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Bobby's Story - Chapter 11
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica
From: [email protected].org (Jon Grossberg)
Subject: Bobbi's Story (chapter 11)
Organization: Somewhere just far enough out of Toronto
Date: Wed, 6 May 1992 04:07:53 GMT
Approved: [email protected]
Message-ID: <[email protected]>
Sender: [email protected] (Evan Leibovitch)
Lines: 795
Archive-Name: bobbi-11
(Note: the original author of these stories prefers to remain anonymous)
A L L T H E W O R L D I S A S T A G E
A New Yorker's life seems to be permanently tied to the taxicab. With
taxis, The City is a horror of pollution, gridlock, and noise. Without
taxis, life of The City would cease. New Yorkers are born in cabs, die
in cabs, do business in cabs, make love in cabs, worry in cabs, sleep
in cabs, laugh in cabs, cry in cabs, and go to all the places that New
Yorkers go in cabs. New Yorkers complain about cabs, but New Yorkers
complain about everything. Whatever may be said about taxis in New
York City, without them The City would cease to function. In midtown
Manhattan you just walk out to the curb, raise your arm, and cabs will
stop to pick you up. Out in Queens you telephone the cab company, and
they send one for you. So it was that I called a taxi that Thursday
morning to go into Manhattan to keep my luncheon appointment with
Helen. I was about to become a call-girl.
My first night in Edith's apartment had been generally quiet. The
three of us had chatted about many things over dinner. Sarah might
have had a weak and frail appearance, but her mind was still active.
She might occasionally forget small things, but she was nowhere near
senility at all. She wanted to know all about me, and where I had been
all these years. Edith told her that I had been living with an Amer-
ican family, and concocted a story about how she had sent me to America
as a baby after her R.A.F. lover had been killed in the war. She re-
minded Sarah about how difficult things had been for them in England,
and how they had talked of going to America.
Edith said that she had been able to send me to an orphanage in New
York. I said very little, and just nodded along with the story. Sarah
took it all in like an actress learning a script. She did not buy it,
but would play her part as grandmother as Edith was writing it. It
would harm no one to do so.
Edith offered me a glass of sherry after dinner, and Sarah had one too.
"It's a habit we picked up in England," she said. Sarah settled down
to watch television, and Edith asked me, "Shall I give you the grand
tour now?" It was as good a time as any, so I said, "Sure," and fol-
lowed along after her carrying my drink as she did.
The apartment was large and nicely decorated with each room having its
own sort of special character. The front door opened into a tiny foyer
with a coat closet. This led into the large living room with its ter-
race looking to the northwest, and a distant view of the extreme west-
ern reaches of Long Island Sound. Beyond the living room was a large
offset that was almost a room by itself. This was the formal dining
area leading into a large, modern kitchen with a small breakfast nook
affording much the same view as the terrace.
Along the left wall of the living room as you entered from the front
door was the hallway with its four doors. The bathroom had a separate
bathtub and shower stall. My room was, so far, rather plain, but I
would change that soon. Sarah's room was very old world Victorian.
Edith's room was very modern, but its most striking feature was a life
size oil painting of a blonde woman, standing in a very provocative
pose, and totally nude. The features of the face were so lifelike that
I started to ask just as Edith stopped me, saying, "Before you have to
ask, it is me. It was painted a long time ago, and there's a story to
go with it. I'll tell you over some wine... someday." Edith looked
strangely at the portrait, but I did not press the question. She would
tell me when she was ready.
That night on the couch in my room was all right, but I felt better the
next day when my bed and dresser arrived. Edith had gone to work, and
that had left me alone with Sarah for the day. We talked and watched
television, and somewhere during the day she said, "Wherever you have
been is all right with me. My daughter has been hurt a lot in her
life, and finding you has made her again happy. That is all that mat-
ters to me." She knew the truth, but if acting her role in this made
Edith happy, then she would play it to the hilt. There was something
about this lady that I liked quite a lot. I enjoyed having her for a
grandmother.
The cab picked me up in front of the apartment building, and Thomas,
the doorman, held the door for me as I got in. I know he gave my legs
a good look too, but that was all right with me. I did not mind men
doing that. The taxi headed for Manhattan, and my lunch with Helen. I
was about to get still another role to play in this life.
The day was sunny, and I watched intently as the Manhattan skyline grew
bigger as we approached. I wore a dark green jersey dress that did not
conceal any feature of my body except for the one that was safely tuc-
ked away in my panties, back between my legs. I was wearing my best
jewelry, and had talked Edith into lending me her rabbit fur stole for
the occasion. I told her I was going to a job interview. I did not
lie. I just did not tell her the sort of job it was. I needed the
stole to ward off the chill in the mid-September air. I wanted to look
my best that day. A girl like me did not get invited to lunch at the
St. Regis Hotel every day.
The cab drew up in front of the hotel, and I paid the driver. I got
quite a look from a very prosperous looking gentleman who was lighting
a cigar as I swung my legs out of the taxi, and into his gaze. The
look followed me from the cab until I had gone into the hotel. Now
other eyes picked me up as I crossed the thick carpets in the lobby.
All of the men who watched me wore business suits, and looked as pros-
perous as the man outside had. This might have been the era of the
hippie, but I liked the prosperity scene a lot better. Some girls
might have enjoyed sitting in a room full of candles with a long haired
guy with dirty fingernails, but I much preferred a candle lit dinner
for two in an elegant restaurant with a well groomed man in a three-
piece suit. The ambiance of the St. Regis Hotel suited me well.
I was about five minutes late from the approximate time we had set. I
gave Helen's name to the head waiter, and was escorted to a table.
Helen was already there going over her appointment book. She greeted
me, and we ordered a couple of glasses of white wine before lunch. The
table was actually a secluded booth to one side of the restaurant away
from the windows. It did, however, afford us a good view of all that
was going on, and all who were in the place. Helen had obviously been
here many times before. She even spoke to the head waiter by name, and
he answered with her's.
"I'm glad you could make it today," said Helen with a smile once we
were alone. "I've spoken to a few of my clients who I thought might be
interested in what you have to offer, and there are a couple who would
like to meet you. Are you still interested in working with me like we
discussed?" "That all depends," I answered, "on what I would have to
do. We talked about a lot of things, but I would like to know more.
Who are these clients? Do they call me at home? Do they visit me at
home? I'm very interested, but I just don't know much about this."
The waiter brought our wine, and Helen ordered a salad platter. I did
the same, and he went away again. Helen sipped her wine, and said, "I
guess we didn't get too much chance to go into detail in the cell. All
right. First, as far as anyone is concerned, I run a modeling and es-
cort service called Models-In-Minutes that you work for. That way we
all have a legitimate way of paying income tax, and nobody hassles you
that way. I list your fees for assignments at the basic rate. I don't
do withholding, but you can pay tax on the amount of the fee an the
schedule, and pocket the difference in cash. The real rate you charge
is one-hundred a night or twenty-five an hour. I get ten percent of
that, and you keep the rest. You keep any tip you get too. No pun
intended."
We laughed, and Helen continued, "No client ever calls you at home, or
visits you there. You go to them either at their home, or at a hotel
at their expense. Their only contact with you is through me. You call
in once a day to get your assignments. You give me a week's notice if
you have something to do on a given day, and I won't book anything for
you. If you have to give shorter notice, we'll discuss it, but I'm not
an ogre. We just try to respect each other. I won't do anything to
screw you, and if you screw me, you are just off the list. This can be
a good deal if you don't mess it up."
Helen sipped some wine, and said, "Your clients are basically business-
men looking for a little companionship. Most are out of towners who
come to New York on business, and don't want to spend all the time
alone, but a few live here. You may also be a salesman's entertainment
for a customer. You tell me the limits of what you'll do first, and
I'll match that to the client's needs. You do whatever the client
wants to do in the time limit he's paying for. Some may want to get
you in bed right away, but some will want you to go to dinner or
dancing with them first. There are a few who only want that with no
sex involved at all. What do you think? Are you still with me?" I
nodded agreement as the waiter brought our salads. I was almost a
call-girl.
Lunch was spiced with just some small talk about things in general.
Helen was very interested in me in a lot of ways that did not seem to
relate to my working for her. She had a genuine concern for what was
going on in my personal life as well. "I like to get to know my
girls," she said. "It helps me manage things better, and fit the as-
signments to their personality. Besides, I like you as a friend. I
don't see myself as a boss. I guess some might call me a Madam, and I
don't mind that title if it's used correctly. I just like to look
after my girl's welfare. You and the others are the assets of this
little business, and I want to protect that, but I also care about you
all as people too."
Helen was kind and sincere. A lot of girls on the street wound up wor-
king for some pimp who cared only about the money they brought in.
Prostitution is not a easy business to be alone in. Some think it easy
to just stand on a street corner to turn tricks, but that leaves you
open to everything from physical abuse, to robbery, to arrest. A pimp
can get you by some of that, but the degradations of being a street-
walker will tear you apart emotionally. Some think that placing a com-
mercial ad in something like "Screw" magazine is better, but you get
more crank calls than you can handle, and you never know what sort of
weirdo you may be welcoming into your apartment that way. Those ways
are dangerous, and degrading.
The call-girl stands at the top of the profession if she has a Madam
who can handle things in the proper way. The Madam takes all the
calls, and screens out the cranks, weirdos, and police as best she can.
The Madam, if she is good, will also screen the clientele, and give you
some assurance that things will go well. She is also a place to call
if you do get arrested, or in some other sort of trouble, and has con-
tacts with lawyers and doctors who can take care of those problems. A
good Madam will pay for those services if it is her fault that you got
into the trouble, but the girl is expected to handle the cost any other
time. Fair is fair. Helen was that sort of Madam. She always took
care of things.
I told Helen all about what had happened after I had last seen her on
the courthouse steps. She was interested in hearing all about Margo,
and said she was happy that I was out of that environment. "It's too
bad that you aren't living alone now," she said. "Your Edith won't be
a problem, will she?" I assured her that I could come and go as I
pleased, and that as long as none of my clients ever called me at home,
things would be fine. She was also anxious that I get a regular job
too. "You'll need one for a while," she said. "The money sounds good,
but you won't work every night. My contacts are building, but they
still have a little way to go."
"How many girls do you have?," I asked. "Well," she replied, "I have
two others that do the sort of assignments that we're talking about,
and I have a few special clients of my own. I also have fifteen others
that do straight modeling assignments. Models-In-Minutes is a legiti-
mate model agency too. That's my real bread and butter. This is a
sort of enjoyable sideline." That prompted a long discussion of my own
modeling career. I told her about the coat modeling assignment, and
the contract with the photography studio. "I know Tom," Helen said.
"I've sent some people to him, and he keeps hitting on me for a date.
I can list you as a model too, but bring me a copy of your contract
with him first. I can't list you if it violates that contract. Are
you sure you can handle a model's changing room with all the other
girls watching you change?" I smiled, and said, "I handled that cell
including going to the toilet, didn't I?" Helen laughed, saying, "Yes
you did. This just might work out."
We laughed for a bit, and Helen said, "I might be taking on five more
girls and a guy next week for the nighttime assignments. I thought you
should know that. I know an older Madam who wants to retire, and I'm
meeting with her and her people on Sunday afternoon. I used to work
for her, and they want me to take things over. The extra people won't
affect you directly, but I get her client book too. That could mean
more and better assignments. She has a lot of politicians and judges
in there. They are good to have when we need a favor, if you know what
I mean." Helen ordered some coffee for us, and asked, "So. Now that
we both know a lot more about this, what do you think? Are you ready
to become a call-girl?" I nodded. I was ready.
"When do I start?," I asked. "As soon as you fill out a job applica-
tion for my agency, and I can line up some clients for you," Helen
answered. "As long as I keep you on just the escort service part of
it, we don't have to worry about your contract with Tom. If you can
bring that contract and your photo portfolio to my office on Monday
morning at ten, we'll see what we can do with you as a model." I was
going to the photo studio later that day to pick up the pictures, so I
told her that I would bring them. "Now," said Helen, "we have one more
part of this interview to do, but not here. I have a room upstairs in
the hotel for that. We'll go up there after coffee. All right?" I
nodded. What was this about?
We finished the coffee, and Helen signed the bill. "Shall we go?," she
said. I rose, and slipped my stole around my shoulders. Helen led the
way out of the restaurant. We crossed the lobby to the elevators, and
all male eyes followed our progress. I could imagine what they were
thinking as they watched us. I liked that, but what I could not ima-
gine was what Helen wanted of me in her hotel room. I was soon to find
out, but I still wondered anyway.
There was a man with us in the elevator, and his eyes kept shifting
between the two of us as we rode up. I let the front of my stole drop
to give him a little show of the bit of cleavage that I had, and his
eyes riveted to my chest. Helen smiled discretely at me in obvious
pleasure at my teasing of him that way. He looked quite disappointed
when we got out at the eleventh floor to go to Helen's room.
The room was actually a two room suite with a small bar. Helen fixed a
drink for herself, and asked what I wanted. I took a Gin & Tonic. "I
know you're wondering what I wanted you to come up here for," she said.
"I thought it might be easier for us to discuss the more personal as-
pects of the job in a more private setting, and I would also like to
get a photo or two of you here. I have a little catalog of my girls
that I show to some clients, and we couldn't do that in the restaurant.
Is that all right with you?" I agreed. It sounded like a good idea.
"Put on your stole, and stand by the sofa, please," Helen asked. I
did, and she produced a 35MM camera. I struck a pose, and the strobe
flashed. I was in her catalog. "Sit down on the sofa, and hold your
drink," Helen said, and the strobe flashed a second time. "Now we need
a few that may be a little more intimate," Helen said. "Would you take
off your dress?" I thought for a moment, but it seemed reasonable that
her clients would like to see what they were getting, so I agreed, and
reached for the zipper. "Not here," said Helen. "We'll do these in
the bedroom." She followed me to the bed.
I stripped to just my bra, panties, garter-belt, hose, and heels, and
Helen asked me to sit on the bed. The covers were already turned down,
so I struck a few sexy poses there. Helen photographed all of them.
"I have one personal request of you," Helen said. "I'd like to see you
nude. I don't show nudes to the clients, but I'd like some pictures of
you that way for my personal album. Would that be all right?" This I
had not expected, but I did not see the harm in it. I liked being pho-
tographed dressed or undressed, so I agreed, and started removing my
stockings. Helen snapped a few pictures of me as I stripped, but she
seemed more intent on watching me undress for her. That was fine with
me too, and soon I was lying nude on my back on the bed with my little
penis still carefully in its tuck. Helen took four pictures of me that
way.
"Could I see your cock?," Helen asked. I had sort of expected that.
Almost everyone who saw me nude also wanted to see my penis. Some li-
ked looking at it for its own sake, and some needed to see it to satis-
fy themselves that I really was not a girl. Whatever the reason, if I
had gone that far, I always complied, even if it was never my favorite
thing to do. I flexed my thighs, and let my little penis out for Helen
to see.
Helen just stared at it for a while. Knowing her line of work, this
was not a sight that was unfamiliar to her, but she looked at my little
penis as if it were the first time she had ever seen one. "It doesn't
look right at all," she said. "What doesn't?," I asked. "That on
you," she replied. "Every other detail of your body, even when you're
nude, is that of a small breasted girl. You just don't look right with
a cock." I nodded, saying, "I just don't feel right with one either.
That's why I'm having it cut off as soon as the doctor says I'm ready."
Helen sat on the bed next to where I was lying. "When will that be?,"
she asked. "I see my doctor later today," I answered. "He's setting
things up with a psychologist, so I can get it all started. I have to
live and work as a woman for a year before surgery can begin."
Helen continued staring at my little penis, and also running her eyes
over the rest of my naked body. "You'll make a very nice girl," she
said. "You're very beautiful as one already, and your skin is so
soft." She ran her fingers over my chest as she spoke, and my nipples
stiffened in excitement. "I know quite a number of women who would
like to be as pretty as you," she said as her hand moved lower on my
body, and came to rest on my now stiffening penis.
I felt both surprise and pleasure as Helen's hand held my little penis,
and her fingers rolled the head of it between them. "I think I told
you," Helen said softly, "that I'm a Lesbian, but your body fascinated
me when we were in the cell together, and it fascinated me even more
now. I've made love with my other girls. Could I make love to you
now?" I looked up into her eyes. I had never made love with a woman
before, but this felt somehow right. "Will you take me the way you
would any other woman?," I asked. With a big smile on her face, she
replied, "That's the only way I want you."
Helen leaned over to put her face very near to my little penis. Her
tongue flicked out to touch it, and my entire body stiffened with sex-
ual excitement. She did not take it into her mouth in the manner of a
blow-job, but licked it the way a woman would lick at another woman's
clitoris when performing cunnilingus. It felt very good. After a few
moments of this, she sat up again, and said, "Give me a minute to get
comfortable, so we can really enjoy ourselves."
Helen stood, and pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress. Un-
der it, she was clad in a black lace bra and panties set. I watched as
she unhooked and removed her stockings, and took off her garter-belt.
The real treat for me came when she stripped away her bra, and I could
again see those marvelous breasts of her's that I had delighted so much
in looking at while we were in the jail. I kept trying to picture what
it was going to be like to be able to proudly display a pair of breasts
like them on my own chest someday soon. I wanted that so very much.
Then she slipped out of her panties, and was as nude as I already was,
giving me a view of the thatch of fine, blonde pubic hair at the jun-
ction of her legs. Helen was a strikingly beautiful woman.
Helen lay on the bed next to me, and took me into her arms. The whole
length of her body pressed against mine, and I could feel her pubic
hair tickling the tip of my little penis. I had never been attracted
to women, but this was different. On this bed, I was not a man with a
woman in his arms, but felt more like a girl in the arms of a woman who
desired her sexually. Helen did all that she could to encourage this
feeling. She made sure that I was generally on my back in the submis-
sive role to her gentle sexual aggressions the whole time we spent in
bed together. She took me as she said she would. She took me in the
manner that she had taken, or been taken by any other woman she had
ever been to bed with.
Helen turned her body around to once again be licking at what she cal-
led my distended clitoris, and I was presented with her own pussy very
close to my face. Growing bold, I touched it, spreading the outer lips
with my fingers to get a good look at that part of the female anatomy
that I would soon have, and wanted to have as much, if not more than
her breasts. Helen's reaction was to spread her legs to give me more
access, and say, "Go ahead. Kiss my pussy!" I did, and the taste was
something wonderful. Helen began moaning softly, and kept on licking
me. I was going to be all the woman I could be in this life, but there
was still something inherently right in doing this with another woman.
I knew that this would not be the last time I did it. Helen began to
shudder all over, and I knew that she was in the throes of orgasm. I
licked her pussy all the way through it.
Helen turned back around to face me again, and we kissed. I could tell
that she enjoyed the taste of her own love juices on my face. "I want
to bump pussies with you now," she said excitedly. She urged me onto
my back, and lifted one leg over to straddle me. Her cunt pressed
against my penis, and suddenly, I felt it enter her vagina.
I had never had my penis in a woman before. It felt as if it had been
wrapped in soft, warm, wet velvet. Helen moved her body up and down on
it. and thousands of sexual thrills shot through me. I had no desire
to mount her as a man would do, but with her on top, it was ecstasy.
The muscles of her vagina gripped me tightly, and her up and down move-
ments got faster. The pressure in my testicles reached the boiling
point, and I shot my load of cum deep inside of her loins!
Helen collapsed on top of me when I had finished cumming, and we lay
that way for a moment. Then she slid off me. She took me in her arms,
and we kissed again. We just lay there cuddling close to each other
for a long time.
"How does it feel to have your first Lesbian experience?," Helen said
softly after a little while. I was stilled cradled in her arms, so I
stretched a little bit to cuddle closer. "It was very good," I said.
"I've never done that with a woman before." Helen kissed me on the
forehead, saying, "There are many delights to be found in another wo-
man's arms. Let me teach you all of them. I find it very difficult to
think of you as anything but a woman, so that's the only way I can
treat you. I hope we can be together like this again from time to
time. All right?"
This was something completely new to me. I had never been able to
think of women as lovers in anything but a fantasy. Some of the boys I
had grown up with had talked about women and girls in a sexual way, and
I had gone along with it mostly just in an attempt to try to fit in,
but I never really understood what thrill could be found in it. The
few bits of female nudity that I had seen in my life had never turned
me on much either. Any interest in seeing them on my part was more of
a clinical nature than anything else. I was curious to see the body
parts that I should have had from birth, and imagine what my body would
be like when I got them at last. I could never picture myself actually
using the male parts of my body to have intercourse with the female
parts of any woman's body, and yet I had just done that. It shook me a
little.
"I should get going," I said at last. "I have a doctor's appointment
in a little while." Helen got up from the bed. I could still see a
few drops of my semen glistening on the upper inside of her thighs. I
would have rather it had been my thighs glistening with drops of semen,
but with the doctor's help, that would happen someday soon. "Shall we
get cleaned up before we dress?," she asked.
We both stepped into the shower together. Helen handed me a bar of
soap taking another for herself, and said, "It'll be more fun to wash
each other." She started by soaping up my shoulders, but I went di-
rectly to her breasts. "You like them, don't you?," she asked. "Yes,"
I replied. "I want mine to be just like them when they grow out. I'm
due for a hormone shot today. I get one a week. The doctor says they
should start growing on their own soon, and I've already started doing
some exercises to help them along. I hope they hurry up. I'm tired of
falsies." Helen smiled, and started soaping my breasts too. "You have
a little bit already," she said. "They should be nice when they get
bigger. I can hardly wait to play with them." In a strange way, I
wanted her to do that too.
We spent some length of time cleaning each other's genitals. I was
just fascinated by the feel of Helen's pussy. I had never really had
the chance to touch one before. It was so very unlike all the cocks I
had handled. Helen seemed just as fascinated with my little penis al-
though she had felt many in her time too. "It's amazing how you keep
this hidden so well," she said. "Well, it's not very big," I answered,
"but I wish it really wasn't there at all." Helen got a playfully evil
look in her eyes, and said, "Well, once that happens, we'll just have
to get you a strap-on dildo for when we're together." "No," I replied.
"You wear the strap-on, and do me. I'd like that better!" There was a
lot of laughter as we rinsed off.
We dressed together, helping each other with all the zippers, hooks,
and buttons in those inconvenient places that the designers of women's
clothing seem to put them. "What are you doing on Saturday night?,"
Helen asked while we were dressing. "I've got no real plans," I ans-
wered. "I might have a client for you if you're interested," she said.
"He's in New York City on business, and he usually takes one of my
girls on a date whenever he's here. He once asked about someone like
you, so I'll suggest it to him if it's all right with you. He's good
for a hundred dollar, all night date, and a twenty-five dollar tip if
he likes you according to the girls. That gets you one-hundred and
fifteen after my agent's fee. His only hang up is that you not be
there on Sunday morning. He'll take you to dinner, and back to his
hotel, but you leave when he falls asleep. He's got a religious thing
about Sundays. How about it?" It sounded good to me, so I agreed.
"But I thought you said I had to fill out some sort of a job applica-
tion first?," I asked. "You just did that," Helen answered.
"I really have to get going," I said. "I still have some errands to
run before I go home, so I had better get to it." Helen nodded, and
said, "Call the office number on my card each day between ten and noon
for any assignments that might come up. You won't get me unless you
have to talk to me for some reason, but my receptionist will give you
all you need to know. I'll send a limousine to pick you up at home,
and take you where you have to go. All right?" Helen said she had
some work to do in the room, so we kissed gently, and I left alone. I
was now a call-girl.
I turned a few more heads in the lobby as I left the hotel. I liked
doing that, so I decided to walk to the doctor's office to get my hor-
mone shot. It really was not that far away, and except for the early
Autumn chill in the air, it was a nice day. My appointment with the
doctor should have been yesterday evening, but I changed it so I would
not have to make two trips into Manhattan. I got all the lustful looks
I could have wanted on the way there, and a few whistles when I walked
by a construction site. Most women will object to that, and rightly
so, but it can be a bit of a boost for your ego sometimes.
The visit to the doctor was very businesslike. It was really more of a
visit to his nurse than anything else. She asked me a number of ques-
tions to start with that were designed to determine what sort of react-
ions I was having to the hormones. She was very pleasant and friendly
about it, and tried to make things as easy for me as possible. She
also had to draw a little blood on this visit for my monthly blood
test. The hormones can affect blood sugar levels, and kidney and liver
function, so these have to be monitored closely. After all that was
done, she gave me the hormone shot. The whole procedure with her took
about a half hour each time I was there. I did not mind. I was get-
ting a half hour closer to being all the woman I could be in this life
each time.
The last ten minutes or so of the visit was spent with Dr. Benjamin
himself. Most of the time we just talked, but sometimes he examined
me. "You're doing well so far, Bobbi," he would say, and try to ex-
plain some of the things that the hormones were doing to me. This time
he told me that he had set up my appointment with the psychologist for
next week. I only had to call to confirm the day and time. This was
very important because without the psychologist there can be no sur-
gery. I would have to live for at least a year as a woman prior to the
start of surgery, and this Real Life Test (RLT) would have to be moni-
tored by the psychologist to validate it, and be sure I was adjusting
properly. I said I would be sure to call.
I left the doctor's office, and went back to the street. I would have
to take a cab to the photo studio to pick up my model's portfolio, so I
started looking up and down the street to see if one was coming. A big
deep voice from behind me said, "Lost?" I turned, and looked into the
broad, Irish face of the same policemen that I had met in the Central
Park Zoo after a doctor's visit a couple of weeks ago.
"Hi!," I said. "No. Not lost. Just looking for a cab, uhh..." "Bri-
an," he said. "The name's Brian, and your's is Bobbi, right?" I nod-
ded. "Look," he said, "I could get in trouble for doing this if anyone
finds out, or you take it wrong, but I tried to call you, and someone
said you moved, and wouldn't give me the new number. I'd like to see
you sometime when I'm off-duty. Now, if my sergeant finds out that I
asked you for a date like this, I'm in big trouble, but I didn't know
if I'd see you again, so I thought I'd take the chance. What do you
think?"
He was just so cute with his babbling, little boy way of talking, and
rather attractive too. I found it very difficult to say "no" to him.
I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and said with a wink, "If it's the
business of the police to assist the public, then part of that is
hearing the problems that the public has. As a member of the public,
I'd like to complain about the length of time it takes to get a cab
here, but knowing that there are better places to discuss this than on
the street, I'd like you to phone me at home to set up a meeting. Does
that constitute enough police business to justify our talking now?"
Brian smiled broadly, and wrote down my new telephone number in his
notebook. I do not know why I gave it to him, but there was just some-
thing about him that I liked. I had never dated a cop, but it should
not be too much of a difference from anyone else. "Yes, Miss," Brian
answered. "It does. Maybe I should call you tonight to discuss the
meeting. Would that be okay with you?" "I'll be home anytime after
seven o'clock," I said. "I'll be expecting to hear from you, Officer
Brian. Don't let me down."
Brian promised that he would not. I did want to date him, but I made
up my mind that there would be no sex. I could not, of course, take
the chance of what might happen when he discovered my little penis, but
I also wanted to be a lady this time. Maybe I was maturing a bit, but
there were more things that I wanted from life than a quick thrill.
A cab soon whisked me away from Brian, and toward the photo studio. I
felt good about seeing him again. He knew nothing of who I was, and
what I was doing. To him, I was just a pretty girl that he very much
wanted to date. He knew nothing at all about me other than that he had
seen me twice around Central Park, and that I had just moved into a new
place to live. I liked that. Some of the things that were going on in
my life leaned heavily toward the tawdry side. It might be pleasant to
have something that was fresh and clean. I did not know how long any-
thing with Brian might last, but I was willing to give it a try.
Tom was waiting for me in his office when I arrived, and gave me a big
greeting. He was, however, on the telephone as usual. I took my seat
in front of his desk, and caught him sneaking looks at my legs all the
way through his conversation. I guessed that these looks were just
more conditioned reactions to the sight before him than any real lust
for me on his part. If he had asked, I probably would have hopped into
bed with him, but that was not the sort of thing he indulged in. I was
just an appealing body to look at. That was all right with me too.
Tom was still talking when the door opened behind me. I turned to see
Wendy coming in with a huge pile of photographs under one arm, and a
large, flat box covered in pink wrapping paper under the other. "Oh,
Hi," she said with just a touch of surprise in her voice. "I didn't
expect to see you in here yet." She put the photographs on the small
conference table as I returned her greeting, and slid the box behind a
chair as if to hide it. Just then, Tom got off the phone.
"Hello, Bobbi!," he said. "Am I glad you finally came in. We've got
lots to talk about, but let's get to your portfolio first. Then we can
talk about some other things." He took me by the elbow, and ushered me
toward the table where Wendy was spreading out the photographs.
They were all pictures of me. I stared at them, and from them I stared
back at myself in every pose and position that I had struck during the
photo session a week or so ago. I saw myself in color and in black &
white. I was in street clothes and in costume. I posed dressed and
undressed. There seemed to be hundreds of them. "Okay, Bobbi," Tom
said. "I promised you a model's portfolio as part of our deal. There
are two-hundred poses there for you to choose from. You get forty
11X14's from that lot. Pick one as a portrait, and we'll give you
twenty 8X10's of it for publicity. Wendy and I will help, but I have
to make another call now, so you girls get started, and have fun."
Tom went back to his desk, and Wendy and I stared at the sea of photo-
graphs. "Let me make this a little easier," she said. "Ray and I
already went through them, and we've got some suggestions." She took
out a black & white head shot that was one of the first Ray had done of
me. "Use this for your portrait," she said. I had never seen a really
good picture of myself as a woman before, and I looked at it for a long
minute. "Okay," I said. "You know more about this than I do, so I'll
trust your judgement. I don't think I could have picked a better one."
Wendy leaned over, and whispered, "Good, because that was my favorite,
and Ray had the twenty copies made up already."
The rest of the picking went quickly. Wendy's judgement was impec-
cable, so I just let her show me the ones she liked best. There was a
little bit of everything in the selection, from demure to porno. She
suggested that I only take one that showed my little penis sticking
out. "You probably don't want many like that anyway," she said, "and
you'll get a copy of the magazine layout of all of them anyway."
When we were done with the picking, she said, "I've got one more sur-
prise for you." Wendy got out the box that she had hidden behind the
chair. "Open it," she said. I tore the paper, and opened the box. In
it was a sort of flat, soft briefcase of black, shiny leather with a
zipper that ran around three sides. Inside were five sections, big
enough to hold the 11X14 photographs. "No model should be without her
portfolio case," she said. "It's a present from Ray and I. I hope you
like it." There was no question that I did. I hugged her in thanks.
"All done already?," Tom said, rejoining us. "Good. Let me see what
you have, and then we'll talk." He ushered me back toward his desk,
and Wendy started putting away the other pictures. "See me before you
leave, okay?," she said. I said I would, and sat in front of Tom's
desk as she left us.
"Well," Tom said when we were alone, "I've got some very good news for
you. That photo session went very well for both of us. I've had a
chance to show some of the shots around, and there's a few people in-
terested in buying parts of it. Most of it is a few of the stock, and
you don't make much on those, but there's a distributor interested in
the transvestite striptease film you did as a short subject for the
porno houses in Europe. I get listed as the producer in the credits,
and you get billed as any name you want. All I have to do is put some
titles on it, and all you have to do is sign the contract. What do you
think?"
This took me by surprise, but it turned out that Tom had already sold
the idea to the distributor before we shot the film. He never treated
me wrong, but he always held something back at the same time. "It only
gets shown in Europe?," I asked. "That's all," Tom answered. "I'm not
selling the commercial rights for America yet. The market for that
sort of thing here is very small." I thought it over a bit, and it se-
emed all right to me. I did not want to see it running here much, and
Europe sounded like a better place. Besides, I could use the few hun-
dred dollars that I would get for it. I agreed, and signed the con-
tract.
"Good!," said Tom. "In that case, I have a cheque for you." He handed
me a cheque, and I looked at it. It was made out to me for three-thou-
sand dollars! I was stunned. "What name should we bill you as in the
movie?," Tom asked, but I was too dumbfounded to speak. I could not
believe the size of the cheque. "Is this all for me?," I asked. "Yes
it is," Tom answered. "Two-thousand is for the film, eight-hundred is
for the transvestite magazine layout, and the rest is for the stills
and the session. You won't get a cheque like that all the time, but
this was just a good deal. Now what name do you want to be known as in
the film, or should I just make something up?"
I told him to make up a name, and the film was released with me under
the name of "Billie Beare" as the star. It did not really matter. I
deposited the cheque in my special bank account the next day. That
gave me five-thousand dollars tucked away toward my surgery. It was
nowhere near enough yet, but it was getting there.
"I have something to talk to you about now," I said when I regained my
composure. "I have a chance to sign with a modeling agency, but I
don't want to violate our contract. Is that possible?" Tom asked the
name of the agency, and got a big smile on his face when I said it was
Models-In-Minutes. He leaned back in his chair, and said, "You tell
Helen to call me, and we'll work it out. I'm sure she can get you lots
of special assignments." He seemed to have a knowing tone in his voice
when he said that, but I did not press the issue. I gathered up my
portfolio, and left his office. I had to see Wendy as promised.
The studio was lit only with a few bulbs dangling from the ceiling. It
was a sharp contrast to the bright lights that had been on the last
time I was in here. The door to the dressing room was open, and I
could see that there was someone inside from all the way across the
studio. The clicking of my heels on the hardwood and tile floor aler-
ted the shadowy figure, and it appeared at the doorway of the dressing
room to see who was approaching. The figure was, of course, Wendy.
"Hi!," I said entering the dressing room. "Hello yourself," Wendy said
giving me a warm hug in greeting. "You said to come see you when I got
finished with Tom," I said. "Yeah," she replied. "Nothing special. I
just thought we could talk a little if you have time. I like you as a
friend, but I haven't been able to get hold of you since the photo ses-
sion. All I found out from your ex-roommate was that you'd moved, but
she wouldn't say where."
"Oh," I said hesitantly, "I was err... away for a couple of days, and
then I got the chance to move in with my mother in Queens. I'm also
signing up with a modeling agency. Lots has happened." Wendy started
sorting through my portfolio of pictures. "It looks like we've got a
lot to talk about," she said, and asked me what modeling agency I had
signed with. When I told her it was Models-In-Minutes, she said, "Oh!
So you're going to work with Helen too? I do some assignments for her
agency sometimes. I used to do more before I got this job, but now I'm
too busy here." It should not have surprised me that both Wendy and
Tom knew Helen, but I did not expect them to know her so well. Before
I could say anything else, Wendy said with a giggle, "She handles lots
of people. That's the way she does business, on volume. Has she asked
you about doing her special assignments yet?"
It was beginning to seem like Helen's business was an open book in the
industry. I decided to see how far it went, so I said, "And what if
she has, and suppose I accepted?" Wendy stopped laughing. "Oh," she
said, "I didn't mean to offend you. It was just some gossip. All
modeling agencies get stories like that about them. Not many are true,
but I know this one is because Helen asked me to do it. It's okay with
me if you do. I can keep a friend's secret... if she'll keep mine. I
agreed to do it too!" This was getting more interesting by the minute.
"Then you're one of Helen's two regular girls?," I asked. "Only two
girls?," Wendy answered. "I thought she would have had more by now.
No. I only did it twice. I don't do that regularly. Just sometimes
if I need some extra money for something. We'll talk about it some
other time. Not here."
A heavy step at the door made us both turn to see who it was. "Can
anyone join this party?," said Ray coming into the dressing room.
"Ray," said Wendy, "Bobbi lives out in Queens now too. Can we give her
a ride home, so we can talk?" Ray lit a cigarette, and said with a
grin, "You mean I have to listen to you chicks twittering all the way
home? Okay. I guess I can put up with it, but let's go. It's quit-
ting time, and I want my dinner!" Wendy shook her head. "He's such a
romantic," she said.
Ray's car was in the garage across the street, so it only took a few
moments to get there. Wendy and I took the back seat. It would be
easier to talk that way, and she wanted to help me organize my port-
folio on the way. We made a lot of small talk as we rode, and somehow
seemed to be avoiding any mention of Helen and her agency. It turned
out, however, that Helen's sideline business was not very well known in
the industry. It was sheer coincidence that Wendy knew anything at all
about it, and Tom only knew because he occasionally used the service to
entertain clients. Most others only viewed the story as another bit of
the vast sea of meaningless gossip that floated around the modeling
industry. My secret, it seemed, would be safe.
It happened that Ray and Wendy lived only a couple of miles from Edith,
and dropping me off there was really on their way. Ray seemed surpri-
sed that I could live in such a luxurious building, and Wendy liked the
way that Thomas, the doorman, held the car doors for us as we got out,
and she moved to the front seat with Ray. I would have liked to have
asked them to come up for a visit, but Ray was anxious to get home for
his dinner, and I had not talked to Edith about bringing people home
yet. We parted company on the sidewalk, and I went up to the apart-
ment.
Edith was already at home when I got there, and asked me how my day had
gone. I told her about signing up with a modeling agency, and she
thought that was just wonderful. "I knew you'd get a job like that,"
she said, "but that won't keep you going all the time. You should get
a regular job too until you get established as a model. Have you ever
thought of calling that fellow Paul who used to be with the store's
personnel department? You told me he liked you, and I know where he's
working now. I asked a friend of his today. Maybe he'll have some
ideas."
Edith was being motherly again. She was gently nudging me toward doing
what I knew I ought to do anyway. I had not thought of calling Paul,
but it was not a bad idea at all. He might just have an idea or two
that would help. I said I would call him on Monday.
"What's that?," Edith asked after dinner. She was pointing to my port-
folio case, so I told her what it was. I opened it, and we spent the
evening looking through the pictures and talking. The only picture I
held back was the nude of me with my little penis sticking out. I was
not quite ready to show that to her yet. "You're very beautiful in
these," she said. "You make a good model. You look like you belong on
the stage." I looked at the pictures once again too. "All the world's
a stage," I said. "I'm only just a minor bit player." "Maybe," Edith
replied.
--
Jon Grossberg - Internet: [email protected].org FidoNet: 1:107/565
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