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Date: Wed, 11 Feb 2004 20:38:47 -0800
From: Cherysse St. Claire <angelcherysse@hotmail.com>
Subject: "The Red Dress" (Transgender/Transsexual)
The Red Dress
By Cherysse St. Claire
Baseball. Hot dogs. Apple Pie. Mom. We have all heard these little
homilies used to describe classic Americana; the things, big and small, that
make us what we are. But what about that OTHER quintessential American
tradition? No, not sleazy talk shows; SHOPPING! What could be a more
red-blooded, all-American tribute than taking to the malls on a whim and a
charge card?
There I was at Water Tower Place, in the shadows of the John Hancock
Building on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I had already survived the trauma
that was finding parking in the underground lot. I decided to take the Grand
Tour; start at the Atrium Level, work my way up floor by floor, and see
EVERYTHING! There was all the usual stuff; the big retailers on the Ground
Floor, Banana Republic (cute, if 'trendy' is your thing), and the usual
assortment you would find at Oak Brook Center, Woodfield, or Old Orchard. I
tried to contain my excitement as I rose, floor by floor, through the
structure. I said I wanted to see everything, but I really only wanted to
see one store. You know the chain. You may have visited their web site or
seen their catalog. If you are lucky enough to live in one of the few,
select cities beyond their headquarters in San Francisco, you may have even
visited their store. That would be one store per city; they aren't
McDonald's and don't set their sights for that demographic.
Seventh Level. I'm here; it's right down at the end of the esplanade -
oddly enough, right across from McDonald's. The similarity ends there. Step
through the door - slowly, reverently - and...INHALE! There are certain
aromas which the average nose can distinguish - and recognize - above all
others. Some are genuinely pleasurable. A few generate real excitement. One,
in my mind, elicits an instant, primal hunger; leather! In an age dominated
by latex (erotic in its own right) and a plethora of lesser, synthetic
fabrics, the look, feel, and scent of fine leather is a contact high. No
place is as ripe with that high as this one.
Where to begin? I could spend an hour, a day, a lifetime in this store
alone. When I said I wanted to see everything, I really meant everything in
here. Wait. Hold the phone. WHAT IS THAT? Right there, across the floor,
near the entrance to the rear salon, on one of the "traffic stopper" display
racks.... I have never seen anything that beautiful. No sleeves, no straps,
no kidding; a bustier-style fitted dress, not quite knee-length. There is a
full-length zipper in front. God, it's a two-way zipper; it zips down from
the top and up from the bottom! The dress is ribbed, expandable in the
waist, like the waist of a motocross jacket - to make it fit the wearer that
much more snugly. Damn, that bodice is cut deep; with the right strapless
demi-bra - better still, a corset - it will really put my D-cups on display.
It is so soft, so smooth. I adore the lambskin they use in their garments.
What is this color called? "Lipstick Red"? Oh, yeah, Honey; I am there!
What was that? Did you hear it? No, Dummy; the voice. You MUST have
heard it. It sounds like a child, a little girl's voice. There it is again!
What is she saying?
"Cher-y. Buy me. Take me home. Love me, Chery."
Don't do this to me; I'm trying to be good! What size is it? I'm sure I'm
safe. It's probably a Size 0, designed for one of those anorexic angels from
Lake Forest or Highland Park. It's an 8? Dear...sweet...Jesus; it's my size!
What is this, the Twilight Zone? I don't know. I don't care. Don't talk to
me. I'm doing this! (snatch) Where's the counter? Where is a damn associate
when you really need one? Forget the light, breezy chit-chat, Buster; RING
IT UP!
I closed my eyes and signed the check; $325, plus tax (It doesn't seem
like much now. Then again, it would be twice that price today.). Zip; into
the garment bag. Zip; out the door. Are there other stores in Water Tower
Place? Not today, Bud. I just developed an acute case of Tunnel Vision. All
I can see is the path to the escalator, my car in the parking lot, and the
most direct route up the ramp, onto the street, and home!
No, not home yet; I have to get shoes! I'll stop at Wild Pair. This is
gonna be tough. Black is black; I can match that all day. Just try to match
the same exact shade of red! I don't believe it! Look at these pumps.
Pointed toe, ankle strap, five-inch silver metallic heel. This color is
gonna be close! I'll just slip the hem out from under the bag and.... (sigh)
This IS the Twilight Zone. I think I'll take up permanent residence here.
What's another $50 between friends? I'm in The Zone! (giggle)
Saturday Night in the Big City. All dressed up and nowhere to go?
Uh-uh, Honey; I know EXACTLY where this girl is going! I was right; the
corset makes it. I measure 40-24-36. That pushes the dress to the limits up
top - or not. All I have to do is unzip an inch or two - or three. There,
that's better. It shows off my boobies even better, too. Daring enough for
you, Sugar? I'm wearing stockings, not pantyhose; the corset's garters have
to have something to do, and even a slut has principles. I'll leave the
tights to the suburban hausfraus.
I'll be ready soon. My makeup is already done. I've done my eyelids in
dark blue with pearlescent white highlights to compliment my azure eyes.
Lashes? Black - and intense. Eyeliner? Liquid black; a wide swath, extending
from the inside corner to well past the outside corner. Blush? Dark in the
hollows, pearlescent white on the crest. Lips and talons? As red as the
dress. You want subtlety? Go down to Division Street. Just don't let any of
those Yuppie pukes heave their green beer on you.
The silver heels on the shoes set the tone for the accessories. Hoops,
neck chains, bangles ankle chain; all silver. It looks great with my
Platinum Blonde hair, too. Now, just spray a few spritzes of Shalimar
(everything old is new again; all those other girls are fawning over the
latest designer fragrances - and usually all wear the same thing) and I'm
almost there. I'll just slip into my red leather motorcycle jacket (it's
still a bit chilly out there in the evening), put my makeup essentials,
driver's license and cash into my red clutch (not as close a match as the
shoes, but who will notice in a dark dance club?) and I AM ready.
There are lots of clubs in The City - and then there is THIS one. We
know the address by heart; 1543 N. Kingsbury. It sits amid industrial
warehouse squalor, in the shadow of the North Avenue Bridge. There is no
marquee; no signs of any kind. There are no lights, either - except in
winter, when the valets will light a fire in a barrel to keep warm. If you
stumbled upon it in daytime, you would think it's just another warehouse. If
you drive by at night, the first thing that will assault your senses will be
the heavy THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of the Industrial music inside. That will hit
you about two blocks away. If you are perceptive, you will notice the parade
of automobiles where there shouldn't be any at that time of night. If you
drive by the place, you will see a long line of mostly young adults waiting
to get in.
I think I waited in line once - about two years ago. I was new to the
place then; they didn't know me. Now, I drive up, valet the car, offer a hug
and a squeeze to Mario at the door (I won't tell you where I squeeze him, or
where he squeezes me back) and I'm in.
Tonight, I'm nervous with anticipation. I think the dress is hot, but what
will everyone else think? I'm not worried that Mario would actually banish
me to the gulag at the end of the line, but still....
Showtime! The valet opens the door for me and.... Um, excuse me. Mr.
Valet? You will have to move so I can get out. Please, don't stand there and
drool down your shirt; it really isn't all that attractive. Thank you.
Something is wrong. Do you hear it? No, not the THUMP-THUMP-THUMP from
inside; I mean the sharp, staccato click-click-click of my heels on the
pavement. That's the point; you shouldn't be able to hear that.
It...is...dead...silent...out...here. That NEVER happens. Everyone is
STARING at me. What did I do, grow a third eye in the middle of my forehead?
Even Mario is doing it. Now I am feeling REALLY uncomfortable; like the
Fashion Police will be here any minute to haul me off to the hoosegow(n).
Mario, Sweetheart, pull yourself together. Pop those eyeballs back in your
head. If it's bad, just say so; I'll slink home and try again.
Then I heard it. It was a small voice, almost a whisper, and almost
drowned out by the beat of the music. It came from someone near the front of
the line, just behind the rope.
"Oh...my...GAWD...."
(sigh) They're playing my song. I know what that means; no other words need
be said. All is right with the world again. Some fashion statements are more
attention-grabbing than others.... There is no velvet rope in front of the
club; just some traffic sawhorses funneling club-goers into single file into
and out of the front door. Mario is right there at the bottleneck, standing
guard. Hi, Mario! How are you.....MMMPF. MARIO! Aren't WE friendly tonight!
I'm glad to see you, too, Lover. Later? Tell ya what; when you get a break,
come inside and find me. We'll find someplace private to...talk. You won't
have any trouble spotting me, will you? I didn't think so.
The Ladies' Room is just inside the main entrance. Tonight, this is a
very good thing. After Mario's exuberant greeting, I need to fix my lipstick
- Big Time. The stares continue in the Ladies' Room. Actually, it's more
like daggers in here. The other bimbos are trying to be so cool about it,
looking at me without looking like they are looking at me. MAJOR peripheral
vision test going on here. I dunno; maybe this is a case of Boob Envy. Well,
Girls, shake 'em if ya got 'em. (giggle)
Feeling more confident in myself, I decided to put on a little show
tonight. Nothing major; just add a little wiggle to my walk - and Sister, do
I EVER know how to shake it! I checked my jacket at the Coat Check,
then...Showtime! Time stood still as I strutted onto the main floor. At
least, it seemed that way. Everyone froze dead in their tracks. I heard a
glass shatter somewhere over by the main bar. Probably just a coincidence;
people break glasses in bars every night.
Over the din of the music, I heard a loud WRANGGGGGG over in a near
corner by the door. It turned out, Mr. Power Tie in his thousand-dollar
Armani walked head-first into the diagonal girder of the steel staircase and
literally knocked himself out. I guess he was watching something - or
someone - other than where he was going. Ooooo, Sweetie; that's gonna leave
a mark.... I don't offer to kiss it and make it better anymore. Too many
guys were suddenly claiming their dick just got slammed in a door....
Is it warm in here, or is it just me? Perhaps it's the elevated
testosterone levels in this place that make me FEEL warmer. There seems to
be an awful lot of guys here who are suddenly packing sausages in their
pants. Well, look here. There is an empty stool in front of the main bar -
right across from the dance floor. I think I'll just sashay over there, have
a seat, and check out the goods. A little liquid refreshment would be nice
about now. Oh, good; Jerry's on duty tonight.
"Hi Jerry! How have you been?"
"Same old, Chery. Ahem. Does Emergency Services know you are out
in that little number? They might want to have a few extra
ambulances standing by for the rash of cardiac arrests you are
about to cause."
"You charmer, you! Flattery will get you everywhere. Do you have a split of
Taittinger?"
"But of course. You don't think I would disappoint our favorite
stud magnet, do you? Since you're here, I better open a case of
the big bottles, too. Now that they see what you're drinking, the
orders will start coming in any time now."
"Surely you exaggerate."
"About your ability to raise temperatures and certain body parts?
Never! And don't call me 'Shirley'."
"(giggle) Mea Culpa. It won't happen again. Cross my heart."
"(groan) Please don't do that again. I hate being insanely jealous
of your finger."
"If you think you're jealous now, wait 'til you hear where my finger has
been."
"Never mind; I don't want to know. If I don't know, I might
actually get to sleep tonight. Here's your champagne."
"How much do I owe you?"
"Oh, the things I could say, given such a perfect straight
line.... It's on the House, Sugar. Believe me; we won't be losing
any money on you tonight."
"Thanks, Sweetie. Jer, speaking of raising temperatures, is it warm in here
tonight? I mean, warmer than usual?"
"With you here? U betcha!"
"Beast!"
"Bitch!"
"You are a love. How come we never got together?"
"You never asked. What kind of boy do you take me for?"
"You and I would be dangerous together. You get me laughing so hard, I would
choke on my champagne."
"Can I give you Heimlich? Better yet, CPR. I'll be gentle."
"Bastard!"
"Slut!"
"And damn proud of it!!"
I can't believe I just came on to the bartender! It's not that he isn't
cute; he is. He also isn't married, engaged, celibate or Gay. It's
just...well, he's like family. I know all the people here so well, making it
with one of them would almost be like incest. Come to think of it, I always
thought of Mario the same way - and I flirted with HIM outside. It's not
like I started it or anything. He was the one who practically raped my mouth
with his tongue. Then again, I didn't do anything to stop him. I even
invited him to come in and find me later. What's gotten into me tonight? And
when in the Hell are they gonna turn up the air conditioning? I'm gonna
start sweating like a pig in a minute, and if I ruin my new dress, I'm
really gonna be pissed!
Jerry was right; a guy at a table up in the mezzanine bought a bottle
of Taittinger to share with me. Julie, the waitress, extended his
invitation. Any other night, I would have been miffed the guy couldn't
bother asking me himself. Julie winked and told me this guy was a "keeper",
surreptitiously flashing his Platinum Card as she rang up the charge.
Intrigued, I carried the two flutes as Julie carried the iced bucket with
its effervescent cargo.
OK, so he wasn't half-bad. All right, all right; he was good - REALLY
good. We each sipped a glass. We made nice. We sipped another glass. We made
kissy-face. He poured the last glass - it was just one. I sat in his lap,
slipped one arm around his neck, and poured a sip of bubbly into his mouth.
He took the glass and poured a sip into my mouth. We groped each other. We
each took another sip. We kissed and groped some more.
"Chery-y. You know you want him. Just do him."
"Wha? Who said that?"
"Do him, Cher-y. Right Here. Right now."
I looked around quickly. Everyone seemed wrapped up in their own business,
not paying any attention to ours. This is too weird. Damn, it's hot in here!
At least, now I had a good reason; this stud was making my blood boil. If he
touches me there, like that, again.... He did. Mister, I don't know if you
are into girls like me, but your time for choosing is OVER!
While I was busy devouring his tongue, I placed my hand on top of his
and guided it as it unzipped the lower portion of my zipper; up, up, towards
my nether places. His hand now had much freer access to my sex, and took
advantage of it. He seems to like girls like me just fine. PERFECT! I made
quick work of his zipper. His glorious tool popped out instantly, standing
tall and proud. We stroked each other into frenzy. I writhed in his lap,
long past caring about propriety.
"I want your cock, NOW!"
"Told you, Cher-y!"
Who is SAYING THAT????? Right now, I don't give a rat's ass. I lift myself
about twelve inches, then thrust myself downward, impaling my wet hole on
his turgid tool. Oh, GOD that's good! We establish a nice little rhythm,
with me sitting in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, lips locked on
his.
"Faster, Chery-y. Deeper. Make him cum inside you. Make YOU cum."
Stop that, damn you! Whoever you are, wherever you are, I don't need your
help to make a man cum. And cum he did. Sweet Jesus, he like to have blown
me right off his lap! I have never felt so full.
So, that sated my sexual appetite, right? Not even! Mr. Platinum Card
had shot his wad - figuratively and literally - and was done for at least a
little while. I was not, and started looking for alternate stud service as
soon as I could re-zip my dress (not all the way; I left a generous 'front
slit') and discreetly pry myself away. I felt, rather than saw, the trickle
down the inside of my thigh and made no attempt to hide it.
Apparently, other men DID see it. As I made my way through the crowded
dance floor, there were hands all over my flushed, excited body. The
sensation of all those hands touching my bare skin or through the
butter-soft leather was simply indescribable. My hands were just as active.
There seemed to be a tight circle of tight bodies surrounding me. If they
had other partners, it wasn't apparent; nor did I care. I was pretty jazzed
at that moment, both from the champagne and the sexual rush.
I don't have any idea how long I was out there, but before I left the
floor, at least two of those boys had cum in their pants. There might have
been more, but I wasn't really sure about the others. One followed me off
the floor. I had intended to go back to the mezzanine to check on Mr.
Platinum Card, but never made it that far. My infatuated dance partner had
me under the stairs - legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck,
back pressed against the wall - right about the same place Mr. Power Tie had
taken his untimely wrong step. It was sorta dark enough in there; I guess
people couldn't really see us unless they were watching REALLY INTENTLY. And
if they could hear me screaming above the din of the music, well....
I strutted proudly into the Ladies' Room. Naturally, every stall was
occupied. I was seeping furiously and HAD to blot!
"Cher-y. Just grab some towels and do your business. What do YOU care who
sees us?"
Us? Who is US? Am I on Candid Camera?
"Us, Chery. You and me. Look in the mirror. There we are."
What you mean "We", Paleface? I looked. There were other girls scattered
around, but none looking my way. I saw only my own reflection; me, in that
exquisite.... RED DRESS!
Oh, no; no, no, no, no, NO! This is NOT the Twilight Zone. I am NOT
having a conversation with ...."
"Yes you are. Hi, Chery! Aren't we having a ball tonight?"
Would it look too lame to cover my ears with my hands and go:
"La-la-la-la-la"?
"A ball? I guess that's ONE way to put it."
The girl at the sink next to me stared at me as though I had lost my mind.
Well, hadn't I? I couldn't believe I was about to do this. I kept my voice
down.
"Uh, who ARE you?"
"Cherysse St. Claire, you know damn well who I am! You trust your own eyes,
don't you?"
"I, uh, know what I'm looking at. I'm just not sure I'm seeing what I'm
supposed to be seeing."
"Don't be a Wus, Chery. That's not your style. Look at us. Don't we look
good together? We were MADE for each other!"
I couldn't argue with that. I had some other questions, though.
"Does anyone else... hear you?"
"Of course not, Sweetie! I was made for you, not them. This is just between
you and me; our little secret."
"Oh, I'm so relieved. It only looks like I'm a schizophrenic, having a
conversation with myself. I was worried that people would think I was REALLY
strange."
"Waddaya want? Shall I shake my head and say: 'Awwww, Wilburrrrrr?'"
"Don't crack wise with me, Missy. I'll use you to polish my thigh boots."
"No you won't. Look at us again. Look closely. Have you ever seen anything
so exquisite in your life?"
"Well, no."
"Have you ever felt THIS SEXY before in your life"
I've felt sexy plenty of times. The boys have thought so, too. But this
sexy?
"No."
"Have you ever been this turned on before in your life? Have you ever had
this many guys wanting to ravish you on the spot?"
"Wait a minute! So YOU are responsible for all this?"
"Responsible? Yeah, right Bimbo; I stuck a gun to your head and made you do
it."
"You know what I mean."
"Listen, Sweetie, I'm not making you do anything you don't already want to
do. I just help you feel better about doing it - kinda like a good buzz, ya
know? I AM you; just more so. Tell me truthfully; are you having a good
time?"
"A good time? I'm having an AWESOME time!"
"Have you ever felt better, more confident, more drop-dead gorgeous than
tonight?"
"No, no, and absolutely not!"
"There, you see? We WERE made for each other. Now, do what ya gotta do. Fuck
what these bitches think. You OWN this joint - and every man in it!"
"Damn right!"
I stood before the mirror, nonchalantly un-zipped to my waist and
blotted my bottom, stockings and thighs with paper towels. Take THAT,
Bitches! They were nonplussed, to say the least. A stall became available
and I snatched it without a second thought. I drained away the effluvia of
the hard night's partying, blotted again, then stood, zipped, and flushed.
Miraculously, there was still not a single spot on my dress to betray my
harlot's ways. I returned to the mirror, re-applied my lipstick, did a
couple of spritzes of Shalimar, and was ready to go again. I strutted out
proudly, head high, shoulders back, boobies thrust out and jiggling, hips
swaying as if on rails.
OOF! I literally walked into Round Three. Mario was making good on my
earlier offer. He and I collided outside the Ladies' Room. Have you ever
been so close to a guy - his crotch pressed right up against your pussy -
you could actually FEEL him get hard? God, what a turn-on!
"Cher-y. You're not gonna let this one get away, are you? You're still good
for another hard, fast one. So is he."
No argument there, Missy; on either count. I WAS good to go; and Mario....
We made like Siamese twins, joined at the crotch, all the way upstairs,
past the mezzanine, across the catwalk, into the utility closet in the
corner. It was small and cramped; there was no bare wall to press against.
That isn't necessary with Mario; he is one strong hunk of manflesh. I
wrapped my arms and legs around him tightly, impaling myself on his shaft.
He held me aloft with only his strong arms and fuckpole. It was good;
really, REALLY good! I lost count of the number of mind-numbing orgasms I
had. I just kept milking him, and milking him, and milking him, making sure
I got every precious drop.
Last Call came all too soon. Mario returned to his post via the front
staircase. I made my way back to the Main Bar via the back stairs. Jerry had
a nightcap waiting for me. He pursed his lips, barely stifling his smile,
and just tsk-tsk'd with mock disgust.
"Chery, Chery, Chery; if you had any idea what has been said about
you tonight...."
"Did I live up to my reputation?"
"Baby Doll, you EXCEEDED your reputation. Oh, if only I had been a
fly on the wall...."
"Or a mouse in my pocket?
That little voice just had to get in his - HER - two cents' worth.
"Cher-y, you know it's too early to go home. At least, not YOUR home."
When you're right, you're right.
"Better still...."
I reached down behind the bar.
"... there is already a little mouse in YOUR pocket. Wanna see him grow?"
Clasped lightly within my massaging fingers, Jerry's 'mouse' rapidly became
a raging lion.
"You know, Chery, my apartment has a real good view of the Lake.
The sun will be coming up in about an hour, and when it does...."
I smiled and squeezed gently.
"It's a date, Lover. Give me the address and I will be waiting for you when
you get home."
He gave me the address and the key. It wouldn't have looked good to kiss him
in front of all the others, so I just smiled, winked, and gave him another
little squeeze to give him something to think about as he raced home. I
pivoted and slinked towards the door, hips undulating sinuously to and fro.
We - the dress and I - wanted Jerry and everyone else to take a good, HARD
look.
My car was already waiting out front when I exited the front door. I
hugged Mario and gave him a wink and smile on my way out the sawhorse
turnstile. The valet stood by the driver's door. I tipped him and flashed a
smile. I could see that would just not be enough; this boy's erection
threatened to rip right through his jeans. He was so aroused, he - it - was
trembling. He held my hand to steady me as I slid backwards onto the
driver's seat. I 'accidentally' dropped my purse on the ground next to the
door. He squatted to retrieve it and handed it to me. I pulled him close,
squeezed his raging hard-on through his jeans, delicately stuck my tongue in
his ear and whispered: "Come". He did - with a shuddering vengeance. I
kissed him lightly on the lips, swung my legs into the car, and shut the
door. I pulled out - and steered the nose of my car towards Jerry's
neighborhood. Giving the valet a "freebie" was all well and good, but I
needed a little TLC, too - and I knew just where to find it....