layed often enough, but I just
wanted to encourage him?  "Ohyeah, don't stop!  Huhn!" My hips bucked, all
by themselves.  Which made him stop, find it again, I just couldn't help
it. I didn't want to stop him, make him have to start over, I just couldn't
control my hips.

   So, I put my legs down.  Spread wide, so I couldn't.  It wasn't very
comfortable, but I couldn't move, if I wanted to.  I even got a cram, or
both sides, my buttocs clenched so hard they ached.

   When he sucked me off.

   "HAH AHHHH, NYAHHH!  Fugh!" I had to put my legs up, to stretch out the
cramps, but, "OOOOOHH!" Even that felt fantastic, the releif!  "Hah!" But
that ment bucking again, but he had his finger in me then, and it was like
fucking, enough like fucking, and his fingers scrubbed so hard on my clit,
I didn't even finish the first one before.

   "NGH?  NhaaAAEEIGH YAGH!" Fuck!  "Fuck?  Yes, yeas
yeanyeahyeahyeheyehyeh augh!"

   Finally it was over.  "Huh!" For a seccond, "Huh!" there, i "Huh!" Just
wanted it to end.  But he held me, and kissed me, and gently fondled my
heaving burning chest.  "Hih hihn him!" I nodded, "Where on earth did you
ever learn to fuck like that?"

   "From you?" He kissed my cheek, and licked, a tear.  I'm crying?

   "Snh?"

   I'm weeping!  He fucked me until I cried.

   "Huh!"

   "There's no trick to it, I just.  Wanted to please you so much.  So," he
shrugged, "I did." Like it was nothing.

   It was not nothing.

   "I guess you felt that passion too."

   "Huh!" Shouldn't have said that: "I could get used to this." But I
kissed him.  For a moment, I thought I felt some of that 'passion.' He
called it.  Suck a silly concept, but he's young, idealistic, and one hell
of a good fuck.  And suck, in bed.

   I had time, for that.  A little, breifly, but then I had to go back to
my life.  And he had his to get on with, it never would have worked, but
that's why I did it to him.  I am sorry, I led him on, and maybe implied
that it might continue.  Longer, than I needed him, just those few
wonderful days we had together before I had to break his heart.

   I'm sorry, but it's better some day.  I hope some day he can understand,
and forgive me.

   ;

   {Okay, the following excerpt is a page out of context.  Continuing from
the last one, and ending abruptly when the writer is interrupted, so
therefore basically at random.  Sorry for any confusion folks...}

   ;

   [...and turned over to feel his breath.  Slip my hand out from under the
silky sheets, and feel the morning stubble on his jaw.  By the morning
light, filtering through the blinds behind me, which woke me up here.  In
an unfamiliar bed, memories of last night driving away whatever I may have
been dreaming in favor of something even better.

   The reality of his normally cleanshaven face, the new roughness, even
the shadow it added bringing out the rugged corner by his neck, and the
flat blunted tip of his chin.  "Mh?  Snh?" He sucked in a breath, and
sighed.  Over my thumb, feeling over his lips, and the start of a mustache.
Then his smile, eyes blinking open, and the gentlest kiss on the ball of my
thumb.

   "Good morning." He turned over, a moment to grab the orange, from his
bedside.  Which I had though was odd, but the champagne was flat.  The last
of it, in the bottom of the bottle, and the strawberry tops discarded on
the small silver tray, leftovers from last night.  I smacked my lips, and
let the silky sheet slip down to my lap.  Sitting up to drain the flute,
after he drained his into it, and handed it to me.

   "Hah!" even flat, it was still sweet, with a dry tart afterbite, to wash
the sleep from my mouth.  I saw my hair, wrecked in the mirror over his
dresser, the valet with his wallet, watch, and keys, even as his thumbs dug
through the thick bright rind, and the citrus fragrance burst out.  In the
bedroom, he finally explained what I hadn't thought to ask.  Last night,
probably assuming it was to compliment the berries, and bubbly.

   "You know what's even better than fresh squeezed orange juice in the
morning?" He dropped the zesty rind in a rough spiral to curl on the
blanket.

   I smiled, and shook my head, watching his thumb pry it open.  Into to
halves, and gently split off a section.  "No," I lay back, "But I have an
idea." Slowed my eyes, and took a deep breath, though my nose, to enjoy the
scent, like the strawberries, smiling in anticipation, before he brushed my
lops with the end.  The rubbery membrane, across my lips to part them, then
I let my teeth open.  For him to slip it in like his passionate tongue, and
split it with my teeth.

   For an almost orgasmic burst of fruity sour sweetness, and let it roll
down my tongue, to gulp it down hungrily.

   "See?" He smiled, and popped the other half in his mouth.

   "Oh yes!" He told me, he was a Hedonist, and while I had some idea what
that word ment, I couldn't imagine what it was actually like.  Until he
showed me, how to truly enjoy something as simple as a berry.  A wedge of
orange in the morning, or even so obviously erotic as sex.  "That's the
best!"

   He just shook his head, another slice sticking out of his smile like a
pale orange tongue, and leaned over, closer.  I closed my eyes, and

   ;]

   Rachael {Just so you know, the names at Chapter Heads are the
narrator's. Generally followed by Character, and Story/Trigger codes, where
appropriate: F Solo NS.)

   [This is interesting, but doesn't seem to fit

   With the the article on trac-balls.  ;)]

   "Oh!" My face warmed up, and I pulled the Post-it (R) off of the page.
"So, that explains that."

   [I'd love to read the rest of it.  ;)]

   On the other side, below the strip of adhesive.  I couldn't help smiling
to myself, but I couldn't finish it, last night.  With the page missing, I
forgot where I left off, and felt the corner.  Torn off with the staple, I
must have accidentally attached it, to the research I had done on competing
Trac-balls, and mouses.  Mice?  I don't know if it's the same plural for
pointing devices, but of course we don't write stories on what couples can
do in bed.  To spice up their love lives, I suppose I could look it up.

   Either the plural of mouse for pointing devices, or paying jobs at
Cosmopolitan, I tucked it back with the loose leaves of my romantic story.
It's a hobby, I can work on in my spare time, but until I'm a professional
published writer, I have to work, and to get a good job in journalism, I
had to start as an intern at a tech magazine.  Or here's where I got a
payed internship.  As a researcher, but I hadn't really shared my more
erotic writing, with anyone before.

   It's not like he went through my notes, and read it, or I sent it to him
to read, but he's a Copy Editor.  He even crossed out some mispellings,
where I added an extra s, or l.  So engrossed in the story, but that's what
they're for.  Editors, to clean up drafts, so we can concentrate on what
we're writing, without the distraction of worrying about the Oxford Comma,
he'd added.  In pen, not unlike a teacher, grading an essay.  I had to
wonder, what he thought about it, or even what he looked like, but while I
have it here, I can finish the scene at least.

   Instead of worry about it all day, I had come in early, to look for it.
The missing page, to finish it, and contented myself with a little Research
last night.  Of my own, to see if the reality matched up with the fantasy.
The scents, and sensations of the citrus slices, on my lips, slipping down
under the covers, between my legs, and deeper.  Against my most sensitive
flesh, for instance if the mild acid would burn.  It didn't really, but
added an interesting tingle.  And didn't feel like a tongue, at all, but
it's not as if I have one, that will reach.

   Or a man, with a 5 o'clock shadow, to feel the stubble rough against the
sides of my thighs...

   "Huh!" I looked up from my danish in the break room, and blew on my
coffee.  "Siph!" Not bad, dark roast, but a little weak.  I took another
packet of sugar to compliment the bitter aftertaste.

   "This seat taken?"

   "Not yet." I looked up from him setting down his cup.  And the ring, on
his ring finger.  "Huh!" The gold wedding band.

   "Rachael, right?" He held it out, "I'm Eddie."

   I shook it, but immediately blushed.  Lowered my eyes, from the editor,
who sent back the story with his minor corrections.

   "Oh," he winked, and I looked around.

   "I enjoyed your story," he looked down, and ran a fingernail under his
thumbnail.  "And my wife, enjoyed the orange with me, this morning." He
punctuated his grin with another wink.

   "Oh." I suppose I should be glad that someone got something out of it,
other than a cold shower to wash the sticky juice out last night, but I
could just blush.

   "I sure would like to read the rest of it."

   "I know, you said it in the memo."

   "You read that, huh?" I nodded.  "Well, my wife said she'd like to read
it too, if you wouldn't mind sharing it.  With us." He took a sip, waited.
I chewed the bite of danish I took to cover my embarrassment.  Strawberry,
I could barely taste, thought it was fitting, considering what I was
working on, but I took another sip to wash it down.

   "Well, huh.  It's not finished."

   "It looked like you're getting close to the end."

   "Of the chapter, maybe." I opened up the folder, though, "But I have the
rest of it, here." Being an editor, and all, "If you want to take a look
while I wrap it up."

   "You're really good," he looked it over, smiling.  "You know, you could
make a lot of money, writing romance, some day."

   "That's the plan," I didn't dream of being an Intern my whole life.  A
single intern, but he kept reminding me of is wife.  I didn't have to keep
glancing down at his wedding band.

   "Well, I don't know how much you make as a Researcher."

   "Intern, so not a lot."

   "Yeah, so.  I might even be able to pay you, a little.  If you wouldn't
mind writing for me, and Carla."

   "Or Carla and You," I joked, "Thought you're an editor." He laughed with
me.

   "Yeah, at work." He checked his watch, "Which reminds me, but if you
don't mind getting together, when you're done." He took the pages.

   "Oh, no." I agreed.

   Not as if he's the man of my dreams.  He's a man, but married, so that's
not.  Well, I haven't written any about being someone's mistress, or from
her point of view, but that's not really my fantasy.  He's right, I was
pretty close to him, getting down on his knees.  Next to the bed to pull it
from the drawer.  At his bedside, as he had planned, opening it to show me.
My eyes wide open, awakened by the fresh orange, and morning sex.

   "Oh!" not as my eyes, gasping at the bright beauty of the ring.  My
engagement ring.  "Oh yes!" My fiancee slipping it onto my finger, and
climbing back up.  Into bed with me, hold and kiss me, making me feel like
the happiest woman on Earth.

   "Hihn!" But he's right.  I better get to work.  So, put this away and
check my [In] box...

   ;

   {Authors' Note: Most of this is written by Rachael, because she's good
at it.  Basically what the excerpt is all about, but it's not Just her
fantasy.  Because she is writing it for Eddie, they have to discuss his
fantasies, and marriage, but they don't write that out.  The conversations
on break, after work, she works it into these story excerpts.  So, I can
skip past those conversations, rather than repeat them talking about it,
then her writing it in the text.  Therefore the context of what you're
reading, in case it gets confusing.  Likewise, other artifacts of this
extra-marital relationships, such as the photographs she used for
reference.}

   ;

   [Gina Carlotta (FM Role Porn.)

   "I've really been looking forward to working with you." The new
photographer, I put up my leg, crossing it over the stocking, and the fine
open toed heel, letting the slack from the dress drape over my thigh.  To
talk about the shoot.

   "Well, I've looked over your portfolio, and." While I can not say the
same about him, "I see you have a good eye." Not out of modesty, I'm an
underwear model, he's going to be taking pictures of me, in my underwear.
As a trial run, to see how we work together, before committing to a
professional shoot, but that's what the posture is about.

   A clear message, for those who have the eye.  "Thank you." Let's keep
this professional, out of experience working with men, who have seen
something more there.  In this situation, some have tried to take it as an
opportunity, to make something more than just a day's work out of the
shoot. With a high fashion model, in my underwear.  For instance, a chance
to get into my underwear, or me out of it.

   "I appreciate your policy of rehearsing, beforehand."

   "Yes, well in my experience," it was an extensive portfolio, "It helps
to get comfortable, with eachother.  So, there's not tensions, suspicion,
or expectation, between us.  That sort of thing can show up in the prints,
if we're not comfortable with eachother."

   "Oh, I completely understand." After all, he has done high fashion as
well, as swimsuit, glamour, catalogs, and also pornography.  I had to start
somewhere myself, you don't start on the cover, unless it's that sort of
magazine.  You have to work your way up just like anyone else, but we
earned it.  "So, if you want to get started..."

   "Of course." He got up, and started turning on the lights, so I put my
leg up, to start unbuckling the heels.  "You wouldn't mind leaving those
on, first?"

   I stopped, tucked the tongue back in the strap.  "No, of course not."

   "I have plenty of head shots, who does your hair, and makeup?"

   "I'll give you their contact information," I have a team, "But I did my
own today."

   "Well," he moved a reflective screen, "Very nice, but let's start with
the fashion, and work our way down to the underwear."

   "Of course," I started getting up.  He stopped me, with a hand.

   "Could you go back, to sitting as you were before?"

   "Of course," I sat back, and crossed my legs again.

   "Good," he looked down, into his camera, so I turned, to the best angle,
set my eyebrow, and tightened the cheek on that side, lifting the corner of
my mouth in the start of an interested smile, and looked at the camera. 
"Good," he snapped it, and moved the tripod.  "The other side?"

   I uncrossed, and recrossed my legs, checking the drape of the dress over
my lap, and looked up to him.  Picking up the strap of my purse, he handed
it to me.  So, I slipped it onto my shoulder, and turned my hips.  So it
hung, on the side, and accented the dress.  Against my legs, "Look over
there." He pointed, so I turned slowly.  Ignored the camera, "There."
Froze, and held it, until he got the shot.  "Good, now stand up."

   I did, "Over here, by the window."

   He pulled a drape, on one side, and moved a lamp with a silver sheet
stretched behind it.  To reflect, and diffuse it, light my other side so it
wasn't washed out by the shear white wisps drawn across the other side,
diffusing the natural like.  Then went back to get his tripod, I looked
back to check the pattern of the brocade, and the ripples from how it
draped, found a good position against the background, and posed.

   "Good," snap, "Look back," snap, "Now 3/4." I turned part way back. 
"Change your expression," I had held the same look, "Now smile," snap,
"Put, looking away." At the corner.  "Good, now off the shoulder." I set
down my purse, and slipped down the strap at the same time.

   "Huh!"

   "You need a break?"

   "It's hot," don't want to start sweating, "Could you get me a drink?"

   "Of course." he held the straw, for me to sip carefully.  I checked my
lips, and he set down the mirror.

   "Thanks," I turned, lifting my hand, and looking down.  As just
realizing my strap had fallen.

   "Good," I held it.  "Now up." Higher, looking off.  "Good.  Now, you
need help with the zipper?"

   I turned, "Go ahead." He zipped it down my back, to show the strap, and
went to the camera.

   "Look back." Seductively.  "Good, now hold the drape." As if drawing it.
"Close them." Slowly, "Good." I stopped.  "Now, start slipping it off."

   He brought another light first, so I picked up the cranberry spritzer,
for another sip, and the mirror again.

   "Ready?"

   Over by the bed, I set them down.  "Of course," I walked over, while he
set up the cameras.  "Where do you want me?"

   "By the bed." I looked back, "Good," I slipped the strap off the other
shoulder.  "Hold it." I stopped, "Good."

   This isn't porn, but where do you model underwear?  Most women, for
instance for their husbands, in the privacy of their bedrooms.  The
illusion is making it look like that, and not a studio.  A sincere
seductive series of shots, for her husband.  he strip tease to show the
underwear he got me, the blush painted on, the lipstick, getting my hair
done.

   For the viewer, it has to look genuine, or the nagging at the back of
their mind distracts from appreciating every detail.  Must be utterly
convincing, together, across the whole image.

   That's why I get payed so much, my job isn't just to look beautiful. 
That's what gets me the job in the first place, my work is to make the
clothes look beautiful, on me.  Against the background, without anything to
distract from it, like the sheen of sweat.

   "Good," he looked up, "Now let your hair down."

   Carefully.

   "You can take it off." Slipping the dress over my hips, and down my
legs, I steadied myself on the bedpost.  Careful to slip my shoes out
without catching them on the lining, nor letting it touch the studio floor.
Setting it aside, I moved to the Vanity.  To freshen up, I brushed down my
hair, to take the body out of the sides from having it up, and pull the
pins from the sides.

   "Good," I held it, up and back, so he could catch the bra.  From the
back, and side, looking in the mirror, at the camera, as if at him.  "Shake
it out." I did, "Good.  More." He snapped several more, to make sure we got
several shots of my hair to chose from.

   You have no idea, what goes into making these images, because that's our
job.  So, you don't have to think about it.  We have to think about it, so
you never even notice.

   All he has to do is capture it.

   Being beautiful is just a start.]

   ;

   Enrique (m Solo Fant Fetish)

   "Huh!" Okay.  Not like I wanted to look at my mom.  In her underwear,
but before Juana, and Julio get home, I found them.  In with her Victoria's
Secrets, but I washed my hands, and put them back.

   And read the story, while I watched the kids.  I don't know, you ever
wondered what women fantasize about?  Well, it was kind of neat, I guess.
Take mom, for example.  I guess I can understand now, being a middle age
mother, wanting to be a younger, taller, skinnier successful model.  I
mean, for dad, I don't even have to think about his side of it, I stopped
before it got to the part about.  You know, having sex, I don't even really
want to think about mom and dad doing it, but Gina.

   Well, then it's not like my mom.  Having sex with dad, I can imagine
Laetitia.  She's my favorite, I don't know if she's Italian, or maybe
Brazilian?  I don't know what kind of name that is, maybe Portuguese, but
she looks Latina, or maybe half Latin like me.  She's my favorite, anyway,
so I can imagine Gina looks like her, and is Italian.  Yeah, a nice Italian
girl, maybe a little older so she can pose in her underwear, but I put it
back before mom got home.

   She changed out of her scrubs, but.  Yeah, since I don't have to keep an
eye on the kids, I can go to the bathroom.  It's just kind of neat, reading
about it from her point of view.  Gina's, I mean, but even a wife, and
mother, not my mom, but just imagine what she might like.  A girl, any
girl, a guy is lucky to ever even hear about their fantasies, and I never
imagined something like modeling would be like.  You know, work, a job,
hard.  If I had thought about it, maybe like the story says just looking
good in underwear, but anybody could.  Look sexy in that underwear, I would
think.

   Even mom, if I could think about that, but any woman her age.  That's
why they buy underwear from Victoria's Secret, and dresses, and jeans,
Leatitia would look hot and sexy in anything, or nothing.

   "Huh!  Yeah." I can just imagine.  Wash my hands, and flush the toilet.
So it sounds like I was using it, and make sure there isn't any left in the
sink.

   I figure, if I know a girl's fantasies, it might help me make them come
true.  You know, for when I get a girlfriend, or to think about how I
would. Go about getting one, they want to feel beautiful of course, but how
do you make them do that?  It's interesting, how women think, so reading
mom's fantasies might help for when I get a wife of my own.  A mother for
my children, and check the stove while she goes to change out of her
scrubs, and take a shower.

   "Mh!" Chile', grandma's recipe, it could use some more salt, but I'd let
mom figure that out.  If she even caught me checking it, she'd probably
have a fit, but dad must be working late.  Again, he doesn't care about it
being ready when he gets home, "We'll have dinner when it's ready, Juana."

   "Okay."

   "Go see if your brother's ready."

   "Okay." She wandered off, so I got out the dishes, and set it up.

   I don't mind.  I know, it's Girl's Work, but I don't have a big sister.
So, with dad working long hours, and mom on call, I don't mind helping out.
Well, they appreciate it, in my allowance I hope, but it might be a good
idea to think about what I'm going to do after school.  Graduating, High
School, I mean.  College, of course, but I could take Photography as an
elective next semester, then whatever degree you need to be a fashion
photographer.

   Fashion, I guess, but I have all those course books for all the colleges
I got when I took my SATs.  Still waiting to see what kind of scores I'll
have for them, but what would I need for an Art Degree?

   "Good," dad looked in, from the door when he got home.  "Glad you're
starting to think about what you want to do with your life."

   "Maybe art, or photography?"

   "Huh!" he finished unbuttoning his shirt.  "Well, dreams are nice too,
but while you're looking for a more secure job, in case that doesn't work
out."

   "I figured, since we have a dark room."

   "Yeah, I can show you how to develop negatives if you like."

   "Okay."

   "I'm gonna go take a shower first, so maybe after dinner."

   It was almost ready anyways.

   ;

   Carla (Translated from Spanish)

   [That skinny little Anglo girl.  Pale witch, slut, and whore.  I think I
saw them together, working late, I am sure.  At dinner together, the
expensive restaurant he never took me.  While I am busy working, and
cooking for his two sons, and daughter I carried for him.  Gave birth to
for him, only for him to go out with that.

   Girl, how old is she, even out of school yet?  Skinny little white whore
little bitch with her weak pale hair, tinny tits, no hipped, much less a
decent ass to sit on.  No, he says he loves mine, in those underwear he
bought me, only to chase after that bone of a girl who has barely any.  He
does not have a secretary, when I call him I have to listen to a machine to
tell me to hold while we connect you, and type in his extencion for him to
answer.  If he is not to busy to be with her.

   Fucking bitch, let me see her take my man when I cut that painted smile
off her ugly face.  Show him, "Are these the lips you kissed instead of
mine?  Well, here they are, to think about what you have done." When I am
gone, with my sons and daughters, and his house, and cars, and all of the
money.

   My money, how dare he spend my money on that cunt?  I make more than
him, a does he hear me complain?  About how he spends it, no I was not
raised like that.  My mother did not bring me up to let him step out on me.
No man, that is not how it works, in my family.]

   "Mom?"

   "What, 'Rique?"

   "Are you all right?"

   "Do I look all right to you?"

   "What you writing?"

   "None of your business."

   "Well, that doesn't mean I can't help you, feel better about whatever
has you so upset."

   "Oh, Nino.  Thank you, bless you, but this is not something you can help
me with." I will go to jail, for murder gladly to end that whore bitch, but
I do not want to ruin his life for his father's sins.  As accomplice, to
murder.

   Once I get more evidence against him.

   ;

   Erica/Enrique {m TV Fant/Real NS.  Eurythmics - "Who's that Girl?"
(Touch)}

   I know, it doesn't look good.  Don't get a whole lot of time with the
house to myself, but I can close my eyes, and pay attention to how they
feel.

   The nylons stretch.  Tight over the panties, so it doesn't even matter
how lose they are, around the back, or my waist, but they're tight around
my thighs.  Polyester, but light, and silky enough, I just have to tie a
knot in the elastic band I have for a belt.  To hold both of them, the
panties, and the hose up, I added a little bow.

   Which just pulled tighter in the elastic, when I heard the door.

   "Uh!" Surprisingly impossible to untye, "I'll be right out." Slam the
bathroom, and lock it tight, then think about my pants, and underwear
draped over the end of my bed, until I went back out, some time before my
brother got home with his sister.

   I'm not sure which would be worse seeing it, my 12 year old brother, or
his 9 year old sister?  How about neither, "Fgh!" Trying to pick out the
knot, with no nails, trying to pull the loops through didn't work, it just
put more loops in the way, I need a knife or scissors to get it off, I
can't even get it down over my hips this tight, and "NGH!  GAHHH!"

   Mom's toenail clippers, great, I can get them under there, "AaAHH!" It
whipped around, and finally I could get them out.  Wrap a towel around my
waist, "Get lost, Carl." Holding it up, over the red hot welt from the
elastic.  "Nh!" I felt it, not from it whipping off, but just the
tightness.

   I didn't think about that, either.  Like the marks on Mam's back when
she unhooks her bra.  And grunts like a moose, because it feels so much
better to take it off.  If I could even fit it around me, as if I had
anything to fill it full of, maybe water balloons?

   I don't know, I know what sexy means to me.  It is not gay, because I
can't even really think about another guy, doing any of this.  It's just so
weird, but all I can think about a girl.  Wearing it, and what it much feel
like.  Feeling it over her hips, like a garter belt, to hold up her
stockings, and up the sides of her narrow waist.  He doesn't need the room,
he can watch my sister a minute.

   I'm sure it'll just take a minute, just don't forget to lock the door.

   ;

   Rachael (mF NS Talk)

   "Hey,"

   "Sorry, don't carry change around with me."

   "No, sorry.  You work with my Pop, so I just wanted to."

   "Who's your dad?"

   "Edwin Lar',"

   I interrupted, "Oh!" now I see it, "You look just like him," only
younger, darker, and with long hair.  Longish, growing it out, or I suppose
it may be a new style I hadn't seen, but almost like ragged bangs over his
eyes, instead of glasses.  "Enrique, right?  What's up?"

   "I don't know how to ask this, but.  Are you on your way home?" From
work, I nodded, "But could you give me a ride home?"

   "Where's it at?"

   "Oh, Milpitas." He squinted, "Why?"

   "Just so I know whether to stop by the gas station, hop in." I got in,
and reached across to unlock his side.  "So, what's this about?"

   Glanced at the gas gauge, tried to remember when was the last time I
filled up?  Rolling down the window, he pulled his door.

   "Um," he looked around, "You're not going with me poppy," That's how he
said it, "Are you?"

   "I'm not seeing him, romantically."

   "Well, he did take you to Olive Garden."

   "Yes, for a story he's editing, but we payed separate bills.  We go out
with coworkers all the time, and also have a company policy about
inter-office relationships, and he's married with kids."

   "Yes, I know."

   "Which is really the biggest reason why I would never do that with a
married man.  Huh, look.  I know you have a sister, she's what, 10?"

   "Nine, yeah?"

   "Yeah, well I was about twelve when my parents broke up, because they're
cheating on eachother.  So, I don't mess with marriage.  Which means
married men, it's not gonna work out for anyone involved."

   "Well good, or especially you and my Ma." From Texas, they're all from
Texas.

   "Why's that?" Because she thinks you are, and she'd probably try to kill
you.

   "Oh," I blinked up at the light.  "What's the best way?"

   "Where?"

   "Your house?"

   "Oh, take the loop."

   "237?" Too late for the turn lane, but it's changing, so I can signal
for the next block.

   "Traffic."

   "Yeah, right?"

   I should probably think about, the threat on my life, but.  I also have
to get him home, so I can think.  Clearly, "I heard that Chicano women can
get jealous."

   "Tehanna?"

   "What?"

   "We're not Chicano, we're Tejanos, only she'd be Tejana?"

   "Okay," Shake my head, "My Spanish isn't the best."

   "Look, I," don't want to lie, "Wrote some stories for him, but it ain't
like that.  Yeah, he's just a friend, like.  As well as.  A coworker, but I
was just trying to help him with his marriage."

   "Well, they been fighting alot lately."

   "About what?"

   "Well, about nothing, or about something, but not about you.  She's into
cop shows, you know like Homicide?"

   "Oh, great." So she could get away with murder.

   "So what kinds of stories do you write?"

   "How old are you?" I'd just seen pictures, but didn't even recognize him
from them.  With the haircut, or lack of one.  So, the latest must have
been moths old, for it to grow out.

   "18?"

   "Are you sure?" I squinted.  "Yeah, I could believe 18."

   "Why?" he chucked his head over the dashboard, "It's green."

   "Oh," in the turn lane, "Right." Well, left actually, so I took the
turn.

   "Why do you need to know how old I am?"

   "Huh!" I rolled my eyes, not the car.  "Because they're the kinds of
stories, you'd have to be, to read them."

   "Oh." He nodded.

   "What?"

   "Well, that explains a lot, actually."

   "Like who wrote the stories," meaning he'd read them.

   "Why d'you write sex stories, for my dad?"

   "I told him, to help him with his marriage."

   "How's at?"

   Texas, "Um, you ever heard of Cyrano deBergerac?"

   "Yeah, we read that.  Didn't they make that into a movie?"

   "Uh!" I slowed down, and started braking for the Red Light.  "Traffic."
It's nicer with someone to talk to.  "Yeah, like you know.  That, instead
of him writing him for his wife, he asked me.  For the woman's perspective,
and since I'm a better writer for that kind of thing."

   "So, he told her he wrote them for her?  And yeah, they are pretty dang
romantic." His dad talks like that too.  It's like a whole 'nother country.
"You write real good."

   "Well," not the way I'd put it, "Rather well, if I do say so myself,
thanks."

   "No prob." Had lived here a few years, if I remember.  "Uhm, how?"

   "How what?"

   "Right," pronoun game, but saved by the light, I waited for the lane for
the on ramp.  "How do you think, she'd go about killing me?"

   "I don't know, probably a knife, I'magine."

   "Terriffic." Okay, think.  "She home?"

   "Yeah," he nods, thoughfully, I look back at my lane.  It's moving, now,
but know telling when the freeway might slow down, or stop.  "Smart."

   "What?"

   "She's watching the kids, so."

   "She probably won't get homicidal in front of the kids?"

   "Well, I don't know," He laughed, "Heha!  No, she'll probably get loud,
but maybe throw things, at the worst.  Just try not to piss her off, too
much."

   "I should probably clear the air, but she has a temper?"

   "Well, everyone does," of course, "Hers is not a short one,
particularly, but she thinks you're sleeping with Pa.  So, yeah.  I can't
really say how she will react."

   "Why do you think she might try to kill me?"

   "She wrote some things, too.  Oneofthethings I couldn't figure out is
why she wrote them in Spanish, and the other stories in English."

   "The ones your father and I wrote."

   "Together?"

   "Sorta?  There's some collaboration, there.  Okay, first he runs them by
me for." Think, "Bullshit factor, I guess.  If I think she'd think this or
that would be romantic.  For example, she likes Italian Food?"

   "Yeah, when we go out."

   "Why?"

   "She doesn't like the Mexican food here.  Or anybody's, really, except
her familie's.  They don't cook it likeat round here."

   "No, of course not." Tijijuana isn't.  "Tijijuana isn't.  What's that
one south of El Passo?"

   "Juarez?"

   "Yeah, so it stands to reason that Tejano's cuisine wouldn't be like
Chicano's, any more than Tex Mex would be like.  The Mexican food.  Here,
in Cali.  Cali-mex." If they even called it that.

   "Yeah."

   Shake my head.  "So yeah, um.  It's like that.  He took her to a nicer
one after than, because I decided that it wasn't upscale enough.  It's more
of a family restaurant with a bar, then a real Italian American restaurant.
Okay, they've got cloth napkins, and table cloths, but it's a different
atmosphere.  So I just like suggested some other ones."

   "Oh, yeah.  That makes sense."

   "Yeah, so that's the kind of stuff I write."

   "Romance?"

   "Yeah, but as an adult, I write more, adult romance in it."

   "Yeah, there's sex in it."

   "How much of it did you read?"

   "All of it?  It's really good."

   Great tan, unfortunately means hard to tell if he's blushing or not, but
at least acted sincerely ashamed.

   "I'll be 18, in a few more months."

   "Okay?"

   No, I'm pretty sure his ears are red, at least the one in the end of the
rearview.

   "Shit!"

   "What?"

   I didn't have to slam on the brakes, but I had to slow down, "Fucking
parking lot."

   "Yeah." Traffic.  "You don't have any AC?"

   "Roll the window down." Not like we're going anywhere fast, any time
soon.  "Huh!" More time to figure this out, I guess.

   Might as well find out as much about her as I can.  So I have some idea
what I'm up against.

   "Mind if I smoke?"

   "Uh, can I have one."

   "You're 17?"

   "Yeah, but don't tell my mom."

   "Yeah, well.  That's the least of my worries."

   All I wanted to do was go home, pour myself a cold beer, and a hot bath,
and maybe write something more romantic.  "Huh!" Oh well, "Better go face
the music."

   "Yeah."

   ;

   Eddie {Phill Collins - "In the Air Tonight" (Face Value) MF Mari Roma
NS.}

   I just put it on, down low, in the bedroom.  Her night off, lights down
low, the kids out with friends.  For the night, I joined her on the couch,
and popped her the question.

   The second, and arguably most important question of our Marriage.  You
ask me, even harder than if she'd even marry me, almost as hard as asking
her family.  If I could take their daughter away from them, risk our lives
together, and move her out here for a job that might not pan out.  "Huh!"
it was a risk, but she's worth it.

   It was her idea, after all the help she all ready helped me, she's been
so cold lately.  Distant, and politely pretended to appreciate my attempts
at affection.

   "So," I lifted her hand, bent over to kiss it.  "Tell me about your
fantasies."

   That's what it's about, a two way street.

   "Huh!" she had to admit, "I enjoyed you, treating me as a model."

   "I know, but.  I still can't know, how you want to be treated, if you
don't tell me."

   "A queen," she smiled, as my nose ran higher up her arm.  From her
wrist, to her elbow, and stopped to kiss the inside it.  "Like any other
woman."

   "There are no other women, in this world, compared to you?" Does that
sound corny?  I hope not, but I like to believe I'm getting better.  At how
to say, the way I feel.  About her, I love her, but how many times can I
say that?  Just like that, I Love You, before it gets old?  It's not
enough? Years ago, I know that, but I'm still willing to do whatever I can,
try to bring back that spark of magic we had lost somehow along the way.

   "Your sure?  You wouldn't like a younger woman.  A skinny little Anglo
girl?"

   "No, of course not.  None of them would have the deep buttery tones of
your skin." I kissed my way up to the sleeve of her blouse, and slipped it
up, to kiss her shoulder.  She relaxed, a little, I think.  Uh, "Your
beautiful body."

   "My fat!"

   "So?" I bent to gently plant a kiss on her blouse.  "Your belly," I
caressed it with both arms, felt one across her lap, and kissed it again.
"None of them have this?"

   "Well, what do you like about these?" she moved to stop me, from pulling
it out.  Of the top of her pants.

   "This?" I caressed it, bared, and lifted it to kiss it again.

   "IhenhaHA!?" Maybe slipped my tongue in the button.  "Jes?"

   "None of them brought me 3 beautiful children, and married me.  Made me
the happiest, luckiest man who ever lived?"

   "How do I make you 'appy?"

   "Let me count the ways?"

   "Your soor?" She smiled, down at me.  Looking up at her face, framed in
the bosom that fed, and comforted them.  I swear, sometimes it looks a
little angry, but she rolled her dark beautiful eyes, away.  Teasing me,
"You would not prefer a skinny little Anglo girl, at work?"

   "Oh," shit.  She is pissed!  "Look, honey."

   "Don't look honey me," she pushed my head, so I had to sit up, or fall
off the couch.

   "It's not like you think."

   "You don't know what I theenk!" Her English is usually better than this,
unless she's upset.

   "I know you're upset, but let me explain."

   "Explain?" she stopped at the sideboard, "Explain," grabbed the ashtray,
"These!"

   I caught it, in her hands before she brought them down.  Together, from
over her head.

   "I can't, if you start throwing things!" The one I got from my mom's
Depression Glass, not that I was afraid it would break, but because I've
seen the damage it can do to the walls.  Before I patched them, I just took
it away from her, "Try to calm down, and relax, so I can explain."

   "I want a Divorce!"

   "Okay," that's serious.  Maybe not as much of a Spanish Catholic sin as
say Suicide, or Infidelity, but a lot worse than Prophylactics, possibly
bordering on Abortion.  "I'm not cheating on you, I wouldn't never even
think about looking at another another woman.  You know that, not for the
least of which reason than you'd probably poison me."

   "Or cut it off in jour sleep, like that Lorena woman!"

   "Great." Lorena Bobbitt, I can only assume, she got ideas from that.

   "Just let me turn this off," I hit stop on the tape, I made for this. 
Now's not the time for Journey, even though she loves Journey, it's just a
little too loud.  "Huh!" I set it down, and got out my smokes.  "There,"
tried not to drop them, "Just let me talk, okay?"

   "Well, you better start doing some talking."

   "Well," it don't do any good if she won't, "Listen;"

   I took a deep breath, to collect my thoughts...

   ;

   Ricky (mFMF NS, Talk.)

   "What's she doing here?" Dad didn't try to stop her from getting up, but
at least slowed her down.

   "Uh?" She just put her hands up, and turned away.

   "It's okay, mom.  Calm down," don't attack her, "I invited her, to." How
did she put it, "Clear the air.  Just calm down, relax, and let her have
her say."

   "Hhuh!" Her hands shook, so hard she dropped the cigarette, but dad was
already holding the ashtray.  For her, which is smart.  So, she can't grab
it, or throw it.

   "You okay?" She looks scared.

   "Yeah, just let me collect my thoughts, a minute."

   "He tol' me."

   "Well, how much did he tell you?"

   "That you wrote those," she stopped, "Feo." To think, "Nasty." Of a good
word, but at least she can.  Stop to think, or start to.

   "For you.  I helped him write them for you."

   "I told you, that's all it was, sweety.  For you, that's all it was, for
you.  I did it all for you."

   "We're just friends.  And co-workers, but nothing more than that.  Why
even if we were attracted, to eachother, he's married, so I wouldn't even
dream of.  Interfering.  With that."

   "Well?" She shook her head, and stomped off.  "You better not." Smoking,
furiously in the corner, but not looking at her.  Flicking the ash off,
right on the floor.  In the corner, but still.  My mom, would be
yelling-to-screaming right now for us to clean it up, about us expecting
her to clean up after you, but now's not the time to call her on that.

   I just walked over to the stereo.  Dad put music on, started to about
the time he was trying to romance her all again.  So, I can only assume it
was her idea, but I recognized the song.

   {Rod Stewart - "Have I told you Lately that I Love You?" (Vagabond
Heart.) As much for the generation as he put it on to set the mood.}

   "All I did was try to help him.  He came to me, as a friend for advice,
on Romance.  That's all, so I did what I could.  Told him whatever I could
think of to tell you.  How to keep you."

   "I love you." He got on 1 knee.  "I still do, even more every day it
seems.  I don't know why you can't believe this, but I can't bear the
thought of living without you."

   "Hhm!" I looked back at her.

   Rachael.  I can't imagine anyone, not being attracted to her.  So smart,
and creative, and romantic.

   Okay, I'm happy my pop still loves my mom, and all, even more after
talking to her about what it was like.  Living in a broken home, then back
and forth between her parents while they're fighting over them.  The
children, and everything else, after the divorce.

   I can't imagine what it was like for her, but I certainly understand how
she never wants to see that happen.  To her friend, I certainly don't want
to, see it happen to my family either.

   "Oh," he held her, down on the floor, and she cried.

   I never seen me Mami cry, like that.  "Snh!" I even choked up a little,
it was such an emotional moment.

   ;

   {Author here.  Sorry if the musical notes were distracting, or if there
wasn't enough romantic role-play in this one.  So far, it's mostly been
about establishing the characters, and How they could get into private
romantic role-play fantasies.  So, I can get on writing them...

   That's what this has been about.}

   ;

   Enrique/Erica {m2f TV Fant.  That's transvestite, not TS, nor TG, if
you're wondering about the difference.  Also: When in Rome - "The Promise"
(Title Track) Just whatever happens to be on, the radio or whatever...}

   "Huh!" she sighed, told me, "I was thinking about, maybe an Advice
column." When she gets done with her Internship.  "I guess that's a
marketable skill, while I work on a novel, or something."

   "Romance," I guessed.  "My pa' said I should think about a backup
career, in case being an artist doesn't work out."

   "Smart." With the radio low, in between burst of traffic moving, and
creeping on the hiway.

   "Thanks," so romantic.  To me, anyway, at least being alone with her.  I
didn't know what I expected her to look like.  Other than Anglo, mom made
her sound like a little.  Well, Huessina.  She's certainly not a weak
little boney thing.  She's not short for a girl, or all that skinny.  Nor
fat, I'd say just right, but i suppose she could look like a cartoon witch,
and I couldn't care less.

   It doesn't hurt that she's not, hard on the eyes.  She dressed down, for
work I imagine.  White, but not like blond, and blue, or red, and green. 
Brown on brown, but lighter, than say my eyes.  Much less my black hair.

   Up, professional like her blouse and the Blazer she threw over the seat
when she got in her car.  Little 3 door hatchback, old, and beat up.  Kind
of messy, but I don't mind that either.  She could be a complete slob, but
I'd like to see her with her hair down.  How long it is, whether it's
straight, or wavey, or curly?  I don't care, but I wonder.

   Much less what it smells like, what kind of soap she uses, or shampoo,
or anything about her.  Really, everything about her, I'm sure is
fascinating, if she told me about it.  I'd love to just sit with her, and
listen to her talk, for hours again.

   She is single, and not that much older.  I don't know how she feels
about me, if anything.  She barely knows me, after only a few hours, but
admittedly she had a lot on her mind.

   I'm glad, and relieved that they're starting to work it out.  Once Mami
got over her Jealousy.  What can I say, she's Latina.  Either you know what
they're like about their men, or it would take to long to explain it. 
Possessive, territorial, and yes even suspicious about them, cheating on
them.  Whether they are, or not, if she gets to upset, she might not think
clearly enough not to jump to conclusions, as all.

   She loves him, as does he her.  "Huh!" Still, after all these years, I
could only hope for someone to love me that much.

   "Rachael." As much as I'm starting love her.  Even her name, it's a
beautiful name, so it's perfect for her.

   As if she would ever have anything to with me.  Especially, if she knew
anything about me, and my.

   "So, you don't mind giving advice about things, like.  Love, and Sex?"

   "Oh, sorry."

   I was in no hurry to go in, and Face the Music with her, so to speak.

   "Is there something, troubling about.  That?  Is it something else?"

   "Well," The radio turned off with the engine.  "I don't even know if
it's.  What it is?"

   "Could you be a little more specific?  Are you having trouble, with your
girlfriend."

   "Oh, I don't have a girlfriend." So, I'm single.  If, anyone was, you
know, interested?

   "Huh, so.  I guess I could go on playing 20 questions, or just ask you.
What's the problem?"

   "Well," I don't know how to say this.  My ears are burning, but I bet if
anyone could help me with it.  "Huh, I like.  Underwear." I braced myself.

   "Nhm?  What about it?"

   "Well, you know.  Sexy underwear."

   "And you what?  Think there must be something wrong with it?"

   "Well, you know.  Just like, how it makes me feel."

   "How's that?"

   "Well, you know." She shook her head.  "Huh!  Uh, you know, sexy?"

   "Yeah?  Well, you just called it sexy underwear, that's what it's for?"

   "Yeah, I guess."

   "You don't think it's gay?"

   "I don't know, what kind of underwear we talking about?"

   "You know, bras, panties, stockings.  Shoes.  Skirts, dresses..."

   "No, that all sounds like girl's underwears?  Why would you think that
turning you on would be gay?"

   "Well, you know." I looked away, said to the window.  Closed my eyes,
unable to even look at my reflection.  "Wearing it."

   "Makes you feel sexy?"

   I just swallowed, and nodded.  "Sniff!"ed.

   "Well, then I guess it depend on who you wore it for."

   "Mhm?" Now I don't want her to see me.  Crying.

   "Yeah, I guess I can do some research, if you want me to.  But if I had
to guess, if you wore them for other guys, that'd be gay, like a drag
queen."

   "Yeah, but you think if I wore it for a girl she'd like it?" Or, more
likely be disgusted, and hate me.

   "Well, I don't know, that depends on the girl."

   "Well, wouldn't you think that's weird?"

   "I don't know, maybe?  Huh, thanks."

   "For what?"

   "For giving me the strength to do this."

   Then she got up, and came into the house.

   Oh, and brave.  I don't know about you, but I can't think about anything
more courageous I ever seen.

   "Huh!" Watching me mami, and papi cry together, he helped her up, and
back to the couch.  Holding her the whole time.  "I, uh." Well, this must
have started to be come awkward.  "I think, I'm gonna go.  Home now."

   "Uh!" She looked back, as if she had forgotten about me.  "You mind if I
walk you out?"

   "Yeah,' she looked back at them.  "They probably need some time alone."

   I locked the door, and dropped my keys back in the pocket.  Following
her back to her car, this is even more awkward for me.

   But, I hoped it was like she said.  One of those things, that can't get
better without talking about it.  If I can, but it's starting to almost
hurt.  The thought of her, going away without saying something.

   "You want another smoke?"

   "Yeah." I looked back at the house.

   "You earned it," she lit hers, and handed me the lighter.  "You want to
talk about it?"

   "Yeah."

   "Go on," she pulled the door.  "Huh, get in." Went around to her side.
Still unlocked, it's a nice neighborhood.  House, nicest one I ever lived
in.

   "Um, did you think about.  How you would feel about it.  At all?"

   "I don't know what to feel, right now." She finished rolling her window
back down.  Blew out smoke, and took another drag.  "That was intense."

   "Yeah."

   "Well, how do you feel about it?"

   "Ma' and pap'?" She nodded, "Better, I ment.  The other thing."

   "Again, you'll have to be more specific.  We talked about a lot of
things."

   "Yeah," traffic, "It was a long drive." Long enough to fall in love.  "I
ment, the last thing."

   "Well, I'm no expert, but if you want my opinion.  You mean the
underwear thing?"

   "Yeah."

   "Well?  I don't know.  No, honestly I haven't had much time to think
about it.  But if you want my unqualified opinion I'd guess it sounds like
you might be a transvestite."

   "What's that?"

   "A straight guy, that likes to cross dress."

   "Oh," I nodded.  "And what would you think if I did it.  For you?"

   "Ahah!" I knew she would laugh at me.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  You just
surprised me is all."

   "Well?" I looked up, wiped my eyes, so I could see her reaction.  In her
eyes, this time.  "You think it would be weird?"

   "I don't know?" She looked up, to think.  I think, "I suppose that
depends."

   "On what?"

   "Well, first of all, when do you turn 18?"

   "October."

   "Well, then.  After that.  I guess it would depend on, how good it
looked on you."

   "Sexy underwear!?" Really?

   "Yeah.  And I guess the underwear itself, of course."

   "Oh," well, that's a problem.

   "Now what is it."

   "Well, I guess another thing is I don't really have any.  That fits me."

   "What size are you?"

   "14, I think.  You mean dress size?  Um," I remember, writing them down.
"44, 38, 40?"

   She looked down at my chest, my.  Belt, line.  Region.  I crossed my
legs, away from her.  Already worrying about what might pop up.

   "Oh, don't be embarrassed.  It's all right, or it will be.  Eventually."

   "You think so?"

   "Yeah," she grinned, blushing.  "In a couple months.  Trust me."

   ;

   Rachael {Fm Anon.  They Might be Giants - "Fingertips" (Flood) Just
start it at any time...}

   I won't use my real name, but Rachael will do.  I work as a Researcher,
at a magazine.  My degree's in Journalism, with a liberal arts minor, but
after college, I met a boy.  Almost a man, and when he turned 18, we
started going out, officially.  I'm only 23, so it's not like I'm robbing
the cradle, but for the record I'm 5 years younger.

   Not that I have to justify myself, as if anyone gives a second thought
to an 18 year old girl going out with a guy in his early 20s, but the way
he loves me, so unconditionally, it didn't take long for him to seduce me.
It helps that he's cute, tall, dark, broad shouldered though more lean than
muscle.  It would not be unkind to call him a pretty boy, unless said the
way that people use it.

   "Prettyboy," to be unkind, as if there's something wrong with a boy
being pretty, or enjoying it.  His beauty, that's no contradiction in
terms, just society's way of saying that it's weak, or insinuate he's gay.
He's not, at all, take my word for it.  If anyone knows, it's the woman he
loves, with such passion, I can't even begin to describe how he makes me
feel.  Just the way he looks at me, staring at eachothers eyes.

   Talking, listening to music, or just enjoying eachother's company.  Of
course, you probably didn't come to a sex story Newsgroup to read about
that, so let me just come right out and tell you the best part.  What I
really love the most is he's a closet Transvestite.  You may think that's
weird, but you haven't seen him in heels, thigh high stockings, a garter
belt, bra, and panties.

   He is so sexy, not like a woman, but as a man.  Call me kinky if you
like, but the way the belt clings to his narrow hips, the satin seat grips
his tight muscular buttocks, even the sleeveless little black dress makes
his shoulders look broader.  His lean deeply tanned arms more muscular, his
flat chest.

   Well, I don't care what you think, he's mine.  I suppose the best thing
was the look on his face.  In his wide eyes, the gasp of pure joy when I
took him out, for his birthday.

   The beautiful bright toothy grin, and the deep shiny lipstick, to match
his nails.  His hair, brushing it out, and helping him do it up, but the
best part was seeing his reaction when he opened his presents.

   Holding up the Little Black Dress (Tm) Then the underwear.  To wear
under it, even helping him put it all on, laughing and pausing to pose the
whole time.

   Then we went out.  To San Francisco, a neighborhood where they wouldn't
even think about it.  The looked, but if they judged him for how unsteady
he was on his heels, got compliments on his makeup.  A word of Advice:
There's certain indescribable advantages to living in Northern California.

   Me, they didn't even look at me.  His friend, in the background,
"Thought I'd show him around the neighborhood."

   Him, no question, no clothes, and no amount of makeup is going to make
him look like anything but the man he is, I'm so proud of him.  He's
beautiful.  That right there, most of it was my work.  He picked the dress,
you don't don't want to know how special the order is in that size, but
they have shops.  Mostly for Drag Queens.

   "This is my girlfriend." Yeah, that's my boyfriend!

   Shaking one's hand.  "Erica."

   "Jasmin Delight." D-Vine drag queen, shaved bear built like a
linebacker.

   He doesn't even try.  Falsetto, or a lilt to his voice, belts out that
southern drawl loud enough to be heard over the crowd, traffic, music
walking past the clubs.

   {Mr.  Bungle - "The Girls of Porn" (Self titled Album)}

   Muffled down to the baseline, and beat.

   "'and gets tired, .  !"

   And the door shuts on a couple, cutting through the door.  Leather, and
redneck/farm girl.  Lesbians, right there.

   I can't tell you what it's like here, come on and check it out some
time.

   {When in Rome - The Promise (House/Club Remix.) Live, didn't catch the
Dj.'s name, or pick up the home-burn Promo CD.}

   Nobody gives a fuck about my monkey-suit.  Business casual, friday
night, didn't stop to change after work.  Smart, casual, not too
Professional, right past the Bars he's not old enough to drink at.

   "Thank you, so much!" He spun, halfway around.  I stopped him, by the
shoulders.

   "You're welcome."

   Pull him down, to kiss me.

   "I love you too."

   YTH not?  He's eighteen, I can show him how much, later, but get away
with letting my hands down, brush the padded)stuffed water bra, tickling
his ribs, and skipped down the girdle to his hips.  Pinched the straps down
from the garter belt, and snapped them under the skirt flaring out from the
bottom of the long loose hanging coctail dress.  Brushing the, upper thigh
region standing up.  Bending down from 6'1" in those heels, I'll have to
guess at how high from behind.  Most likely above the top of the white
stockings, clipped the the straps I just snapped.

   "You want to catch the movie?" Reluctantly checking my watch.  Window
shopping how many hours?

   "What's playing?"

   "Rocky Horror." Picture/Show.

   "Oh good!" Liked some of the songs, seen the album art, and a couple
posters, no idea what to expect after that.

   "It's," Quite, "A few blocks from here," I squeezed the back of his
skirt, and anything I felt under there.

   "Ngh hih!" He half giggled, half chuckled, and held his finger under his
knows, but didn't smear the lipstick.  No foundation, that's a real blush,
a nice dark green mascara was all he needed for the eyes, the bangs I cut,
and short braids tucked back to a decent flat bun, to make it look like he
had more hair than was really there, but it'll keep growing out.

   "Ooh look!" I pointed out, "A drag-king."

   "Like Groucho Marks?"

   "Or Charlie Chaplin?"

   "Not really," she wagged her hand beside her, "A little of either,
neither, or both?"

   "Trying out your Halloween Costume?"

   "Are you?"

   I stepped between them.  "Actually, I was thinking about doing drag this
yeah, but I never done it before."

   She looked me up and down.  Navy blue suit-skirt, left the Blazer in the
car, short sleeve blouse open enough to vent, I looked down at her.

   She looked back up, not a speck of makeup on.  I rubbed under my lip,
"Just use grease-paint?"

   "Yeah, for a mustache?"

   "Yeah, maybe goatee?" Yuppie Ponytail, no Saab to borrow, just a little
economy import hatchback.  "Vest?"

   "You tying to hide your figure, or show it off?"

   Look around for junior.  "What you doing later?"

   "Later tonight?"

   "We're doing Rocky Horror," chuck my thumb, "His first time."

   "His?"

   "Yeah?" Don't hate me because, "My boyfriend?"

   "Erica." Hand, knuckles up, fingers draped in an attempt at grace.

   She didn't move to touch it, much less kiss it, barely glanced down at
it until he let it drop, awkwardly.

   Well, there's the fantasy.

   "Bi, chick?" All of a sudden so not interested.

   "No, straight."

   "Yeah?"

   "Not even curious, one girl in the relationship is enough for me, let
alone 2 of them, but I don't have anything against lesbians."

   "Well, cool.  He a?"

   "Transvestite," I nodded.

   "Straight."

   "Right, but he's pretty enough to pull it off, and doesn't mind if I
wear the pants in the family."

   "This is may Fee Yonce Ay." Espanglese' accent.  What he calls it, ask
him some time, see if you get it any better than I.  Weirdos, freaks,
normals are boring.

   "Well, I didn't have any plans," she turned around, and walked with us.
Next to me, "I cared about.  Stuart."

   "I like you, so let me tell you something, son.  Do you know what the
Queers are doing to the Soil?"

   "Haha, yeah.  Right?"

   "I don't get it."

   "Dead Milkmen song, I'll play it for you later."

   "Oh, all right?"

   "He's never been out there," still half spinning, looking all around,
the lights, the sounds, if they card him, they'll squint, and maybe sell
him cigarettes, but he's mine, and I'm proud of him.  Especially how good
he looks in that dress.

   "Maybe later this weekend."

   "What's that?"

   "Help you work out some kind of Halloween costume.  He going out like
that?"

   "I was hoping he'd pick out a costume tonight?"

   "Yeah, where?"

   "In the movie?  He's never seen it before, he doesn't even know the
characters yet, so we'll see what he comes up with.  He really need the
advice more than me, but I'm not a drag King.  So, if I go as his
boyfriend, you got any tips you can think of I can use?"

   "Yeah, you can probably do the vest."

   "Tight," I pulled the sides of the blouse, "Or loose?"

   "Tight, with those hips?" She grinned back up, "Definitely tight. 
Taylored?"

   "Corset is."

   "I'm wearing a girdle!"

   "Congratulations." If there's a contest for dry humorless sarcasm, I'd
bet she at least knows about it.  So, ask her.

   I'm having a blast!

   ;

   Enrique/Erica {mF NS.  St: Charles Gray - "Superheros" (RHPS OST)}

   She led me out.

   "And Crawling," Behind me, "On the planet's face."

   "I don't want to miss the ending."

   "Pretty much just the credits." Up the aisle, by the small of the back.

   "Lost in time," Then the waste.  "Lost in space," catching up, across
the lobby.  "And meaning."

   Grabbing the door as I overtake him.

   The chorus: "MeEaning..."

   Outside, I already had a cigarette, "Beat the rush for the doors." Puff
puff.  "So how'd you rike the movie?" Drop my lighter in the purse.

   "Even better than Victor/Victoria?"

   "Well," I like that movie, "I don't know about that."

   "Can I have a drag?"

   "Keep it," lipstic.  I got out another.  "You think about who you want
to be for Halloween?"

   "Magenta."

   "Oh yeah?" I would've bet on Janet, maybe someday dream of understudy
for Frank.  "You'd make a pretty good Rocky."

   "No way!  She's got the best outfit."

   Think about that, look him over.  What little I can see through that
loose cocktail dress.  "Let's get you home."

   "What happened to Stuart?"

   "Couldn't tough it out." I remembered, "Oh yeah, she told me to
apologise for her.  Well, she said: 'Tell him I'm sorry about.  You know,
being so bitch at him before'."

   "Oh yeah, what was that all about?"

   "I don't know, I asked her about it, but like.  I don't exactly remember
what she said, word for word?  Guys in drag give her the creeps, for some
reason.  'Anxiety attacks,' she said.  You mind driving?"

   "You're drunk?"

   "Honest, ossiffer, I only had a couple, phiftsh!"

   "Hahaha!" I swayed dramatically, but didn't let go.  He put his arm
around my shoulders.  "Sure don't want to get pulled over, with you dressed
lykat!"

   "Hey, don't talk likat!"

   "Like what?"

   "Like some yokel!"

   "Mertyl, get the hose.  Them dadblamed liberals is at it agin!"

   "Now, I really never talked likeat."

   "Yeah, that's more.  Like Hillbilly, I guess."

   "I'magine."

   Lubbock, mostly, I think.  Moved around a lot, but mostly around Texas,
till we cum here, you ask him.  Spent a lot of time In Lubbock, though.  To
hear him tell it.

   "Nice night."

   "Kinda Chilly."

   "Whell, whatchu expect, going out dressed likeat?"

   "Huahuh!" He snorted, "Yeah."

   "Hey!" Some guy, "Nice dress!"

   "Oh," I hugged his waist a little tighter.

   "You like it?"

   "On you, you rock it.  Who does your hair."

   "I did."

   "And you are you?"

   "Rachel," I didn't offer my hand.  "And this is my fiancee."

   "Eric, uh." He looked a little green, "Excuse me?"

   We both wandered off.

   "Urh, hrul!"

   "He been drinking?" I didn't take a step back, but I wanted to.

   "Hey, don't look at me, I didn't give him any liquor."

   "Ngh!"

   He's fine.  At least I don't have to hold his hair.  "You okay, sweety?"

   "Fine?  I think that's all of it?"

   "How much you have to drink?"

   "One beer, and some of another."

   "They didn't card you?"

   "How much has he had to eat?"

   "Well, like a huge burger, but that was a few hours ago.  Huh!" I rolled
my eyes, "Well, I can't drive neither."

   It just takes a while, to take it all in.

   Okay, let me start with the hat.  Purple, looks like cheap, "Is that
Velvetine?"

   He nodded, "The hat?"

   Purple, I nodded back.  Brown swede leather vest, watch chain, wallet
chain, both of them chrome, black short sleeve teeshirt, "And, what the
hell are, you.  Man?"

   "Well, it's a little complex.  Depends what axis we're on."

   "What?" The.  Fuck?  Just sawed off army green cargo pants, and combat
boots, not like any spikes, or.  Patches or anything.  Looked cut-off, and
hemmed, at the bottom of the pockets.

   "Well,' he pulled a steno pad out of a pocket, and leaned over to fish
around on his leg.  "Uh, see this shape?"

   Pulled out some paper folded into, a shape.  Like some polyhedron made
out of corners.

   "Looks like a, Tesseract?" If I had any idea what a tesseract looked
like, in only 3 dimensions, folded out of green stenographer's paper.  With
red lines down the centers, I tilted my head.

   "Or a collapsed Merkabum, yeah."

   I tilted my head the other way.

   "Think you can make it to the car?"

   "Yeah, you think we can stop for a drink?  I mean, like a soda or
something."

   "You ever drank before?"

   "Oh, he's like 18."

   "It's my birthday!"

   "Well, it was, last night." I reminded him, "It's technically November
now."

   "Oh yeah!" He guffawed, "Huh?"

   "Where you parked?"
   ;