Chapter 11: Neighbor Annie
As Friane pushed me out the door, she said, "Hurry. You were supposed to be over at Annie's an hour ago!" As I stumbled down the stairs, the door slammed closed behind me.
It was nearly dark. Good ... perhaps no one would see me standing outdoors dressed in a woman's corset. Or, perhaps if they did see someone, they wouldn't know that it was me. But then again, what other 6-foot tall, cheap whore looking, semi-naked person would be coming out of Cindy's house? All three of the women that lived here were petite girls, none over 5'6" or 110 pounds. No one could mistake this gigantism as one of them.
On the other hand it was bad. It was damn cold in October as the sun went down. Traces of snow were on the ground. I was dressed in nothing more than one layer of stretch latex, panties and nylons. If my nipples hadn't been hard from the clamps already on them, the cold certainly would have done the job.
I looked at the door. I was not getting back in. I looked at the neighbor's house. Most of the house was dark. There was a single porch light at the rear door. I hoped that Annie was still home waiting for me.
I slowly waddled down the stairs. I never got very good at walking in a spiked heels. I slipped slightly, almost going down. If Annie were mad that I was late returning her lingerie, she certainly would be pissed off if I came back with mud all over it. I moved slower.
Down the walkway. Across the parking area. Down the alley. Around the fence. Through the gate. Up the stairs. Annie's door. It seemed that it had taken forever. I was sure that at least one person had been looking out the window as I moved through the twilight. I couldn't tell if the face in the window had been male or female. What I was sure of was that someone had watched my entire journey from across the alley. I racked my memory. Who lived there? I seemed to recall some other college kids. Oh god...I hoped not.
I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked harder. I heard footsteps approach.
"Who is it?" Damn her. It was Annie asking. Who the fuck did she think it was? Couldn't she just look out the glass and see?
"Ah, its me," I said.
"Me who?" Annie replied.
"Me Slut," I said. I hoped that Annie knew and recalled that was the feminine name that Cindy had given my drag persona.
I waited. No reply. Oh god. I hoped that I didn't have to say my real name.
Still no reply. I started, "Its .." and the door opened.
"Sorry for the delay homey, but I had to straighten a few things up. You're awfully late you know," Annie said. "I expected you hours ago. You know it's not polite for a lady to be late."
I stepped in through the open door. My eyes had to adjust to the low light. Inside the house only a number of candles burned.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw a mirror reflection of myself looking back at me. Annie stood before me in a matching body corset. I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, it was her corset I was wearing. Matching blonde hair, heavy dark makeup, both the same height in our stiletto pumps (Annie's six-inch heels to my 4-inch heels). Other than the fact that my tits were about 40-DDs and Annie's were 36-DDDs, and that I was obviously half again as heavy, we could have been clones.
Annie was a pretty gregarious, 30-something woman. At 5'10" and about 130 pounds, Annie looked a lot like Anna Nicole Smith. Not that Annie was fat or anything. Rather she looked like Anna Nicole used to look, back in her Playboy days. No, Annie was just the big, strong Norwegian farm girl type.
I first met Annie the same day that I first came to Cindy's house. Cindy, Marsha and I had just stepped outside, after smoking a few big bowls and slamming some tequila. Annie lived next door and was in her back yard. She was carrying a huge basket of wet clothes to hang out to dry. As an athelet, weight lifter, and all-around jock, I was impressed by the way her biceps bulged under the heavy load. She walked tall and straight, with a light bouncy step, as if the heavy wet clothes weighted nothing at all.
We struck up a conversation with Annie as she hung up the clothes. I learned that Annie was the only girl in her family and that she had four brothers. She had been raised on a farm in northern Minnesota. I don't' recall why, perhaps it was because the three of us were stoned, buzzed and had just been doing some heavy petting, or maybe it was because Annie was hanging out some pretty risqué lingerie, but the conversation soon turned to...what else...sex.
Annie acknowledged that, as a farm girl, she had learned about sex early. She said that she had watched (and I guessed perhaps more than watched) horses, cattle, goats, and all kinds of animal fuck. Having four brothers, Annie indicated that she had developed a view on the "facts-of-life" tainted under a definite male perspective.
Annie was married. Her husband, George, was a burly, 220 pound, 6'2", tattooed, biker-type, hairy Danish guy. I had laughed when she told us that she called him her "Great Dane". Hearing my laughter, her face had turned strangely solemn...almost hard... and she asked me what was so funny? No expecting her reaction to my quizzical smirk, I was at a loss for an answer. Feeling a bit stoned, buzzed, and a bit paranoid that I may have somehow offended her, I mumbled an apology. Annie just stared at me, as if assessing and measuring me. Then, just like that she was smiling again. She said, "Well all men as just basically animals, like dogs...don't you agree?" Annie was looking at me, but seemed to address the question to Cindy. Cindy and Marsha looked at each other and smiled. Then all three of the women broke at laughing.
That first conversation had been almost a year ago, and months before Cindy and Marsha began their kinky games forcing me into the role of their drag slave/maid. In retrospect, perhaps that first joke had been more at my expense than I realized.
"Come this way dear?" Annie said. I followed her into the dimly lighted living room. "Sit down", she directed.
We sat on the couch. On the table in front of us were two glasses and a liter of wine. "Pour us a drink," Annie said.
As I poured the wine, it occurred to me that I didn't drink much wine. Beer, hard liquor...sure, but not wine. I handed the glass to her. As I reached for my glass, Annie interrupted. "Go turn on some music," she said.
I looked across the darkened room. My eyes saw the stereo over at the far wall. I got up, walking slowly and unsteadily on my 4-inch heels. I found the stereo, found the power button and turned on the machine. Pink Floyd, not bad.
I worked my way back across the room, trying not to stumble or fall. I reached the couch and sat down. Annie raised her glass and toasted, "To my dear, pretty Slut."
I blushed in the dark. Embarrassed. Annie was not quite old enough to be my mother...but she was definitely an older mature woman...and here I sat...dressed in drag...dressed in her old lingerie...sitting under her piercing stare. Embarrassed. I felt like some little boy that had been caught in his mother's underwear.
Annie raised her wine glass. I raised mine. We lightly touched glasses. The soft ring of crystal cut the sultry tones of the music.
Annie drank her dark red wine. I drank mine. The taste was dry, tart, and slightly bitter. Annie reached over and caressed my face.
We sat and drank in the dimly lit room. It was soft, relaxing. Her touch was soft, relaxing.
The glasses were empty. We placed them on the table. "Come closer," Annie whispered. I slide up against her.
