Jo, T-Girl Goddess! Ch. 01

"It's in my bank account already," Ricki informed her coolly...and then screamed, "A quarter of a fucking million, Jo!"

Ricki hopped off the kitchen worktop where she had perched, doing absolutely nothing while Jo had busied herself with breakfast, and they hugged each other, jumping up and down like two giddy schoolgirls.

"They're going to break the story in a special edition on Wednesday. He promised that he would keep my name out it, but I don't trust his ass! You're the only one I've told I'm going to Barbados. I'm going to hide there, just in case something goes wrong and Norman comes gunning for me!"

When Ricki had talked about going to Barbados the day before, Jo had assumed that her friend planned to sneak there for a few days and be back before Norman returned from his week-long business trip to the US. Or, if she was really serious about leaving the creep, spend a month or so in the sun and then return to the UK.

It wouldn't have been the craziest trip Ricki had ever taken. She and Jo had flown to Paris one Saturday evening just to party at Le Pulp, a famous gay club there and to New York for a crazy weekend of shopping without Norman ever knowing.

And the only reason Ricki had been able to leave the house at all this time was the fact that Norman had been forced to take the muscle-bound fool who usually guarded her along with him since his usual bodyguard was laid low with some injury sustained at the gym.

She had assumed that Ricki hadn't asked her along this time because she wasn't free to go running off to the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. She was now the singer Ebonée Clark's stylist and loved her job too much to risk losing it by playing truant.

"You're not coming back?" Jo asked, her eyes filling in shock.

She'd been looking forward to devouring a big breakfast after the energy she'd expended the night before, but suddenly the food looked greasy and unappetizing.

"Not for a long while anyway," Ricki replied. "They might decide to blackmail him for four times the amount instead of publishing the article and throw my ass under a bus."

Because of Norman's larger-than-life, very-macho persona, the article would generate massive interest, but Jo doubted that the exposé would generate as much as a million pounds.

Ricki was right to be cautious, from the complaints Jo had read about them, the owners of the magazine played dirtier than the stories they printed.

She would miss her friend like she would miss her 'blankie', the tattered baby blanket she'd kept under her pillow since childhood, but her friend was right to get out of Dodge.

Norman wouldn't take lightly to being crossed.

And, she realized with a sudden lifting of her spirits, with the internet and video calling apps, Ricki would be only a screen away.

"But why the hell didn't you tell me this last night?" she demanded, annoyed that Ricki hadn't shared such vital news sooner.

"Because I didn't want both of us crying instead of fucking."

Jo couldn't help but laugh at the comment.

It would have indeed been a cry-fest, instead of the great fuck-fest they'd had.

"Why Barbados?" she asked, her brow creasing into a delicate frown as she arranged the food neatly on two plates, her appetite returning with renewed vigour.

Ricki didn't answer right away.

She took a loaded plate from Jo, cut into one of the sausages and chewed on it slowly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

When she'd thoroughly masticated the morsel and swallowed it, she paused for effect, a broad smile on her face and then uttered two words, "Ian McIntosh."

Jo screamed in excitement. "Ian!"

"Ian," Ricki confirmed. "I was going through my address book about three weeks ago, deleting old contacts and came across his hotmail address. I don't know why I've kept it all these years. I was going to delete it, but I decided to say a quick hello and see if he would respond. Girl, he sent me an instant reply! I almost licked the damn screen when I saw him! His chest was bare and he looked tanned and more gorgeous than at college! I asked him if he'd just come back from somewhere hot. He said that he'd thought someone would have told me that he now lived in Barbados. Girlfriend, I nearly cried. There I was thinking that he was somewhere in London and one day we'd meet and he would declare his undying love. Instead he was thousands of miles away, living his best life! His grandfather died four years ago and left him a house and several acres. He'd initially planned to sell it and return to the UK, but he said that the beauty of the place had captured him the moment he set eyes on it. And within three months of living there, he finally came out to his parents."

"Finally!" Jo said with a roll of her eyes.

"He told me his father still hasn't forgiven him, but his mother calls him often, although she steers clear of the subject of his sexuality. He's spent the last years converting the farm to 100% organic and his efforts are rapidly paying off. More and more restaurants are making him their sole supplier of meat and vegetables and the money is rolling in."

"I'm glad for him," Jo replied when Ricki took a moment to wet her lips with a sip of orange juice. She was pleased that he was doing well. Ricki had told her so much about Ian when they had first met, Jo felt as if she knew him personally. "Does he know that you're coming?"

"Yes!" Ricki confirmed. "I told him it's only for five days while Norman's out of the country and that I had to sneak there and back before he returns."

"So what will you do afterwards?"

"He told me that he missed me and that there has never been anyone to replace me in his heart. He's currently single and said that since my email he hadn't been satisfied with local male ass. He was gutted when I told him about Norman. So, when I get there, I'll see if he was just blowing smoke up my ass. If he's on the up and up, your girl is staying there."

"Fingers crossed," Jo replied and dug into her eggs.

"And toes, too." Ricki laughed as she picked up a rasher of crispy bacon and bit off the end. "He showed me around the house when we were Facetiming. Girlfriend, it's a mansion!"

Jo was pleased for Ricki. She deserved to be happy after her relationship with Norman.

The years had taken their toll on Ricki, but Jo had no doubt that her friend would be her old, defiant self again within days of basking in the sunshine and being fucked by a young, vigorous now-proudly gay man.

"I'll call to let you know that I've arrived safely," Ricki promised an hour later as Jo hugged her and kissed her fiercely one last time and then released her.

"Take good care of Big Willy II," Jo ordered.

Ricki had finally taken possession of her gift, though she'd laughed and said that she would have little use for it, if Ian was as good as he used to be.

"I will." Ricki laughed. "If they don't confiscate him when I get to Barbados!"

Then she suddenly sobered, turned and hurried towards the waiting mini cab.

At the gate she waved to Jo one last time and then walked briskly to the vehicle.

She kept her head resolutely forward as it sped off, but Jo knew that Ricki was crying too.

She sent up a prayer for her friend's safety.

Ricki had taken a monumental risk, but if it worked out she would be set for life.

And perhaps one day, when she'd settled in with her hunky partner, Jo would pay her a visit to see if Big Willy II had acclimatized to the warmer weather and developed a tan, or if Ricki had neglected him, leaving him unused and still pale in a drawer.

Jo had seen pictures of Ian that Ricki kept as a memento of their time together. With a golden tan that would make his blue eyes pop and blond hair bleached by the sun, he would be even more fabulous.

Jo was sure if she asked nicely, Ricki would be willing to share him during her visit on the island.

For him, there would be the pleasure of witnessing every man's fantasy: two women making love to each other--even it they were 'chicks with dicks' as the bastard Norman always put it.

***

Jo sighed as she washed the breakfast dishes and tried to recall everything Ricki had told her about Ian, the star athlete who at eighteen had been the one all the girls at their college wanted to date.

He and Ricki had moved in different circles, but late one night after a classmate's party they had found themselves travelling home on a night bus together.

While they'd been chatting on the back seat, Ian had discretely slipped his hand around Ricki's waist, and up under her jacket and into her jeans.

Ricki had told Jo that she'd almost shit herself in shock.

She'd said that her girldick was erect even before Ian wrapped his hand around it.

Ian had stroked her to full orgasm and then asked casually if she wanted to come to his house and clean up. Ricki had said with a laugh that she'd nodded her head, too dazed to speak.

Ian's parents had been away on a golfing weekend and as soon as he had closed the front door behind them, Ian had begun the cleanup with his tongue, unbuttoning Ricki's fly and tonguing off every last drop of cum.

When he'd dropped his own jeans, his thick cock had been literally bursting at its seams. Ricki said that she'd made to go down onto her knees, but Ian had thanked her for the offer and said that he had other plans for her.

He'd then instructed her to call her parents to tell them that she was sleeping over at a friend's.

Late the following evening, she'd left Ian's house, her buns well and truly buttered.

But the next day at college, Ian had passed her with a redhead on his arm and had acted like she didn't exist.

Yet, that very night he'd called Ricki and told her he'd missed her and begged her to meet him in the cinema the next evening.

Ian had bought tickets to the least popular of the movies on show, and had shamelessly gone down on Ricki and made her come before he had opened his fly and let her do the same for him.

Then, he'd walked out of the almost-deserted cinema several minutes before the end of the movie and left Ricki.

The next day, he'd again ignored Ricki at college.

To punish him, Ricki had ignored his phone calls...until he'd sent a text early one Saturday morning telling her that his parents had just left for another weekend of golf.

Ricki had admitted, a blush of shame staining her high cheekbones, that she'd found herself outside Ian's front door within half an hour, only taking the time to brush her teeth and shower before rushing out of her parent's house.

Ian had begged Ricki to understand the position he was in. He was the biggest track and field star at the college. He couldn't come out as gay or be seen with anyone who wasn't a jock.

Ricki hadn't been out herself yet--her staunchly religious parents would have kicked her out of their house, as they did when they'd eventually found out--but she had still been annoyed with Ian for being ashamed of who he was.

But that hadn't stopped her from enjoying their weekend of frenzied sex.

They had sneaked around for a few weeks, Ricki had explained, fucking in strange places and at every opportunity.

Then Ricki had shown her support for an openly-gay student at the college who was being harassed by a couple of knuckleheaded bullies.

Ian had been furious, telling her that she was making herself a target too.

Ricki had told Jo that she'd realized then that his precious reputation meant more to Ian than anything else.

She'd ignored his calls and messages for the next few weeks and they had stopped abruptly.

For the remainder of the term, she'd watched Ian sporting different girls on his arm, seeming to change them as often as he changed his boxers.

Finally Ian had called her out of the blue one Saturday morning. Ricki had answered the call and he'd informed her that his parents were once again away for the weekend and had invited her over.

She'd politely declined, telling him that she'd found someone who didn't ignore her when other people were around or fuck her in dark corners. To add venom to the words, she'd told Jo, she'd also let him know that the man had a bigger cock and knew how to use it well.

They'd never spoken to each other again, but Ricki had confessed that she'd kept tabs on Ian from afar for years, through casual questioning of their former classmates. She'd known that he'd moved in with a woman called Jessica and that they'd lived together for several years.

When Ricki had finally embraced her female persona, getting the breast implants and dressing as a woman, not just in private for Norman's benefit, but in her everyday life, she'd decided that it was best to cut ties with her old college friends.

In doing so, she'd lost her last link to Ian.

Fate had brought them back together, and just at the perfect time.

Jo sent up a silent prayer that this would be her friend's happy-ever-after as she pulled off the rubber gloves and started to dry the breakfast dishes.

***

It was only when she picked up her mobile phone on returning to the living room that she realized that Ricki had sent a message.

Laughing, Jo flopped down onto the sofa to read it.

She smiled knowing that it was going to be something outrageous. Something probably about having a sore ass and a long flight to endure.

Instead, it was a short message: I've left you a little something under the bed. Deep kisses, Ricki.

Jo laughed and ran to the bedroom.

Reaching under the bed, she pulled out an elaborately-wrapped shoe-box sized parcel.

My sandals, she guessed, smiling.

The last time they had gone to Selfridges, Ricki had persuaded Jo that she really didn't need the to-die-for £545 Alexander McQueen Dredge Skull Sandals, especially since she already owned two very similar pairs by the same designer.

Eagerly Jo ripped off the gold foil wrapping, impatient to smell the new soft leather and slip the shoes onto her recently-pedicured feet.

It was only as she opened the box that her subconscious alerted her to the fact that the weight was all wrong.

Shock replaced disappointment even before it surfaced.

Something about the rectangular shape of the contents under the tissue paper started Jo's heart thumping.

A little gold embossed card on top of the tissue paper read: Buy your own damn shoes! I'm not your shopper!

When Jo pulled back the paper, she found neatly stacked bundles of £50 notes.

With trembling hands and tears again streaming down her face, she counted them in a daze.

Twenty in total.

Fifty thousand pounds!

Another card at the bottom of the now empty box read simply: I couldn't forget my girlfriend now, could I?

Jo sat back on her heels for several moments, too stunned to move.

She'd been a little surprised, hurt, if she was honest, that Ricki hadn't given her even £100 from the money to go for a little pampering.

But, she'd reasoned, as she'd been doing the dishes and wondering when her own ship would come in, Ricki would need every penny of the money to stay under the radar.

For a moment, Jo let the delight of all the things she could purchase with such a large sum of money fill her mind.

Then she brought herself ruthlessly back down to earth.

She couldn't spend this money frivolously.

Not on clothes, shoes and handbags she didn't need.

She would get those sandals, though.

They had called her name that day in the store and walking away from them had been like being parted from a loved one.

But right now it was time to get dressed and take the money to Emmanuel. He was a financial whizz and had a knack for making money.

She could trust him totally.

After all, he'd been the one to pay the 10% deposit on the flat he'd urged her to purchase.

And with no strings attached.

For the previous enjoyment of her tight young ass, he'd told her with a wink.

*****

The End

Join Jo, the Goddess, on her next adventure titled The Virgin as she initiates a willing male into the ass-fucking community.

Jo chuckled as the man in the sharp business suit looked hastily away when she looked up and caught him staring at her legs, again. Her 'Rupaul' legs as men with a history of watching men dressed as women called them, or her 'Naomi' legs as the 'straighter' ones told her.

Both divas had fabulous legs; Jo didn't at all mind being compared to some of the best pins in the celebrity world.

She had never seen the man in the bar before. She would have remembered someone who had stuck out like a sore thumb as he did.

If he had accidentally wandered into The Pink Panther Bar thinking, as some people did, that it was a reference to the movie, he wouldn't have stayed unless he was curious or looking for some action.

Picking up her glass of Shiraz she sauntered over and introduced herself, "Hey, big boy. I'm Jo."

"Hi Jo. I'm Alan." The man flushed as he stood up and pulled out the empty chair at his table to seat her. "You're probably wondering why I was staring at you earlier. You're so beautiful I couldn't help myself. Are you a model?"

"No, I'm a stylist. I work for Ebonée at the moment."

"You know Ebonée! Wow! She's a great singer, but so underrated because she's not good looking. She needs a makeov--," Alan stopped abruptly as he realized his faux pas. "I mean..."

Jo decided to take pity on the floundering man. "I know what you mean. If she looked like Rihanna or Beyoncé, she would sell ten times as many albums."

"It shouldn't matter what she looks like," Alan replied with passion. "It should be about her voice. Things have changed so much in the last ten years. Actresses model, models act, singers act and model...the world has gone crazy."

"I admire Ebonée for not changing her look," Jo defended staunchly, even though she'd had dreams of making the singer into a black Lady Gaga when she had first gotten the job as her stylist. She had soon realized that the singer was not comfortable in anything too fussy or stylish.

Jo had reluctantly accepted the singer's simple, no-nonsense way of dressing, her dreams of her artistry catching the eyes of even bigger celebrities dying an ignoble death.

"In interviews she comes across as such a lovely person." Alan still seemed to feel the need to make up for nearly putting his foot in his mouth. "She must be a great employer to work for."

"She's a sweetheart!" Jo readily confirmed.

Ebonée was polite and considerate of her staff. Wherever she went she introduced Jo as her stylist--which was sweet but not much of a recommendation.

Often, Jo planned a new outfit for the singer, imagining that she'd finally found something that will accentuate Ebonée's finer points, only to be disappointed when Ebonée put on the outfit and it lost any semblance of style.

Shorter than average, the singer was neither slim nor overweight. She was straight and flat: her waist almost the same measurement as her narrow hips, her breasts and behind both small.

Jo sometimes wondered in amusement if Ebonée realized that her stylist had a cock. The woman undressed in front of her without embarrassment and Jo sometimes found herself getting hard as she watched the singer's boyish little body. She often wondered what the young woman would do if she bent her over, whipped her girldick out and gave her the ass fucking of her life.

But Jo would never do anything that stupid; she was well paid and the job was essentially a breeze.

And thank God that Ebonée was not a diva. Jo was known to have her diva moments and two divas in the same room would have been asking for trouble.

"You must meet a lot of celebrities." Alan's words were more a statement than a question, but they brought Jo's thoughts back to the present.