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The left hand retreats from the door handle, the right moves to restart the engine.
***
New York, New York
Renee/Robert Warren
Self esteem obliterated... male self esteem that is. In its place there is a curious pride in looking pretty... attracting eyeballs.
I decide to walk the many blocks to the Waldorf Astoria. With my piercings healed, Miss Lalique stopped by to offer magnificent earrings. I think they are real diamonds and at some point I will have such appraised. I am gratified to note that the baubles ostentatiously dangle below my styled hair, announcing to all that this ‘little girl’ is old enough to don expensive jewelry.
Miss Lalique also offered the written instructions under which I will meet my benefactress, she who saved my life. I am both apprehensive and excited.
‘Calm yourself, Renee. She will have some duties for you. Simple repayment for all she has offered.’ Miss Lalique advised.
Strolling Central Park South I gaze at the greenery, reflecting on the past Saturday to distract from the giddiness of my anticipation. Wearing the sheer white blouse, I quickly noted one could see through it when the sun shone at certain angles. The short flippy skirt proved to be a challenge... a fun challenge... my hands constantly pressing the front as the wind gusted to offer glimpses of my finely rounded cheeks.
‘Jail bait’, I kept conjuring the reaction of onlookers.
Women clucked their tongues. Males surreptitiously gaped, but turning their heads away when I returned their looks. Having performed such a nasty deed the night before, the setting so revolting, the transvestite waitress so aggravating, it was good to be out in the fresh air.
I was to later learn that the man reported to my counselor, apparently in detail. It seems my fellatio was more than adequate.
‘He’d like to meet you again,’ my counselor apprized. ‘I told him no. If he somehow finds you and gives you a hard time, contact me. He has a wife... quite vindictive and with the means to yank on his chain.’
I thanked my counselor for the consideration, obeisantly ignoring the fact that it was by her command that the repulsive confrontation was arranged. Overall the encounter seemed to be not only a test of my skills but of my aptitude as well.
‘May I suck your penis, sir?’
The words both haunt and excite...
I am burgeoning with female hormones and as I have been counseled, with the paucity of testosterone, I must acclimate to confusion and conflicting thoughts... until my male brain adapts. I must obey, leaving it to women of authority to decide what is best. My counselor strongly suggested I meet the man... and I did... uttering those six fateful words... the catalyst for oral sodomy.
So the Saturday park visit was indeed refreshing... and enlightening to know that I am found to be attractive. It’s a girl thing, I realize... and I no longer am confounded by such a reaction. It’s the hormones.
And as opposed to the raunchiness of the Greenwich Village saloon, encounters in the park seemed natural... almost wholesome... the manner in which a girl should meet a man.
So, when there came this one guy who didn’t sheepishly turn his head when I returned his admiring gaze. I let things happen... uttering again those six words. And on that occasion I thereafter felt good.
Arriving at the Waldorf, I find the separate bank of elevators for the apartments. Amazingly plush digs, I think to myself. But expected of the woman who spent thousands to save me from cancer... and offer appropriate counseling... and a new life.
To the twenty second floor, apartment 2207. I buzz. I am shocked when the door opens and I am greeted by a naked girl. Young, but with mature makeup, hair about my length, bejeweled, she smiles and curtsies.
“Bring her into the parlor, April,” a female voice calls out, accented in Spanish.
The breasts are limited ... and the nipples have been removed! Otherwise the form appears familiar, seeing the same each morning in the bathroom mirror. This suggests I look further down. And there the shock amplifies. Below the navel the tip of a small penis points to the ceiling, seemingly secured to this ‘April’s’ abdomen. Below that, loosely encircling the shaft is a sizable golden ring. A bell is attached.
And that is all the maleness to be brandished. No testicles... not a hint of scrotal flesh. I recall the doctor’s term... April is a ‘smoothy’.
April wordlessly gestures for me to follow then turns. His/her bell chimes as toes begin to prance, a cherub seeming to delight in his/her nakedness.
I follow, led to an opulent sitting room. In an elegant stuffed chair sits the woman whom I presume saved me.
“I am Ramona Cortez... Miss Ramona to you.”
Into the room steps this incredibly masculine woman. Khaki pants with matching blouse of coarse brown material. Boots complete the military ensemble. I note the sizable knife at the left hip.
“My guardia, Miss Maria Sanchez.”
