New York City: Just As I ThoughtA semi-fictional account inspired by a recent trip to NYCBy Cissy Having recently driven in some rather insane foreign city traffic patterns, navigating from Queens to Manhattan was simplicity itself. Once in Manhattan it was a different story. As usual, I was in a rush and slightly lost. The only hotel I could get was downtown between Little Italy and Chinatown. And while this location may be considered colorful for tourists to the Big Apple, at 9pm on a Wednesday night it looked like an abandon post-apocalyptic street scene ripe with the promise futuristic motorcycle riding cannibals looking for little guys with too much luggage to terrorize. My bags and I moved quickly toward the safety of the impenetrable hotel lobby. "You there!! Identify yourself!" Shouted one of the tower guards the gun barrel apparently trained on my chest. Laser targeting enabled. "I- I- I’m a ...guest...I have a reservations for..." "What’s with all the luggage? You have plastic explosives in there?" "N-no...just clothing and training materials and some..." The red laser targeting beam moved from my chest to between my eyes. "Our scanners are picking up a lot of latex..." "Oh well I can explain that you see I have a prosthetic li......" I froze as two German shepherds dashed toward me. One held me at bay while the other cautiously sniffed my luggage. Suddenly the dogs relaxed. One of them signaled the tower by making the familiar sound of a wolf whistle. Then he raised his left paw slowly and turned it down in an affected manner making the universal sign of the limp-wristed femme. "Oh ...one of those! What did you do catch a sale at the sex shop?" yelled one of the guards in the tower. "I-I-I’m not sure I know what you mean...I don’t...." "Never mind...just come in!". The thick metal doors parted and I began to enter the Downtown Westin. "Wait!" interrupted the guard. "Y-Y-Yes...is there something else s- sir?" I stammered as new beads of sweat started to form. "Yeah", he said as he fingered through a manila file filled with paper,"....will that be smoking or non-smoking?" "uh..non-smoking?", I said, hoping I was chose correctly. "Carry on!" Actually, I was greeted by a beefy looking bellman who convinced me that my car would be better off with the valet parking service. For the mere nightly price of something measuring slightly less than the National Debt, he gave his assurance that me and Avis would feel better in the morning. By 9:30 I was finally checked in and moving quickly. This girl had to get ready for her date! I had met Sly on the Internet when he responded to my personal ad. We had been exchanging semi-seductive e-mail for several months and now I was actually going to meet him. I called the pager number he gave me and punched in the hotel phone/room number as he’d instructed. This seemed so sordid, so sleazy, so sexy. I had no idea if he would actually return my call. I’m a fairly intuitive person and sensed a definite non-committal tone in his writing. On the other hand I was fairly certain that if he did turn up he would be well behaved. I had been very clear about the intent of our first meeting..."this is so we can meet and see if we like each other....I need to go slow", I had written. "No problem baby...", he wrote...he had a roguish quality. I wasn’t worried about his looks (which I knew nothing about) because this was just a flirtation. If I found him attractive that would be a plus. All I really wanted was somebody accepting who was would take me out on the town. The phone rang. "Hi", I said in my most feminine voice. And then I thought...What if this is my client on the phone? Maybe I should change my voice...."Uh...Chuck?"....throat clear....deep voice..."That you? Howya doin?...How ‘bout those Knicks?" I decided that if it really was Chuck that I could convince him he’d called a wrong number, so I did nothing but hold my breath and wait to see who answered. "Margie? That you?" "Sly, how are you? Still want to do something?" "Sure where are you?" I had to explain about being downtown... "OK baby, I’m watching the game in mid-town...I’ll be there right after, see ya.", definitely roguish. I was glad to hear of his delay because it gave me an extra hour to get ready....otherwise he might have to wait in the hall while I put on eyeliner. Actually my make up process had been going a little smoother lately due to all of my recent practice while traveling . I finished in little over an hour, a new record, leaving me time for dressing and adjusting and accessorizing. I struggled with what to wear. Always being overly concerned about passability, I wanted to be sexy but understated. Besides it was still 80 degrees outside. I settled on blue jeans and a simple light green stretch top which showed a little cleavage. With my favorite long brown hair, low heeled sandals, silver jewelry ensemble, pastel neckerchief, I looked great. The phone rang again...it was Sly...in the lobby and on his way up! He knocked on the door, I opened it, a nervous girl facing a first date. I loved the feeling. "Hi, I’m Sly...uh...Rich actually. Nice to meet you." I offered my hand delicately, hoped my nails were dry. Sly, I liked that name better than Rich, was cute. I really didn’t expect that. He was probably about 33, 6 ft tall, 200lbs., solid looking with short black hair, chocolate skin, deep brown eyes and latino-african features. Dressed in an odd combination of business casual and street-wise, a little too much polyester blend for my tastes. "Sorry I ran so late...I saw the game with some friends at Angie’s...’fraid I had a little bit to drink." He seemed safe. I invited him into the tiny room and invited him to sit down. I, who had every intention of going out right away, started getting my purse ready, adjusting my hair in the mirror, doing girl stuff to ward off the nervousness and make the first minutes go easier. "I can’t believe this man...wow what a trip...I’m trippin..." I turned and posed a little. "So what do you think. Is this what you expected? (I had sent him some pictures...he shouldn’t be shocked anyway)" "I’m trippin...I mean I can’t believe it..." I couldn’t tell what that meant. He didn’t seem appalled, nor was he wowed. He seemed slightly surprised but I couldn’t tell if that was because I turned out to be extra good or extra bad. "So is there someplace we can go?" "Well...(I could hear the excuse building)...I’m sorry we couldn’t do this tomorrow. Thursday is when the TG bars really get going....plus I already spent the whole night drinking (I put the purse down...I could tell this was coming to a quick end) and I gotta drive all the way back to Long Island. Things became platonic. We sat and talked for a while. He kept trying to sort out the difference between she-males, transsexuals, transvestites...and probably me. He was bright but not a good listener. We spent a few minutes looking over a map of Manhattan, he pointed out all of the TG places he knew...he knew quite a few. Names, addresses, people to talk to and even some phone numbers...all off of the top of his head. I was confused, with his obvious knowledge of the TG scene why was he having so much trouble sorting out the varieties of Male to Female expressions? What was his real reaction to me? He was cordial, gracious with information, but I couldn’t get in any deeper. Had his little Internet experiment been a success? Was he playing hard to get? I was generally disappointed. I wanted to be the one controlling the situation. Oh well, I got to experience minor rejection from the feminine side. I wanted to experience what a woman feels...now I realized that this was part of the "real world" experience. On his way out the door Sly hesitated. I sensed a leak in the emotional damn. There was a glimpse of something but I couldn’t tell what. Regret? Attraction? Apology? I’ve talked with him on the Internet since then...but I still can’t get a direct answer. I spent the remains of the evening trying on outfits. Thanks to my electronic personal ads, Sly wasn’t my only date. Tomorrow night I had a date with Lloyd. I finished my work early the next day and headed for Greenwich Village. I had hoped to stay in this area but the only hotels available rented by the hour. I had two objectives. First, I wanted to explore the area because it’s primarily a gay haven and therefore a TG friendly zone. I thought I could spot some of the TG bars and restaurants that Sly had recommended. Second, I wanted to buy some new girl clothes. Maybe something hot for my date with Lloyd. The Village lived up to its reputation. Small streets crowded with unusual shops and colorful people. It was also quite oriented to gay men, making it a poor choice as a shopping location for women’s clothing. I wandered for blocks passing various shops, men’s casual, men’s business, men’s shoes, men’s military, men’s sports wear, and of course men’s leather and latex for fun and games. It was 90 degrees and I was dressed enhomme, in my business attire no less. Not a good choice for hot city streets. I needed a cold drink, a women’s clothing store and a bathroom. I turned the corner into Washington Park and was dazed by the scene. Though I could never prove it, I was fairly certain that the people populating the park were extras gathered by a casting director for the purpose of reenacting a NYC street version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. A woman, more or less dressed in what appeared to be dingy but artfully shredded shorts and halter (this went well with her Red Go-Go boots), was ranting at passers by. She tried to get my attention or anyone’s attention for that matter. She was desperately trying to tell us about how she had been raped and generally mistreated by a particular Broadway producer who cheated her out of a starring role. I would have stayed to listen, maybe even donated a little something to her legal fund (currently accumulating in an old margarine container) but the stop light was changing and my bladder desperately urged me to head for the McDonalds which loomed like a desert oasis on the next block. In order to use the Little Ronald’s Room, an unflushable toilet which hadn’t seen the Tidy Bowl Man in many years, I was required to purchase something. So now I had my cold drink and all I needed was a women’s clothing store. I stepped outside. The raving woman had moved, (she’d probably changed corners due to market saturation problems), revealing a little storefront with a sign that read "Women’s Clothes for Under $10". Bingo! For the longest time I’d been in the market for a simple but sexy summer dress. I unashamedly searched through the bargain racks. Blouses, skirts, suits, dresses all about $10.00...I wondered about the quality but it didn’t make much difference, I rarely wear anything on a daily basis...most things just need to last for just a few hours. I found a sweet looking summer dress, calf length, semi-shear black crepe with a tiny floral pattern and a tie at the waist. "Fits all sizes" said the label...$11.50 (not exactly $10 but I went for it). I also bought a seafoam two-piece suit with a short skirt...there was no dressing room so I figured if these things didn’t fit I’d bring them back. As it turned out the top didn’t fit and I never did return it. Someday I’ll have enough ill-fitting clothing to stock a garage sale. Hmmm, I wonder what the neighbors will say.. "Well, well you got some interesting stuff there..." "I guess I do Mr. Hanson." "Let’s see....an old color TV - no remote... hmm...garden spade, soldering iron, red Bolero pants-size 7, ladies medium knit sweater and some black almost new looking pumps...9 wide." "That’s about the size of it Mr. Hanson...so, would you like this TV? It still works..." "No not today....but how much you want for them breast forms? I eventually made my way back through grid-lock to my hotel. The way I saw it, my "date" with Sly had been a dress rehearsal...my date with Lloyd had the promise of being opening night. While Sly’s e-mails had been brief and cavalier, Lloyd’s had been long and involved. He had even sent me a picture...young, intense, handsome. He was an ex-enlisted man who was now a graduate student in physics. He had developed an intense fantasy about having sex with a TG gal and had shared it with me several times. I had given him a double message about sex. On one hand I had tried to set his expectations on "go slow"...on the other hand I had shared my fantasies about making love as a woman and this contributed to building the sexual tension between us. My goal for tonight was to see if I was interested in him. I had a dreamy fantasy about our first date...I wanted to be courted, admired and listened to. I pictured us walking hand in hand, a scene from a romantic movie, sipping wine at an outdoor cafe, basking in each other’s anticipation, letting the passion grow. I worried a little about the usual gap between fantasy and reality. I tried on the new dress...sexy but sweet...it fit perfectly into my tender little romance fantasy. Just like the movies: make-up, hair, costuming, character...I was ready when Lloyd rang from the lobby at 10pm. "Hi", he said as he walked in, "I-I’m a little early...I hope that’s okay." He was nervous...a little shaky and uncertain. I suddenly felt in control... some personality bleed over from my male persona. "I’m afraid I don’t have much time tonight...I need to leave at about midnight...I rode my bike..." His bike? Well that explained his slightly disheveled appearance. He was tall, thin but lightly muscled. About 33,German descent, pale skin and dark eyes and hair and wire rimmed glasses. He was dressed like a college student, tennis shoes, a black T-shirt commemorating an art exhibit and blue jeans, tight enough to show off a sexy male bottom. "Sit down for minute while I finish getting ready...(he moved quickly and obediently sat in same chair Sly had occupied) does this look okay?" "Nice effect...yeah it looks fine..." "You think I look feminine enough...I could wear something else"... I got the feeling that he was going to agree with anything... "No...I mean yes...you look good." He was still kind of jumpy and obviously not an effective source of feedback. "There’s a bunch of sidewalk cafes a couple of blocks from here", I said as I slipped on my sandals and organized my purse. "Right...that’s Little Italy...is that okay? I know you wanted to go to a bar..." "Well if you don’t have much time, lets go somewhere close..." "Oh...okay..." He would have been handsome but somehow his uncertainty diminished his looks. I supposed that he might be having similar doubts about my looks...I had sent him pictures but they we carefully posed and lit...if only everybody could see me through soft photographic focus on a full time basis. We headed to Little Italy. I think I got "clocked" in the lobby but I made believe that I didn’t. I’m new at being out in the straight public and very nervous about my passability. Lloyd, still shell shocked by the whole experience didn’t seem to notice...I just kept moving, letting a surprised Japanese man hold the hotel door for me on our way out. The street was mercifully dark and though it still looked like a war zone. I worked to relax, I was sure that between Lloyd and myself we could fend off danger. As it was, the scariest people around were the other tourists. If you’ve ever seen a gaggle of Iowa farm women living large in NYC you know what I mean. The summer air was unexpectedly sweet and breezy. I loved how soft wind flowed through my dress, caressing my body and tossing my hair in gentle sensual foreplay. There was an occasional rain drop as well. I worried about the ability of my make up to withstand a downpour...fortunately none materialized. We walked quietly...not touching. In spite of the rush of feminine feelings brought on by the elements, our spatial relationship was more like a couple of guys...separated by the invisible force field which helps to keep all "real men" from making accidental physical contact. This made me think that neither of us was relating to me as a woman. The string of cafes which make up Little Italy were unhappily well lit. Both tables and bright neon spilled out of each restaurant onto the sidewalk. Though I looked straight ahead, or at Lloyd, there was a chance that passers by were reacting to me...this made Lloyd more nervous. As the sidewalk became more congested he walked in front of me...momentarily disowning me and leaving me to the silent disapproval of the mostly white, middle-aged cafe patrons. We tried to get a sidewalk table at two different restaurants but we were told that the tables were intended for larger groups. Maybe yes...maybe no. I worried that the assorted headwaiters were giving us the silent "I’m sorry uh...sirs...we wouldn’t want to scare off the decent people" treatment. We finally ended up at a window table inside a small storefront. We shared the cafe with a family that included two elementary school aged girls ended up sitting next to. The mom looked up for a second. If she had scanned me and determine I was a "fake" neither she nor the rest of the family had any obvious reaction. I was glad to be off of the street...so was Lloyd. I sat with my back to the other patrons...showing only flowing brown hair and dress...I’m generally passable from behind. The waitress brought us some wine...I needed it to help get me past the whole public exposure experience. I had hoped to be more convincing than I had apparently been. The only possibility was that I turning some of those heads because I was coming across as an attractive female...oh well, I’ll never know. Someday I’m going to hire pollsters to follow me through a crowd and survey people on what they thought they saw. "Now ma’am...would you say the person you just saw was: a) a lovely girl, b) an ugly girl dressed as a lovely girl, c) a middle-aged man dressed as a woman or d) Richard Simmons dressed as a gorilla?" I pushed away the whole passability abyss. I was in the middle of my romantic movie and I was determined to feel every moment of it. I encouraged Lloyd to talk...I sipped my wine and listened. He had a kind of breathless, staccato speech pattern that was scattered and unsure. He was also extremely bright and passionate about French impressionists and biking around Manhattan. His unsuspecting girlfriend had no idea about his "experimentation" with people like me. In spite of his immaturity and lack of confidence I was excited by his intense outlook, his openness to life outside the lines, and maybe his body because I was beginning to feel very sexy. I was having a new feeling, a sweet warm tingling, different from any male horniness I’d felt in the past. A lovely feminine sensation washed over me. I felt beautiful, receptive, breathless. When we’d finished our wine I suggested we go. Lloyd paid the bill (God I loved that part) and we walked back. On the street outside the hotel, I suggested that Lloyd could come up and visit for a while longer. I was becoming saturated by the sensuality of this experience, a sexual warmth began to circulate throughout me. Lloyd, who is not good at romance and obviously intensely focused on sex alone, says..."I hope you have some condoms...I didn’t bring any." He doesn’t know how close he came to losing the opportunity all together. My movie had suddenly gone from romantic love story to tawdry porno. I could almost hear that horrible porno wow-wow guitar music playing in the background. "Well, I’m not sure we’ll need them...I thought we could just visit" "Oh...oh yeah..." he remembered my "go slow" terms and tried to back track "well, you know...just in case" I knew all right. I had passed all sensibility. It wasn’t going to be very romantic...but we both knew that it was gonna be something...the sexual tension was palpable. Once in my room, we sat on the edge of the bed like clumsy teenagers. The sexual energy was welling up inside me, inside both of us. I turned and kissed him. I had never kissed a man passionately before. My heart raced. I could feel his beard stubble as we embraced...I wasn’t sure I like it and yet I had to go on. I gave myself over to a growing hunger. Desperately, our mouths connected and our tongues entwined. "I’ve never done anything like this before", I said, a teenage girl speaking from deep within. "Really?", he said with a legitimately incredulous tone. "Really." I had a special lingerie ensemble waiting for me in the bathroom. I had to work hard not to say..."Let me change into something more comfortable" I excused myself, warning him that I could be a while, and headed off to change. I have a peach colored corset which gives me a lovely feminine form. With white lace stockings, bra pads and some special magic with dry cleaning plastic which I use to lift and hide my genitals in such a way that I appear to have a vagina, I looked very sexy. It was only a carefully arranged outfit but it created a remarkable illusion. Flowing brown hair, pale shoulders, plump breasts, pouting lips, I had become a sultry woman. Some soft scented powder and lubrication in strategic places and I was ready for my man. Presumptuously, Lloyd was now completely naked, sitting on the bed awkwardly while watching a sports wrap up show on TV. I approached delicately. "How do I look?" I asked. "Very feminine"...even if he didn’t think so that was definitely the right answer. I sat close, kissed him lightly, removed his glasses, kissed him deeper. I let my hands run over him. He was slender and nicely muscled, covered with a frosting of fine dark hair. I couldn’t believe I was enjoying this...but my god I was. The female inside of me poured out, expressing a passion that had been locked away for so many years. I was suddenly insatiable, I wanted more and more. Lloyd, though it was clear he wanted me, continued to be shaky, unsure,erratic and generally rushed. A womanly instinct in me took control. I nurtured him and tried to calm him. I spoke with my fingertips, a language conveyed by touch not voice. Speaking softly in this way I sought to quiet him. Careful not to make any "unprotected" contact I laid him down and began to kiss and caress parts of his lovely manhood. At last, I was acting out a long repressed secret desire. My kisses flowed so naturally, so deliciously, my skill blossomed, an unexpected talent which surfaced in the midst of this dubious but wonderful "first". Lloyd responded beautifully, writhing and sighing with increasing intensity. At the last moment I held him near, coddling him while relishing the power and depth of his satisfaction. After some recovery time, it was my turn. I laid on my side, he lied behind me. I guided his hands, silently, inviting him to caress my soft powdered bottom, my breasts and "vagina". I entered into an erotic trance, breathing shallowly, slowly rocking my bottom against the growing warmth and strength of his erection. Secure in the knowledge that he had fresh protection and lubrication, my voice, a woman’s whisper, pleaded to him... "Baby please, I want you in me!...Oh yes!..." He moved to oblige. Still somewhat erratic and rushed, Lloyd reached across me and kissed my shoulder softly. I felt him begin to slide his erection against me, and sighed. This was the moment I had waited for, to be loved like a woman. He entered me, pushing deeply in side of me. The feeling was more than I ever expected. I sighed. I urged him on, my voice soft and sweet, saying sexy things, becoming delirious as he filled me with warmth. With each move, my trance intensified. I pressed back, undulating my soft bottom against him, taking him in deeper. I felt deliciously receptive and submissive. I wanted the feeling to continue endlessly, floating breathless in this place. The warmth became a searing heat, an energy store which could no longer be contained. Suddenly I lost my breath and was overtaken by an exquisite release. This too was a new feeling, expressed by my entire body not just my male extremity. I filled with a lovely sensation, a diffusion of femininity. I had momentarily transcended the bounds of my gender trap, a new kind of transgendered being had emerged from within. Lost in reverie I melted, falling limp into an unbelievable calm. We half-heartedly experimented with some other positions. With energy and creativity depleted, nothing could compete with the experience just passed. Eventually we just lied next to each other quietly. Now satisfied and tired, we shared words of thanks, some final gentle touches and then awkwardness set in. Fortunately, Lloyd needed to go quickly because he was already running late. He dressed quickly and with some clean up assistance from me (he had lipstick and Dermablend all over him) he was ready to ride off on his mighty Japanese 18 speed through the empty streets of Manhattan and back to his girl friend. During the obligatory "should we see each other again" good-bye discussion, Lloyd said that he would like to do something the following night (my last in NYC) and said he would call...that’s what they always say. I was hungry now. I hadn’t eaten since who knows when so I changed back into a guy and returned to Little Italy. I really love the "we never close" ethic of NYC. Here it was, well past midnight and I still was able to order dinner at a sidewalk cafe. This time I had no trouble getting a table. I sat near a couple of lovely young women to whom the waiter was providing complementary "shooters", probably in hopes of eventually seducing one of them. I sat there sipping some wine, toasting my entry into womanhood, and admiring the girls at the next table. They were receptive to some semi-flirty comments about their obvious level of intoxication, we spoke briefly. I sat there waiting for my dinner, hiding the fact that I eavesdropping on them. We exchanged smiles occasionally and while they likely presumed my attention was rooted in lust, they had no idea I studying them. I assessed them, mentally recording details, and feeling jealous of how natural they looked in their little summer dresses. I wish to hell I could get my lipstick to look that good. "What brand is that?", I wondered but never asked. The waiter arrived with my dinner. I speculated that at the end of the evening they must try and get rid of all of the food in the kitchen because the portions were large enough for a family of 4. The girls at the next table laughed when they saw my reaction to the size of the meal..."we had that too!", one of them said knowingly. I offered them some broccoli but they declined for some reason. The waiter placed the bowl (more like a trough) of pasta in front of me and offered me the traditional spoon and fork. These utensils were not adequate...I was gonna need a steam shovel. He emptied the contents of another dish on top of the pasta. Oh yes, I’d almost forgotten, the meat dish I’d ordered in honor of tonight’s events. Yes indeed, there it lay in all of its glory, an Italian sausage, firm and meaty, and easily the size of my arm. To be continued... |