Her Mother And I Share A Birthday

HE COMPLIMENTED MY APPEARANCE

My Mother liked to window shop. As it was just the two of us, I was her default escort and sounding board. We lived a little ways outside of Charleston SC, which had a couple of medium sized Malls, but the main attraction was downtown. It was full of shops and galleries and an open-air market (on Market St of course) with lots of small vendors. But it was mostly just window shopping; purchasing was a rare event as money was always tight.

I never understood the purpose of looking at things you could not have, but it was her hobby, as it were, and I watched and learned. Those were good times--especially the Shrimp Po Boy at Henry's which, at age 12, I could afford to treat her to thanks to my paper route-lawn mowing income.

And as that memory flows and merges into the present, here I am in Denver, on a Sunday afternoon, two weeks into my new job, strolling through a very nice Mall -- Neiman's is one of the anchors. Consistent with my Mother's rules, I was suitably dressed. Not that dressing "up" took much effort 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, considering whether to indulge in a drink. I got paid on Friday. I was living rent free in the condo Martin-LOGEX provided employees, such as myself and others, who were starting a six-month home office internship. The student loan payment was made and the charge card load was low, so my conscience was 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. 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 voice from behind said "Excuse me."

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

The fellow reminded me of Ray Walston—Boothby on Star Trek (TNG). He was well dressed with a blue blazer, grey wool trousers 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, and there were still 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. A good number 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 was describing. I had never thought much about it though. I never really noticed unless someone was spilling out of their pants or top to the extent 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 dressed accordingly. And then 10 years in the Air Force—fatigues and flight suits were for working outside an office. But when in the service dress uniform, you had to look sharp. Some 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, and it's been a full week of "firehose and sink-or-swim", so I decided to stroll around and window shop and recharge. You?"

"Shoes," he said holding up a J&M bag. "And going to have a drink before heading home. Join me?" he asked.

I paused. Then, committed with, "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, as he 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 as well.

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 warehouse rat, 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 then 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 take me shopping for a suit?"

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 of course the GI Bill stopped when I graduated. And my Mom already has several photos. But thank you."

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

"OK, for six monthly payments of a buck-three-eighty each, you can teach me to model? Buy me some wine and now comes the 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. OK, what's the deal?"

"Like I said, I'm looking for a model," he reiterated. "Too much to go into here; would you be free to come by my house tonight? My business partner will be there to close the books for the week. I'm the creative type, and she provides the CPA based business-reality filter. Say 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 necessarily spot slimy. I'm pretty naive in a lot of ways. Still, he had a relaxed manner and we weren't meeting out back of some strip club.

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

He obliged; I dialed; 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. "Oh, I meant to ask. What did you get your degree 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-17's for the Air Force, which required a great deal of care and attention to detail or plane and people fall over—go boom," I said.

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

"Martin LOGEX," I said.

"Good company, well thought of around here," he replied. "Drinks are on me; thank you for your service."

"That's very kind of you, thanks and you're most welcome. See you at nine," I said rising and 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 Brad Pitt I'm not. Tom Selleck I'm really not. OK, what the heck. Maybe it pays something, and I do have debts.

AN INTERESTING OFFER

At 8:59 I rang the doorbell. After leaving the Hilton I had gone home, calculated the travel time and then read company procedures and had dinner until time to go. I decided not to give any thought to the invitation or what it involved. There was only my obligation to be at that address at that time. Sit back and wait and see.

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

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

"Have a seat anywhere. Let me get Charlotte; she's in the basement," he said. He went and opened a door in the hall and yelled down that I was here. I took a seat 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, not too made up, a small diamond nasal piercing, a hint of cleavage in a long sleeve crop top with about three inches of toned midriff showing, stretch jeans over trim legs, flats, attractive but not hard, serious but relaxed----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 former military too," Victor noted. "Air Force."

Her eyebrows went up again, and she hesitated for a moment.

She nodded and leaned back, "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 customers."

"Ok," I said, waiting.

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

"And cycle," I said. "I'm about 2% body fat. Not 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 makes them direct.

Clearly 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 most 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 snorted out loud.

"Good one," he said, still laughing.

"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. But while I had work friends who were girls, it was never more than casual. Was sent overseas twice during the first four years in, then crewed a C-17 as a loadmaster the next six and what with the war and being single, I stayed in the air and max'ed out my flight time each month. Let the married guys stay home longer. Grad school? I barely had time to eat, much less ask someone out. And as I said, there was a reason.

Parallel to those thoughts as to why I've never been naked in front of a girl, I suddenly conclude she is actually the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in person -- 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, with a small dose of imp.

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 while in the womb, not enough testosterone I've been told," I replied. "No disrespect whatsoever to my Mother," I added.

"It's, uhhh------," her voice trailed off.

"The word you're looking for is "small", ma'am." I replied. "Although anatomically correct, it's about half an inch in its resting state; about two inches when alert. But right now, it's also worth $100."

She gestured at Victor, who was still coughing from the surprise. "Pay the man," she instructed.

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. Word got out of course, a couple of girls wanted to go out with me just to see it, but I wasn't going there. Another cousin graciously agreed to be my prom, homecoming, and so forth 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 and untainted -- frequent exercise, sensible diet, no exposure to STD's, drugs, or excessive polyunsaturated fats, although I do have a weakness for brownies. It is fully functional, untainted and woefully lacking in experience."

I enjoyed another long look at her, as she blinked, digesting the situation, probably wondering why the heck she asked that question. Five seconds or so, but it seemed like an hour.

Breaking the pause, I cleared my throat, "Ma'am, I learned in the Sandbox and at jump and survival schools how to tolerate stressful situations. But this one was not in the syllabus at any of them. So do you mind if I get dressed; it's a little chilly (which was fortunate so that my member did not respond to my being smitten with her). And could we get to what this is all about please?"

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, but not very well, "Yeah, go ahead."

Victor sighed and took over, "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 actually work out well, I think. 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 it seems 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 added, "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, there's no sign on the door so to speak. 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. And was even prettier than before. Damn. Actually - - double damn.

"See you then," I smiled.

HOW I SPENT THE SUMMER

I'm three months in, and life is good as the T-Shirts say. 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 since all I would get for my efforts is choking laughter.

I accept my limitations—always have. And I'm not desperate to get laid. There are alternatives of course. But drat, how do I say this? Say I meet someone, we go out a few times, there's a connection which leads to affection which leads to, well, not much. Maybe they understand, maybe not. And then the cycle starts again. Or worse, I meet someone; go out a couple of times; then—what's the word? ---right, get ghosted. So why expend the calories?

But another cold fact is I have been too busy since high school to be bothered about being single. Work; deployments; flying; night-weekend-correspondence undergrad courses; then the Masters. A late dinner at the Varsity was about all my schedule and bank account allowed for during the last year.

But now I have spare time. I joined a running club, found a cycling group, and toured the mountains. This is nothing at all like the Carolinas, and I soaked up as much as I could.

The modeling was not too hard. Relax, be 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 had worked in fashion which is how he got the modeling deal. This stuff is only available online, thus there are lots of photos needed. He also had excellent make-up skills and worked the counters for a couple of department stores. We planned the show on Wednesday after the modeling session, and then the Saturday prep took about an hour usually.

The actual show? Well, that was quite a bit 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 lot 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. The role as it turns out required a good amount of, well---physical flexibility, toleration of moderate discomfort, and expansion of moral boundaries. It's one thing to watch it on the internet; the doing is much more personal. I suppose one view could be I made up for lost time and opportunity in the sexual aspects of a "relationship". Not that what was broadcast was anywhere near a normal relationship.

Victor coached me at first; helping me clear the moral hurdles and reticence from inexperience and simply accept it as being a means to an end. And in the final analysis, it was just adult sex. Mom would have fainted dead away, of course, as would my Scoutmaster. Both flat out on the floor for a solid week at least. But I had lived such a vanilla life, and there was this dangerous thrill from being, well, let's just call it risqué to be polite. Maybe salacious is a better word. But no doubt folks, I got an up close and personal education, as well as a weekly dose of adrenaline.