You Can Always Say No Ch. 05

byAngelCherysse©

"Get cleaned up, then come to bed," I urged, smiling suggestively. "Leave the 'body' on 'til morning. I want to feel it as I snuggle up to you."

The simple act of spooning had never felt so tender. Angie slept like a baby. In fact, I half expected to look down on that angelic face and spy her sucking her thumb. I, of course, had perverted visions of her sucking a much larger appendage. In contrast, I don't think I slept a wink, my mind ablaze with a whole new scenario in our lives, engendered by that simple, forlorn gaze on her face before the vanity mirror.

***

My weekly luncheon with Faye the following afternoon was a seminal one.

"She told you that?" Faye gasped, mouth agape. "Donna, that's marvelous!"

"Not in so many words," I averred. "It was more in the way she looked; I just sensed it. I think a little of you is rubbing off on me."

"Oh, Donna, I am thrilled for both of you," Faye gushed. "It's about time, too. I've seen the same look in her eyes and was going to mention it to you. I know exactly who to contact. She's an old friend I met through the 'scene'. She's not into it to the extent you and I are, but she is certainly supportive. If you will allow me, I will give her a call."

"Do it," I urged. "I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, just thinking about it. How long do you think this will take?"

"I will call Shelby right after lunch," Faye avowed. "I think you should meet with her first. Depending on her schedule, we should be able to set that up quickly. I would be happy to go with you and make introductions."

"Yes, do," I breathed, relieved. "I want your moral support on this one. I was going to ask you anyway."

Faye took my hands in hers.

"Then it's settled," she pronounced confidently, winking. "Shel and I have always gotten along like a house on fire. She teases me about my personal style, but trusts my judgment. I have no doubt she will adore you. Meeting with Angie after that will be a formality, but I just know she will be okay with it. Damn, I haven't been this excited since Terri won Miss…."

The stunning blonde paused in mid-sentence, her eyes staring into space. In a few moments, she returned from her private reverie. When she saw me appraising her, she actually blushed; a first between us.

"Terri Tunney was one in a million, like Angie," she explained. "It had been a couple of years since my baby died. I had thrown myself into my work – and started doing makeup on the T-girl pageant circuit on the side. I suppose I had always been fascinated with that scene. Let's face it, that's what I do; transform ordinary, even plain women into extraordinary ones. Perhaps there was even a little 'domme' in me, something that got off on the idea of transforming sissy boys into ravishing beauties.

"Terri was all of that, and then some. 'Terry' was the mousiest little button-nosed, freckle-faced, red-headed boy you could possibly imagine, like something out of Huckleberry Finn. You could almost picture the straw hat and tattered-hem clam-diggers. He was even from a small town on the Mississippi. How ironic was that?

"His dreams were anything but small. He had always wanted to be a girl, and not just any girl; he wanted to be famous, glamorous, like a movie star. He made his way here like so many others, chasing that dream. I met him at his first pageant; a little local thing sponsored by a bar in 'Boys Town'. I was there to do makeup for another contestant. Terry looked so lost, with those big green puppy-dog eyes, so I offered to do his, too. You would not believe the stunner that emerged as the makeup went on. She was still rough around the edges, talent- and comportment-wise. Even so, she took third place…"

Faye snapped her elegant, graceful fingers for effect.

"… just like that.

"I kind of adopted her after that, taught her about makeup and hair, how to carry herself, all the little feminine things that we do. Remember that fast-food commercial: 'I soaked up Philly like a sponge'? That was Terri; she channeled 'girly-girl' like nobody's business. Going full-time was a given; I had thought of her as a girl since that first night, seeing her out on stage with all those people applauding. I actually had to burn all her boy clothes to get her to admit it to herself.

"I'm not sure when or where I fell so hard for her, but I made a pass and she responded; God, did she respond! It was like a Fourth of July fireworks spectacular that just went on and on. I moved her in with me right after that. Our relationship went on for nearly two years. She did make-up with me by day and worked every night on improving her 'presentation' for the next pageant. I introduced her to Beverly Martin, the same voice coach I have Angie working with now. Terry took dance and singing lessons, too. Our relationship was magic. No guy, certainly not my baby's father, ever did for me what Terri did.

"Did she… how do you put it… transition?" I asked, genuinely intrigued with this glimpse of Faye's past.

"Mostly," Faye answered, dreamily recalling some fond memory. "She couldn't do her gender reassignment surgery while she was still competing; that's against pageant rules, not to mention the expense. In all other respects, she was fully female – and I mean fully. Two years of hormone therapy, plus some other little 'scene' tricks, had given her a body teenage girls and some Hollywood starlets would kill for.

"Donna, when I saw her walk into a room, my heart started pounding. I had to remember to breathe, to blink my eyes, to think. Forget about whatever had been on my mind at the time; that was a lost cause. When I saw guys ogling her, I was proud. I never worried about one of them taking her away from me. There just aren't that many who would risk social censure for a T-girl.

"When I noticed other women giving her the once-over, I got… insanely jealous. I've actually heard women say they were so infatuated with their boyfriends, they wanted to scar their men's faces so other women wouldn't find them attractive. I wanted to go the other way, making Terri so outlandishly femmy, every other woman would feel threatened by her. I encouraged her to get 'body' like mine and she was thrilled with the suggestion. We were saving money for her boob job. Does any of this make sense to you?"

"Oh yeah," I agreed, nodding my head sagely. "Believe me, it makes perfect sense."

"I kinda thought it might," she surmised, squeezing my hand.

"Faye, what happened to you and Terri?" I inquired. "Why aren't you two still together?"

Her face paled. She stared a hole in the tabletop for a long time before looking up.

"We made the big time," she began quietly. "Terri won a preliminary for Miss Continental; that's the granddaddy of all the T-girl pageants, their Miss America. They gave her a tiara and this big trophy; a brass figurine atop a marble base. I got to hold it for a while; the thing weighed a ton. There were spotlights, music, a bouquet of roses and a couple hundred people applauding and cheering. You should have seen her cry! I cried, too. When she finally realized we were going to Chicago that Labor Day weekend to compete in the nationals, I about had to pry her off the ceiling with a crowbar.

"I was emotionally spent after the excitement of the pageant itself, not to mention the jubilation after. Plus, I had an early call the next morning for a film. I went home to get some sleep. Terri was too jacked up. She grabbed her trophy and went out to party with her friends. That was the last time I saw her. I filed a missing persons report, with photo, after the twenty-four-hour waiting period; then, nothing.

"The police found her – what was left of her – in an alley behind a downtown dance club. I guess she stepped out for a breath of air with some guy and he didn't like what he found under her skirt. They made a tentative ID by her hair color and physical description from the missing persons report; her fingerprints weren't on file anywhere and the photo was useless. I got a call three days after she disappeared, asking who her dentist was. Donna, I can't begin to describe how sick in my heart that made me feel. It turned out there were just enough teeth left to make a positive match. They never did find her purse – or that damn trophy. I heard later they suspected it might have been the murder weapon; a 'crime of passion', they called it. That was before hate crimes were recognized by law."

I felt an icy hand grip my heart. This time, I squeezed her hand in support.

"How did the case come out?" I asked sincerely.

"Case?" Faye snorted derisively. "You need a reality check, Sister. The 'official inquiry' was closed the same week it was opened. No arrests were made, no charges were filed, no donuts were left unfinished. Forget about the 'leads'; I don't think a single chair went cold. She got a three-line obit in Section D of the Times; end of 'case'. That's the way things work in the Scene."

"So you lost another baby," I intoned softly.

My companion nodded. There were tears in my eyes. Faye's were running down her cheeks. God, what more could happen to this woman? Then I thought about the dance clubs I had taken my sweetie to….

"That could have been my Angie," I mumbled, stunned.

Faye squeezed my hand again and forced a smile.

"We'll just have to make sure it never is," she pronounced resolutely, "for both our sakes, not to mention hers."

Faye was as good as her word. She and I met with Shelby Fairchild the following afternoon. I was glad to have my friend with me. Although I hid it well, I was a nervous wreck. After all, Shelby held our future in her hands. I needn't have worried. She was a southern gal with a smile and personality as big as all outdoors. We got along famously, just as Faye had predicted, chatting like old friends right up to the end of our session.

Faye and I stopped at a nearby sidewalk bistro afterward. We sipped chilled Chablis as we mapped our strategy. I couldn't help but remember my high school commencement ceremony. Our rather unremarkable principal uttered that classic, lame exhortation: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." That had never been more true than now. As my friend and I parted, each of us to return to our jobs and make arrangements, I was tingling with excitement.

***

"Can't you tell me where we're going?" Angie wheedled in her best little-girl voice, clinging firmly to the overhead bar.

She had learned early on I was a soft touch when she played me that way. She wasn't the slightest bit hesitant to employ it now to get what she wanted. Not this time, Girlie!

"I told you, it's a surprise," I confirmed, yanking hard on the black satin corset's laces for emphasis. "You like surprises, don't you?"

I tied off the laces at last and tucked them into the webbing, more to discreetly hide them from view under her clothing than prevent Angie from reaching them. I wasn't worried she would try to loosen them; not anymore. Faye and I had been figure-training her since that Wednesday night she surrendered herself to me. It was no wonder the girls at her office had noticed how badly her male suits draped on her body. We had wondered all this time if any of them would notice the corset, garters, stockings and enhancer-stuffed bra under the suit.

I had already had all her pants re-tailored to nip in the waistlines as much as could be done. We had had to abandon Alan's belts, replacing them with reasonably-masculine-looking ladies belts that would cinch down tightly enough to keep the pants up. I now marveled at the twenty-two-inch corseted waistline proudly displayed before me, exaggerating even more the swell of her hips, tush and bustline. She wore it all so effortlessly now; barely an afterthought, like the chastity.

"Honey, you know I love your surprises," she gushed breathily, lowering her thick, curly lashes in a 'bedroom eyes' tease. "I know! We're going to that new club Mom told us about, aren't we? What's the name again? Neo? I've been dying to check it out. That's why you had me do your makeup heavier tonight, isn't it?"

I adored that hushed, breathy tone in her voice, for which the corset's steely grip was responsible. It made the similarity between Angie's voice and Marilyn Monroe's all the more striking.

"Could be," I hinted with a coy smile and wink. "Mom said this was a special occasion and requested us to share it with her."

"Mom is going to be there with us?" she chirped. "Oh, Honey, that's perfect!"

The fact was, the three of us – Faye, Angie, and myself – would be making the scene at the new 'in' venue later that evening. The advanced word was, Neo was a decadent delight; throbbing Techno beat, subdued lighting, tall, recessed booths and niches, shrouded in the gloom of the night, lending themselves to privacy – for whatever pleasure the patrons wished to pursue. The buzz was, away from prying eyes, that could be just about anything. The club offered special theme nights throughout the week to draw a broad spectrum of club-goers. Wednesday was Ladies Night – with a special emphasis on special 'ladies', as well as those who admired them.

For the occasion, I had requested Angie give me the 'Glam' look and she had responded with joy. She had gone a little over-the-top for her own look – okay, more than a little – but it was just right for her and I certainly wasn't going to complain. Of course, all of that would come later. We had another stop to make first.

"Oh, wow," she gasped. That's Mom's dress."

It was indeed the zebra-print creation Faye had been wearing when we met her. I held it open for Angie to step into.

"Mom said she wanted you to wear it for her tonight," I explained, shimmying the thin, shiny fabric over her plush curves. "She told me it was a mother-daughter thing; that she wanted to see her little girl all grown up, looking just like Mama."

"This is just so good, I can't stand it," she gushed. "I love this dress! It is just so wicked."

My sissy hubby hugged me tightly around the neck.

"Okay, enough!" I exclaimed with mock severity. "We have to finish getting you dressed so we can get out of here – and don't you dare cry! We don't have time to shovel out that mudslide."

With a little effort, I shoehorned Angie into the shiny, unyielding fabric and managed to zip the zipper up. The garment gripped her voluminous curves like a thin rayon cocoon. The sleeveless little number's deeply-plunging neckline revealed her cavernous cleavage almost to her areolas. The narrow waist and tight, over-the-knee skirt emphasized the sprayed-on look, outlining every ridge and cross-hatched lace of the corset beneath. I positioned the two-inch-wide gathered straps just off her shoulders, coming to rest on her upper arms, in a nod to screen sirens from years past.

In the same vein, the sheer, jet black stockings with reinforced toe, French heel and back seam caressed her shapely lower limbs like a gossamer whisper. Angie's black patent sandals had inch-wide straps that criss-crossed over her instep, plus the slender ankle strap that cinched it into place. My lover balanced effortlessly on the shoes' two-inch platform soles and pencil-thin six-inch heels.

I completed the picture with long, dangly black lacquered teardrop earrings, a matching multi-tiered necklace, and four outsized black lacquered bangles on each wrist that clacked together as she moved. Everything, even the most subtle nuance, fit her perfectly, all bathed in an essence of hairspray and perfume. But for the darker blonde hair, she appeared to be a teen-aged Faye standing before me, in the flesh. In essence, she was.

My own black sequined sheath showed off the swell of my breasts, the inward curve of my natural twenty-four-inch waist and the flair of my hips and firm butt. The hem ended just above mid-thigh – just below the dark welts of my sheer, seamless stockings. The black sequined shoes had been pure kismet; found separately from the dress, in a different store on a different day. I knew the moment I saw the sexy little five-inch pumps they would be a perfect match. I accessorized with a single-strand diamond-and-gold necklace with matching drop earrings. A few spritzes of Shalimar and I was good to go.

We filled our respective clutches – Angie's black patent and my black sequined – with our makeup essentials, perfume spritzers, mini-Altoids tins (we both liked Cinnamon) to keep our breath kissing sweet, and cell phones. Angie was about to transfer her wallet from her day purse when I stayed her hand.

"Just take your ID, Baby," I purred. "Realistically, you won't even need that, will you? Tonight is my treat; you are my date. Revel in it."

I air-kissed her, not wanting to muss our lipstick.

She removed her ID from her wallet and inserted it in the inside pocket of her clutch, then returned the wallet to her day purse. I removed the house key from my key ring, replaced the ring in my own day purse, put the solitary key in my clutch, then picked up my cell phone and called for a taxi.

"We're not taking the DB9?" Angie asked, puzzled.

"We can't fit all three of us in my car, Sweetie," I pointed out. "Besides, I would like to have a couple or three cocktails tonight. We'll take a cab to Mom's place, then go on from there. That way, I can give my 'date' the undivided attention she deserves."

She hadn't even offered to drive her BMW, which had plenty of room; such was the depth of her conditioning.

"Honey, it's still so early," Angie pointed out. "If we're going to a club, we'll be the only ones there. Are you sure you want to leave so soon?"

"Positive," I assured her, "and you will be, too, when we get where we're going."

Faye was out the front door with the first beep of the taxi's horn. As she strutted proudly down the sidewalk of her building, I couldn't help but admire her. This was classic Faye; a shocking pink four-way-stretch spandex knit dress with deeply-scooped neckline, long, off-the-shoulder sleeves and a hemline that could best be described as there, if the wearer didn't wiggle around too much. Admittedly, that was a lost cause where Faye de Castro's hydraulic hips and pneumatic, braless boobs were concerned. With a dress like that, she had to have been wearing pantyhose; a no-no in Faye's fashion lexicon, unless they were the crotchless variety.

Long crystal chandelier earrings with matching multi-tiered necklace, seven-strand tennis bracelet and five-strand ankle bracelet sparkled in the available light. Her lips, talons and toenails matched the dress flawlessly. The pearlescent-white-over-sky-blue shadowed eyelids were a departure from her customary darker tones, but with the broad swaths of black eyeliner and showgirl lashes, her Baby Blue orbs were anything but demure.

Completing the 80's-retro look, her shimmering platinum mane was a mass of fluffed-up curls, draping over her shoulder blades. Well, why not? I thought. The timing is right. Maybe we're ready for a comeback. This entire package shimmied seductively our way atop pink patent ankle-strap sandals with clear Lucite platform soles and six-inch Lucite heels. Delightfully, "act your age" was simply not in this minx's vocabulary, which made her so much fun to be with.

Faye slid into the rear seat opposite me, positioning Angie between us. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds as she beheld her 'little girl', all grown up.

"Baby, you look sensational!" she effused, hugging Angie. "Mama is so proud of you."

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