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“Why the hell do I need a package?” I argued. “No one’s going to be staring at my crotch.”
“You never know, they might. I made you look hot enough as a guy, I’m sure some girl off the street will cop a peek.”
“Honestly, I really don’t care if some girl off the street finds me lacking down there.”
“Well, I do. And I’m in charge of this man-body, so you’re wearing it.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I sighed but complied.
“Thank God it’s almost winter,” Jodi added. “You can wear jeans and long sleeves without anyone thinking you’re weird.” She shuffled through my drawers, mumbling something about how it was depressing I had so many clothes that could be considered manly. “Here,” she finally said, shoving a wad at me. “Put these on.”
After pulling on my “man” panties, I tugged up a pair of loose-legged denim jeans and put on a black AC/DC concert shirt over a white long-sleeved thermal.
When I turned to face her, Jodi was beaming with a huge smile. Then she held out what she called man jewelry, which consisted of black leather straps with silver beads on them for bracelets. And finally, she sprayed cologne in my direction.
Coughing and sputtering over the unexpected stink, I waved my hand over my face. “What the hell?”
“You need to smell the part as much as you look it,” Jodi argued as she pulled the cologne bottle to her chest and chirped with pride. “And you look just perfect. I would so throw you down on your bed and ride you right now if I didn’t know you were really a girl in there. Hell, I’m tempted to, anyway.”
I rolled my eyes but chased it with a smile. “Gracias. I think.”
“Now practice your man walk,” she demanded, waving out her hand.
I faltered. “My what?”
She sighed. “You’re not going to pass for a dude if you stroll in there with your hidden girl hips swaying and flattened tits pooched out on display.”
My mouth fell open. “Excuse me. I do not walk like that.”
She snorted. “Oh...own it, puta. You’re a hot piece of ass, you can’t help the girly swagger.”
“But I don’t—”
“Hunch your shoulders over a little more, concentrate on keeping your hips in line, and try to jut your cock forward when you strut.”
“Do...what?”
“That’s how hot guys walk, like they’re leading with their junk.”
I could only shake my head. I had honestly never seen a guy walk as if he were trying to poke his pecker out ahead of him. “Where do you come up with this shit?”
“Just do it, puta.”
I sighed but used her suggestions, trying to overdramatize the cock-and-go strut, as I was thusly dubbing it.
“What do you think?” I asked.
She purred out a promiscuous growl and clawed the air in my direction. “How do you say ‘I want to sit on your face’ in Spanish?”
“Jodi.” I fell to a stop and sighed in exasperation. She was too much sometimes. “Really?”
“No, seriously. I’ve always wanted to know how to say that to a guy anyway. Ooh, and use your slutty señorita voice.”
With a chuckle, I had to oblige her. “Quiero sentarme en tu cara,” I cooed, puckering my lips to go with the voice.
Ever since I’d crank called her once in Spanish, putting a sensual little hitch in my tone, she’d been fascinated. Totally intrigued by my impersonation, she’d dubbed it my slutty señorita voice and claimed it didn’t sound a thing like me.
She repeated the phrase, butchering it until I made her repeat it enough times that she finally got it right. Once I was satisfied, she seemed satisfied too. Letting out a loud squeal, she jumped in a circle and fisted her hands in the air.
