Chapter 5
When I get home later that afternoon Sarah texts me with a short imperative – “LBD and you at Club Congress tonight. We’re dancing!” My initial reaction is to find some excuse to get me out of this, but after I look around my apartment, the apartment I’ve been spending way too much time in of late, I reconsider and decide to brave it, especially as the thought of being in an environment with men sounds utterly divine. I eat a small meal – one of the big differences for me since my change is that I no longer feel like over eating constantly, finding smaller, lighter, and more frequent meals to be far more satisfying.
I shower, and for the first time since my change I pick up my razor, (ignoring my face which will never need to be shaved again) and I shave my legs. Actually I end up doing a fairly decent job with only one bloody cut, but I’m really shocked by how much it hurts to remove the fine, long hairs from my calves. By the time 9pm rolls around I’ve managed to stop the bleeding and slip into the dress we bought together earlier this week. I tend to my hair, using some oil that Lance recommended to give it a shiny, sexy look. The last thing I do before I leave is to apply the lipstick I got at the spa. As I look into the mirror I’m once again stunned by the complete transformation. I look hot, or so says the pearl of my former manly self. My bust and bottom fill out the dress very nicely and I see that I’ve got a bit of an hourglass figure going on. I’m not wearing my sandal heels as dancing in them seems like a recipe for disaster, especially if I have a few drinks, so I put on the Dr. Martens with a pair of frilly black ankle socks and feel that the ensemble works pretty well.
As I go to walk out the door I grab my keys and my wallet and realize that I have nowhere to put them. Hmm. I live in a neighborhood just south of downtown and can easily walk to the club, so when I lock the door and leave my apartment I make sure nobody is looking and drop the keys into a planter beside the door and decide to just hold my wallet till I see Sarah at the club. The night air is a relatively cool 80 degrees and the walk is fairly flat. I get whistled at once while I’m walking and it’s a bit confusing to me – should I be flattered or worried? I decide to go with flattered, but realize that I should keep my wits about when I’m walking alone at night.
Truth be told, walking around in a dress that only drops down a few inches below my crotch, and with only the thin material of my panties between my sex and the world is a daunting experience. It’s shocking to me that women seem to feel so comfortable wearing so little, or maybe they don’t! Given my history of ‘durable’ boxer shorts and blue jeans, being this close to naked in the world is unsettling at best.
When I arrive at the club Sarah is waiting in the lobby wearing her own LBD – her figure is slightly more curvy than mine and she’s practiced enough in heels to have worn a very sexy, very tall pair tonight. She’s standing with a guy who I sorta recognize but can’t quite remember his name. She smiles a Cheshire-cat grin and scoots up to me, throwing her arms around me.
“Holy crap, sweetie, you look amazing!”
“I owe it all to you! And look, with you in those hooker heels we’re almost the same height!” I wink at her, realizing just how right she was about the purpose of heels being to emphasize a woman’s ‘TnA’ – Sarah’s ‘assets’ are quite noticeable this evening.
The guy inserts himself into our greeting, and I can see the way his eyes are looking me over. He’s sorta average looking, thin, sports a few days of patchy stubble, and wears a fairly typical-for-Tucson, short-sleeved, button down shirt with light blue stripes. He also smells like he’s wearing some sort of body-spray for lonely-teen-aged-boys that is really off-putting.
“Aussie, this is my friend Mark. He was the one who suggested dancing tonight.” Sarah says.
Mark extends out a lanky hand and we shake, and it’s sorta funny because I grip his hand pretty hard, like I was taught to do by my dad when I meet other men. I see his eyes go wide and he says, “Wow, I didn’t expect such a grip. Nice to meet you Aussie.” and he flashes a well-practiced, but void-of-genuineness smile.
“Oh, you know I’m a photographer, and it’s sorta a boys-club, so I’ve just gotten into the habit of having a firm handshake. Did I do any damage?” I ask cheekily. Jesus… I hope Sarah isn’t into him – he’s a bit of a milquetoast.
“Ha, no, but I reserve the right to sue you if I turn up lame tomorrow.” I think to myself that he’s turned up pretty lame tonight, surprising myself with the snark.
We venture into the club where the dance music is already pounding and the small dance area has attracted a few bouncing bodies. Mark asks us what we want and I’m about to go with my usual “Guinness” but realize that its about the least womanly beverage I can think of and I really don’t want to drink a bread-loaf worth of carbs. So I ask for a ‘cosmo’ without ever having tried one, recalling that both of the women I’d dated ordered them as their ‘go-to’ drink. I give Sarah my wallet and ask her to hold it for me and she tells me that I need to get a purse or a clutch at Buffalo Exchange tomorrow.
“We should go shopping again!” I sort of yell at her, “I’ve got news and cash!” giving her a wink.
We start to dance and drink and I’m starting to really enjoy the evening. I seem to get getting a lot of attention from men – the feeling is both exciting and unsettling given my history as being a ‘nice guy’, with a ‘great personality’. I’m not dancing with anyone in particular – spending most of my time in a tight circle with Sarah and Mark. Several guys drift into my orbit trying to show off moves and muscles. I find that I’m actually sort of attracted to the guys who know how to dance, and if they are well muscled I even give them a smile. One guy in particular moves with fluid grace and clearly knows how to bust a move. He’s quite tall, at least 6′ and is built like a swimmer, his wide shoulders and strong chest and arms are fine looking and his body tapers down nicely to narrower hips. He appears to have some Latino blood and is nicely dressed in black pants and a dark green shirt that shimmers slightly under the strobing lights. He’s also got really really nice hair, it’s longish, curly and a bit wild, bouncing in front of his dark eyes. To top it all off he’s wearing a Van Dyke beard that strikes a perfect-to-me blend of rugged and sophisticated.
He orbits me on the dance floor for several songs, slowly circling towards Sarah, Mark, and me. I notice several other women eyeing him, but he doesn’t show any interest in them. What really catches my attention is that he doesn’t just swoop in – several guys have already tried that and been all but pushed away by Sarah. More importantly he either realizes that I’m not at all interested in Mark or doesn’t care. (I find the latter possibility far more exciting – the thought of being desired enough to be pursued even though I might be with another guy is utterly novel). After he’s circled in close enough to occasionally brush up against me I figure it’s time to reward him, giving him my best smile while running my fingers through my thick curls. Our eyes meet, bringing pulses of excitement to my chest.
So far, everything I’ve done on the dance floor to attract or flirt with guys is stuff I would have done back when I was a guy; back in the day I’d have to figure out whether I should move in closer and brush up against her, or whisper something interesting into her ear after a song, or perhaps buy her a drink. I realize however that I’m no longer expected to advance this flirtatious interaction; I’m pretty sure that all I do now is try to keep looking attractive.
When the song ends I quickly grab Sarah and exclaim that a trip to the ladies is necessary, almost yanking her off her heels.
In the cramped restroom Sarah gripes, “What’s up Aussie? I was enjoying myself out there.”
“I know Sarah, I’m sorry. I was too… a lot! Did you see the guy circling us, the one with the Van Dyke?”
Sarah is primping her makeup in the mirror and breaks into a wide smile. “How could I not notice him? He’s gorgeous, and he’s looking at you like a wolf eyeing a fawn!”
The analogy gives me pause, I realize that I’m about as naive as a fawn when it comes to men, and recall my conversation with Sadie. I never was much of a lady’s man either, having averaged one sexual partner every five years since age 16 is a testament to my complete failure as a ‘pussy magnet’, player, Casanova, and/or stud.
“What should I do?” I ask… suddenly feeling in over my head.
“Do you like him?” She’s reapplying her lipstick, and I follow suit.
“He’s really handsome.” I say, doing a shit job of applying the lipstick and looking a bit clownish.
“Well, the good thing for you is that it’s up to him to make a move. I mean, I’ve chatted up a guy once or twice but only when they weren’t showing any interest and I was totally smitten. He’s showing interest so you’ve gotta see where he’ll take it.” She’s dabbing the excess lipstick from around my mouth.
“What do I do if he… umm… advances it?”
“Just drop to your knees and blow him right there on the dance floor, dummy.” She laughs at me while we look at each other in the mirror. “Seriously, just go with it. But whatever you do, don’t go home with him unless you never want to see him again and actually want to feel like trash tomorrow morning. Nothing wrong with that, sometimes the walk of shame is worth getting laid, but you’ve still got a lot to learn, you know?”
The toilet flushes and a well dressed blonde stumbles out of the stall, looks at us as though we are crazy, and leaves. Sarah immediately cracks up, I’ve provided her with many laughs in the last couple weeks. As we leave the restroom and head back to the dance floor, Sarah tells me, “Just don’t leave here tonight without checking in with me, ok?”
I go to the bar to order a drink, having to nearly shout to order another cosmo (I’m loving the tart cranberry taste) when I sense him slide up beside me as I’m sorta leaning over the bar, my barely-covered ass on display. I feel a burst of adrenaline course through me when he looks directly at me and smiles, his eyes wrinkling in that way that lets me know it’s genuine. He mouths a ‘hello’ at me and I return the smile. Sarah and I are running a tab but he waves a $20 at the bartender and points to my drink and orders himself a whiskey. I turn so that my back is against the bar and he’s to my left and look up at him. To say that I’m enjoying his attention is a complete understatement. Perhaps there are women out there that… pursue guys like he is pursuing me, but they never pursued me when I was a guy and the attention makes me feel so excited. I want to up the ante, so I sorta push out my chest a bit, and make sure that he can get a nice view by flipping my hair over my shoulder – the dress is cut high in front so my cleavage is hidden, but my breasts are full enough so that my shape is unmistakeable under the form-fitting, skin-tight fabric.
The tactic seems to work when I notice his dark brown eyes glance down at my chest and quickly back up to my face. He leans in and speaks directly into my ear over the thumping bass of the music, “Hey, how’s it going?”
I feel I have to shout to be heard, “Spledidly. Thanks for the drink.”
He extends his large, calloused hand in my direction, “I’m Alejandro.”
When I place my much smaller hand in his I don’t squeeze his nearly as much as I did Mark’s, instead focusing on how rough, strong, and large it feels against mine. When I reply, “Nice to meet you, I’m Liesl.” I’m completely surprised by my own words and have no idea where that came from. I recognize the name as belonging to the cute teenager in the movie ‘The Sound of Music’ who sings ’16 going on 17′. A moment’s reflection tells me that I’m just about as naive as her character was, so maybe it’s a fitting name for me.
I take a few sips from my drink, sorta amused at the smear of lipstick on the glass. Alejandro finishes his drink in a couple of swallows and I can smell cinnamon in the air between us. He nods towards the dance floor, and subtly raises an eyebrow and I’m even more attracted to him, loving the confidence he exudes. I take a gulp of the cosmo, set it back on the bar and move towards the dance floor, only half surprised when I feel his fingers just gently touch me on the small of my back, safely above my ass, but just daring enough to signal his interest and perhaps mark me against the advances of other guys.
We start to boogie, now clearly dancing ‘together’. Sarah wanders in and out of my awareness several times in the next half hour or so, leaving me feeling very safe and free to explore this entirely new experience. Alcohol, the loud driving beats, the sweaty bodies, Alejandro’s heady masculinity, even the way it feels when my breasts bounce in the sexy, strapless bra all work to melt the experience on the dance floor into a magical moment. I feel the strength in my legs and ass as I move to the beat, noticing a damp, trickle of sweat between my breasts and on the small of my back. Alejandro too, seems completely immersed in the moment, his long hair looks damp and even sexier as he sweats. I find it hard not to wonder what it would feel like with his body pressed against mine, his arms wrapped around me, the tickle of his near-black whiskers on the smooth, delicate skin of my neck.
My imagination drives me to up my bet again – to be a bit more daring with him. Well, my imagination and the utterly delightful tingling, slippery feeing I’m experiencing under my panties drive me. I dare to rub up against him subtly but unmistakably as we dance. Alejandro doesn’t miss a beat, pushing his thick, dense body back against mine and even letting his hand slide up my arm, eliciting a pattern of goosebumps along its path to my bare shoulder. I’m simultaneously grateful and disappointed that he only touches my arm and doesn’t just slip that hand under my skirt and give me a nice rub. Sadie’s words of warning are already getting harder to remember.
It is almost midnight when Alejandro gestures to me, making a drinking motion and I nod. Part of me realizing that his magic is so strong and appealing to me that he could have made a blow job gesture to me and I’d also have nodded. Thankfully though, he only seems to be expecting to buy me another drink – not to watch me gobble his dick! Instead of leading us to the bar adjacent to the dance floor, he walks us out to the much quieter lobby and orders another cosmo and Fireball. After we are served he takes my hand and moves us to a darker, quieter part of the lobby before he says anything to me.
“You’ve got great moves Liesl.” Damn, his smile is in-fucking-fectious!
I imagine calling Dr. Finch tomorrow… ‘I’ve got Alejandro-itis Doc! It’s really bad too! Is there a cure? She responds, ‘Dick Aussie, DICK is the cure!’
“Thanks. That was a lot of fun.” He’s really subtle in the way he checks out my body, subtle enough so that I’m not feeling leered at, but overt enough so that I see that he is both interested and attracted to me and not so shy as to hide it.
“Never seen you before around here, you go to the U of A?” He asks, the slightest bit of Spanish inflection in his speech.
“No, I graduated four years ago. I’ve been ummm…” Time to make up some stories on the fly, “I’ve been working all around the world on photo assignments but want to stay put here for awhile, traveling is getting old.” He nods and seems to accept this.
“Oh, that’s cool. What do you take pictures of?”
‘Hot latino men in various states of undress!’ is the response I want to make, but I’m not nearly tipsy enough to say that; I also see Sarah wander out into the lobby behind Alejandro further tempering my response. “I’ve been doing assignments for National Geographic, the AP news, and Conde Nast, so everything from people to palaces to porcupines!”
He chuckles at that and looks genuinely interested, his eyes wrinkling up again in he cutest possible way. I wonder if they’ll wrinkle up like that when he’s cumming.
“So you’re a sophisticated, jet-setter eh?”
“Something like that.” I say, looking up at him through my lashes and trying to look pretty. I sip the drink, the tartness bringing a pucker to my lips that might be mistaken for readying a kiss. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?” I ask, trying to distract him from any idea of kissing me.
He busts out his smile again, he’s probably bedded more women with that smile alone… “Well, I’ve got a dozen primas, I had no choice but to dance with them on Saturday nights and quinceañeras.” the ‘r’ in the Spanish ‘prima’ (female cousin) rolls out of his mouth like butter. God, I wonder if his tongue can do other things that well!
“So you must be from around here then, eh?” I guess – Tucson is founded on and seems to thrive on Mexican culture.
“Oh yah, my family has a ranch down near Patagonia.” I know the area well, it’s picturesque ranch land south of Tucson near the border with Sonora, Mexico. “You should come down and take some pictures one day. Mt. Wrightson looks even better from the south.” My mind immediately pictures Alejandro the vaquero (cowboy) riding me like I’m a wild stallion, despite the fact that I’m technically a virgin. Please Alejandro, don’t ask me to ‘go down’ again or i’m going to embarrass myself in public.
“That would be nice. I sometimes shoot for Arizona Highways, maybe I could shoot for an article on ranchos.” Smile, bat the lashes, repeat.
“Can I get your dígitos?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
He unlocks it and without asking I take it from him, creating a contact for him under Liesl, then clicking on the blank image on the entry so the camera pops up. I smile my best smile and pucker playfully for the selfie, surprised at how well I pull it off. All finished I hand it back to him. “Alejandro, eh?”
Now he’s wearing a goofy smile that pricks the balloon of his machismo, but leaves me feeling less vulnerable, less hunted. “Quieres bilar?” he asks. I do want to dance with him, but see Sarah at the door, pointing to her watch and know that this is the perfect moment to leave. Even my limited successes with women left me knowing that the idea of ‘always leave them wanting more’ is a very solid way to end an evening.
“Sí, but not tonight.” I step around him quickly. I want a kiss, or a goodbye hug, but don’t trust myself in the least to let it end there. My stiff nipples and damp panties emphasizing my dilemma perfectly.
“Liesl, will I see you again?” he asks, the faintest bit of desperation in his question.
I look at him over my shoulder, my damp hair hanging in front of my eyes, hopefully in a sexy way, “Only if you call me,” I make the phone gesture with my hand. I turn, walking to Sarah, very much aware that his eyes are probably glued to my ass, and whisper to myself “mi vaquero!”