Film has girl-next-door-fresh good looks, a pretty passable face, and silky long hair. All in all, she is one tappable little hottie, and her video is very enjoyable to watch. I was hooked from the beginning, when she ran her hands down inside of her very short shorts. Film gets in some titty play, then looses the shorts so that we can get a good view of her tugging on her rod. She shows us that she can do two things at one, and makes a fine showing of doing a double joystick jerk. She must've liked it, because she shoots a big glob of cum, and then shares the love by smearing it on her boobs. Nicely done, Film!
I would have loved to be waiting at the gate at O'Hare when Dianna
de-planed from L.A. that Sunday night. I had to settle for the Baggage
Claim Area. Those people working for the Transportation Security
Administration have no sense of humor. I guess at eight dollars
an hour, they can't afford one. Then again, the other passengers were
treated to quite a show, right there in front of the carousel; the
knock-out brunette and blonde hugging and kissing like something right
out of a Vivid video.
It was going to be our place that night, not her studio in Lakeview; I wouldn't take "no" for an answer. She hesitated only a moment, then acquiesced willingly. My lover seemed genuinely relieved at the prospect. She was cuddled up next to me, her arm through mine, the entire trip down the Kennedy Expressway into town. We didn't utter a word, allowing the nearness of our bodies to speak volumes. I was having a hard time reconciling her reaction to me with the growing body of evidence suggesting she was setting me up for Jeff Spencer.
Dianna was tense, agitated. Whatever the cause, she did not want to talk about it. We were just exiting at Ohio Street when the cell phone rang. It wasn't my cell; either of them. The ring tone was some downloaded Hip-Hop clip. I glanced down at Dianna's purse. She stared out the windshield.
"Ignore it," she stated matter-of-factly.
"But," I began, "it might be..."
She spun her head to glare at me.
"Ignore it!" she barked sharply. "I am. You have my undivided attention tonight. I will not share you with anyone – especially not Angelina Torres."
Well, not really. Dianna already knew Angie was my Personal Assistant. She also knew I had had sex with the lovely Latina that first night at Rob's condo because I had told her everything about that afternoon and evening. Since then - and the dust-up over my 'date' with Daniel - she hadn't pressed me about subsequent liaisons, just as I hadn't probed her about her business. It had been an unspoken agreement between Dianna and myself to spend our time together focused on each other, not externals. Given my conflicted feelings for the two women, I was thankful for that. Perhaps that dynamic had changed in Dianna's mind.
Once inside our door, the gorgeous shemale attacked me as though she hadn't had sex in a year. We didn't so much have sex as engage in a prolonged, frantic fuck, replete with bruised ribs, love bites, pinched, sore nipples, and stretched, aching holes. Afterward, we lay together, spooned, with me in her arms. We were both shivering; physically and emotionally spent. Dianna murmured into my ear.
"Would you tell me about you and Angie if I asked?"
I continued to stare straight ahead.
"Would you tell me about you and Jeff Spencer?" I responded, taking a shot in the dark.
Behind me, I felt her body momentarily tense.
"I deserved that," she replied. "Before I say anything else, I have to know; do you love me?
"Yes," I avowed, "without reservation."
"Do you believe in me?" she continued.
I was glad she phrased it that way. There is a fine line between 'believe in' and 'trust' – if only in my own mind. At that point, my answers to the two would probably have been different. Perhaps she sensed that before she worded her inquiry.
"Yes," I repeated.
"Then believe in this," she intoned with feeling. "In the three months we have been together, you have become my life, my reason for living. I have never told that to another human – ever. I never thought I ever would. My lifestyle doesn't lend itself to deep emotional attachments. I got lucky with you – very lucky.
"Do you remember what I told you in the beginning, at the restaurant? 'A week, a month, a lifetime; it makes no difference. When it's right, it's right; you just know it.' We are right. We belong together. I didn't know it that first time, when we met at the club. I have known since that fabulous Valentine's Day weekend, though. Every day, I thank God for sending you to me."
"I can't get enough of you," I affirmed softly. "In the beginning, it was wonderful; just you and me, forget about anything and everyone else. Then, things started getting... complicated. You were with me a lot after my surgery and I loved that. Now that I'm becoming more... well, more like you... and I wanted me to be, I feel like we are drifting apart. I hardly ever see you as it is. Then, you left for L.A...."
My lover kissed me softly on the nape of my neck.
"You haven't seen me because I have been trying to stay away from you," she explained. "It's not because I don't love you; it's because I do."
"That makes no sense, Dianna," I complained petulantly. "It's about you and Jeff Spencer, isn't it? Look, I know he's a lot bigger than me – in that way; probably a better lay, too...."
She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me over to face her.
"What did I just tell you?" she scolded. "You are everything I could have ever hoped for in a lover and life partner. If I had my way, you wouldn't be able to get rid of me. Things have gotten complicated and yes, it involves you and that freak. I don't even want to know how you know how big he is. I have a feeling the answer would make me sick.
"Let's clear the air about Mister Jeffrey fucking Spencer, shall we? Ignore that wonder rod of his for a moment. Have you noticed how big the rest of him is, how well developed? He has been on steroids since he started college; he admitted it to me. That is how he got to be such an All-American stud on the football field. Off the field, it was just the opposite. Oh yeah, he had a nice-sized dick and probably a pretty good set of balls – at one time. The steroids have been fucking with that. He needed the Little Blue Pill just to get it up.
"That all changed a few months before I met you. His white bread girlfriend – your ex-wife – convinced him to get a penile implant! Now, whenever he wants to have sex, all he has to do is pump himself up. I'm sure it feels just fine in your ex's pussy, but he goddamn tears me apart every time he fucks me."
"Then why do it?" I wailed. "Why not just kiss his ass good-bye, leave that place, that life if you have to, and come home to me?"
My lover just stared at the sheets for a moment, collecting her thoughts.
"That's the complicated part, Baby Doll," she stated solemnly. "I can't... I don't want to go into all of it right now. I know that isn't fair, but I'm trying to protect you. Please don't press me on it. I can tell you this much. The steroids have fucked with his head, too. You haven't seen him when he loses his temper; you don't want to."
"Dammit, Dianna!" I exclaimed. "Stay away from him. If I even suspect that bastard is beating you, I swear I will...."
"STOP IT!" she shrieked. "That is exactly why I didn't want to tell you anything. There is just enough 'man' left in you to do something really brave, and noble, and stupid. He would pound you into the woodwork like a ten-penny nail, then go out for pizza and beer with the boys. I know what I'm doing, Baby. I'm a big girl now; I can take care of myself."
"You don't have to," I avowed. "We can take care of you. I'm in this too, remember? I would give it all up – the job, condo, clothes, car, everything - to keep you safe. I have more than we will ever need to live on. We can go anywhere; just walk away from all of it – together."
Dianna kissed me tenderly on the lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"You would do it, too, wouldn't you?" she sobbed. "You really do know how to push all the right buttons. Just remember you said that."
Dianna and I showered and dressed together Monday morning. She insisted on taking a cab back to her place; she didn't want me anywhere near it. I reluctantly kissed her good-bye, then put her in the cab. After that, I went to work. I was an emotional wreck all week. Angie and I had done our final rehearsals with Paul. He told us Dianna had met with him separately. I was excited about – and dreaded – the upcoming weekend. I stayed away from trades completely; I didn't trust my instincts at all at that moment. I had called Dianna several times – and left messages on her voicemail. She hadn't called back. I spent most of Friday standing before my window, arms folded under my chest, staring down at La Salle Street.
I didn't even hear Angie come up behind me around four o'clock. She slipped her arms around me from behind and hugged me to her. I was grateful for the human contact and backed myself closer to her.
"You are wasting your time here, Mija," she purred soothingly. "You are a thousand miles away right now. Rob, Jim and Shirley are already gone. Most of the staff is chomping at the bit, ready to bolt for the holiday weekend. What do you say we blow this pop stand early, too? We'll go over to North Pier, have greasy ribs and Hurricanes at Dick's Last Resort, lick each other's fingers clean, throw napkins up into the ceiling fan and insult the other guests like the wait staff does. We can watch the boats dock, pick the one we like most, accost the owner, and convince him how much cooler he will look cruising the lake this summer with us laying on his deck, sunning ourselves in our skimpiest thong bikinis. Then we can go back across the street to your place and fuck our brains out. Does that sound like a plan?"
Damn it, it did; all of it. God knew, I needed something to break the tension I had been feeling the last five days. Getting drunk and disorderly on Hurricanes at Dick's would certainly fill the bill. We could even add to our growing collection of tulip glasses in the kitchen cupboard – if we didn't drop them, staggering across the street to my building. The thought of having sex with her wasn't exactly a turn-off, either. Damn me for thinking that! I had been in bed with Dianna five nights before, telling her I loved her. Now, I wanted to take Angie home and rock her world – and let her rock mine. Who would I be betraying? Dianna? Angie? Or both?
I turned to take her in my arms.
"Angie," I began, "it sounds wonderful; every rum-soaked, rowdy, in-your-face minute of it. I'm just not sure cheap, meaningless sex with you is such a good idea right now. Haven't you ever thought about finding someone who...."
In all the time Angie and I had worked together, I had never seen her burst into tears like that. She broke free from my embrace and ran from my office, sobbing. I dashed after her, as fast as my heels would carry me. She had already grabbed her purse and was locking her desk. I placed my hand on her arm. She jerked hers away, not even looking at me. This time I grasped both biceps firmly and turned her to look at me. In our heels, we were almost exactly the same height.
"What?" I questioned firmly.
She struggled to free herself, avoiding my gaze.
"Let go of me!" she shrieked. "Go find some other bimbo to toy with."
"You are not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about," I intoned evenly.
"I can't believe," she wept, "that is all I mean to you after everything we've been through and done together. 'Cheap, meaningless sex?' So, I was just the little office slut all this time. I am such an idiot. Well, you are right about one thing; I feel really cheap."
I uttered the only intelligent thing that came to mind at that moment.
"If you have no objections," she hissed, "I'll just move back to STG Monday morning. I'll send Debbie up here to replace me. You'll like her; she bends over in a light breeze."
"TIME OUT!" I roared – well, with as much authority as my voice had anymore.
I yanked down, hard, on her arms. She dropped into her chair like a sack of potatoes. I perched on the front edge of her desk, glaring down at her. She glared right back, defiantly.
"What I was trying to say was," I pronounced carefully, marshalling my thoughts as I went, "haven't you ever wanted to find someone who really meant something to you? You made it clear to me, right from the beginning; you could have any man you want. I'm sorry if this sounds shallow of me, but I'm tired of being just another of your casual conquests. I know it's only been three months since I separated from Susan, but I want – need – something more than that now."
Angie stared at me, mouth agape, then shook her head as though trying to clear it.
"Let me get this straight," she growled with equal slow precision. "You thought you were just another casual fuck to me?"
I nodded. The slap came out of nowhere, stunning me.
"How could you?" she wailed. "As good as you look, as sexy a slut as you have become, you can be such a man sometimes!"
"What was I supposed to think?" I screamed.
"When I told you I could have any man I wanted," she screamed back. "You were supposed to know I meant I wanted you. I have wanted you since the day I first laid eyes on you – long before I knew there was a 'Lisa'. Once I found out she existed, I knew I couldn't live without you."
"But you never told me that!" I protested emphatically.
"I shouldn't have to!" she railed. "Girls are supposed to understand these things."
I beat the air ineffectually with my fists.
"Words count, Angelina," I responded, more measured. "I am not a mind-reader, as much as I try to be. Susan didn't say the words and look what happened to us. Then again, she probably didn't feel them in the first place."
Angie came off her chair, wiping away her tears. She took my hand and helped me to my feet, then wrapped her arms around me tightly and put her face right in front of mine.
"I feel them," she sniffed, "and I'll say them. I love you. I want you. I need you, as much as the air I breathe. You are my life. What do you have to say to that?"
I was honest to a fault.
"Words fail me."
She tilted her head slightly to one side and leaned closer.
"Good answer," she softly sighed, parting her lips. "Fuck Dick's. Let's cut to the chase."
Angie and I spent all Saturday morning and early afternoon in a Hispanic salon on the Northwest side. My work took a lot longer than hers. My already-bleached hair was long enough now; she mandated it was time for extensions. By the time the stylist was finished, my hair was just as long and curly as my wig had been. Although our colors contrasted like night and day, our styles complimented, as did our makeup and nails.
"I could have done you myself," my lover assured me confidently, "but I had to get ready, too. Besides, it's a lot more fun to watch you get done up for me this way. My panties are drenched."
We met Paul and Kitty at their booth in the mezzanine-level vendors' area at the Hilton on South Michigan Avenue. As we came up the escalator, Angie and I both gaped at the far-flung assemblage of fetish apparel and gear; booth upon booth, row upon row, extending throughout the mezzanine and into the ballroom where the pageant would be held. He escorted us towards the backstage area while Kitty took charge of the booth.
As we traversed the vendor area, there was a seemingly-endless array of leather and rubber clothing, shoes and boots, whips, paddles, chains, restraints, dildoes, butt plugs, vibrators, bondage furniture, even medieval-style iron cages, up to and including an honest-to-goodness 'iron maiden' – minus the spikes. Paul's was not the only booth featuring corsets, but as far as I was concerned, it might as well have been. All of it was brand-new and for sale. The vendors were mostly fresh-faced, intelligent, superbly knowledgeable about their craft, wares and the market they served – and as matter-of-fact and enthusiastic about it all as though they were vending hot dogs and soda from a curbside cart. Angie and I stared at each other and shook our heads sadly - wondering what we had been missing in our lives all this time.
"And this is all for the boys?" I questioned Paul, fingering an exquisitely-tooled pair of black patent thigh boots with wicked six-inch stiletto heels.
"Hardly," he chuckled. "Look around you. You are not the only women here; just the sexiest."
"Don't you dare let Kitty hear you say that," I teased. "She'll have you trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey all night!"
"Promises, promises," he sighed.
Dianna was already backstage, applying her makeup. I had dreaded this moment for months; the two women I adored, coming face-to-face. How was I going to get past this moment? How would I be able to look either in the eye again?
"Hi Dianna!" Angie beckoned, hugging the beautiful brunette and bussing her lightly on the cheek.
"Hi Angie!" Dianna returned, a warm smile on her lips. "How's our girlfriend? Let me take a look."
Posing for her was not a problem; I was rooted to the floor in shock. The sensual shemale examined my makeup and nails, then my hair.
"Nice work," she commented appreciatively to the Latina. "That 'do is fabulous. You, or your daddy?"
Angie shook her head.
"Lupe did it. Papá was busy setting up his booth. He'll stop by after the vendors' area closes."
I must have looked really stupid standing there, eyeing the two apparently old friends back and forth. Angie slipped her arm through mine and patted the back of my hand with her other hand.
"It's okay, Sweetie," she chirped. "I've known Dianna forever. I grew up in the scene – kinda like an 'army brat'. That's how I got my taste for gorgeous T-girls. Isn't that right, Dianna?"
It was Dianna's turn to kiss Angie on the cheek.
"Until a few months ago," she purred, "I would have said I've never had anyone as good."
"I know exactly what you mean, Girlfriend!"
Scene... hair... daddy....
"Angelo!" I groaned, holding my face in my hands and shaking my head.
Both gorgeous girls broke out in laughter.
"There's hope for you yet, Mija," Angie giggled. "Maybe you're not such a 'man' after all – although a girl would have grasped the obvious a lot sooner."
She turned to Dianna.
"Is... everything ready for tonight?"
Dianna winked and smiled.
"I can't wait," Angie gushed.
Can I sit down now? I'm feeling faint....
There were three large trunks under our portion of the makeup table. Each bore the name of one of Paul's three models. Dianna's was already open at her feet. Angie and I each retrieved our own, then began donning our first costume change. The show was to begin at five and extend ninety or so minutes, featuring the three of us, plus models from other vendors. There were so many vendors and models, each of us would have four passes down the runway in four different outfits. Dianna was doing a special solo finale to close the show. The final competition to crown the next Mr. Gay Leather would commence at seven.
I peeked out through the curtain at the edge of the stage. Lance and Susan were seated at the end of the catwalk. They were the special guest M.C.s who would announce the models, the outfits they wore, and the vendors they represented. Their presence had guaranteed press coverage, plus a camera crew from the local independent television station that televised the team's games. Gee, no pressure there. If this was, indeed, the time they had selected to destroy me, they would do so in print and on the ten o'clock news - for everyone in metropolitan Chicagoland to see.