Going Up

Siren was perturbed at herself.

After months of fruitless effort, she'd managed, at last, to land an audition for her first speaking part in a major motion picture. The scene in which she'd appear, if she was selected, required nudity--and full-frontal nudity, at that--but it might, at long last, be her stepping stone to stardom--well, eventual stardom. For now, she'd settle on gaining a little name recognition from the exposure, which the film's director, Harvey Kurtz, assured her was "virtually certain," if she landed the part. "After all," he'd reminded her, "its not everyday that someone like you--someone with your particular appeal--comes along." Waiting for the elevator to descend to her floor, she had to smile. Mr. Kurtz was certainly right about that, she thought.

She shouldn't have gone to Del's Deli for lunch, though. Although popular, it was far away--and crowded. Still, Mr. Kurtz had suggested she try the place, and had asked her to bring him a sandwich back. After she'd ordered and eaten her meal, she'd had only 25 minutes to scurry the four blocks back to the studio and descend the three floors below the basement level to the costume department for the adjustments she needed to her gown before filming her scene. Mr. Kurtz was a great director, as personable as he was professional, but, the other film's other actors--the established ones--had warned her, he brook neither absences nor tardiness. Her audition was to be filmed in--she glanced at her watch, and a spear of panic stabbed her--only 10 minutes, and she'd better be on her mark and ready to be filmed.

She watched the indicator above the closed doors to the elevator shaft as it announced the descending car's arrival at the floors above her own: 10, 9, 8, 7. Come on! Come on! she pleaded silently. Hurry!

The indicator continued to track the car's agonizingly slow descent: 6, 5, 4, 3, 2.

At last, the damned indicator read "1." The doors slid apart, and a middle-age man in a handsome, three-piece suit--expensive, by the look of the fabric and its cut--smiled at her. Vaguely, it registered with Siren that he was handsome, if graying, with blue eyes, bright-white teeth, and deep dimples in a tanned face.

She stepped into the interior of the car, and punched the button labeled "B3," which signified the building's third sub-basement level. The car lurched, and Siren thought, Oh, my God! The damned thing's going to stall! If she were trapped inside a stalled elevator, she'd miss her audition for sure. As a result, her hoped-for Hollywood career would be over before it had begun. She had a sick, sinking feeling in her stomach, and tears welled in her eyes. She choked back the bile rising in her throat. Please don't get stuck! she pleaded silently to the elevator car. Please don't!

As if in answer to her appeal, the car descended, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

A few moments--and a lifetime--later, the car settled roughly to a rest, and the doors parted. If she ran, she could still make it in time to get her gown adjusted and get to the soundstage before her audition. She could still save her career!

Siren sprang forward, dashing through the doorway and into the corridor that led to the costume shop.

RIP!

She felt cool air upon her bare flesh--not just upon her face and arms and back and lower legs, which her gown, by design, hadn't covered, but upon her breasts and tummy and thighs and bottom as well! As called for by the script, she'd been wearing neither bra nor panties beneath the gown, and, she realized, with horror, that she was stark naked. The elevator doors, closing, had caught her gown and, as the car ascended, had stripped the costume from her body. She glanced left and right. Thank God, no one was in sight. No one had seen her!

But what was she to do? Her outfit--the one she was supposed to have had adjusted--had been ruined. She had no other, and she was due on the set in five minutes, exactly.

The sound of applause startled her, and Siren spun around, to face the bastard, whoever it was, who was clapping.

It was the handsome, graying man with the sharp blue eyes and the expensive, tailored suit, her elevator companion.

"You're quite beautiful," he told her, still applauding, "with or without clothes."

Although he was a stranger, Siren couldn't help but to confide in him. She had no one else to talk to, and she needed, desperately, to talk to someone. "If only you knew what this means, you wouldn't be so cavalier," she said, tears spilling from her eyes. She looked at him through the watery curtain. His features were blurred. "Or maybe you'd clap even louder," she said.

He smiled at her, lowering his hands. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said. "It was insensitive of me to applaud the misfortune of a lady in distress--except that--well, you aren't really a lady, are you? Not quite a lady."

Siren's loss of her gown had exposed not only her womanly breasts and feminine fanny; but it had also revealed her cock and balls. Although they were small and boyishly cute, the circumcised penis and small testicles within the dangling scrotum were also, nevertheless, quite obviously masculine.

Siren groaned. No one was supposed to know her little secret before, during her scene, her gown was ripped away by a suitor who thereby learned that his intended sweetheart was a shemale rather than a female. The rest of the movie was then concerned with whether he loved her for herself, as a person, or whether he'd been merely interested in bedding a beautiful woman--or what he'd supposed was a woman. Siren didn't know whether her suitor would retain his interest in her, nor did the actor, Todd Thanes, who played the young man. No one knew, except, perhaps, Mr. Kurtz, and he wasn't saying.

Blubbering, she sobbed out her predicament to the stranger. He listened patiently. Then, he summoned the elevator. "I think I can help you," he told the actress. "But, first, we'd better get you something to wear, don't you think?"

Siren nodded. She'd quite forgotten, in her anxiety, that she was stark naked. If anyone else saw her like this, the passerby might call security--or even the police.

"We'll go to my office," he suggested.

Siren, through her tears, gave him an arch look. Was the handsome man with the tanned faced and graying hair her knight in shining armor or was he just an opportunist? Was he a rescuer or a villain? He could be a rapist for all she knew. Despite his friendly, fatherly demeanor, he was, after all, a complete stranger to her. Still, what alternative did she have? None. She nodded her agreement. "Okay. Thanks."

The elevator seemed to take an eternity to arrive, and it appeared nothing less than a miracle that no one else happened along to see her naked, cock and balls, breasts and buttocks, on display for anyone who chanced to pass by to see. Of course, the elevator might stop at another floor--or other floors--on the way up, too. Siren thought it was more or less a certainty that she'd be seen by someone other than her benefactor--or the man, she hoped, at least would turn out to be a benefactor, rather than a rapist or worse.

Finally, the elevator car arrived, and she stepped inside, the graying man joining her. At once, he put her fears to rest. Producing an odd-looking key, he inserted it into a slot inside the panel on the wall beside the closed doors, where the buttons for the various floors were located. He twisted the key. "This a manual override device," he told the actress. "Now that I've used it, the elevator won't respond to anyone else's summons. It will take us straight to the top floor." He smiled at her again. "Going up?" he asked.

She nodded.

He pressed the button labeled "94."

Siren gave her companion a measured look. "Your office is on the top floor?"

He nodded.

"But there's only one office on the top floor," she said, her eyes widening. "Mr. Fenton's."

Charles Fenton was the president of the studio.

He nodded again, but, this time, the bob of his head was accompanied by a faint smile. He extended his hand. "Charlie Fenton," he introduced himself, "at your service."

Siren stared at him, dumbfounded, as she shook his hand. She was standing naked in an elevator car with the president of the whole fucking studio? Such a situation was more than simply absurd; it was impossible--and, yet, here she was.

"And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Charlie prompted her.

She felt herself blush, the heat of her blood rushing through her reddening cheeks. "Siren, sir."

"Siren Sir," he repeated, as if the title with which she'd addressed him were her surname. "That's an odd name."

"Siren Call," she corrected him. She rolled her eyes at the silliness of the appellation. "That's my stage name," she explained. "It was my manager's idea."

"I like it."

"Do you, sir? Really?"

His smile widened. "Really," he confirmed. "As much as I like my own name. Please. Call me 'Charlie.'"

"Yes, sir--I mean, Charlie."

He surveyed her nudity. His eyes moved from her breasts to her prick and back. The nipples, unlike the penis, were erect. He supposed it was from the coolness of the air-conditioning. Without her gown, she must be chilled.

He offered her his coat.

"Oh, no, sir--"

"Charlie," he insisted.

"Thank you, Charlie, but I couldn't."

"Although it's a shame to cover such lovely breasts as yours, you can and, I insist, you will."

She smiled faintly, accepting the jacket he'd removed and offered to her. She shrugged into the coat. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. How did you come to be in such a predicament, I wonder," he said. "I've seen other women get their dresses caught in these doors. The elevator itself may be slow, but those doors are quick enough. Too quick for some. Nevertheless, I've never seen a lady lose her clothes in them before."

"Oh, I can explain that," Siren said. "The gown was a tear-away."

Charlie frowned, perplexed. "A tear-away?"

"Like a breakaway chair. You know, like the ones stunt men hit one another with during a brawl or a fight in a saloon. Instead of being designed to breakaway, though, my gown was designed to tear away." She told him about the upcoming scene, in which she was to lose her gown before the astonished eyes of her boyfriend, who had no clue as to her transgender status.

He chuckled. "That would be quite a surprise, all right," he said. "If I were he, though, I'd love you just as much as before, maybe more."

She seemed to distrust his veracity. "Would you?"

He nodded, holding her eyes with his own. "I would."

She smiled, reassured. "I believe you would."

The elevator car lurched to an abrupt stop. They'd reached their destination. As the doors opened and they stepped from the elevator, Siren blanched. "Your secretary! She can't see me like this."

Charlie smiled at her chagrin. "Don't worry. My office has a private entrance."

"Let's hurry, before someone sees me," Siren suggested.

They reached a paneled door. Charlie inserted a keycard, and the deadbolt unlocked with a faint sliding sound. He opened the door, ushering the shemale into his inner sanctum. "You're in luck," he told her. "Kurtz just sent me up a new tear-away dress."

Siren looked puzzled.

"I guess I micro-manage too much. Anyway, I like to have final approval on all the details, including costumes and props. After all, if we lose money on the movies we make, it's my ass, not Kurtz's, that's in a sling. I can let you borrow the tear-away, and you can wear it for your audition."

"There won't be an audition now," Siren lamented, "not one with me in it, at least."

"Why not?"

"Mr. Kurtz. He doesn't abide tardiness or absence from the set."

"He will when he reads the note I'm going to give you."

Siren felt suspicious again. Why was the president of the studio being so nice to her? She was a nobody. What did he want in exchange for helping her? A blowjob? A piece of ass? In her experience, men, even friendly men, weren't nice for no reason, not when it came to a beautiful woman or, in her case, a beautiful transsexual. Still, she had no choice but to accept his offer to provide her with a new gown and a note excusing her absence from the set. Inwardly, she shrugged at the thought that she'd have to suck Charlie's cock or take it up her ass--or both. Such an exchange of favors might be quid pro quo, but it was certainly worth it. She might become a star yet, especially with Charlie Fenton in her corner.

She looked around the spacious room. Carpeted in burgundy, it was elegantly furnished and decorated. Everything was polished or burnished and shone or glinted. A small maple desk with a Tiffany lamp, backed with a deep-cushioned executive's chair, bore a laptop computer, and a wooden file cabinet, also of maple, occupied one of the corners, near the draped and shaded windows. On both side walls, maple bookcases boasted leather-bound, gilt-edge volumes of some of the world's greatest authors. A large, cut-glass chandelier was the main light source, but it was not illuminated. There were a maple couch and a matching loveseat, both upholstered in velvet, a maple coffee table with a glass top in front of the former. A bar held two dozen bottles of various liquors, and there were crystal goblets, wineglasses, and steins on glass shelves behind the bar. A brass ice bucket occupied the end of a nearby countertop, beside which was a small sink. A side room was furnished with a king-size bed and dresser, of matching maple. Off the bedroom, a full bath opened.

"Your office has a bedroom--and a bath?" Siren asked, incredulity in her tone.

"This is more my den. My office--the one in which I do most of the studio's business--is through that connecting door--" he motioned toward a heavy paneled door between the bar and a mural that looked suspiciously like the work of Rembrandt--"but, had we gone there, we'd have had to pass through Ms. Hendricks' office first."

"Ms. Hendricks?"

"My secretary."

"Oh. I'm glad we didn't, then."

"Me, too. Would you care for a drink?"

"Oh, I couldn't. I don't have time. My audition--"

"I'm writing a note for you, remember? Kurtz will audition you."

"Just the same, I think I'll pass, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all. Let me get you the tear-away."

He left her studying the mural as he went into his bedroom. It portrayed a reclining nude woman, lying upon her left side, her back toward the viewer, a wrinkled white fabric not unlike a bed sheet beneath her. Her arms were folded over her breasts, the right one of which was visible to the elbow. Her hair was thick and dark, and a strand of the straight tresses lay along her back, parallel with the hollow, sweeping curve of her spine. Her buttocks, although ample by current standards, were smooth, and her thighs were thick, though sleek. The lower halves of her upper legs were draped with a fold of golden fabric of a satiny sheen. A placid blue lake--or, perhaps, a river--lay beyond a screen of low green shrubs, the shapes of which were but indistinctly rendered, as was the suggestion of the bank that ran parallel to the water, along the top of the scene.

Charlie returned, bearing in his hands a gown even lovelier than the one that Siren--or the elevator doors--had ruined.

"I hope it fits," she said, accepting his offering.

Charlie chuckled. "It'll fit," he predicted. "The girls Kurtz auditions are always the same size. You can try it on in there, if you like." He nodded toward the bedroom.

"Thanks."

She took the gown into the room that Charlie had just vacated.

It was beautiful. Simple but elegant, the black velvet gown, slit to the thigh on either side, was both strapless and sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a low back. Its full, sweeping skirt was adorned with large burnt velvet floral appliqués and gold leaves. On a mannequin, it would hang straight, if rather limp, but Siren's curves would fill out the dress, her breasts, hips, and buttocks giving the dark fabric a seductive look that the gown, of itself, could never achieve. Having donned the dress, turning this way and that as she regarded herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom wall, it was difficult to believe that the stitching had been deliberately sewn so that the whole gown would split apart easily under only slight resistance. Siren knew that it would do so, though, just as the dress she'd been wearing earlier this afternoon, upon being caught in the closed doors of the elevator, had split apart and fallen away from her, leaving her naked. This dress, lovely though it looked, was seriously flawed. It was a tear-away gown, meant to come apart at the seams when pulled even slightly. It was a pity that she'd be able to model something so lovely for only a few minutes on film, she thought. Still, she could enjoy wearing it for the time being. She smiled, as she said to the beautiful woman in the beautiful dress in the looking-glass, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

Turning, she started for the door, to thank her benefactor. She paused, considering the idea that had just presented itself to her. She smiled. Yes, she told herself, she would do it! It was the least she could do for him--besides, it might help her career. At the least, Charlie would be apt to put in a good word for her with Mr. Kurtz, and, with a reference from the studio's president, the director might well decide that Siren Call's audition had won her the part in the film that could make her a star or, at least, a familiar face on the silver screen. Her smile became a grin as she removed the tear-away gown and set it carefully aside.

She returned, naked, to Charlie's den.

He was sipping a drink when she returned. Puzzled, he set the glass down. "Didn't the dress fit?"

"Perfectly."

He frowned. "So why aren't you wearing it?"

"I wanted to thank you," she said. She crossed the room, draping her arms around his neck. Pressing her firm, high, round breasts into his pleated shirtfront, she kissed his lips, gently at first, and then more firmly.

He drew back. "This isn't necessary," he told her. "I didn't expect you to--"

"I know," she replied, kissing him again. "I want to."

Her hands traveled down his back, gliding over the taut muscles beneath the silk fabric of his shirt and the fine wool trousers. Through the dark fabric, she gave his tight buttocks a playful squeeze. She opened her mouth. Her tongue, wet and tender, slid between his lips, probing the interior of his mouth.

Charlie's penis swelled, stiffening. The fly of his trousers bulged. As if she were aware of this transformation, Siren's hand cupped his genitals, squeezing them gently but insistently, and they responded to her touch, his prick enlarging further and his tightening scrotum rising. She let her tongue slide back through his lips, trailing a thin strand of saliva. Her hand gave his burgeoning cock another, firmer squeeze. "What did you think, when you first saw me naked, with my little 'secret' exposed?" Siren asked him. Her voice was soft and seductive, a wanton whisper. "Were you excited to see a chick with a dick? Did you like what you saw?"

Charlie gulped. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Yes," he admitted. "Very much. I mean, I'm not--you know, gay--but--"

She stilled him, placing a forefinger against his lips. "I know," she said.

"You're beautiful," he said. "Exotic."

"Do you want me?"

He nodded. His voice still raspy, he said, "Yes."

"Would you like me to suck your cock?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to fuck my ass?"

"Please."

"Come on, then, my knight in shining armor." She took him by the hand and led him across the den and into the bedroom. "Let's make love."

She didn't have to issue a second invitation. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed, spreading his knees wide, and Siren knelt on the carpet, before him. She liked being on her knees, naked, with a man's erection only inches from her face. It was mildly humiliating--and intensely erotic. She could smell his male scent. The faintly musky aroma wasn't at all unpleasant. To her, it was more like a cologne. She breathed in the aroma as she studied the genitals she was about to make love to with her mouth.