Role Over: a Bdsm Odyssey

PROLOGUE (present day)

As I walked down the grassy bank and approached the lake I barely noticed the gay collage of joggers, bicyclists, strollers and children. I was in a pensive mood, and this familiar place opened doors to my past that I'd kept closed for a long time. It was right here where my former life had come to an end and where my new one had begun. I had no desire to go back. But the past lies forever in the past, I reminded myself, like an old book, familiar but dead.

The lake didn't look much different now, except for the large population of Canadian geese that had moved in, crapping on everything in sight. I found an unsoiled spot and sat down. A cocker spaniel ran by, chasing a pissed-off duck, while ignoring some fat geese standing mere feet away. The spring sun felt good on my face. I laid back on the grass and closed my eyes. It had been cold that night, I recalled, a crisp winter evening. I heard a dog barking ... then splashing noises ...

1 - THE LAKE

The raucous disturbance shattering the chill night air over Seattle's Greenlake came as an almost welcome interruption to my somber reflections. Barking, then splashes, followed by the panicked quacking of ducks echoed along the dark shoreline. Another dog wants duck for dinner. The barking changed to a high-pitched series of wailing yips, then a scream -- definitely human, and female -- echoed up the shoreline.

I jumped up from the small dock and ran toward the commotion. The woman was still screaming when I got there, but not in any danger. She waved a pudgy finger at this bedraggled mess of a dog-poodle, or something resembling that. It was out in the lake, clinging to the end of a half submerged log. The woman was frantic. The mutt had chased the duck out along the log, but had no idea on how to get back. Animals do that when they see prey, their little brains shut down, blood lust takes over, and off they go.

I tried to imagine what would happen if it actually caught a duck. It wouldn't be pretty. God knows, dogs will eat anything. I had a friend who used to throw the sort of parties where people would stagger outside and throw up. His dog used to lurk outside door, waiting for that nice warm snack. Mmmm. Let's just say I'm not a "dog person." Taking pity on the duck assassin's owner, I said something glib like "Don't worry ma'am," and began slogging out to where I could reach the log. No way was I going to take my shoes off, with nothing but broken glass and decaying goose-shit to walk on.

The muck nearly sucked my shoes off anyway, and it took a few minutes of careful effort before I reached the log. I tested it to make sure that it wasn't floating, and then stepped gingerly aboard. After some careful mincing along the slimy wood I finally got close to where the dog sat cowering. I offered my hand and he snarled at it.

"Hey little fella," I heard myself say in a ridiculous soft voice, "Come on. . .don't be scared. . .come on. . ."

This seemed to calm it down, so I reached again, offering him my left hand. He tried to bite it, which I expected. Taking a handful of his neck scruff in my right hand, I hoisted him off the log. . . .and completely lost my footing in the process. Ass over teakettle is the expression I believe.

Splash

I slogged up out of the fetid goo like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, dog held out at arm's length by its worthless neck, yelping and whining. I dropped it on the shore and sat down to empty the mud from my shoes. The dog's owner wrapped the mutt in her coat and walked over to where I sat. Probably going to thank me, maybe offer a reward, I thought.

"You could have hurt her!" she shouted, "No one treats my poor Brichette that way." Brick-shit? I thought. Now there's a funny name.

"I should report you!" she said over her shoulder as her and Brickshit hit the bricks. I pulled my shoes back on and lay back in the grass for a moment, admiring the winter constellations overhead while the water drained out of my pantlegs. A young woman's face filled my field of vision.

"Am I dying?" I asked, "Are you an angel?"

"No, silly," she replied, "But I might be looking at one."

"Huh?" Damn' she's cute.

She kneeled down next to me. "I saw what you did for that lady and her dog. She should have thanked you." Then she pulled a handkerchief from her coat and dabbed at the muddy water on my face. Yeah, she's definitely an angel.

"I didn't really have a reason to go on living tonight anyway," I quipped, "so I was on my way to a drowning -- very private affair -- when the dog interfered. But thanks for the vote of confidence." I started to get up, "Now if you'll excuse me I have a date with oblivion."

"I hope you were just kidding about that," she said, examining my face with a concerned look, "Are things really ever that bad?"

I stood there shaking a little from the cold. "No I guess not. I'm sorry. It's just been a lousier than usual evening." I held out my arms like a crucifixion. Water drooled out of the sleeves. "Now I've got to get this wet stinking carcass home before it freezes."

"How far away do you live?"

"Queen Anne Hill," I replied, nodding toward the south end of the lake, "I have a car. The upholstery will never smell the same after tonight." I squeezed the front of my sweater, letting it piss on my feet, then tossed her a goofy smile. "Maybe I'll throw it all in the trunk and drive home au naturel."

Her laugh had a pleasant musical quality.

"I'd love to see that! But you might freeze -- if you don't get arrested first." She studied me for a moment and seemed to reach a decision. "Tell you what. I live nearby. Come home with me and you can get cleaned up while I wash those clothes for you."

I started to protest, "Look, you don't even know me. Didn't your mother warn..."

"Yes she did." The way she said it made me regret the question. Then her tone softened again. "I think you're more of a threat to yourself than to anyone else. By the way my name is Misha." As she said this she stuck her hands down in front of me. I grasped them. They were warm, of course. She helped pull me to my feet with surprising strength.

"I'm Alex...Thanks."

"Well Alex, you're not the only one around here with a sense of civic duty. You smell so awful you're a public nuisance. By taking you home I'm just doing my community a favor." "Sure, bringing the trash in," I murmured to myself as she led me away. She turned and shot me a curious glance as we walked up the grassy bank toward the street." Her house was one of those craftsman bungalows built in the 20's throughout this area. It was on a side street, just half a block from the lake.

"Nice place," I said, "Great location."

"Yeah we lucked out and heard about it before the previous renters moved out." "So, you and your ah, husband?" I pried.

"Room-mate," she said, glancing down at my muddy shoes squishing noisily up her porch steps. "Maybe you'd better..." I was already removing them before she could finish.

"You can leave those out here," Misha said. "I'll get them later." She glanced pointedly at the grimy lake water still dripping from my pants.

"Perhaps I should also..." I offered, reaching for my belt buckle.

"I think so," Mish replied, obviously relieved. "There's no need to be bashful."

I unfastened my pants and peeled them off. My skivvies were also quite wet, and offered little in the way of cover. She turned and unlocked the door, then held it open for me. I padded barefoot into the house, feeling like a homeless stray, and acutely aware of Misha's appraising eyes on my backside.

2 - JUST LIKE HOME

The house was comfortable inside, modestly furnished in warm earth tones with tasteful splashes of color here and there. I could live in a place like this-more so than my current fleabag apartment.

Misha pointed to an open doorway, "Bathroom's down the hall. Go ahead and get your wet clothes off and toss them by the door. Clean towels are hanging next to the shower. . ." she paused, wrinkling her nose". . . which you definitely should use." She turned away, walked over to the brick fireplace, and began tending to the smoldering embers.

The bathroom had obviously been remodeled recently. All the fixtures, including a large glass shower stall, looked new. The dŽcor and cleanliness of the room said "girls only" which got me to wondering about this mysterious roommate. I started the water to let it warm up, then stripped out of my muddy -- and smelly -- clothes. I was still looking for a place to lay them without making a mess when Misha walked in the door.

"Oh! Sorry," she said, making no effort to avert her eyes. "I heard water running and thought you were already in the shower." She held her arm out for the clothes and waited.

I had turned my back to her when she burst in -- a clumsy maneuver that allowed her both frontal and butt views. Now I stood facing her again, blushing and using the bundle of clothes to cover myself. Abandoning modesty, I quickly shoved the sodden mess into her arms and stepped into the shower stall. As I pulled the glass panels closed I realized they weren't frosted.

Misha looked at me through the glass and smiled. "I left a robe hanging on the door," she said. "Go ahead and wear that while I wash these yucky clothes of yours." She walked out and closed the door behind her.

I stood under the water for a long time, letting its warmth chase the lake-chill from my body. The soap had a strong flowery scent but it seemed to work well, and if nothing else it might mask any lingering stench from the lake muck. Eventually, I managed to scrub the remaining mud out of every pore.

Reaching for a towel, I glanced at the robe Misha had left me. It was a woman's, dark blue silk with Japanese writing silk-screened onto it. I dried off and pulled the robe off the hook. It would be a short fit on my frame but it would cover the important parts. Barely. I slipped it on and immediately felt a strange tingle.

The robe's silky feel against my freshly scrubbed skin, combined with the slight smell of perfume, was undeniably erotic. My cock began to fill with blood, and within moments it had formed a conspicuous tent in the robe. I glanced around the bathroom, hoping Misha might have at least left my briefs. There was nothing.

I lifted the clothes-hamper lid and peered inside. Right on top of some towels was a pair of pale blue panties. They had to be either Misha's or her roommate's. I hesitated, tempted, but I just couldn't bring myself to try them on. I was just lowering the hamper lid when someone knocked.

"When you're ready, come out to the living room," Misha called through the door. "I have a nice fire going. You can warm up in front of that."

"Okay," I replied. "Sounds good."

My decision had just been made for me. There was no way I could lounge near the fire next to cute little Misha without getting another erection. And this flimsy little robe was not going to hide it. My renegade cock had just proved that.

Oh well, I thought, any containment is better than none. I opened the hamper and lifted out the delicate pair of panties. They appeared to be clean, but out of curiosity I smelled them. They had the same perfumed scent as my robe but there was also a faint musty odor on the crotch-panel. My mouth fell open and I nearly swooned as once again the blood rushed into my cock. Ironically, very thing that I had selected to hide my erection in had only caused it to grow larger. Whatever was a poor boy to do?

I parted the robe, bent over, and stepped gingerly into the leg-holes. With my cock wagging obscenely at half-mast, I shimmied the panties up my legs, trying not to tear anything. It was a chore to get everything tucked away and the panties stretched around my waist, but finally -- by tilting my cock and tucking it inside -- I managed to keep it hidden below the waistband. At last I felt somewhat more secure, if not normal. No, not normal at all.

In fact at that moment I felt intensely erotic. I held the robe aside and caught my reflection in the mirror. The panties hugged my buttocks in a smooth sensuous curve. I couldn't resist running my hand over it. The material was so sheer and delicate it was almost like nothing, yet it was indeed something. Unable to stop myself, I wagged my hips, admiring the look and feel. I felt inexplicably feminine!

Reluctantly, I pulled the robe closed and tied it shut, hiding my swollen secret. Once my clothing had been laundered I'd come back here to change, slip the panties back in the hamper, and no one would be the wiser. Feeling clean, refreshed, and strangely transformed, I opened the bathroom door and walked out..

A fire was crackling in the living room. I headed gratefully toward the warmth like the proverbial moth to a flame. Misha had her back to me as she placed more wood on the fire. Her dark hair was tied back, exposing a slender neck that disappeared into her long cotton "granny dress." Backlit by the flames, her lithe body was visible through the material, creating a vision more alluring than if she'd been wearing nothing at all.

Misha turned to face me with a smile as warm as the fire. She sat down on a thick rug in front of it, cradling a glass of wine. The sweet strains of a jazz clarinet piece softly filled the room. She gave me a mischievous look.

"How's this for a clichŽ?" she asked, "Are you ready for the seduction scene?" "I hate predictable endings," I replied, in a lame attempt at being coy. "If this were a movie I might walk out..." I waited for her jaw to drop. "...were the female lead not so attractive."

"Oh my. Flair for drama, Alex?" Misha reached up and handed me a glass of wine. I held swirled it, and watched the flames flicker through the dark, red liquid.

"It makes life interesting," I replied, taking a seat on the sofa across from her. With her eyes now even with my crotch, I had to angle myself so as not to give her a view under the short robe. "In fact," I went on, "That's what I was doing down by the lake. They were holding auditions for a play at the Bathhouse Theater."

"Oh yes! A charming little place, I've watched a few plays there. It's very intimate ... you feel so close to the action." She rose from in front of the fire and sat next to me on the sofa. "Getting a bit warm over there," she explained innocently.

"Yes, it's a wonderful venue. The stage sweeps out into a small gallery. It's what you might call a theatre in the 'semi-round'," I replied, surprised at her familiarity with the place.

"And you auditioned for a role there?" she asked.

"Unsuccessfully I'm afraid. Actually I'm not much of an actor, though I used to think so back in high school. Writing is my real avocation now."

"Are you any good at that?" she teased.

"I try, but writing and getting published are two different propositions. All my efforts so far have been stillborn. I'm about ready to call it quits."

She sighed sympathetically. "It must be hard not to take it personally when your work is rejected." She sensed my frustration, and deftly moved on. "So what made you decide to try stage-acting? Just a lark?"

"No. I've been studying screen writing, hoping to improve my lousy dialogue writing skills. I'm starting to see that actors are almost as much a part of the creative process as the writer. Good actors can transform a decent screenplay into a great story. So you have this interdependence thing."

"Oh, I agree!" Misha grasped my knee for emphasis. "It's like some sort of symbiosis when good actors get something they can sink their teeth into. The chemistry takes over. When that happens, the energy released is almost palpable."

I was smitten with Misha's grasp of a subject so dear to me. I was also smitten with the woman herself. And her hand on my knee was having the predictable effect. Down, boy.

"Exactly. I said, trying to stay on track. "I thought that by 'getting inside' a character - by playing a role -- I might get an actor's sense of what works. I was miserable at the audition though. Totally stunk up the place."

"So you left," she prompted.

"Yeah, before they threw me out." I caught Misha's doubtful look; I was laying it on too thick. "Actually they were starting to pitch for stagehands, so I slipped out the side door."

"And that's when you heard the dog barking in the lake?"

"No. I sat there on the shore for a long time, thinking dark thoughts."

Misha pondered this for a moment. Then she looked at me carefully and asked, "How dark, Alex?" Her eyes held mine. I tore myself away and gazed at the flames.

"Real dark," I finally replied. "Trust me, you don't want to know." Why did I say that? I didn't even know this woman. Now I can't stop talking to her.

Misha must have sensed my unease. She took my hand and held it in hers. Once again she held me with her gaze, and once again there was the angel's face - the one I'd seen by the lake. Just as it had blocked out bleak, dark sky then, now it was sheltering me from my own darkness. The warmth and genuineness of Misha's concern touched something deep within me. I had to open myself up to her.

"I guess I was about ready to head for the bottom of the lake," I explained, my voice breaking, "and stay there. Like the rest of the sunken trash." I was rapidly losing it. I shut up and stared into the fire.

Misha probed softly, her voice almost in a whisper now, "But you didn't head for the bottom, did you Alex?"

"Only because that damned dog started barking."

"And you had to play superhero." Misha rose to her knees and moved her face close to mine, like a child about to share a secret. "Have you ever tried role-playing for real, Alex?"

I laughed, a little too hard. Frankly I was relieved to change the subject. "'Role-play for real'? Sounds like an oxymoron if I've ever heard one!"

"You know, masquerading as someone you're not, only in life instead of theatre?"

"Like for example," I prompted, playing dumb.

"Like for example right now, pretending to be a moron!" We both laughed, and I felt the darkness slide back a little farther.

"Okay," Misha continued. "For example, I can see you are obviously a man." She playfully flipped up the edge of my robe, and then dropped it back into place. Uh, oh. "Have you ever played a woman's--" Suddenly her mind registered what she'd seen under the robe. Before I could move, she reached down and flipped the robe up again. This time she held it aside for a better look. "Whoa! Are those my panties?"

"Ahh ...I, uh ..." My mouth was flapping but the words weren't forming.

"Let me guess," Misha said, grining now. "Have you ever fantasized about dressing up in women's clothing before, Alex?" I was slow to recover. "Wow! Now who has a 'flair for drama'? Yes, I am indeed of the male persuasion," I huffed, "And heterosexual, and to answer your question, I have never done female impressions, onstage or off. I think I would find it very uncomfortable parading around in a dress, trying to act feminine." I held the robe tightly closed, denying the obvious.

"But that's my point exactly!" Misha jumped up and sat next to me on the couch. I was instantly aware of her thigh pressing against mine.

"It has to be the ultimate challenge doesn't it?" she asked. "And you could probably carry it off with your fair features and high cheekbones." She stroked her fingers through my longish blond hair, "This is awfully pretty too, just about long enough now for a bob." I was red as a beet now, and it wasn't from the wine. Misha ignored my discomfiture; she was either having too musch fun - or worse - she was going somewhere I wasn't ready to go. Or was I?

Misha pressed on. Her enthusiasm was almost contagious. "I think you could play a fine woman." She reached over and squeezed my breast, then gave my nipple a playful tweak. "We'd have to give you some help in a few places though." "Whoa!" I help my hands up. "You talk like I've already decided to play this role you're creating,"