Would You

'Would you...?'

'Look the part to play the part....'

1

5' 4...dreaded, and to be dreaded....bookish, be-spectacled—damn near owlish....so much so that you might miss the way her tits spoke to you no matter how much she attempted to 'silence' them ....that you might miss the way her skirt gathered at the flatness of her tum, then fell away from her no-waist over hips that the fullest of pleats could not hide....or the way that any pair of pants did the nasti with her—without her permission—without her second thought—cupping that ass...creasing in the crease of her crease....presenting the perpetual 'camel-toe'....she tried hard not to notice....not to have you notice....it wouldn't do well to have her cover made—for it to be revealed that she was a Sexual Terrorist—wouldn't do well at all....

Broad, broad features nestled in a much too narrow face—broad brow and brows; wide nose and full thick, luscious lips, above a slightly squared-off chin, high, high cheek-bones, all set in a rich, deep mahogany, framed by a cascade of coppered locks....Owled, and sometimes lost in those thick frames....

'Camel-toe'...how fitting for this afrocentric wall-flower wannabe....Sometimes she was betrayed—betrayed herself—by the tightness of the peplum or the pagne beneath the grande boubou....sometimes she was totally undone by the 'training' she had received under the guidance of West African women who taught her that traditional garb was best exoticized by the 'talon'—and the higher the stiletto, the better—that an ass could not only move from side to side, but could be trained to rise up and down with each magnificent stride....that the brighter the bra, the better, underneath the gauze of her tops....she had been prepared for him....the glasses, the books, the intellectual aire—just a disguise—a disguise for her freakishness....or the supercharger of it all....

And just who was he? Non-descript at best... 'nerdish,' possibly....perfect match if you weren't paying attention...then altogether too perfect if you were....

Yes...he read much too much, some said, hence those coke bottles that passed for glasses...perched on another broad brow that narrowed at the bridge of the nose and then flared at the nostrils...deep-set eyes, higher cheekbones...a mouth full of pleasure above a hard chin—all set in a sea of jet.... He was a polished piece of ebony...always 'plugged in' or 'jacked' to something—classical, jazz, new wave, whatever, you name it....he simply was never all there...or so it appeared....

But then that means you need to look below the surface...or at least below the neck.... Start with the neck—a good place—if you paid close attention, the first thought would be 'power'...that should take you to the shoulders, and from there to the chest....Up at five every morning—stretching, flexing, crunches, push-ups—then the run....not the track, if you please—this was hardcore up-the-hills, through the streams, over brambles, jumping rocks, come-back-sweaty-to-me-babi running...which he always did....and if there was time...she licked the sweat off before noodle-boy showered....

Then, we haven't gotten below the waist—that six-pack hidden by tattered sweat shirts and books—then if you ever happened upon him with his hands not in his pockets, you would come across what even baggy jeans couldn't hide....Sweeti had a lethal weapon—long-barreled and high caliber—and he was, by all accounts, an excellent marksman....in another life, he might be Pleasure's Assassin—in her hire...at her beck-and-call....and all at 5'8"....

They were a pair....freakish within reason; sophisticatedly kinky....and capable of morphing into any number of roles....it was role playing they loved best....

Of course, playing the part also implies dressing it...and this is really where this story begins.... Our two principals, you see, were chameleons—'changelings'—in more ways than one...in more ways than each of them had figured up to that point.... Each of them could morph from drab caterpillar/moth to dazzling, monarchical butterfly....given the occasion, they were capable of stunning, even brilliant, performances in which costuming always fit characterization....

Drab grunge and bookish anonymity could be shed—in eye blinks...peripheral glances...sleights of hand...changes in tone—for striking, sometimes exotic, always arresting, yet delicately balanced appearances that always stimulated every sense...every imagination—the mind was their playground; the sensory and sensual, both the toys and tools of their 'trade'...guided by one rule—though not the only one: 'look the part to play the part....'

2

It's not clear how it all started....He was on the sofa...stretched out with something that looked thick, dull, and deadly...she was curled in her favorite chair, fire in the background, wearing out the NYT crossword....

'I've been thinking,' she began... 'more wondering....'

His head was still in his book....

'I mean...how do they do that....you know it's not real—well sorta...but then, you never can be sure...I mean, I never can be sure—but then, what do I know...?'

Now, he looks up... 'What...?'

'I was thinking about he-shes, 'girly-boys,' tgirls, shemales—whatever you call them—guys who dress up....'

'Transgenders,' he murmured... 'I think they'd prefer that...'

'Sorry....' she said sincerely... 'It's all kind of new to me....'

'New?...to you...?' he answered...surprised.... 'Nah...not you...' shaking his head....

'Look, Cutie...' she went on, 'there are a few things sexual that I know nothing about....'

'You?!'...this time faking it...then: 'It's not all sexual....

'I mean, a lot of it is...but the majority of it is lifestyle....it's about choosing a way to live and then acting on it....'

'Hmmmmmm...' she mused... 'but I want to know more....'

'Like what....?'

She laughed... 'You know me, Knucklehead! I want to know about the sex!...'

His turn to laugh....

'I mean, some of them seem so perfect.... I know... I know.... I'm mostly looking at pics that have been brushed and doctored and photoshopped...the movies are trying to get the most photogenic...but ain't nothing new there....not many ugly porn stars, ya know....'

They both laugh at this....

'All those perfect big tits...and THOSE cocks!!!...is any of that real???....

'Then,' she continued, 'I imagine that some have their act together so much so that if I walked into one on the street I'd never know....'

'True...' he concurred....

'Wait a minute!...Wait... a minute!.... how is it that you are so all-knowing here....? she shot at him....

He cocked a brow.... 'There are some things I know that you don't—not many—but some....' He ducks a pillow....

'So....have you ever....ummmmm....?'

'What kind of question is that to ask your man?'....50 thousand watt smile.... 'Of course I have!... I'm a man and I'm a sucker for beauty!...you know that—I AM here with you, right???....' the laugh is deep....

She smirks.... 'So...how was it...?'

'That, Darlin,' is another conversation for another time....'

Was it two weeks or a month later?....Who knows...does it matter....

She was in a carrel in some musty archive...her cell vibrated....always one to maximize opportunity, she kept it slung low...when she sat it nestled in her crotch....each time it went off, you can imagine her hesitation in answering....just another kind of buzz....

It went off....she hesitated...feeling her clit swell slightly....then she glanced at the number and flipped it open....

'Hi Babi...' she cooed....

'So, it was that good that it took five rings...?' he chuckled....

'Girl has needs,' she sighed....

'We're out tonight....You game?...'

'Sure....where to...?'

'O... I dunno....we'll play it by ear...but maybe you should dress to be seen....'

'Oooooo.....' her interest heightening.... 'and just what will you be wearing?'

'Hmmmmm... I'm thinking black....black slacks, white shirt, black velvet blazer....black suede loafers.... You...?

'Hmmmmm... Let me surprise you....'

'I like that....'

'I knew you would.... I know you will....' she chuckled.... 'See ya....'

She closed her laptop, bagged her books and made for the train....it was late morning...lots of time for a long bath, lots of preening....and even more outfitting....

'Dress to be seen'

3

Preparation involves the usual...it is all ritual...and you know the ritual....

For what this evening promises, a shower will not suffice—not even simply a bath will do....

Candles are laid out round the tub, even though it is not quite midday....water is hot, oiled and perfumed...suds float on the surface of the water like thick, abundant cumulus clouds...promises...signs of a sensual drenching....the music, soft...enticing...sometimes explicit: 'got to lick it/to stick it'....a muted background....

She slides into a darkened tub in a semi-darkened room and allows the water to make love to her...for the first time that day....water—oil-slicked—licking at her nipples and clit; lapping at the rosebud of her ass...making her shiver with delight...making her even hungrier in the thrall of her liquid lover....

She hesitates.... She resists touching herself...letting the water work its wonders....the greed of the bath—oil laying upon water—unlikely lovers, caressing themselves, simultaneously caressing her—urging her lust on—igniting it; enflaming her....goading her to release her own 'oil' into the steaming waters of her bath....

She extends a leg...arches her instep...curls the toe away from rather than towards herself...finds the 'magic' button with practiced precision—she has done this too many times—and with the hum of the whirlpool jets, she spreads her thighs as wide as possible within the confines of the tub and waits for her orgasms to overwhelm and inundate her like waves crashing on her clit....

Slowly...she emerges from the fog of ecstasy...the dampness of sex on her, more than water....drowsy with cum, she forces her mist-sealed lids apart and stares into the dusk of the room, candles flickering...twinkling like the stars in her own personal heaven....

Reluctantly, she pulled herself from the warm water of her tub....in the floor to ceiling mirror that walled the bath, she toweled herself...deliberately let the towel fall to the floor so that she could visually excite herself—she literally loved her body—as much, if not more so—than anyone else could...including him....

There, in the dimmed mirrors, candles flickering, she reached for oil, and then musk...she combined them in a palm...rubbed palms together gently to warm and blend the substances and then began to spread it over her body and massaged it into her skin....

Ritual....over and over again....oil and musk...smoothing, massaging...toweling, buffing, burnishing...til she glowed like a dark bronze vessel....ready to be filled....

One more palm full of oil and fragrance...for areas not totally neglected, but those that demanded more attention....musky, oiled hands slide up smoothly from the rib-cage to cup up-turned breasts...come to rest hotly on areoles...then she begins to twist and pull her nipples....so hard that her exertions make her wince...so hard that she can feel heat mounting elsewhere....

More oil...more musk....this time to cool the heat, or to stoke it....the palm cups the labia...the lips of the pussy full, swollen, tingling...molding their exterior...kneading them like soft, sweet dough...forcing them apart...a digit slides into the crease—then two....no penetration, just the soft friction of rubbing with musk and oil....

The other hand caresses each ass-cheek, fully, lovingly...then, without warning...she smacks each—not gentle, but hard—the 'whacks' echo off the glass...their force forces penetration...she winces again...then moans...then allows her 'drumming' to set the pace....

A three-quarter, rear profile in the mirror catches her ass glowing now....its bronze now has the heat of copper....

Then she knows it's time to finish the deed....fluidly she ceases her drumming...lets the hand glide across heated cheeks while three fingers piston a highly lubricated pussy....the hand on the cheeks finds the valley between the two—its muscle-memory innate—two fingers spoon, then scoop—her rosebud opens like sweet, yielding fruit....

This time the moan is louder, and continuous, as she works both hands in unison in the mirror—if he had been there, it would be complete—his hands/lips on her mouth/nipples—but even without him the ecstasy is indescribable...she comes...twice...three times—who knows?....her knees buckle and she slides to the towel at her feet and collapses in shallow breathing....

She lays there for a few moments...in a sex induced haze....then gathers herself...looks in the mirror, smiles....still a lot to do....so much of a night ahead....

4

She was 'collected'... 'renewed,' so-to-speak....still naked—sometimes she preferred being naked at home over anything else she could imagine—she slipped on a pair of mules and began trailing through the walk-in....

They had a fairly big condo—got lucky, they guessed—they got in when no one was interested in the area—now they were 'oldtimers' in the midst's of the new yuppie/buppie boom—or whatever it's called....

Anyway, their sense of aesthetic worked on this place like a charm...as did their utilitarian notion that they'd need lots of space for their particular 'predilections'...so there was the 'everyday' walk-in—you know, 'regular gear'—big in its own right...then another for outer wear and storage...then....

Then...the space of imagination: long, with three walls of racks and shelves...very well lit—big enough for a comfy chair for musing—and, of course, a mirrored short wall....

She made her way through the closet, hand trailing along garments, musing: 'dress to be seen....' Then, she thought about what he might wear... 'white shirt, black slacks, black velvet blazer, black suede loafers'.... 'dress to be seen....'

Then it came to her...she turned to a rack of corsets...saw it there, winking at her—literally, the 'foundation' of this outfit—a white, boned corset with black piping....

Turning around, she pulled out a hanger with a white Chinese jacket—completely white—frogs and all....she stopped at the end of the boot rack and lifted out a pair of soft, white leather boots that rose slightly above the knee...the heels were flat....

'One last thing,' she thought to herself as she crossed from the closet of 'imagination' to the space of 'everyday' things on her way back to the bedroom....

She pulled open a drawer in the main closet, and there they were waiting for her...she pulled them out took them to the ironing board to tap out the wrinkles, then shook them: a pair of white spandex capris....in her wardrobe...nothing went to waste....

The entrance to the bedroom...she pauses, reaches back inside the walk-in door to the large chest of small drawers—the mentionable 'unmentionables'—lots of them—pulls out the crotch-less, black butterfly thong-'c'est finis!'...at least for the moment....

The bedroom...a house of mirrors...the deeper you go the more intimately into their home, the more mirrors, and the more intimate they become....The bedroom is no exception....

She tosses her gear onto the bed...glances at the clock on bedstead....it occurs to her that she's wasted enough time....one last glance in mirrors...admiring her body—naked, except for her stilettos—she turns...this way and then that...blows herself a kiss, and reaches for the butterfly....

She pulls it up over her hips, adjusts it to frame the pretty lips of her naked pussy...they pout—moistly, or so it seems—the pinkness of her clit peeks out, ever so slightly....

Over this she pulls the white capris, and lets their tightness hug her....the white spandex cups her tight, black ass as the material settles between the cracks of her ass and pussy...the blackness of her ass glows like two translucent globes beneath the over-stretched white fabric...she steps back into her mules—for effect....

Tits like hers seem criminal to cover—then again, this 'covering' 'aids and abets' 'crime', it is no 'deterent'...a white corset with black piping along the boned inlays...cupping her breasts...pushing them up and over its dams...exposing half her areoles, the crescent of her nipple-shields, and the deep mahogany peaks of her nipples as she shifted ever so slightly....

She pulls the corset together in the front—the back laces have a memory all their own that molds to the contours of her wonderful back—a back so beautiful, that more than a few men have requested to cum on it—there, she struggles with the clasps for a bit, sucking in an already flat stomach as the corset cuts three or four more inches from her waist....then she grasps the laces, extends her arms as far apart as possible forcing the corset to clip even more of her torso....then she binds the laces round her waist twice and knots them above her belly-button....

The effect, given the protrusion of tits and ass bisected by corset, is truly 'waspish'....the only thing missing was the 'stinger,' but 'maybe'...she thought... 'he'll let me use his,' suppressing a giggle as she gazed at herself in the mirror....

5

When he walked through the front door, she was still in a mirror....this one in the living room—ceiling to floor....he stopped dead in his tracks...his hard-on wouldn't let him go any further....

'O...hi....' she said...a strained nonchalance...that tight white stretched across her ass...boned white clamping her waist, making her tits spill over their cups...all mounted still in those stilettos....

He just stopped and stared....

She turned back into the mirror...stared a moment longer...her gaze over her shoulder and back at him....then she turned back round...pirouetting on a heel...and this time with all the calculus she had: 'Hi Babi....' And he felt the damage begin as he began to leak down his thigh....

She knew then that she was ''dressed to be seen....'

'Uhn uhn, Babi....' she said as he palmed her ass then slid behind her in the mirror so that she could feel that big dick pressed against the crease of her ass.... 'Uhn uhn....don't you need to go get ready...?!'...the heat intensifying and radiating from her butt-hole....

He nibbles her ear lobe...nips the nape of her neck...lets his hands gather round her and come to rest atop those corseted mounds....

'Mmmmmmmm....' he sighs....grinds against her ass....then breaks it off as abruptly as he might slam a door.... 'Gotta get dressed...' he hums off into the distance....

'Chances'

6

The black-on-black Mini convertible rolled into the lot.... 'Chances' flashed over the long awning of rich blue fabric that stretched along an equally blue-carpeted walk....

'This is new, right?' she queried....

'Actually, I think it's been here for quite awhile...' he answered....

The doorman held the door and she stepped across the threshold, his black velvet at her elbow....her eyes began to adjust to the light.... 'Very nice,' she whispered...then she caught her breath as she surveyed the space...a long, long bar...a large yet quite intimate dining room....in a corner, dance space and a small stage—now occupied by a jazz trio...and then, an expansive staircase that swept upward—possibly to heaven....

What really arrested her—stopped her dead in her tracks—was not the décor, but the clientele....there were lots of people in what appear to be a huge space, but most of them were female, and all seemed overwhelmingly beautiful in some way....