Just Passing Through
The preparations took ages, worse than her regular make-up. She’d let her eyebrows grow out and was glad now that they were on the bushy side. Dark foundation gave her skin weight and erased part of her lip line, a bit of eyeliner dotted around her mouth and jaw then rubbed in gave her a faint shadow. It wouldn’t pass in broad daylight, but she wouldn’t be in broad daylight. The biggest problem would be ID, she wasn’t going to have any, at least none she was willing to show, so she added fine lines at the corners of her eyes and between her brows, blending them with exquisite care. The lipstick she chose was a few shades lighter than usual and matte, the kind that didn’t smear. Her eye makeup accented rather than erased the faint shadows underneath.
She had decided against a mustache on the grounds that that was the most obvious thing a woman would do when she was dressing as a man. That left her hair. It was on the short side anyway, but that didn’t matter. A lot of men wore their hair long. The problem was style, not a straight man’s carelessness; rather something groomed but obviously masculine. She parted it far to the side and brushed it back, then sprayed it lightly, brushing through the spray once it dried. Then she stepped back and surveyed the results in the mirror. This might work. Ordinarily, she’d have someone check for her, but nobody knew what she was up to and she was damned if she was telling. This was her adventure and hers alone.
Clothes. She had bought a pair of men’s leather pants for the occasion, but what went on first was a harness that anchored a dildo in the shape of a limp dick. They made them. She wasn’t the first drag king on the planet. It had been expensive, but if anyone tried to cop a feel, it would be worth it. The result, when she had it all together, wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it would do, she thought. Yes, it would do, with some heavy boots, it would do just fine.
She got out the wide Ace bandage and wrapped it tightly around her chest. This was not something one wanted to try when premenstrual, she decided. It was uncomfortable enough as it was. However, with a heavy black T-shirt on over it, it was passable, a nice broad chest. Her shoulders were broad for a woman anyway, so that would be fine. When she tucked the T-shirt in, her hips all but disappeared. This would work.
Last touches. She’d already used a temporary color on her arm hair, which she ordinarily bleached. She put some shaving cream on her hands, wiped them off on a towel, and then daubed the towel on her face and neck. This would help explain her lack of prickles, just in case anyone kissed her. Then a bit of cologne. That was it. There was nothing more she could do.
Deep breath. She looked in the full-length mirror and giggled, then straightened her face and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest, tightening her biceps a little. She looked more like her brother than her brother. No, in broad daylight, she would never pass but in dim streetlights and a smoky bar, she should be able to get away with it. The bulge at her crotch helped and she was glad she had splurged. It was a lot more realistic than a sock. She cleared her throat, dropped her voice into her chest. “S’up.” As far as she could tell, the universal guy greeting. It would do, as long as she remembered to keep her voice down, not easy in a crowded bar. But she only had to do this once. This was a masquerade, no more. It only had to work for one night.
She parked a few blocks away and practiced her swagger en route. It was easy once she got the hang of it. The looks she got were different, especially the eye contact. Gone was the speculation she generally saw in men’s eyes, or the indifference if they weren’t looking. Instead, it was more of a challenge, they were sizing her up. Women tended to look away, or check her out for a fraction of a second. One smiled. She nodded and kept moving. She was after other, more difficult prey.
She stalled, waiting for a crowd that seemed to be headed her way, and then she slipped up as they were joking with the bouncer. He met her eyes just long enough to ascertain that she was over thirty, took her cover, stamped her hand and let her through without question.
She was in. She had chosen The Flame for its clientele, neither too butchy nor too nelly. She wasn’t sure she could pull off either. Oh, both were here, men in head-to-toe leather and steel and men whose hand gestures were more fluttery than anything she could ever get away with, but most of the men here were dressed much as she was, their clothes neater perhaps than most straight men’s but otherwise not that much different. What were people drinking here? Pretty much anything they wanted, it looked like. She ordered a Guinness and leaned against the wall, watching.
Men. Men without any consideration of women at all, men as she had never seen them and would never see them without subterfuge of some kind, an aching curiosity finally, finally satisfied. As far as she could tell, she was the only biological female in the place. A lot of the men seemed to know each other, there were tables full of guys laughing, talking, being very large and very present with each other. Some were dancing, which made her insides do a slow, voluptuous roll. Others were making contact, getting aquatinted. Their eyes, though, were what killed her, the open speculation that no straight man would dare with a woman under most circumstances. They seemed to be constantly assessing each other, negotiating: You? You? Or maybe you? More than once, a stray hand landed on a convenient ass or drifted up a thigh, eyes met and held for too long. It was edgy, predatory, highly charged. There was no need for pretense so they made none. It was the same game, all right, but the rules were a little different. They didn’t always go into the bathroom alone.
She took a deep breath and a long sip of her beer. This was the worst part. She didn’t know these rules. She’d picked up men, but she’d been a woman then, had done the fleeting eye contact and shy smile thing, but she didn’t think that would go over quite as well here. Something else was called for, and she wasn’t sure she could do it. Maybe it would be enough to just have gotten in. She could watch, absorb it, take it home with her and think it over. Maybe she didn’t have to participate.
“Hey!”
She turned. The man standing next to her was on the tall side, good-looking in a blond farmboy sort of way, about her age, in the same jeans and T-shirt her straight friends wore except that his fit better and looked like they had made the acquaintance of an iron. He smelled heavenly, a musky, expensive cologne.
“S’up?” she said.
“Not much.” He looked her up and down. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
At close range, that assessing gaze was terrifying. Then she remembered that this was what she’d come for. She’d wanted to see what men were like male on male, without the restraints, without the cross-gender weirdness. She was getting it now, full blast. She swallowed some beer. “You haven’t. I’m just passing through.”
“Passing through. How long?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
He took it in, nodded, offered his hand. “Name’s Bob.”
“Kelly,” she said, putting some extra muscle into the handshake. Luckily, it was her real name. She didn’t have to try to remember an alias.
He kept hold of her hand, leaning in. “Where are you staying?” Beer breath with a wisp of mint.
“With family.” That gave her an excuse if someone wanted to go home with her.
“I see,” he said.
Fuck! He wanted sex now, tonight, moving much, much faster than she was used to. He was negotiating the venue, not the outcome, and this was no time for games or stalling. She was committed; now she had to see it through. She looked up at him, tried to meet his eyes, the effort and effect set a flock of butterflies loose in her stomach. Holy shit! Her eyes flickered around the room, landed on the bathroom. It was really her best bet. She didn’t dare let him undress her or even think he could.
She let her eyes meet his again, gestured slightly with her head, and he nodded and set his beer down. She drained hers in one gulp and led him toward the back of the room, feeling his hand playing with her ass as they went.
There was a couple making out just to the right of the door, two men in leather, their hands on each other’s faces and their crotches grinding together. She felt the blood rush to her face, she was about to become part of this. She shoved the bathroom door open – now what? – but Bob all but pushed her into the nearest stall and closed the door. He was into it, very into it, incredibly demanding and without a doubt that he’d get what he wanted. He kissed her hard, his fingers kneading her ass, a very sexual kiss with lots of spit and tongue. Oh God, she just wanted to lose herself in it but she couldn’t, she didn’t dare. Certain pieces of equipment weren’t going to change in length or girth and she didn’t want to have to explain, she did not want his hands down her pants trying to coax, so before he could do anything else, she broke off the kiss and dropped to her knees.
“Caught myself a dick-pig, have I?” Bob asked softly as she unzipped him. “Hungry tonight, piggy? In the mood for some cock? Oh, yeah!” He trailed off as Kelly’s fingers wrapped around his erection and stroked it. “That’s it. That’s good, baby, that’s real good.”
They weren’t alone. The stall next to them was occupied by a matched set of rhythmic grunts and there were other sounds, too, sex sounds as well as the sounds of someone pissing into a urinal, but Kelly had no time for it. This was the trickiest part, when someone might want a peek or a feel under her clothing. No, the man in front of her had to keep his attention on his dick, and she kissed down the length of the shaft, licked his balls, sucked on them, let her spit soak his pubic hair as she reached into her pocket. This part she knew exactly how to do, and she rolled the unlubricated condom down his firm pole with her mouth.
Her boyfriend had once called her a good cocksucker and now Bob said it, too, in a low, earnest whisper, adding other filthy endearments to it as well. Ah, but she was on her home turf now, and she tongued the place where the head met the shaft until she felt the condom slip on his precum. She worked the head, sliding the rubber back and forth over it until he started thrusting involuntarily. Then she took a deep breath, straightened her neck, and deep-throated him.
He groaned and she glanced up. What she saw transfixed her. He was leaning against the steel partition, head thrown back, eyes closed, fingering his nipple under his shirt with one hand. The other was at the back of her head, pulling her closer as he ground his crotch into her face. She ran one hand over his stomach, felt his abs clench at her touch, then grabbed his ass, trying to keep a hold on him, some kind of control, but he was close, too close, and she heard his teeth clench down on a cry as his cock pulsed rhythmically in her mouth and the condom filled with wet heat.
Bob sighed and pulled the condom off as Kelly got to her feet, then he pulled her in and kissed her again, more lazily, his hand groping toward her crotch. She caught it and laced her fingers in it, squeezed. “Thanks,” she said.
“Thank you, bad boy,” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink. He didn’t ask for her number. She was, after all, just passing through.
Oh, Christ! She left the bathroom and headed for the exit, desperate for air. She needed time, space, to figure out what the fuck she’d just done. This time, she nodded to the bouncer and he gave her a tight smile and a nod as she left. He knew, knew enough anyway, and he wasn’t judging her for it. He might have done the same.
Out. Out into the cool night air. She went blindly to her car, still breathing hard, Jesus! She grabbed her keys, glad for the remote because her hands were shaking too badly to open a lock. She definitely couldn’t get the key in the ignition yet. Instead, she turned on the overhead light and checked her make-up. It was still in pretty good shape. Her face was flushed, but anyone’s would be. She’d just sucked a perfect stranger off in a toilet stall.
She turned off the light and leaned back, struggling to relax. Now that she could let her guard down, it all came back to her, the smell of stale urine and semen, the cold damp floor, the grunts of the couple in the stall next to them, Bob, the mix of civilized cologne and animal musk, the mind-boggling speed of it. Oh, God! The whole thing had taken maybe five minutes from start to finish and had thrown every circuit in her nervous system into overload. She was probably too high on it to drive safely, but a hand down her pants wasn’t going to do more than take the ragged edge off it and that wasn’t what she wanted anyway. She had to get home somehow and soon, deal with this properly, savor it. She fumbled with the keys, started the car, took a few deep breaths. She’d gotten what she wanted, but she’d also gotten way more than she bargained for. She’d just sucked a perfect stranger off in a toilet stall, and she realized as she pulled out of the parking space that she’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Copyright © 2004 by Ann Regentin. All rights reserved.
Ann Regentin lives in the Midwest with her young son, an elderly Gibson guitar and two parrots. She started writing steamy fiction in her ninth grade biology class and has since gone on to write reading comprehension tests, reference material, articles, poetry and music as well as erotica. Her work has appeared in such diverse places as The International Journal of Erotica, Hip Mama, and Slow Trains, and she is a Contributing Editor for Clean Sheets.
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