Her Mom & I Share a Birthday Pt. 01

[This is an edit of the earlier submission titled Her Mother and I Share a Birthday. The title is edited to allow for a second part; this being Part 1. Some of the scenes have been expanded for character development. NOTE: This is a romantic story from a male perspective which includes hints and references to cross-dressing and dominance which is a plot device to have the characters meet.]

HER MOTHER AND I SHARE A BIRTHDAY

HE COMPLIMENTED MY APPEARANCE

Ever since I was three, it was just my Mother and me. What she enjoyed most was window shopping. The actual buying part was secondary as money was always tight. So we looked at the displays and strolled the aisles. I never understood the purpose of looking at things you could not have, but it was a time of being together, chatting, learning, and observing. Those were good times.

So here I am in Denver, two weeks into my new job, on a Sunday afternoon, strolling through a very nice Mall -- Neiman's is one of the anchors. Consistent with my Mother's rules, I was respectably dressed. Not that dressing "up" took much effort compared to most folks these days, but khakis, an oxford shirt and Bass Weejuns would have met with her approval.

I had completed the first floor and was halfway around the second when I reached the entryway to the Hilton that tied into the Mall. I stopped at the doorway and considered having a drink. Friday was my first payday, and I was living rent free in the condo Martin-LOGEX provided for employees in town for an extended stay, such as myself and the other new hires starting a six month home office internship. I made my student loan payment yesterday and the charge card load was low, so my conscience is clear.

I mentally created a spreadsheet to calculate the risk/benefit analysis of the problem, just as any self-respecting recent Georgia Tech grad with a shiny new Masters in Industrial Engineering / Logistics would do. I mean, who doesn't use Six Sigma to decide between a glass of wine or an Old Fashioned.

The calculation was favoring wine - - too early for bourbon - - when a fellow walked up behind me and said "Excuse me."

"Certainly," I said as I turned. "But what for?"

He reminded me of Ray Walston--Boothby on Star Trek. He was well dressed to include a blue blazer, grey pants and loafers, but he was not overdone. Nothing pretentious like an ascot. He looked at ease, comfortable.

"I just wanted to compliment you," he said.

"For????," I drew out the question.

"Look around you," he said gesturing towards the Mall concourse.

I followed his gesture. It was still the Mall. As before there were lots of people going back and forth.

"Sorry sir, I'm not seeing what you're seeing."

"The people--how they look, what they are wearing. No one has any style any more---sweat pants, bed room slippers, shredded jeans. The majority appear to be in their pajamas. You on the other hand, look respectable. So, you're not from around here, are you?"

Looking back and forth, I could see what he saw. I never thought much about it though unless someone was spilling out of their pants or top to the extent that it was hard to ignore. I behaved and dressed as I was raised; I didn't judge.

I shrugged. "My Mother liked to go shopping; it was her entertainment, her reward to herself. It was just her and me, so I was her escort. And then 10 years in the Air Force--fatigues and flight suits were for work only. When in uniform, you had to look sharp, so old lessons stay with you."

"That is true," he replied. "Very true. Are you staying here at the Hilton?"

"No, sir," I replied. "Here for six months of new hire-OJT. The company has condos for us to use. Got settled in last weekend, it's been a full week of "firehose and sink-or-swim", so I decided to stroll around and window shop. You?"

"Shoe shopping," he said holding up the bag. "And going to have a drink before heading home. Join me?" he asked.

"Thanks. For the first time in 12 months, I've got nothing pressing except Monday morning."

"Victor," he said offering his hand. "Charles," I responded, shaking it.

He led the way.

It appeared he knew the hostess and indicated where he wanted to sit. I followed his lead on the wine -- I tend to defer to older people -- and agreed some cheese would be good.

We made small talk; a quick toast to our health when the wine arrived; a piece of cheese every now and then. It was comfortable. I found myself thinking I wasn't a crew dog or a grad student anymore; I felt like an adult.

A second glass of wine appeared.

He paused for a moment, and said, "What are you? 5-10, 145 or so?"

"That's a bit personal, don't you think," I said with a grin. "We just met, and already you want to know my size? You want to go shopping for suits?"

He chuckled. "It was a bit forward, but there's no easy way to do it."

He fished in his coat jacket and pulled out a card. "Victor Hinton Photography / Portraits -- Advertising." he said as he handed it over.

Taking it, I chuckled as well. "Ah, sorry, I'm up to my neck in debt with my grad school loan and the GI Bill stopped when I graduated. And Mom already has several photos. But thank you."

"No, no," he gestured. "I'm actually looking for a model," he replied.

"And so for six monthly payments of a buck-three-eighty each, you can teach me to model? This a sales pitch?" I asked.

He laughed out loud, "You're way too young to know that expression; and no, I'm not selling an installment plan or an extended car warranty, either"

I smiled, "My grandfather used lots of catch phrases; I always liked that one. So what's the deal?"

"Like I said, I'm looking for a model," he reiterated. "Can you come by my house tonight? My business partner will be there to close the books for the week. Although a CPA, she has a good sense about these things. Nine pm?"

I sat back and looked him over. Can't judge a book by its cover you know, but he did not seem slimy. Not that I could spot slimy necessarily. I'm pretty naïve in certain things. But he had a relaxed manner.

I pulled out my phone. "May I have your number, please?"

He obliged; I dialed and it rang; I stored it. "OK," I said. "If I show up on a freighter bound for Hong Kong, my Mother will call you to confirm my arrival time."

He laughed out loud. "What did you get your Masters in?"

"Industrial Engineering / Logistics and I took as much Risk Management as I could; before that I used to wrangle cargo and passengers on C-17s which required a great deal of care and attention or plane fall over," I said. "So I try to think ahead and watch out at the same time."

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. "And who are you with now?"

"Martin LOGEX," I said.

"Good company," he replied. "Drinks are on me; thank you for your service."

"See you at nine," I said shaking his hand.

Walking to the car, I was back and forth. No one ever said I was photogenic; I mean everything is in its proper place, but Tom Selleck I'm not.

AN INTERESTING OFFER

At 8:59 I rang the doorbell. After leaving the Hilton I had gone home, calculated the travel time and then sat, ate, and read company procedures until time to go. I decided to give no thought to the invitation or what would happen. There was only my obligation to be at that address at that time. It was no different than an order or a class assignment.

He opened the door and smiled as he stepped back for me to enter.

"Right on time. I'm not surprised," he said. He led me into a great room. Large couch, overstuffed chairs, a desk, a fireplace with large screen up above -- Rockies were playing.

"Have a seat anywhere, I'll get Charlotte, she's in the basement," he said as he opened a door in the hall and yelled that I was here. I sat on the couch.

A moment later, I stood up as a young woman came into the room, and then leaned across the coffee table to shake my hand, "Charles, right?" She flopped in the chair across from me. Victor took the other one.

She was a little bit shorter than me, fit, trim, short auburn hair, greenish-brown eyes, thin dark lips, a hint of cleavage in a long sleeve crop top with about three inches of midriff showing, stretch jeans, flats, attractive but not hard, serious but not bitchy----think Phoenix in Maverick - Top Gun.

"Let me get right to the point before we drug you and put you in a Conex," Victor laughed.

I smiled, "I assume there's a choice of an inflight meal on the way to Long Beach?"

"Chicken or fish?" he replied.

"Guys," she interjected. "I'm glad you hit it off, but I've got work to do."

"Sorry, ma'am," I said.

"Ma'am?" her eyebrows shot up.

"I'm Southern," I replied.

"And military too, Victor said," she observed.

"Yes, ma'am," I said. She snorted and shook her head.

"OK, he told you we were looking for a model. Not just a pretty, chiseled, model type face, but someone whose appearance and body type are adaptable to our product and mission."

"Ok," I said, just waiting.

"You look very fit, you run?" she observed.

"And cycle," I said. "I'm about 2% body fat. No much muscle; just built for endurance and distance."

"Mind taking off your shirt and pants?" she asked.

"Ahhh, mind telling me where this is going?" I asked.

"Just humor me; I'll tell you based on what we see. If we can use you, there's decent money involved, and Victor said you have a grad school loan. If not, interview's over and off you go."

She was very direct. I'd never dealt with a CPA before. I suppose all those numbers make them direct.

This is borderline weird, but what the heck. I stand, take off the shirt, and drop my pants.

"Undershirt too," she directs. "And turn please."

I comply.

"No tattoos, well proportioned," she observes. "Good."

"How well are you hung?" she then asks.

Not missing a beat, I reply "Ma'am, we have not been properly introduced, and although Victor is here as our chaperone, I do believe it would be inappropriate for me to expose myself to you at this juncture in our budding relationship."

I've always been quick with a retort -- It's a blessing and a curse. She just blinked; Victor laughed out loud.

"Good one," he said.

"OK," she said. "I said we paid well for qualified people, $100 if you drop your BVDs."

I stared at her for about 10 seconds. The speed of thought being the speed of light, a great deal of data was processed in the first nine seconds. She was cute, very cute actually. I'm single, have always been single for reasons soon to be revealed. Never had a girlfriend. Was overseas two out of the first four years, then crewed a C-17 as a loadmaster the next six and what with the war and being single, max'ed out my flight time each month. Grad school? I barely had time to eat, much less ask someone out.

Parallel to those thoughts as to why I've never been naked in front of a woman, I conclude she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen -- not movie star / model; just----simply beautiful. Her eyes are twinkling, and there's a hint of a slight grin. What's the phrase? She was comfortable in her own skin.

As the second-hand hits 10, I put my thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down.

"Deal," I said.

I stood with my hands on my hips, waiting for her reaction.

"Uhhhhhh," was all she said. "Oh dear," came from Victor.

"It's called a microphallus, ma'am. I was born that way. Genetic, hormone imbalance in the womb, not enough testosterone I've been told," I replied.

"And so it's------," her voice trailed off.

"The word is small, ma'am." I replied. "About three quarters of an inch in its resting state. And right now, it's worth $100."

She gestured at Victor, still coughing from the surprise, "Pay the man." A hundred-dollar bill dropped on the coffee table.

"So this way since birth? Uhhhhh, how was it growing up?" she asked.

"Well, as you might expect, it wasn't until high school with the communal showers that it got a little tough. But I ran varsity track all four years and my cousin was the left tackle and shot-putter so nothing got too far out of hand. And a couple of girls wanted to go out with me just to see it, but I wasn't going there. Another cousin was my prom, homecoming, etc. date," I explained.

"And you never had a girlfriend?" she kept walking down the path.

"Girls who were friends, of course; but not a relationship," I replied.

She hesitated. Somehow, I knew what was coming next. 'Come on,' I thought. 'You're right on the edge; You know you want to ask!'

"Ummmmmm," she paused. "So you're still a virgin?"

Oh! Heap big surprise!-- why this and not if I'm gay? Oh well. I pounced.

"That'll cost you $200," I said gently.

She looked at Victor. He shook his head and said, "I'm not the one asking the question."

"I'll take a check," I offered.

Recovering, she fired back, "OK, Deal."

"Yep," I said. "A Vampire would find my blood most refreshing -- no sex, no drugs, no polyunsaturated fats other than brownies. But look, I learned at jump and survival school to tolerate stressful situations. This one was not in the syllabus at either one. So do you mind if I get dressed, it's a little chilly. And can we get to what this is all about?"

She leaned back for a moment, and then waved her hand, "I suppose I've seen all there is to see now." She was suppressing a giggle. "We're done."

Victor sighed and took over, "Fair enough; here's the deal. We have an immediate need for someone who fits your profile -- male, slight, not overly muscled or decorated, but not too twinky and -sorry friend- not too hung. On Wednesday we shoot items for several crossdresser catalogues and websites. A little makeup, prosthetics, wig, and you'll do nicely. On Saturday, we broadcast an HSN/QVC style show offering and demonstrating clothing and accessories. Our Hostess needs an assistant, a foil if you will. We'll talk Wednesday in more detail. You've got debt and no commitments except work, and we have an immediate need. The photo shoot is $1,000. Saturday depends on the number of views. It varies, but it is quite a bit more than Wednesday night.

Charlotte took over. "The more views, the better we all do. I'm the accountant, and I make sure it's equitable. You're only in town for a few months for training -- a logistics firm I understand. Besides, that small dick of yours may get us even more hits. You have 15 seconds."

I used the full 15 seconds, mostly to look at her and reaffirm my earlier conclusion. She really was very pretty. "OK," I said. "I guess this is certainly confidential, but not illegal?"

"We're all over 21; no drugs; no trafficking; I issue 1099s. But we are discrete. The bottom line is, it's just business. And I'm serious about the just business part."

I nodded. "What next?"

"Be here Wednesday at nine," she checked her watch.

"You'll have my check?" I asked.

She glared.

"See you then," I smiled.

HOW I SPENT THE SUMMER

So here we are almost three months later. Work is hard, purposely hard--like basic. I've been humping 12 hours a day during the week and then six hours on Saturday and Sunday learning the Company from the basement up. Going out takes money that I could put toward the loan; I have zero "pick-up" skills anyway; and as previously noted, I would be investing in a dry hole after appropriately choking laughter. So I joined a running club, found a cycling group, and toured the mountains in my down time.

The modeling was not too hard. Relax, look natural, and don't look at the camera. Crossdressing was no big deal. Heels were difficult at first, but being slight, things fit pretty well. And I shaved my legs for cycling anyway. Having a runner's chest meant the breasts fit well.

Victor worked in fashion which is how he got the modeling work, friends of friends I suppose as this stuff is only available online. He also had make-up skills and worked the counters for a couple of department stores. We planned the show on Wednesday after modeling, and then Saturday prep took about an hour usually.

But the actual shoot, well that was harder than they let on - - but I don't blame them. I could have walked at any time. Without going into detail, there was a bit more to it than just being a stage assistant to Mia -- who was an attractive Trans, but indeed a Diva in every sense of the word. It required a good amount of, shall we say---physical flexibility and discomfort. Victor coached me at first; helped me clear the hurdle with it being a means to an end. And in the final analysis, it was just adult sex. Mom would have fainted dead away, of course. But I had lived such a vanilla life, so there was a dangerous thrill from being, well, let's call it risqué to be polite. Adrenaline can be addictive.

And guess what? By mid-July, viewership was up. Way, way up actually. And my pay increased as a result. There were also bonused sessions when special requests were granted. And then there were the emails from viewers asking for my number or email. Gee---fans. Who would have thought?

Thus by the end of August, Georgia Tech was paid off, my IRA was maxed for the year, quarterly income taxes all paid, some money to Mom every two weeks, I'm researching municipal bonds, and I wasn't touching Martin-LOGEX's money.

The only puzzle was Charlotte. Victor was friendly, even chatty, but she was distant. Not rude, just not collegial. Queries about a drink were shrugged off. Casual greetings or remarks about the weather were met with a grunt, sometimes. I always stayed late and helped clean up after the show, but no conversation there either. Early on I asked if I could walk her to her car---again declined. It wasn't like I was flirting, but even though I was a co-worker, or independent contractor actually, there wasn't even a tiny bit of social chat. She wouldn't crack when I asked her a couple of tax questions. "Google it," was her advice.

But just like a 7th grader, I never missed a chance to watch her when she was not looking.

Tonight I just give her a 'Have a Good Night.' She looks over her shoulder for a brief second, sighs moderately, and then is gone. At least I got a sigh this time.

I needed to tell Victor I'm done, but I hear Mia arguing with him about her cut. She does this every week it seems.

I don't really understand her but to each his own. I'm beyond thrilled to be making extra cash--a lot of cash actually even as the second banana. Hah--banana, I wish; more like one of those tiny hors d'oeuvre dill pickles. Putting generic morals, the Boy Scout Oath and the moderate physical discomfort aside, this is easy money. She on the other hand, rants. And rants.

I hear Mia leave, and I start up the stairs. But then I hear Charlotte go in and so I wait outside. I guess she thought I was gone or still downstairs. I figured she would just be a moment so I stood quietly.

"You need to have a talk with him," she demanded.

"Why? What's wrong?" came the response.

"He's becoming more friendly, and I can't have that!" she asserted.

"You've been pretty clear about this job being just business," Victor replied. "Is he harassing you? He's not the type and you don't take crap from anyone. Shit, remember the guy before him? You broke his wrist!"

"No, not at all. He's more like a puppy. He's trying to banter. He even tried to ask me a cost-accounting question," she retorted.

"Well gee imagine that, a nice 30-something, good-looking heterosexual male is attracted to an equally nice 30-something female who is attractive, professional, and apparently single in a business where we are up to our elbows in sex. Besides, as I recall, you got all flirty with him when we interviewed him. Paying him to drop his pants?"

Victor was firm. "Go put on a wedding band," he advised. "Tell him you're engaged or have a permanent, six foot plus boy-friend."

"Fuck you squared old man. Remember my best friend-maid of honor blowing my fiancé the night before the wedding? Nothing is going on that finger ever again. But talk to him -- uncle to nephew like. And OK, so maybe I got caught up in the moment when we interviewed him; he's not our typical recruit, not by a longshot, and he is quick on his feet. Yeah, sure, there's a lot about him to like, but you need to fix him. And you know why; I can't risk it!!!" She was yelling now.