Brad called me at work asking to meet him at the club.
I had intended to go home, take a shower before going there since
the band didn’t go on until much later.
But Brad sounded so desperate, I agreed.
It was happy hour when I got to the club, the place packed
with blue collar workers, getting a few cheap drinks before going home.
At first, I didn’t see Brad, but when I did, I almost didn’t
recognize him, huddled in a dark, corner booth, wearing a hoodie with the hood
draw up so I couldn’t quite see his face.
“I’m in deep shit,” he said, when I slid into the booth
across from him.
“With a woman?” I asked, having seen the trail of tears he’d
created from well before graduating high school.
When the dictionary defined womanizer, Brad’s name came up.
He was relentless, and could not stop fucking, and I
recalled his brief stint as manager of a fast food place on the highway. We
used to go there for free meals. He required all the girls working for him to
supply him with blow jobs.
Brad nodded. “More than one,” he said.
“Are you still mad at me?” I asked.
The last time I’d seen him here, I accidentally or maybe
unconsciously deliberately knocked a pitcher of beer in his lap, embarrassing
him in front of his date – who was not his wife.
We all knew he cheated on his wife – a woman we all loved,
and who was stuck home raising his kids.
More than once I’d been tempted to tell her about his extra circular
activities, not out of kindness, but because I was smitten with her. I never
did, believing the whole thing would blow up in my face. I figured she either
already knew or would find out when someone else told her.
“No, I’m not mad at you,” he said. “That’s water already
under the bridge.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
‘I fucked up royally this time,” he said, apparently referring
to yet another affair. “I got involved with my wife’s best friend.”
I started to laugh, but his eyes – the only part of his face
I could see glinting at me – suggested this wasn’t one of the usual fuck them
and leave them situations.
“I thought you were smarter than that,” I said.
“I thought so, too,” he admitted. “But frankly, it’s not
completely my fault. Lori – that’s her name – has flirted with me for years,
often in front of my wife. But I always kept my distance.”
“What changed?”
“She did,” Brad said. “She got more and more provocative
every time she came over to our house. I mean she was fucking hot.”
“So, you fucked her and now she’s threatening to tell your
wife?”
“If it was only that simple,” Brad mumbled. “She’s got my
balls in a vice and she keeps on squeezing.”
Brad said he was particularly drunk when he made the leap,
meeting her as another club, where she was even hotter than usual. They went to
a model, where she did everything he ever imagined she would do.
“I thought it would end there,” he said. “But she wanted to
meet again at her place.”
“And like a horny dog, you went,” I said, laughing.
“It’s not funny. The sex was great, better than I ever had
with another else, even my wife. But when I got to her place, she wanted to do
some kinky shit, and I went along with it because if felt good.”
“Need I ask what kind of kinky shit?”
“You name it, we did it, some of it involved causing me pain.
She videotaped it all.”
“That’s not good,” I said.
“No shit, sherlock. I must have been out of my mind when I
let her handcuff me to the bed. I was helpless when she put it on me.”
“Put what on you?”
“A lock box for my cock,” Brad said. “she dangled the keys
in front of me and said if I ever wanted to fuck anyone again, I would have to
so whatever she said, then, she stuck some devise up my butt, with remote
control thing that allowed her to make it vibrant through some cellphone app.”
“So, why didn’t you take it out and find someone to remove
the cock box?”
“She said if I did that, she’d go straight to my wife with the
video tape, evidence that would allow my wife to get everything in a divorce.”
“So what did you do?”
“What else could I do, I did what she told me.”
“What did she make you do?”
“She made me wear women’s clothing while at her house, and
women’s undergarments the rest of the time.”
“You’re wearing these now?”
He rubbed his face and I noticed his fingernails were
polished, and I mentioned that to him.
“My fingernails, by toenails. I’m also wearing make up like
a slut.”
That’s when I noticed the red lipstick and the rest of the
stuff around his eyes.
“And you wife doesn’t notice this when you get home?” I
asked.
“Not at first, because it was subtle, a little pink
lipstick, polish only on my toes – I wore socks to bed. Later, Lori wanted me
to go out in public with her, bar hopping like two girls, since looked like a
girl.”
“You did that?”
“Yes,” he said. “Guys kept hitting on us with her encouragement,
and when one of them wanted us to go out to their car, she agreed, dragging me
along with her.. When it was clear the men wanted sex or at least a blow job,
Lori said if I didn’t give them something, she’d take the whole mess back to my
wife.”
“You had sex with those men?”
“Only a blow job. I did them both, and then they had sex
with Lori,” Brad said. “She filmed the whole thing on her cell phone.”
Hearing this, my mouth went dry and I waved to Tommy, the
bartender to bring me a beer and a shot.
“So now she has even more blackmail material on you?” I asked.
“Sort of,” Brad said. “Lori drove me home that night, made
me go up to our apartment where my wife confronted us. She apparently knew
about the whole thing the whole time. The two of them laughed about it, and
said I should lick the cum off my face, telling me it’s uncomely.”
“Are you getting a divorce?”
“No, my wife doesn’t want one.”
“What does she want?”
“To teach me a lesson.”
“What kind of lesson.”
“How it feels to be a woman.”
“I still don’t get what you’re getting at.”
“The two of them chain me up at our house, feeding me hormones,
and refusing to unlock my cock. They said they need me to get my pleasure with
my mouth and my ass, and eventually, they’ll find a way to castrate me. Lori said
she’s actually thinking of pimping me out after she saw what a good job I did
with those blow jobs. But she said she wants to wait until my breasts grow in
and my butt plug makes it so men can fuck me. She said some of the construction
workers in our building have expressed interest in me.”
“This is crazy. Can’t you go to the law?”
“I’ve thought about it, but they’d kept me pretty much under
lock and key the whole time.”
“You’re here now,” I said.
“Pure luck,” Brad said. “They forgot to lock me to the bed.
I crawled out the window, and down the fire escape. I called you because I couldn’t
think of anyone else who I could trust. I need help, a place to stay until I
can straighten all this out.”
“I live in a rooming house,” I said. “I only have one room.”
“I don’t care, I’ll sleep in a closet if that’s all you
have.”
I was about the say yes, when I saw Brad’s wife come through
the front door of the club along with the woman I assumed to be Lori.
“There you are!” his wife said.
“Such a bad boi,” Lori said.
Brad whimpered.
“Time to come home,” his wife said, casting off Brad’s hood
to reveal the face of a very pretty, but also very slutty looking woman. Brad
did not look up, could not look them in the eyes, even as Lori attached a dog
leach to the collar Brad wore around his neck.
“Why don’t you leave him alone,” I said.
Both women glared at me.
“Why don’t you mind your own business,” Brad’s wife said.
‘He’s my friend, he’s asked for my help,” I said. “Don’t you
think he’s learned his lesson?”
“Not by a long shot,” Lori said, giving me a wicked grin. “He’s
got a lot more to learn before this is over.”
I was not the only one who stared when they left, two hot
women, Brad on all fours walking behind them on a leach like a dog.
I pitied him, and yet wondered how he would feel when they
finally finished converting him into a woman, and whether or not it was poetic justice.
The cold rain recalls those dismal days when I worked as a
messenger in NYC, a vagabond kept warm by the overcoat the Army let me keep
when I got discharged, those chill days seemingly so sour then, but in
retrospect now seem sweet, as now, this time, after a cold, cold winter, life
is sweet again, and sour, having missed something I ought not have and regret
my inability to get it back, like the bus trip I took as a kid, having missed a
stop with no way to reverse, having only a one-way ticket, rain dotting the bus
windows, with me hoping the deluge will stop by the time I get to my
destination, where life might feel sweet again, this chill day seeping into my
bones, raising all those moments when I should have done things differently,
now can’t turn back, I’m soaked to the bones, looking from where I’ve been
rather than where I’m going, missing people I know do not miss me.
Darlene was the manager to the cosmetics outlet attached to
the warehouse where I worked.
She was in her late 30s, maybe even early 40s, but was drop
dead glorious.
Jack was a scrawny kid just out of his teens, who drove part
time for the company making deliveries.
He had the hots for Darlene just as we all did.
I never hit on Darlene but a number of the other warehouse
employees did, and got rejected.
Jack was the only one she paid any attention to, inviting
him into the outlet during breaks or after the warehouse closed its doors for
the day.
She showed him around the outlet, let him sample perfumes
and other things, and he followed behind her like an adopted kitten.
To say the least we were insanely jealous, and teased him
merciless as to whether he got to first base, or maybe beyond.
He never answered the question, simply saying she was like a
sister to him, with the rest of us thinking if we had a sister like her, we’d
still want to fuck her.
The more it went on, the worse we got, so jealous of Jack a
number of us stopped even talking to him.
None of us at the time took note of the small changes he was
undergoing; maybe we didn’t want to; he dressed better if a bit oddly, wearing
female slacks, jeans and flat shoes, rather than his previously grimy t-shirt,
jeans and sneakers. He had even let his hair grow.
I began to suspect something when I saw subtle touches of
makeup, eyeliner, shadow, and just a little pink on his lips. I also noticed
that Darlene started to refer to Jack as Jackie.`
At one point, as he waited for us to finish packing an order
he needed to deliver, Jack and I bumped into each other between some of the racks,
where I asked him what the hell was going on.
“What do you mean?” he asked, seemingly legitimately
baffled.
“I mean the girly clothes, the eye liner and god – the lipstick.”
“You don’t like it?” Jack asked. “Darlene told me you would.”
“What the fuck does this have to do with me?” I asked,
perhaps a bit too harshly.
Jack’s mouth snapped shut; he walked away.
I went to talk to Darlene, who remained very aloof.
‘It’s not something I’m at liberty to talk to you about,”
she said.
“But from what I’ve heard, you talk to him about me all the
time.”
“I don’t talk to him about you, he talks to me,” she said.
“What about?”
“As I said, I’m not at liberty to day,” she said. “Maybe you
should talk to Jackie yourself.”
“I did talk to him,” I said. “I get the impression that he’s
dollying himself up to make himself more attractive to me.”
“Does it? Darlene asked.
‘Does it what?”
“Make you more attracted to Jackie.”
“I’m not gay.”
“Which is why Jackie came to me, asking me to turn her into
a girl.”
“You can’t turn a guy into a girl,” I said.
“I can. Or at least someone as close as possible,” she said
matter of factly, as if she had done something like this before, and from the smug
look and that slight darkness in her eyes, I believed she had.
“What happens if you succeed and he finds out I don’t want
him in that way?” I asked.
“How do you know you won’t,” Darlene asked, looking me
straight in the eyes. “You haven’t see the finished product yet.”
I told her she was crazy and went back to work, doing my
best to avoid Jack, though with business picking up, he got assigned to help us
pick and pack orders, putting him within earshot all day, and leaving the scent
of his perfume wherever he went.
Darlene apparently decided to up the anti. All subtly
vanished. Jack came in dressed in a short skirt, stockings, and bright red lipstick,
creating a huge amount of havoc among the other workers, who were either
disgusted or more often, attracted, men who then found every excuse to get
close to Jack whenever they could, while I did the exact opposite.
It got worse. Jack suddenly developed tits, and spoke in a voice
so feminine I even sometimes mistook him for a girl.
A few of the crew were so upset about all this, they wanted
to take Jack out into the woods behind the warehouse, and would have beaten him
senseless had I not intervened.
I went back to Darlene.
“You’ve got to stop this,” I told her. “Jack is going to get
hurt.”
“Jackie wants this,” Darlene said. “Besides, it’s too late
to stop.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jackie has been taken hormones and getting other treatments,”
Darlene said. “And she’s scheduled to go into surgery next week.”
“You really are crazy!”
“It’s what Jackie wants.”
“But it’s not something I want, so if he’s doing this for
me, he’s wasting his time.”
“It’s not about you anymore,” Darlene said. “If you don’t
want her, there are plenty of others who will.”
That’s when she told about Jack’s giving blow jobs and doing
anal sex in the men’s room with the boys.
“If he gets caught, he’ll lose his job,” I said.
“It’s a risk we all take,” Darlene said. “I won’t ask her to
stop doing anything that makes her happy.”
Due to the surgery, Jack was out of work for several weeks.
I thought things would get back to normal when he got back, when the opposite
was true. During her absence, many of the guys moped around, it felt like a wake.
When Jack got back, they treated him like a star. At that point
upper management got involved, realizing they had a very pretty girl working
side by side with a pack of overly horny men.
Jack got transferred to the outlet to work with Darlene,
while each day at lunch or breaks the boys went over to outlet, brining Jack
small gifts.
“You can’t tell me Jackie isn’t better off now than she was
before,” Darlene told me sometime later. She’s never had so much attention.”
“I suppose not,” I said, although I still wished for the old
Jack back, something that seemed to transpire when management hired Jack’s
replacement, a kid as scrawny as Jack had been, but to my dismay, the new
driver attracted Dalene’s attention.
Only in retrospect do I realize how she kept me aroused,
sending me pictures each morning to remind me of what she looked like, feeding
me my own hormones like a drug, addicting me, stirring me up, until I couldn’t
think straight, and would do just about anything to please her, a personal
servant, a sissy with my cock locked up in the palms of my hands, and now,
realize how pleased she must have been, knowing she could make me do anything
she wanted, pulling this string or that, causing sensations in deeper part of
me, and I think of that time – after I became irrelevant– when she sent me
texts to meet her, telling me she didn’t mean me when I got there, and my head
so over inflated, my blood already in a boil, I saw in the corner like a
scolded child, waiting for her next command, and even now relishing a bit of
it, thinking how pleasant it would be for her to control me, though I think,
too, she may not have completely know how much power she really had.
I keep thinking I see her reflection in the store windows
when I walk the black from where we worked to the German bar, outside of which
she surrendered her first kiss to me.
She’s not really there; neither is the bar, as if punishment
for all the carnal sins I’ve committed in my imagination since, reshaping that
night long ago into something other than it was, something grander in which I
got to play a starring role, my imaginary fingers slipping through the space
between the buttons of her blouse, my palms encircling the swelling I find
there, fingers pinching the tips until their rigid, this madness of hormones
that keeps me aroused, shaping my world view as I stare through the glass of
the German bar where I see ghosts, the barstool on which she sat, painting into
the vacant space the wine glass with the smudge of her lipstick on it.
I make love to her in my mind over and over, again and
again, reliving and expanding on that scene, remembering the quite real kiss,
and all the paraphernalia I have added to it since, always in need for more.
